want to see you tomorrow.”
Layla’s heart stuttered then raced. “Um…” She didn’t want to seem too willing, but the idea of seeing him again was her idea of heaven. Besides, she was dreading the dark and curvy drive back to Portland. “Okay, but I’m paying for the room.”
“That’s not necessary,” he assured.
“Yes it is,” she argued. “I won’t stay otherwise.”
“If you must,” he caved, “but she’s going to give you a discount.”
“Fine,” Layla sighed, feigning annoyance.
Quin laughed as he glanced at her car. “I guess you have clothes with you?”
“Everything I own is in there,” she confirmed.
“If you’re missing something, we can stop by one of the shops.”
Layla offered him a knowing grin. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m going to try one more time,” he quietly persisted, moving a little closer. “Then I’ll give it a rest. Will you let me buy you breakfast at Cinnia’s in the morning?”
Layla didn’t have to think too hard about that one. “Throw in a cup of coffee and it’s a deal.”
Quin’s dimples deepened, and Layla stared at them for a long moment before looking to his eyes. What she found in their dark depths captured her undivided attention, and the rest of the world melted away. Until a damn yawn obstructed the gorgeous view.
“Ready for your ride back?” he asked, reaching into his bag.
Layla didn’t want the night to end, but the thought of seeing him in the morning made it easier. Plus, her feet were freezing, so she nodded her agreement.
In the blink of an eye he’d swept her into a cradle hold. Then he knelt, bracing her weight on his knee as he wrapped her feet in a piece of black velvet, which was the same temperature as his body—weirdly warm in a wonderful way.
Layla knew she must look like a fool as she gawked at his handy work, but she was blown away by his oddly thorough and romantic demeanor. By the time she shook her dumb expression away, he was lithely carrying her across the beach, watching her face instead of his path.
~ * * * ~
Quin showed Layla to his aunt’s seaside inn then dug her largest suitcase from her trunk, carrying it through a wide, wooden arch into a quiet lobby.
A tall, slender woman occupied the stool behind the desk, absorbed in a leather bound book, and she, like everyone else Layla had met that evening, was incredibly beautiful. What’s with this place, Layla wondered, feeling like she’d stumbled into a secret commune of models.
“Hey, Quin,” the woman greeted, barely glancing up. Then she did a double-take, snapping her book shut as she scanned Layla from head to toe.
“Dion,” Quin returned. “This is Layla. She needs a room for the night.”
“Sure,” Dion murmured, blindly picking out a room key. “Nice to meet you, Layla.”
“You, too,” Layla offered, wondering why everyone looked at her weird when they were the anomalies.
Dion’s intrigued gaze never wavered as she handed the key across the desk. “Room 203.”
“She insists on paying,” Quin said, taking the key, “but she’ll accept a discount.”
“Oh,” Dion mumbled. “Thirty dollars?”
Layla dug into her bag, coming out with two twenties. “Keep the change. I know these rooms are more than forty dollars.”
Dion threw Quin a glance then placed the money in the till. “Need anything else?”
“Yeah,” Quin answered, pointing behind the counter. “Do you have one of Morrigan’s CDs back there?”
Layla looked at him in confusion, but apparently Dion knew what he was talking about, because she swiveled on her stool and opened a drawer of CDs. “Here it is,” she said, passing him a plain white case with the name Morrigan hand-written across the front.
“Great,” he approved, smiling at Layla. “Ready?”
Layla nodded and waved goodbye to Dion. Then she followed Quin to the second level.
“Who’s Morrigan?” she asked, pointing at the CD.
“The best pianist I’ve heard
Layla’s heart stuttered then raced. “Um…” She didn’t want to seem too willing, but the idea of seeing him again was her idea of heaven. Besides, she was dreading the dark and curvy drive back to Portland. “Okay, but I’m paying for the room.”
“That’s not necessary,” he assured.
“Yes it is,” she argued. “I won’t stay otherwise.”
“If you must,” he caved, “but she’s going to give you a discount.”
“Fine,” Layla sighed, feigning annoyance.
Quin laughed as he glanced at her car. “I guess you have clothes with you?”
“Everything I own is in there,” she confirmed.
“If you’re missing something, we can stop by one of the shops.”
Layla offered him a knowing grin. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m going to try one more time,” he quietly persisted, moving a little closer. “Then I’ll give it a rest. Will you let me buy you breakfast at Cinnia’s in the morning?”
Layla didn’t have to think too hard about that one. “Throw in a cup of coffee and it’s a deal.”
Quin’s dimples deepened, and Layla stared at them for a long moment before looking to his eyes. What she found in their dark depths captured her undivided attention, and the rest of the world melted away. Until a damn yawn obstructed the gorgeous view.
“Ready for your ride back?” he asked, reaching into his bag.
Layla didn’t want the night to end, but the thought of seeing him in the morning made it easier. Plus, her feet were freezing, so she nodded her agreement.
In the blink of an eye he’d swept her into a cradle hold. Then he knelt, bracing her weight on his knee as he wrapped her feet in a piece of black velvet, which was the same temperature as his body—weirdly warm in a wonderful way.
Layla knew she must look like a fool as she gawked at his handy work, but she was blown away by his oddly thorough and romantic demeanor. By the time she shook her dumb expression away, he was lithely carrying her across the beach, watching her face instead of his path.
~ * * * ~
Quin showed Layla to his aunt’s seaside inn then dug her largest suitcase from her trunk, carrying it through a wide, wooden arch into a quiet lobby.
A tall, slender woman occupied the stool behind the desk, absorbed in a leather bound book, and she, like everyone else Layla had met that evening, was incredibly beautiful. What’s with this place, Layla wondered, feeling like she’d stumbled into a secret commune of models.
“Hey, Quin,” the woman greeted, barely glancing up. Then she did a double-take, snapping her book shut as she scanned Layla from head to toe.
“Dion,” Quin returned. “This is Layla. She needs a room for the night.”
“Sure,” Dion murmured, blindly picking out a room key. “Nice to meet you, Layla.”
“You, too,” Layla offered, wondering why everyone looked at her weird when they were the anomalies.
Dion’s intrigued gaze never wavered as she handed the key across the desk. “Room 203.”
“She insists on paying,” Quin said, taking the key, “but she’ll accept a discount.”
“Oh,” Dion mumbled. “Thirty dollars?”
Layla dug into her bag, coming out with two twenties. “Keep the change. I know these rooms are more than forty dollars.”
Dion threw Quin a glance then placed the money in the till. “Need anything else?”
“Yeah,” Quin answered, pointing behind the counter. “Do you have one of Morrigan’s CDs back there?”
Layla looked at him in confusion, but apparently Dion knew what he was talking about, because she swiveled on her stool and opened a drawer of CDs. “Here it is,” she said, passing him a plain white case with the name Morrigan hand-written across the front.
“Great,” he approved, smiling at Layla. “Ready?”
Layla nodded and waved goodbye to Dion. Then she followed Quin to the second level.
“Who’s Morrigan?” she asked, pointing at the CD.
“The best pianist I’ve heard
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