More Than This Read online

  Doubt crept back into her head. Maybe he had given up even though he’d said he wouldn’t. Maybe he was looking forward to summer being over so he wouldn’t have to deal with her stupid list anymore. Maybe he’d moved on.

  God, she hated maybes.

  Before long, he pulled into her lot and parked. If he planned to drop her off, he would’ve pulled up in front. Expecting to come in was a good sign, right?

  But he didn’t move. He just stared out the windshield.

  She popped her door open.

  Without looking at her, he asked, “What’s your plan after you get back from vacation?”

  “I’m not sure. Indy’s looking into selling my loft. I’m considering moving back home.”

  “What?” He spun to face her, his eyes wide with shock.

  Ryan realized that he’d practically yelled the question at her again, but he couldn’t hear himself over the roar in his ears. He swung his door open and jumped out, giving himself time to focus as he rounded the car. She was leaving. Of all people, how could Colin have been right?

  When he got to the passenger door, Quinn stared at him, probably confused because he kept yelling at her.

  “Sorry. That came out louder than I planned, but you took me by surprise. Why would you move?” He pushed her door closed and walked beside her toward the building.

  “Things here aren’t working out the way I planned. I’m still living in the loft I bought with my ex-husband. I can’t find a decent date to save my life, even with your help. I don’t have anything to keep me here.”

  Her words shot through his heart, and he felt light-headed. He never really thought he’d lose her. Suddenly his life was falling apart. Maggie, his family, and now Quinn. He’d become unnecessary.

  She wouldn’t have failed if I hadn’t sabotaged her efforts. But she never would’ve been looking for a date if I’d told her I loved her.

  “What about your job?” he managed to ask.

  “That’s what’s always grounded me here. I love teaching, but even there I feel like I’ve been stuck and there’s no movement. No change, even though I tried.”

  Inside her building, she pointed to the stairs with raised eyebrows.

  “I’m okay with the elevator.” They entered the rickety box, and this time he sent up a little prayer that it would get stuck. That he could hold on to her a while longer.

  Of course, not even that worked, and they sped directly to her floor.

  At her door, he finally asked the question he needed the answer to most: “What about me?”

  She pushed her door open but didn’t walk through. “What about you?”

  “I’m in Chicago. So is Indy. And Kate.”

  She leaned against the doorjamb. “Kate has her own life and family. Indy’s always been fine on her own.”

  She stared into his eyes and he waited, willing her to be honest. The pulse on her neck throbbed.

  “You.” The word was little more than a whisper. “You have your family and your bars.”

  “But I wouldn’t have you. It wouldn’t be the same.” He stepped closer. His fingers angled her jaw up, and he brought his lips to hers.

  He let the kiss do what his words couldn’t. Tenderly, his lips sought the warmth of her mouth. His tongue sought answers. He found comfort in her taste.

  He pulled back slowly, and her eyes fluttered open.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “I had to check.”

  “Check what? That my lips still work?”

  “I wanted to make sure I hadn’t imagined it.” In that moment he knew that Quinn loved him every bit as much as he loved her.

  She stared into his navy eyes, knowing he felt the same spark she did. She pushed away from him when what she wanted was to wrap herself around him. She’d planned to take a chance and tell him how she felt, but he was taking charge again. Frustration propelled her into her living room.

  “Don’t go.”

  She stopped. These were the words she’d hoped for. Don’t go on a date. Don’t go online to find a man. Don’t go to a lock-and-key party.

  Don’t go.

  “Why?” She spun to look at him. But she knew why. She was always leaving, running away from anything difficult.

  “Because I love you. And I know you love me too.”

  She closed her eyes and savored the words, hoping she hadn’t imagined them. She chuckled. “I wanted to leave the bar so I could tell you I wanted to give us a chance. I thought I would have to convince you since I’ve pushed you away all summer. You’re making this too easy.”

  “I can’t promise to always make things easy, but I’ll try.” His hand cradled her cheek. “My family is . . .”

  Her eyes reopened and locked on his to find them filled with worry. “Great.”

  “They’re demanding. And intrusive. And . . .”

  “And you love them. I get it. I’m more than okay with it.”

  “You might think differently once you’re an O’Leary.”

  Huh? “Was that your idea of a proposal?”

  He slid his arms around her waist and led her farther into the living room, kicking the door shut behind him. “No, I’m just stating the inevitable. I figured we’d start with a vacation to New Orleans.”

  She relished the feel of the length of his body pressed against hers. “What about the bars?”

  “It’s about time I gave Colin a chance to run things for a while.”

  She stepped back with a smile. “Hmmm. I don’t know. It’s the last item on my list, and I’m supposed to go alone.”

  “I thought there was some flexibility in the list. You won’t go alone, but I can promise you a hell of a summer romance.” He pulled her body back into his. He feathered kisses over her cheek.

  Her hand rested on his chest. His heart thumped as quickly as hers. “I don’t think so. Summer’s almost over. We’ve barely started, and the romance is supposed to end.”

  He bent and brushed his lips against hers. “Then let’s work on the item not officially on the list.”

  Her brain fogged and the outside world disappeared. God, the man could kiss. She managed a husky whisper. “What’s that?”

  “Baby making. Practice makes perfect, you know.”

  Then she finally said the words she knew he wanted to hear: “I love you.”

  Comfort Cookies

  ¼ c. (½ stick) unsalted butter

  3 oz. unsweetened chocolate

  4 oz. bittersweet chocolate

  3 eggs

  1½ c. sugar

  1 tsp. vanilla

  1 c. flour

  1½ tsp. baking powder

  ½ tsp. salt

  1 c. semisweet chocolate chips

  Preheat oven to 350°F. Melt butter, unsweetened chocolate, and bittersweet chocolate in the top of a double boiler or in a heat-safe bowl (metal or glass) over a pot of simmering water. In a mixing bowl, beat eggs, sugar, and vanilla together until mixture thickens. Add the melted chocolate and mix well. In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Mix the dry ingredients into the chocolate mixture until combined. Stir in chocolate chips. (Batter will be gooey.)

  Scoop teaspoon-sized cookies onto cookie sheets. If using aluminum pans, line with parchment paper (no paper needed on stoneware). Bake for approximately 11 minutes, until tops are cracked and edges are set. Let cool on cookie sheet for a minute or two, then transfer to a cooling rack.

  Yield: 4 dozen cookies

  Blue Smoke

  1 oz. Bols Blue Curaçao

  2½ oz. lemonade

  2 oz. Stolichnaya Blueberi vodka

  Wisp of absinthe

  Combine all ingredients in a shaker cup. Add ice and shake until cold. Pour over ice in a glass. To make the drink “smoke,” add a sliver of dry ice.

  I’d like to thank Johnny Bellinger from Blues Bar in Mount Prospect, Illinois (www.blues-bar.com), for giving me permission to use this recipe, and Julie Plovanich for creating it in the first place.


  Keep reading for a special preview of Shannyn Schroeder’s next contemporary romance. Look for it wherever eBooks are sold in July 2013!

  CHAPTER 1

  Tequila was not her friend. Indy Adams couldn’t believe she’d forgotten that one simple rule last night. The drum beat behind her eyeball as a blatant reminder. When the guys at the bar offered her a shot after closing, she hadn’t seen the harm.

  Too many shots and a crappy night’s sleep later, she regretted every sip. She got out of her car and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. If she’d planned better yesterday, she wouldn’t have had to get up early to come to the office now.

  She pulled open the door, and a waft of expensive perfume smacked her in the face and clogged her throat. Indy swallowed the gag and faced the exiting clients with a perfunctory smile. The woman clicked by on her Jimmy Choos, followed by her husband and Indy’s colleague Susan, real-estate superstar.

  Indy ducked into the office hoping to avoid a conversation with Susan. The clock on the wall showed an hour until her meeting with Griffin. He was finally ready to start his house hunt. Correction, his mansion hunt. The thought of selling a million-dollar house made her giddy. Her giddiness almost made her forget her hangover.

  She knew that Griffin had only hired her because his best friend, Ryan, was marrying her sister, but she’d take any connection she could. She’d met Griffin casually on several occasions, usually at Ryan’s bar, but he’d put off the search and seeing houses for months.

  “Indy,” Susan said from behind her.

  Shit, she really wanted to escape without this. Every conversation with Susan bordered on hostile.

  “I hear your big client is finally ready to buy. I’d started to think you’d made the whole thing up.”

  After locating the codes she’d left tucked in her desk, Indy faced Susan and her usual pinched expression. “No, Susan, I don’t have to make up clients.”

  “Well, after you gloated about how much money this one would bring in, you kind of dropped off the map.”

  “Well, I’m here and now I’m off to show houses.” She waved the paper and turned to leave. She wouldn’t admit that she’d gone back to waitressing because she needed the money.

  “You’re not going to show a house to a millionaire looking like that, are you?”

  Indy stalled in her tracks and turned cautiously.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t attract more affluent clients? You don’t play the part. You have to act as though you belong in their world and you”—she paused and pointed at Indy’s outfit from shoulder to hem—“clearly don’t.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” Sure, she wasn’t as buttoned-up as Susan, but she wasn’t dressed for clubbing either.

  “You look a little trampy, ready to flirt with whomever comes your way.”

  Heat crept up Indy’s neck and burned her ears. “I don’t flirt with clients.”

  Susan arched an eyebrow.

  “I’m friendly. You might want to try it sometime.” Indy shoved through the door. Anger gnawed her nerves like fire ants. She didn’t need to flirt to get the job done.

  Once in her car, she studied her clothes. Would Griffin not take her seriously because of how she dressed? Her stomach gave a little squish. She couldn’t honestly answer the question. Griffin had always flirted with her, but he flirted with everyone in social situations.

  She checked the time. If she hurried, she could stop at home to change.

  Forty minutes later, racing to get to her appointment, Indy felt a little panicked.

  “I hope the man who invented pantyhose died a slow and painful death,” she cursed. It must’ve been a man, she thought as sweat snaked down her back and nylon suffocated her thighs. The damn air-conditioning on the car stopped working, and she hadn’t planned to fix it yet since it was supposedly fall. Unfortunately, the Chicago weather didn’t agree.

  The remnants of her hangover made her regret the decision.

  She whipped into the circle drive of the first mansion and saw Griffin’s silver Jaguar already parked. Double damn. She parked behind him and got out. Her ten-year-old Taurus sagged sadly behind the Jaguar.

  I am so out of my league.

  She tugged at the collar of her blouse. Her skirt skimmed the backs of her knees, reminding her of church clothes. At least she was ready if the heat really did kill her.

  Griffin still sat in his car. The Winnetka house stood in front of her with a gorgeous wide, pillared front porch. Selling a house in the wealthy Chicago suburb would be her first.

  Looking back at the Jag, she couldn’t quite reconcile the image of Griffin hanging out, drinking beer at his friend’s bar with the millionaire video-game developer. Indy threw back her shoulders and faked confidence as best she knew how.

  She paused en route to his car. The door swung open and Griffin unfolded himself from behind the steering wheel. He wasn’t just good-looking; he was drool-worthy.

  His perfectly styled dark hair slicked back from his face. His jaw was surprisingly smooth. He usually sported a dark five-o’clock shadow, and she’d figured it had been intentional.

  He spoke into his Bluetooth headset for another moment, acknowledging her with a slight wave of his hand. His finely tailored suit revealed a fit body: broad shoulders and trim waist. He shed his suit coat and rolled his sleeves in concession to the heat, which should’ve made him look relaxed, but his face was solemn. She preferred him in jeans and a worn T-shirt, drinking a beer at O’Leary’s.

  Ending the call, he tossed the Bluetooth in the car before closing the door. Indy approached with her hand extended. “Mr. Walker, nice to see you again. I’m sorry I’m late.”

  He grasped her hand and tugged playfully. “Call me Griffin. I’m not looking for a dog and pony show, Indy.”

  She liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “I’m simply greeting you the same way I’d greet any client.”

  He removed his sunglasses and made no attempt to hide his appraisal of her. She’d been scrutinized by worse. His expression held a hint of laughter. After raking his gaze over her, top to bottom, he smiled. Small lines fanned from eyes nearly as dark as his hair. The act removed the stiff businessman, and he became a drinking buddy. “I’m not any client. We’ve known each other for months. We’re friends.”

  Her tense muscles relaxed a fraction. Their previous encounters had paved the way for a friendly acquaintance. He followed her to the house. Even in her two-and-a half-inch heels, she had to look up to meet his eyes.

  As she opened the door, chilly air brushed over her heated skin and caused a shiver. “Would you like a tour, or just want to wander?”

  After she asked, she looked at the décor and cringed. The owners hadn’t wanted photos of the interior posted online. Now she knew why. Everything was white.

  Griffin’s phone rang. He checked the screen and ignored it.

  “You can take that if you need to,” she offered. “I can wait.” She was grateful to have a few minutes to cool her body.

  He stood in the middle of the foyer and turned in a slow circle. “No, I’ve seen enough. Where to next?”

  Indy’s stomach flipped. “You don’t want to see other rooms?” she asked carefully.

  His eyes locked on hers. “No.”

  “I realize the color scheme . . . or lack of one might be a turn-off, but that’s just paint and carpet.”

  “What else do you have?”

  She fumbled with the clasp on her portfolio and pulled two listings from the pocket. “Here are the other two I told you about. We can go to whichever you like next.”

  “Let’s try this one.” He tapped the top page.

  “Okay. Follow me.” She exited the house. Excitement and optimism seeped from her pores like sweat. She’d hoped for a quick sale.

  The next two showings went the same. Griffin walked in, looked briefly, and left. In the driveway of the third house, she said, “May
be if you tell me a little more about what you do want, I won’t waste your time looking at houses that don’t work.”

  His broad, charming smile creased at the sides of his mouth and showed the hint of dimples. “You showed me exactly what I asked for. I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep you posted if I find other listings that might suit you.” Disappointment gripped her.

  “How about dinner?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Can I take you out to dinner?”

  She pulled her lips into a firm businesslike smile. So much for friendly acquaintance. “I’m involved with someone, and I don’t date clients.”

  At least not anymore.

  He stepped closer, picked up her left hand, and looked pointedly at her ring finger. “We already covered that I’m more than a client; we’re friends.”

  “We might be friends if you’d stop flirting with me.”

  “Flirting is something we both excel at. Besides, how serious could your involvement with your married boyfriend be?”

  Quinn and her big mouth. She’d definitely have a talk with her little sister. She bit her tongue for a second and thought of Richard. “There’s enough seriousness in life without me adding to it.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she feared she’d given him ample ammunition.

  She tugged her hand from his grasp and twitched at his thumb’s caress across her knuckles. Little jolts of pleasure shimmied up her arm. Damn, she hated the effect of charming men. He released her hand and moved to his car without another word. His phone rang as he drove off with his engine purring.

  Kind of like her nerves.

  Griffin had all the markings of a rich playboy. He was charming and arrogant, and women swooned at the sight of him. But she wanted only one thing from Griffin Walker: a big, fat commission.