“I put those files you requested for InfantPure on your desktop.” Chloe set a cup of herbal tea on the edge of the desk.
“Thank you.” Ginny dove into the files, ready to figure out what had happened with her pet project once she’d left the country.
The deeper she got into the research, the more discouraged she became. They had reached the limits of science on this one, just as Thomas reported. She drummed her fingers on the desk. There had to be an answer that would move the project forward, and she was going to find it.
Chapter Seventeen
Quinton
The Puget Sound was in a good mood today. The otter that lived nearby, and often popped up to say hello to The Cove residents sunned himself on a piece of driftwood. So content was he to bask in the rare summer sunshine that he didn’t even lift his head as Quinton’s yacht sailed by.
The captain and small crew took the boat out of the harbor for a tour of the nearby islands. The captain stayed in the bridge, the other crew members out of sight. They weren’t using the sails today but had the quiet motor humming along. If they sailed far enough out, they’d get to Lincoln Pierce’s island, where they could dock and have a picnic. Quinn wasn’t in the mood to take advantage of his neighbor’s hospitality. After a busy week with his assistant designers going over engineering concepts and registering patents for the Prince of Thieves’ Coaster, he wanted Ginny all to himself.
They sat in two padded deck chairs positioned in the bow of the ship to face out over the water. Behind them was a covered hot tub, and beyond that was the master suite. One level down was the party deck, where he hosted evenings with family and friends. Ginny, however, was more than a friend, which was why she’d been invited to the private living area. After they were married, no part of his life would be off-limits.
Quinn hopped up and went to the outdoor bar, where he retrieved two sodas, bringing one back to her. She lounged in the chair, looking every bit as comfortable as Ottie the Otter on his log. They were being lazy today, something that was foreign and needed for both of them.
She lifted her face up to look at him, his reflection smiling back in her glasses. “Can you even feel the deck move beneath your feet?” She twisted the cap off her drink and took a sip.
Quinn pulled his eyes away from her lips and took his seat. “I inherited my father’s sea legs.” His gut clenched at the thought of his dad. The betrayal was fresh, and yet there was this odd mix of regret that things had turned out the way they had. He should be more careful not to bring up his dad—there were still too many raw feelings there.
“I thought you’d be desensitized by your roller coasters and simulations.” She rolled her flat hand through the air like it was going up and down a metal track.
He nodded, sitting on the edge of the seat so he could face her. The smile on her lips chased away his father’s shadow, which hung over Quinn’s heart. “You’d think so, but water is different. There’s an element I can’t duplicate. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
She stared out over the sea and sky. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you what drives you to create machines that thrill. Are you a secret adrenaline junkie?”
“Hardly. I don’t plan to jump out of a perfectly good airplane anytime soon.”
“Good.”
The protectiveness in her tone strummed inside of him. He needed to back down or he’d reach out and brush her hair off her forehead. And then he’d stare into her eyes. And then he may just kiss her. Instead, he swung his legs up on the chair and leaned back. “The only way I can describe my motivation is by comparing it to how an artist feels when lost in the process of painting, or how a cowboy feels when he’s on his horse, or a programmer deep in code.”
She turned her head toward him. “It’s your art form.”
He sipped his drink. He’d never told anyone about his process before, about how the track flowed out of him. But he wanted Ginny to know because she was the one person who would understand. “Exactly. When I begin a new coaster, I start with one line.”
“The track.”
His heart leapt. She knew! He didn’t know how she knew him the way she did, but it was one more confirmation that she was his match. “I let that line come from my hand. I don’t tell it where to go; I ride it until it loops back on itself.” A sense of being raw, real, overcame him. He was sharing his innermost self with Ginny. “Then the other half of my brain turns on, and I have to engineer the thing. Which is … challenging in the best of ways.”
They sat there for a moment, his bare self waiting for her response. Her hand lifted and then settled on top of his. The air warmed, charged. His breath sped up. With that touch, she was taking him in—all of him. He struggled, wanting to cup her cheeks and kiss her slow, to give his whole heart to her. He couldn’t yet. He couldn’t love her that strongly, or he’d scare her away. They had an arrangement, and he’d stick to it.
She glanced down as if just realizing her hand was still on his. “Sorry,” she muttered. Before he could tell her it was fine, that she could hold his hand and touch him anytime, she pulled her knees up to her chest and asked, “How many do you design a year?”
“All the way to final drafts? Four. But I have dozens of starts.”
“Do you keep them?”
He nodded.
She let her legs go and crossed her ankles. “I’d like to see them.”
“Sure.” He’d never shown them to anyone before, but there was something about Ginny that took down his defenses and allowed him to share even the unfinished parts of himself. He usually lived like a hermit, with minimal staff and a locked-door policy on his office.
She heaved a sigh and rubbed her arms. “I needed this day.”
He reached for her hand, and she laced her fingers with his. This time, she didn’t seem embarrassed. He was glad he’d had the chairs moved close together. If he was really feeling brave, he’d lift the armrests and pull her against him.
