Free Calculated Risk by Elaine Raco Chase

fast.”
    “This is a very well calculated risk.”
Quintin rubbed his hand together. “My plan is
foolproof.”
    “So why do I feel like the fool?”
Stevie grumbled.
    “I’m going home and start the ball
rolling.” He stood up and lifted his tuxedo jacket from the back of
the dining room chair. “When Rob comes to work on Monday, you just
act the part of a woman in love.”
    Stevie trailed after him to the door.
“I’ll…I’ll try.”
    Quintin heard the reluctance in her
voice and observed the dejected slump of her posture. His hands
cupped her face; thumbs gently tracing the curve along her
cheekbones. “Just cover up those freckles and add a healthy splash
of that perfume you were wearing last night.”
    His admission piqued her vanity. “You
mean my perfume actually made an impression?” She moved closer, her
bare feet stepped between his shoes. Through a fringe of black
lashes, she gauged the subtle change in him. The puritanical father
was now a responsive male.
    Virile hands followed the
supple curve of her neck before sliding around her tapered back.
The fluid ivory silk moved against the calloused roughness of his
fingers. “On my personal Richter scale of one to ten –“ Quintin’s
voice deepened; his eyes concentrated on her half-parted lips “—you
registered a twenty. And this is so you’ll know what I call a
kiss.”
    His mouth took leisurely possession of
hers. The firm masculine lips were compelling and purposeful as
they stroked the satiny fullness of their feminine counterpart. His
inquisitive tongue probed into the lush recesses beyond,
trespassing to savor her sweetness.
    The heat of Quintin’s body burned into
Stevie. Her skin felt hot and tingling, shot through with delicious
sensations that made her tremble against his lean frame. Her hands
made fluttering motions in the air; her fingers anchored into his
wide belt, seeking support. Blood effervesced in her veins. Stevie
felt as if she had drunk a magnum of champagne.
    When Quintin finally released her, they
were broth breathing hard. “You’re right,” she acknowledged, her
right hand twisting the doorknob. “You do know how to kiss.” She
gave him a little shove into the brisk morning air.
     
    The blinking light on the telephone
alerted Stevie to a phone call. Pulling headphones from her ears,
she lifted the receiver and heard Quintin’s voice. “I’m just
calling with a progress report and to make sure you’re not getting
cold feet about tomorrow.”
    Uncurling her legs, she contemplated
her wiggling poppy-red toenails. “More than my feet are cold,” she
groused. “Quintin, I don’t like deceiving Rob. I don’t like
deceiving anyone.”
    “This is not a matter of deception,” he
countered quickly, his tone low and soothing. “We are actually
saving him from reacting impulsively and ruining his whole life.”
Quintin cleared his throat. “Rob and I had quite a civil chat about
you last night. My compliance surprised him, but at least the
father-son lines of communication are still open.”
    She sniffed and sighed. “I’m glad about
that.”
    “Tomorrow afternoon, just do your
womanly duty and seduce my son.”
    “That’s easier said than done,” came
her caustic retort. “I haven’t got the faintest idea how to seduce
a seventeen-year-old child.”
    “I know just the thing to get you in
the mood,” he announced. “An orgy.” He laughed at her strangled
reply and added, “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
    By the time the door chimes heralded
Quintin’s arrival, Stevie had whipped herself into a fine rage. Her
greeting echoed the Sunday night weather: frigid and frosty.
“You’ve really got crust, Quintin Ward. I thought we –“
    “No… this has crust, Miss Brandt.” He
tapped the large white cardboard box. Brown eyes were alight with
laughter at her disapproving expression. “Pepperoni, wasn’t it?”
Quintin chucked her under the chin. “You’re right, you do look as
good in fleece