Not worth your time or money
’Cause I’m looking for something new
—Bad Dog Blues
RAFE’S PENTHOUSE looked nothing like him.
The guitars on the walls, definitely Rafe. Their orderly march down toward the back of the penthouse, not so much. A yards-long view out through a wall of crystalline windows was fabulous, and Quinn caught a glimpse of the marble-and-steel patio outside, perfect for an elegant al fresco dinner or hot coffee and croissants during a clear-sky sunrise. The penthouse’s warm colors were mostly Rafe, and the furniture looked comfortable, but as Quinn took in the sleek cabinets and pristine floors, he was amazed at how little the place looked like its owner.
Sterile, Quinn thought. That’s the word. And if there was one thing Rafe Andrade was not, it was sterile.
There should have been more clutter, more vibrancy, more… everything in the space. Instead it was a pristine picture-perfect magazine spread with little to do with the hot-blooded, passionate man standing behind him.
Quinn was almost afraid to take his jacket off and toss it on an ottoman and ruin the layout.
Rafe had no problem. He shimmied out of his leather jacket, draping it over the back of a couch when he got his arms free. Harley howled her displeasure from the safety of her kennel, a chittering yodel sharp enough to send shivers up Quinn’s spine. Rafe merely laughed and patted the plastic cage as he went by.
“Let her out. Where do you want me to set up her litter boxes? Bathroom? Laundry room? Middle of the kitchen?” he called out from the foyer as he dragged the rest of Quinn’s things in.
“She’s not picky. Any place she can find them.” Quinn fumbled with the catch, murmuring at his cat. “Don’t eat him. He’s nice. We like him. He is not food.”
Harley slunk herself out of the kennel, her long legs stretched out behind her. Sniffing imperiously in Quinn’s general direction, she shook her head lightly, getting her ears situated as she looked about the living room.
“I put one in the laundry room, and there’s a guest bathroom off the hall we can—holy shit, what the fuck is that?” Rafe stopped dead in his tracks, bobbling a half-full container of litter. “Seriously, dude. What happened to your cat? She looks like she’s from Chernobyl or something.”
“She’s a Cornish Rex. That’s how their fur is. Just a little bit of it, really.”
He was quick to jump to Harley’s defense, standing up to face Rafe. Bending down, Rafe wiggled his fingers at the cat.
“Don’t be offended if she takes a little bit to warm up—”
Damned if Harley didn’t make Quinn a liar and trot up to Rafe for loving. Delicately standing up on her hind legs, she pressed her front paws on the top of his knee, purring up a storm as she rubbed her face against Rafe’s chin.
“Hey, kinda like velvet.” Rafe picked Harley up, and the cat buried her head in his hair, rumbling deep in her chest. “She’s cool. I like the spots. Great name—Harley. Very badass.”
“My coworker Graham suggested it.” Quinn unsnapped the latches of the kennel to break it down. “I was kind of surprised because he’s not the motorcycle type, but it suited her. She sounds like a Harley once she starts purring.”
“This Graham guy, when he suggested her name, did he say something like ‘You should call her Harley, Quinn’?” Rafe scritched the cat’s serpentine body as she wiggled in his arms.
“Yeah,” he replied, packing the crate down.
“He was probably telling you to call her Harlequin, like those Italian clowns.” Rafe laughed, probably at the astonished expression on Quinn’s face. “’Cause she’s spotted.”
“Well, shit.” He felt a flush creep across his face. “Graham didn’t even say anything when I told him I called her Harley like he suggested. God, what an idiot.”
“I love you, but man, sometimes for all your smarts, you’re a git—as your mom says.”
Rafe jerked his head down the hall, obviously not hearing the heavy pounding of Quinn’s heart.
“I’ll show you the guest suite. You won’t believe the bathtub in there. I think the designer thought I was going to have water orgies or something. I think it fits five people.”
Rafe was right about the tub. The room was incredible, overlooking the Bay, but the bathroom was built for lounging and possibly water sex. It was the only reason Quinn could come up with for a marble tub that size. He put his toiletries bag on the counter, then began to unpack his things. Rafe came in behind him and set Harley down on the counter. She mewled her discontent, wheedling to be picked up again, but Rafe ignored her and palmed one of Quinn’s medicine bottles.
“What’s this?” He turned it around, finding the directions.