The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm. Kate Hoffmann

end up in his bed.

      They walked down the front steps and Mal linked his fingers through hers. He didn’t want to let any opportunity slip by, but Amy needed to know that his intentions were purely carnal. That way, she’d make the choice.

      They got in the Range Rover and he pulled it around and headed toward the pub where they’d met earlier that afternoon. She seemed oddly silent and he risked a glance over at her, wondering if she was reconsidering her choices.

      “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Mal asked.

      “You mentioned your father’s journals. Have you ever thought of writing your own book about him?”

      Her reply caught him by surprise. Unlike him, she clearly wasn’t thinking about sex. She was thinking about business. “I can’t write.”

      “Everyone can write,” Amy said. “You’d just need a good editor to help you put things in order.”

      “Do I know any good editors?”

      She sent him a haughty smile.

      “Are you volunteering?”

      “It’s just an idea. But it might be good for you. You’d get to know your father again, only this time with an adult perspective.”

      “Why is it that everything you say makes perfect sense to me?”

      “That’s funny, most things I say don’t make sense to me.”

      He’d never considered an autobiography, a project that he and his family could control. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea....

      They found her car where she’d left it earlier that day. “Just follow me,” he said. “It’s not far.”

      She jumped out of the Range Rover and turned to him. “Maybe I should go back to the hotel.”

      He shook his head. “No. I don’t want this night to end quite yet. Take a walk with me. It’s just a walk.”

      “All right.”

      He watched as she got into her rental car, a sense of anticipation growing inside him. He had every intention of kissing her again. And if that led to something more, he wasn’t going to worry about the future. He didn’t need just any woman right now, he needed Amy Engalls. She was the only woman who could satisfy him.

      But though she appeared to be quite confident and self-assured, there was an underlying vulnerability to her. He saw it in the way she deftly changed the subject when he tried to get her to talk about herself. At first, he’d assumed it was just a reporter’s method of always turning the question back on the subject. But over the course of dinner, he’d begun to believe that she figured her life might seem uninteresting to him.

      In truth, he wanted to learn everything about her. What did she do on a normal Saturday night? Where did she live? What kind of music did she enjoy? They were all such insignificant questions, but he was curious.

      They reached the cottage and he pulled the Range Rover to a stop in the sandy drive, then jumped out and jogged to her car. Mal opened the door and held out his hand, helping her out. “Do you have a cardie or a jacket? It’s probably going to be a bit chilly.”

      “I don’t,” she said.

      “I’ll grab you something,” he said. “Wait here.”

      He ran into the house and pulled a fleece jacket from the hook near the door, then grabbed a second for himself. When he returned, she was standing at the bottom of the steps. Mal held out the jacket and she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Then he spun her around and zipped the front.

      “Cozy,” she said, rubbing her arms.

      He glanced down at her bare legs. “Do you want to put on some pants?”

      “I’ll be fine,” she said.

      A breeze had come up and it whipped her honey-blond hair around her face. He reached out and tucked a strand behind her ear. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

      Mal held out his hand and she placed her fingers in his. They walked down a sandy path to the beach. The sun had set a few hours before and the stars had come out, pinpricks of light scattered across the inky black sky.

      Waves rolled against the shore and they strolled to the edge of the water. She kicked off her shoe and dipped her toe in. “It’s cold.”

      “It never warms up enough to surf without a wetsuit. Not like California or Hawaii.”

      She kicked off her other shoe and waded in, reaching down to run her fingers through the water. She didn’t see the wave rolling in behind her, but Mal did. He figured the water was shallow enough that she could maintain her balance, but the minute the wave hit her calves, her feet got swept out from under her and she fell into the water. She screamed as the wave surrounded her.

      Cursing softly, Mal reached her in a few short strides and pulled her upright. Amy clutched his jacket, her hair stuck to her face in damp strands, her breath coming in deep gasps.

      And then suddenly, she started laughing, a boisterous giggle that came from deep inside of her. “What is wrong with me?” she shouted. “Why can’t I stay on my feet?”

      Mal reached down and scooped her up, then carried her out of the water. “I’m not sure. Maybe you’re better off your feet.”

      She shivered, crossing her arms over her breasts.

      “I think we’d better go find you some dry clothes.”

      “Well, at least I can say I’ve been swimming in the Indian Ocean. That’s a first,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

      “It’s actually the Tasman Sea.”

      “Even better,” Amy said. She brushed the wet hair out of her eyes. “Oh, my shoes!”

      “Don’t worry, I’ll come out in the morning and find them. They’ll be washed up on the sand.”

      “I’m going to need shoes.”

      “Not tonight,” he said. “I don’t think you should do any more walking. You might end up in the hospital.”

      * * *

      WHEN THEY REACHED the warmth of his cottage, Mal set her down on her feet and quickly stripped off the sodden jacket. The dress she wore beneath clung to her skin, made almost transparent by the damp. Amy plucked at the fabric with her fingers. By now she was cold to the bone and shivering. But the trembles coursing through her body had less to do with the cold and more to do with the way he was looking at her—as if he might devour her at any moment.

      “Why don’t you jump in the shower and warm up. I’ll get you something to wear. The bathroom is just down that hall,” he said.

      Amy nodded and turned in that direction. But at the last moment, he caught her hand and pulled her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers, only this time, it felt like he was sending her a message: things were about to get much more intimate. If she wanted to leave, she ought to do it now.

      Amy didn’t need to think twice. She was sure of what she wanted. And to that end, she reached down and began to unbutton her dress. Mal stepped back, his hands resting on her shoulders, his gaze fixed on her fingers.

      When she reached the end of the buttons, she glanced up at him, hoping he’d take the next step. To her relief, he did, reaching out and brushing the damp fabric from her shoulder.

      His lips found a spot at the base of her neck and Amy tipped her head to the side, enjoying the rush of heat that raced through her body. He caught her fingers in his, raising her hand above her head. Then he reached down, grabbed the hem of her dress and slowly pulled it up and over her arms.

      The air hit her damp skin, goose bumps prickling her until she shuddered with the chill. Mal was wet from rescuing her and he kicked off his sodden shoes, then shrugged out of the fleece jacket