Page 40 of What Love Can Do
“What do you think I’m going to do?” His fingers traced back up her thighs.
“I think…” She pulled her skirt up slowly, taking her time to reveal what would surely drive him mad any minute now. “You’re going…to discover more deep secrets,” she finished.
“I would surely love that, with your permission, mademoiselle,” he said.
When she finished pulling her skirt up all the way, spreading her legs wide, she said, “Permission granted, kind sir.”
He recorded the moment in his mind to recall in quieter times—and then, he went down. Everything else was a blur from there on, a whirlwind of memories that would last him many a year to come. From his lips descending on her glistening core, licking, pushing, guiding her to the edge, to the moment she surprised him yet again by flipping around and pushing her ass upwards, inviting him to enter her, to the moment he lamented not having a condom, and she threw caution to the wind and said she didn’t care, because she was on the pill anyway, to the blissful moment when he pushed down his jeans, released himself, firm and ready, then plunged into her wet warmth—desperate bodies clinging to one another.
“Oh, Quinn,” she cried, meeting his every thrust into her with a back-push of her own, working herself into a frenzy while bent over, pressing down against his body to get an extra push. She reached between her legs, her fingertips lightly grazing his balls, gently caressing them, then her fingers moved to her own sweet spot, flicking and rubbing to his every thrust.
He needed to look away in order to keep up, to wait until she got to that blessed moment before him, so that he wouldn’t explode before she did.
“Quinn…look at me. Look at me, baby…” she urged.
God, that was it. Especially when she called him baby. He felt her muscles contracting around him, felt the gush of warmth around his body. He let go and burst in powerful spasms. And then they fell in a gasping, sweaty heap on the sandbags. Only then did he register the chilled air inside of the shed. Lilly shivered, though from cold or happiness, he wasn’t sure, but he reached for his jacket and covered her shoulders with it.
A renewed warmth permeated him. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, pleased how natural it felt to say it now.
Through closed eyes, a smile materialized on her face. Slowly, she turned and laced her arms over his shoulders, planting a soft kiss on his lips. She smelled of sweat, love, and sweetness. “I love you, too,” she said. Her eyes brightened and shone as blue as the Pacific. “No matter what. But…”
He frowned. “But?”
“But you were wrong. About being a bastard for implying if something was meant to happen between us, we’d make it happen. About saying love’s more complicated than that. You were right, Quinn, the first time. Your mom didn’t let fate or circumstance dictate who she loved. She made a choice, and we can make a choice, too. I choose you. If you choose me, it’s just a matter of making it work.”
He stared at her, awed by what she was saying. What she was offering.
So he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do with his life. So it would be hard to see Lilly leave soon. So they’d have to work around a long-distance relationship. So fucking what? There were harder things in life. He’d waited this long for the right woman to come along. What was another six months?
“I choose you, Lil. I choose us.”
Once the rain died down, they emerged from the shed and slipped into Lil’s car. In contented silence, they drove along the main road, and just as he was thinking how unpredictable his life had become in the last few weeks, she make a sharp left turn down a tree-lined road and passed a sign that read: Phillips Vineyard & Winery.
“Er…where are we going?” He raised an eyebrow and felt the sudden drop in his stomach. “I’m not sure I want to go in there, and I thought you said you’d never set foot here.”
She glanced at him with a smile. “Don’t worry, Quinn. It’s alright. Trust me.”
He did trust her—that was the problem. He trusted her so much, she had full control of his emotions right now, and he didn’t care to do anything about it. His mam once told him that he’d know when the right woman came along, because she’d control his destiny and lead him to greatness. Considering he hadn’t had the balls to come around this plot of land yet, no matter how many times he’d looked at it on his phone’s map, here was Lilly Parker, going against everything she’s ever known about the Phillipses, driving up the main path, bringing Quinn—like it or not—straight to his family’s door.
And he let her.
They stood before a massive white house in the foreground of sprawling fields of rows and rows, as far as Quinn’s eye could see. Definitely a different vibe than standing in front of Parker House. This was an expansive estate, one that made Quinn’s lungs stop breathing for almost a whole minute. As they walked up to the main entrance, Quinn handed Lilly his mother’s journal. “Would you mind holding this for me, please?”
She scoffed playfully. “Men,” she said, shaking her head and taking the journal from his hands. “The same around the world. Does this mean you trust me not to take a quick peek now?”
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “It means I trust you with everything I am, Lilly. If you want to read Mam’s journal, go right ahead. I’m happy to share it with you, knowing Mam would have loved you as much as I do.”
Oh wow. Talk about Irish charm. And it wasn’t even an act. It was just a part of who Quinn was.
In the foyer, they stared at the magazine-like surroundings—arched ceiling with cherry wood beams, white walls covered in photos of wine bottles, clumps of grapes, and the people who have worked here for ages.
Quinn peered into a black-and-white photo of two young women standing with an older lady and gentleman, the same one as in the photos in Mam’s storage box—Old Man Phillips. Next to the photo was a bright colored photo of the same people, only the older woman was missing. His grandmother, Quinn assumed. She was a beautiful brunette with perfect 70’s hair and a tailored women’s suit. Her smile was a lot like Conor’s and made Quinn want to go rip his brother from his bed to bring him here for a look.
“Good morning, welcome to Phillips Vineyard and Winery,” a young female voice rang through the space. In a white skirt, pleated purple top, and short jean jacket, she was the picture of California casual. An air of familiarity surrounded her visage. Quinn figured she might possibly be a distant cousin. “Are you here for the Harvest Brunch?” She motioned for them to enter.
Lilly followed her deeper into the enemy’s lair. “No, we have an appointment with Suzanne. Should we wait in the foyer?”
“Oh no, just come with me,” the woman said brightly, but then her face contorted into one of slight confusion. “Wait, are you…Lilly Parker?”