All It Takes (Romancing Manhattan 2)

“I can live with silly.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, and all my lady parts sit up and take notice.

Every. Single. Lady. Part.

“Is this him?” Rich asks, and Quinn’s grip on my hand tightens. “Because hello, Counselor.”

I giggle and then shrug helplessly. “Rich might flirt with you. I apologize in advance.”

His whole body seems to relax with my words, and then he just shakes his head and chuckles, holding his hand out to Rich.

“I’m Quinn.”

“And I’m single,” Rich says with a wink, making Lou and me laugh, and Quinn’s cheeks go red. “But I can see that you’re taken. Pity. I’m Rich, LouLou’s fabulous best friend.”

“Nice to meet you.” Quinn glances down at me. “Did you mention pancakes?”

“Yeah, do you want some?”

“Definitely.”

What does a girl do when she has a hangover the size of Manhattan and can’t sleep?

Well, this girl paints.

It’s superearly in the morning, before sunrise. Quinn was out cold next to me, his arm slung over my waist. Lou and Rich were asleep on the pullout couch. Everyone was full of pancakes, wine, and happiness.

My insomnia isn’t from stress, or worry. I’m not uncomfortable with Quinn being in my bed. If anything, I’m more comfortable than I thought I would be.

I just couldn’t sleep.

So I slipped into my studio about an hour ago, shut the door, and turned on the lights, and I’ve been powering through this headache with my watercolors.

I should work on the park painting, but I’m not in the mood for the harshness of the oils. That’s for when I’m upset.

So instead I pulled out a new canvas, and I’m working from memory. I love painting ocean scenes. They’re harder than you’d think, and they’re different every time.

Today I’m painting Cannon Beach on the Oregon coast. We went there when I was a teenager for a family vacation, and I fell in love with it. I’m convinced that I’ll retire there one day.

I have the sand and Haystack Rock outlined, and I’ve just reached for the blues for the water when there’s a soft knock, and then Quinn comes inside.

“Why are you awake?” he whispers, crossing to me and planting his lips on my forehead.

“Good question,” I reply. “I don’t know, I just couldn’t fall asleep. So I thought this might make me sleepy.”

“Do you mind if I watch?”

His eyes are heavy with slumber, his hair a mess from my pillows.

“I’ll come back to bed with you,” I offer.

“It’s up to you. If you want to paint, I’ll watch. Or leave you. I just woke up and you were gone, so I wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren’t throwing up or anything.”

“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t think that’s something I want you to witness. Ever. I do have a hell of a headache, but otherwise, I’m okay.”

“Not tired?”

“I’m tired, but restless. That’s the best way to describe it. I was in the mood for watercolors.”

I explain the differences for me in the mediums, and when I glance over at him, his lips are turned up in a soft smile. His brown eyes are happy.

And aside from the boxers he threw on, he’s naked. And I’m suddenly no longer interested in painting.

“We should go down to bed,” I say, putting my supplies away, and reaching for his hand. “Honest, now that you’re awake, I can think of a better way to occupy our time at this hour.”

“I won’t say no to that.”

Someone is jackhammering my brain.

“You have to wake up, sweetness.”

“Why are you screaming at me?” I demand from under my pillow.

Quinn chuckles, and I can smell coffee, so I peek out from under the pillow to find not just the room bathed in sunlight, but a smiling Quinn Cavanaugh as well.

“Good morning,” he says.

“How is my hangover worse than it was when you found me in my studio? Isn’t sex supposed to cure it?”

“Sex cures a lot of things,” he says as he pulls the pillow completely off me, making me frown. “But you need to hydrate to get rid of the headache.”

“Do you have coffee?” There’s no masking the hope in my voice.

“I brought you some,” he confirms, and I sit up, reaching out for it, but he holds it just beyond my fingertips. “In exchange for a kiss.”

“I can’t do cute flirting in the morning when I’m hungover and haven’t had coffee, ace.”

“Did you just call me ace?”

“It suits you,” I reply, taking the coffee from him and a long sip. The caffeine immediately hits my veins and I sigh in happiness. “That’s better already.”

“You slept a long time.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten.”

I feel my eyes go wide. “Ten?”

“You obviously needed the sleep.”

I shake my head and climb out of the bed, trying to keep my coffee in my hand and cover my nakedness, but it’s no use. I need more hands.