Part 2: Lazy Sunday

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The rain was loud and heavy, battering the roof. Quinn reluctantly opened an eye and glanced around the room, feeling the familiar disorientation of the constant traveler. Where am I now?

He saw the familiar beams of the ceiling overhead and then the crumpled negligee on the floor. He rolled over with a lazy smile. Lucy. He was back in Port Ross, home in the barn. It was the shower he was hearing, not rain on the roof. Sunlight was streaming through a crack in the curtains. He could smell the fresh sea air from the open window and the woman he loved was in the shower. Things couldn't get any better.

He never met anyone like her: smart, charming, stubborn, complicated, funny, sweet, impatient, brave and beautiful — his Lucy.

The night before, all he was looking forward to was falling asleep with her in his arms. When she reached for him, it was an unexpected surprise. He used to lie in bed at night in the quaint B&B when he first arrived in town, thinking about what it would be like to have her in his bed. The reality was better than anything he imagined.

She intrigued him when they first met. She was beautiful, that was clear. But there was more to it than that. She seemed so similar to him in some ways and yet so different. Like Quinn, she grew up helping out in the family's restaurant on the east coast — him in Cape Cod, and she in Nova Scotia. They had a lot in common, and there was a palpable click whenever they were together. He liked her, even though he knew that as a contestant on his show, she was off limits. Once he did get to know her, his feelings grew. It was a problem.

With everything keeping them apart resolved, the last few months confirmed his initial instincts. He never felt surer about anything or anyone in his life. Still, she was holding back.

She didn't completely trust him. He reminded himself that after a messy beginning, they were really just getting started. And the way they got together was strange, to say the least. It was just his luck to meet the woman of his dreams in some impossible way, instead of at an airport, a grocery store — anywhere else. With the two of them tied up in the TV contest, being together spelled financial hardship for her and career suicide for him. So they tried to stay away from each other. Tried.

He winced, remembering how hurt she was when he got her disqualified from the contest, and was forced to announce it on live TV. He thought it was the best way to protect her from swirling tabloid rumours. He charged in and tried to fix things like he always did, but Lucy still felt betrayed. It was a terrible feeling, knowing how badly he let her down, even though he didn't mean to. He vowed to never hurt her again.

He heard the shower stop, wishing he had joined her. There would be time for that and lots more, he thought with a sleepy smile.

She opened the bathroom door and emerged in a cloud of lavender-scented steam. "That's some lovely shower gel you got there, Allen," she said, one towel wrapped around her and the other piled on her head. He noted the towel was securely fastened around her, covering up her beautiful body. She was flushed from the heat of the bath and her eyes were smiling. He got out of bed and crossed the room to her.

"It's organic, and local. I like Rose Intrigue the best," he said, putting his arms around her waist. She was warm and pliant in his arms.

"I know. I wondered why you always smelled like leather, citrus and flowers," she said, resting her head on his chest. She felt so good there. "You should bottle it; the scent is intoxicating. Tom Ford for Men, and very male flowers," she emphasized with a laugh.

"Hey, I'm not into that toxic masculinity bullshit. I'm a man who loves a good bubble bath, end of story. You should come back to bed. Speaking of intoxicating..." He bent to lick the hollow behind her earlobe, delighted to feel her small shiver.

"Mm, can't. Gotta run."

He felt a twinge of disappointment. Why did it always seem like she was running from him?

She looked up and stroked his cheek. "I've some stuff to do at the restaurant to prep for the week, but it shouldn't take all day. I'll join you mid-afternoon; we'll make it a lazy Sunday."

"Naked Sunday? Sounds great."

"Lazy Sunday," she corrected, laughing.

"Fine, have it your way. I'll cook for you." He reached down to kiss her just as her towel started to slip. His hands glided down the warm, silky skin of her back to cup her bottom and press her into him. She smelled like heaven and tasted even better.

"Stop it before I change my mind," she said, pulling her towel back around her and planting a kiss on his chest. He chilled when she moved away. "Have it your way," he said, disappointed.

"We'll pick up where we left off later, yeah?" She gave him a warm smile over her shoulder and began dressing.

"I'll hold you to that." He stood in the bathroom doorway with folded arms.

She paused, lacy bra in hand. "Are you just going to stand there, watching me get dressed?"

"Yes."

"You have a million things to do, too." She waved him towards the shower. "Scoot!"

"All right but you'll just have to strip for me later. Slowly," he added as he closed the bathroom door. 

"Fat chance," he heard her say from the other side. He shook his head. She could be shy about her body. He had no earthly clue why. She was beautiful and real; sensual and alluring. She didn't know the power she had over him, and it wasn't just about sex.

He was head over heels in love with her. His gut told him that she felt the same, but until she was comfortable saying the words— or letting him say them — he wasn't completely sure. But he was patient; there was no need to rush. Not when there was lazy Sunday to look forward to.

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