Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best fantasy books to read TXT) 📕

closed her eyes and floated, obligingly wrapping her arms around Quinn’s neck when he carried her into the house, undressed her, and tucked her into bed. She’d planned to call Reva, but decided tomorrow would be soon enough.

“I’ve got some stuff to do next door,” Quinn’s voice said from high above her in the darkened bedroom. “Your scooter is next to the bed, and your cell phone is plugged in on the bedside table.”

“Mmmm.” She rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Mmm-kay.” The bed was so comfy, the sheets so cool and soft on her bare skin, the summer-weight quilt so perfect. “Mmmmm.”

“You know,” Quinn’s voice said, interrupting her blissful sinking down into sleep, “I’ve changed my mind. You and that scooter might not be the best combination right now, so I’ll stay close by in case you need anything.”

“Mmmm-kay,” she answered, resisting the call of the pleasant swimmy-headed feeling that lured her into waking dreams of her and Quinn, their hot, damp bodies tangled together in the cool sheets.

Quinn sighed, and Abby felt him kiss her forehead. “Call out if you need me.”

I need you, she thought, but the lure of sleep pulled her in before she could say the words out loud.

* * *

Quinn tucked Abby into bed with Georgia—who’d been quick to snuggle down next to her—then stepped outside onto the dark patio, leaving the back door cracked open so he could hear if Abby called out.

Gardenia blossoms scented the air with their thick, sweet vanilla scent. A shooting star arced across the night sky, and a warm, muggy breeze embraced him as he sat in a lounge chair and took out his cell to call Delia.

He’d expected that she wouldn’t answer, but the message he’d been prepared to leave died in his throat when she picked up. “What now, Quinn?” she snapped. “I do have a life, you know. And yet, somehow you always manage to call me outside of office hours.”

“Two things, and then I’ll let you go.” He took a breath and let it out. “I want the name of the person you took my complaint to, and the names of anyone you told about the bay parcel.”

She heaved a martyred sigh. “Okay, fine. I took your complaint to Jefferson Pearson. I told him about the bayfront land and put a bug in his ear about how valuable that property could be if it didn’t have a rinky-dink wannabe zoo in its backyard. I knew from what you told me about him that he and his incredible greed would handle everything. Are you happy now?”

Quinn’s mouth went dry, and a triple shot of hot liquid regret poured through his veins. “Shit.” This whole thing was his fault.

Which meant he had to fix it, starting with making sure JP didn’t get his hands on the bayside marshland. “That acreage is an integral part of my plan,” he reminded her. “We can’t let it slip away.”

“When it goes on the market,” Delia insisted, “you’ll be the first to know, because I’ll tell you. You can make an offer before the sign goes up, so whether or not JP knows anything will be a moot point.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “We’ll be in a bidding war before the listing goes up on Zillow.”

“Not if you make an offer before then, which I’ll give you the opportunity to do. So I’m not sure what you’re going on about. JP will be the bad guy, and you’ll get exactly what you wanted.”

“How can you be sure I’ll have time to make an offer before anyone else gets wind of it?” His imagination tried to come online with visions of staying and living at the estate himself, but he turned out the light on that glowing image. He couldn’t buy the marshland if he didn’t sell the estate. It was a simple math equation.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten the bonus you promised me. It’s in my interest as well as yours. We’re in this together.”

Something brushed against his hand, and Griff jumped into his lap. He stroked the cat’s soft fur and felt his ire seeping away. “Fine. I guess it doesn’t matter that JP knows about the bayfront property.”

Visions of him and Abby living next door to her aunt Reva kept intruding, and he knew it was because his new relationship with Abby had shifted his priorities. Maybe if he didn’t sell the estate, he could still advise all the homeowners on the street to get together and buy the bayfront parcel, just to keep a big development from ruining their view. Though if he didn’t flip the estate, he couldn’t afford that, either… “But here’s the thing, Delia. I’ve rethought my objections to the farm. I don’t want to have anything to do with this campaign to ruin Bayside Barn.”

“Well then, don’t,” Delia snapped. “In fact, if you want to come out in opposition to it, come on out. It’s too late to stop this snowball from rolling downhill, but you can protest all you want. It won’t make any difference.”

It better make a difference, or Abby’s aunt Reva would lose her livelihood, and the animals at Bayside Barn would lose their home. “But Delia, don’t you think that with enough community involvement—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t. Community sentiment whispers. Money talks. And the potential of making even more money hollers out loud. Now, I’ve gotta let you go. And as a friendly reminder, my office hours are Monday through Friday, 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Feel free to call me anytime during those hours. Unless you are ready to buy or sell a property. In that case, call me anytime.”

“Wait. Does anybody—”

The line went dead, cutting off the question he’d been about to ask: Does anybody know that he was the one who’d asked her to get rid of Bayside Barn? If she hadn’t told JP or anyone else that Quinn’s complaint to her had started this whole ugly mess, then no one need