She pushed the thought away, focusing ahead. They were stepping onto a wide pillared terrace now, lush with clambering vines, teeming with tourists. A woman was selling ginja sour cherry liqueur shots from a stall at the side and a busker was perched on the parapet playing soulful guitar, but it was the view opening up through the crowds that stopped her breath. Lisbon and the Tagus, the sun behind painting everything gold.
‘Wow!’ She looked up at Will. ‘Miguel was right. This is incredible!’
‘It is.’ He smiled, making her breath stop again, but then suddenly his gaze was going past her, lengthening. ‘Hang on. There’s a better spot...’ His eyes snapped back, full of mischief. ‘Ready to run?’
Her heart pulsed. ‘What?’
But his hand was already grabbing hers, tugging her through the crowds, until they were at the very end of the terrace where the parapet butted up to a high sheltering wall. A quiet spot, almost secluded.
He released her, panting a bit. ‘Sorry for the mad dash, but it’s a prime spot.’ He motioned to the parapet. ‘You can sit and chill with the view while I go back for some ginja.’
She felt her heart squeezing. All this for her!
She smiled. ‘It’s perfect, but please don’t worry about the ginja...’
‘What? And disappoint Miguel. No way! You know he’s probably got a commission thing going on with the ginja woman, right?’ And then his eyes were crinkling. ‘Besides, don’t you want to taste it? It’s like a thing here. We should give it a go...’
So adorable. And so very sexy with his hair blowing in the breeze, sun gold turning his blue eyes green. Her stomach pulsed. All the things she shouldn’t be noticing!
She shook herself, smiled. ‘Okay, you’ve convinced me. We can be Ginja Ninjas.’
His chin dipped. ‘Seriously?’ And then he was chuckling, shaking his head. ‘So lame!’
‘This is lovely.’ Quinn was sipping, tasting her own lips. ‘Sweet!’ And then she was looking up, a little glow in her gaze. ‘Almost as sweet as you with Miguel.’
‘Sweet?’ He forced his eyes not to revisit the lips she’d just tasted. ‘I’ve never been called sweet before.’
‘Well, you are.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My ex would have whinged about being leveraged into giving a big tip.’
He felt his stomach tightening. The thought of Quinn with anyone else, especially a tightwad, was a total gear-grind.
‘Sounds like a right jerk.’
‘Oh, he was.’
At least she wasn’t holding onto any candles!
He took a sip from his cup. ‘Miguel’s shirt is patched in three places, and his trainers are coming apart. He isn’t well-off. Also, he’s been great—pleasant, knowledgeable. He deserves a good tip.’
‘Which you’d have given him anyway, without him having to ask.’ Her gaze softened. ‘You’re so tuned in, Will. Sensitive, just like your dad said...’
His heart caught. ‘What...?’
Because Dad had never said anything like that to him, given him any indication he had ever noticed anything on the fricking inside of him at all! Just the bad stuff. Faults and failings. Blackjack, whisky, women. He would never shut up about those.
She gave a little shrug. ‘He just said it...’
But then she was blinking, her cheeks colouring as though she was wishing she hadn’t mentioned it.
His fault. Because he was suddenly tight as a drum. Spine, shoulders, jaw. Reacting in spite of what he felt for her, in spite of himself, in spite of asking her not to skirt around the subject of Dad.
What he had meant was that she shouldn’t skirt around her affection for Dad, around the hotel and the plans they’d made. But this...this was a curveball, a real stinger. Why had Dad never dipped below the waterline with him, taken him aside to say stuff like this? Why tell Quinn? And now, what? Was she waiting for him to pick up the baton, chat on merrily as if his gut wasn’t wringing itself tight? Was she expecting him to light up with interest, ask her what else his own father had divulged?
His heart pulsed. Not fair, Will! Strain, showing on her face, in her eyes, because she was caught in the middle again—caught there because he had asked her to be open, asked her not to tiptoe around him and Dad, caught there because she was doing exactly that!
He needed to level out, say something.
He set his cup down to buy a moment then met her gaze. ‘I’m sorry for freezing like that. I...’ He could feel his heart pinching, his throat drying. ‘I’m just surprised. I didn’t know Dad thought that about me...’
The planes of her face softened. ‘Oh, Will, he did...’ And then her eyes were welling, glistening into his. ‘He just wasn’t very good at expressing it.’
‘Except to you, apparently!’
Her eyes closed and regret crashed in. Why had he said it like that, in a whiplash tone? He felt his insides twisting. How to walk this impossible line? Half of his heart lost to her, the other half bitter. And now the two halves were tearing him apart because he’d been cruel when none of this was her fault.
‘I’m sorry, Quinn...’ He seized her shoulders so that she would feel his regret, all the desperation inside. ‘Please... Please look at me... I didn’t mean it...’
‘You did...’ She screwed her face up tightly, swallowing, and then her eyes opened, blinking into his. ‘But I don’t blame you, Will...’
He felt his throat constricting. Why not? Did she get him, understand somehow, in spite of everything? And if so, could she see how much it meant, see how the warmth she was giving out was turning him inside out, making him want to...?
‘Oh, Quinn...’
And then somehow her face was in his hands and he was moving in, brushing her lips with his, taking her mouth. Soft... Warm... Cherry sweet... His pulse spiked...responsive! Rising towards him now, sliding her arms around his neck, kissing him back, tasting him back. He could feel his blood heating, beating hard, pent-up desire dragging at him, taking him over. He wanted more...to give more, so she would feel his love, feel it from the very heart of him—deeper. Warmer. He teased her lips apart with his tongue, felt the brief incendiary touch of hers, but then, all of a sudden, she was pulling away, pushing at his chest.
‘Stop, Will. Please.’
He jerked his hands away, heart pounding. ‘What?’
