Keepsake by Antoinette Stockenberg Read Free Book Online

them a woman.
    Her back was to Quinn, whose first impression was of a mountain of scarlet material bunched on top of a purple skirt. He saw that she wasn't tall, and yet her posture somehow made her seem so. She had dark hair, tied in a knot at the nape of her neck—without much success, Quinn could see; ringlets seemed to be escaping even as he stood unnoticed behind her.
    She was standing in front of the fire with her hands extended to catch its warmth. He couldn't blame her for feeling cold: Her back and shoulders were as bare as any red-blooded man could hope for. The sight of her had sent his genitals lurching beneath his corduroys, and almost immediately he realized why.
    She had the most impossibly beautiful figure he'd ever seen. He had no idea that in an age of protein and aerobics, women could still look like that: beautiful back and shoulders, tiny, tiny waist, flared and intriguing hips. It was an old-fashioned fantasy, a heart-wrecking dream—and it was as erotic as all hell. He might have stood gazing at that hourglass shape forever if she hadn't turned around with a start.
    "Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't hear anyone come—Quinn?"
    He blinked. He knew the voice, knew the eyes, he definitely knew the voice... He blinked again in disbelief. In a moment of complete, humiliating weakness his let his gaze drop down to her cleavage. Was it possible?
    "Liv?"
    "Who else?" she said, with a wary smile. "You look the same."
    "You don't," he said, stunned.
    A couple walked in just then with questions poised: Was the price firm? Would the owner take financing? Had he had any offers? Olivia explained with dazzling grace that she was not the realtor— Good Lord , did she look like a realtor?—and then the couple left.
    Olivia turned her dark-eyed gaze back to Quinn. "I heard you were back. Somehow I didn't expect to run into you here, though."
    He took it possibly the wrong way. "Yeah, well, you know how it is when you throw an open house. Riffraff's bound to get in."
    "Oh no! Is he here?" she said, rolling her eyes.
    He chuckled. "Okay, I suppose I deserved that."
    She shook her head. "You haven't changed, have you? I'm ... I'm sorry about your father," she added. "I know how close you were."
    Sympathy from a Bennett? No thanks; it felt too much like pity. "We did all right," he said, "once we got out of Keepsake. We had a good life."
    "Yours isn't over."
    "His is."
    "Yes, but you said ... . Well, I'm glad it worked out. It was an awkward time."
    "Awkward?"
    "That's the wrong word," she said quickly. "It was ... horrible, I guess I mean. For everyone."
    "So people keep telling me. A girl is killed, my father is blamed, our lives are upended, and what do I hear? I'm the Grinch Who Stole Homecoming."
    "Well, in all honesty, we haven't come even close to a championship since," she said with a bland look.
    He snorted. He remembered that about her now—her irreverent sense of humor. She was much less straightlaced than the rest of her clan, and that always had made her an interesting opponent. He jammed his hands in his parka pockets and rocked back on his heels. "So. Which of the Ivy League schools ended up rolling out the thickest red carpet?"
    Smiling at the compliment, she said, "I decided to go with Harvard."
    He waved a hand airily at her getup. "And this would be—what? A part-time job to pay off your student loans?" he quipped, fighting hard not to resent her. Harvard.
    He watched her flinch and then recover. "As it turns out, my dad was able to scrape together the tuition. But I did borrow money to get my MBA. Is that any comfort?"
    "Not much," he said through a tight smile. "So what do you do to pay the mortgage?"
    "I own a shop in town, Miracourt ... on York Street ? I sell high-end fabrics—interior, and some apparel."
    He nodded. "Oh, well sure, a fabric store. It's logical, with your father owning a textile mill and all."
    "My father has nothing to with Miracourt!" she said sharply. "It's entirely mine, bought and