Terms of Engagement Page 3

“You’re not afraid to get in my car, to be alone with me, are you?” he’d teased.

  “It just seems simpler…to go somewhere close,” she’d hedged. “Besides, you’re a busy man.”

  “Not too busy for what really matters.”

  Then he’d suggested they walk along the river. The lovely reflections in the still, brown water where ducks swam and the companionable silences they’d shared as they’d made their way along the flagstones edged by lush vegetation, restaurants and bars had been altogether too enjoyable.

  She’d never made a study of predators, but she had a cat, Rudy. When on the hunt, he was purposeful, diligent and very patient. He enjoyed playing with his prey before the kill, just to make the game last longer. She couldn’t help but think Quinn was doing something similar with her.

  No sooner did Quinn push open the door so she could enter one of the most popular Mexican restaurants in all of San Antonio than warmth, vibrant laughter and the heavy beat of Latin music hit her.

  A man, who was hurrying outside after a woman, said, “Oh, excuse us, please, miss.”

  Quinn reached out and put his strong arm protectively around Kira’s waist, shielding her with his powerful body. Pulling her close, he tugged her to one side to let the other couple pass.

  When Quinn’s body brushed against hers intimately, as if they were a couple, heat washed over her as it had the afternoon when she’d been muddy and he’d pulled her into his arms. She inhaled his clean, male scent. As before, he drew her like a sexual magnet.

  When she let out an excited little gasp, he smiled and pulled her even closer. “You feel much too good,” he whispered.

  She should run, but the March evening was cooler than she’d dressed for, causing her to instinctively cling to his hot, big-boned body and stay nestled against his welcoming warmth.

  She felt the red scarf she wore around her neck tighten as if to warn her away. She yanked at it and gulped in a breath before she shoved herself free of him.

  He laughed. “You’re not the only one who’s been stunned by our connection, you know. I like holding you as much as you like being in my arms. In fact, that’s all I want to do…hold you. Does that make me evil? Or all too human because I’ve found a woman I have no will to resist?”

  “You are too much! Why did I let you talk me into this dinner?”

  “Because it was the logical thing to do, and I insisted. Because I’m very good at getting what I want. Maybe because you wanted to. But now I’d be quite happy to skip dinner. We could order takeout and go to my loft apartment, which isn’t far, by the way. You’re a curator. I’m a collector. I have several pieces that might interest you.”

  “I’ll bet! Not a good idea.”

  Again he laughed.

  She didn’t feel any safer once they were inside the crowded, brilliantly lit establishment. The restaurant with its friendly waitstaff, strolling mariachis, delicious aromas and ceiling festooned with tiny lights and colorful banners was too festive, too conducive to lowering one’s guard. It would be too easy to succumb to temptation, something she couldn’t afford to do.

  I’ll have a taco, a glass of water. We’ll talk about Jaycee, and I’ll leave. What could possibly go wrong if I nip this attraction in the bud?

  When told there was a thirty-minute wait, Quinn didn’t seem to mind. To the contrary, he seemed pleased. “We’ll wait in the bar,” he said, smiling.

  Then he ushered them into a large room with a high-beamed ceiling dominated by a towering carved oak bar, inspired by the baroque elegance of the hotels in nineteenth-century San Antonio.

  When a young redheaded waiter bragged on the various imported tequilas available, Quinn ordered them two margaritas made of a particularly costly tequila he said he had a weakness for.

  “I’d rather have sparkling water,” she said, sitting up straighter, thinking she needed all her wits about her.

  “As you wish,” Quinn said gallantly, ordering the water as well, but she noted that he didn’t cancel the second margarita.

  When their drinks arrived, he lifted his margarita to his lips and licked at the salt that edged the rim. And just watching the movement of his tongue across the grit of those glimmering crystals flooded her with ridiculous heat as she imagined him licking her skin.

  “I think our first dinner together calls for a toast, don’t you?” he said.

  Her hand moved toward her glass of sparkling water.

  “The tequila really is worth a taste.”

  She looked into his eyes and hesitated. Almost without her knowing it, her hand moved slowly away from the icy glass of water to her chilled margarita glass.

  “You won’t be sorry,” he promised in that silken baritone.

  Toying with the slender green stem of her glass, she lifted it and then tentatively clinked it against his.

  “To us,” he said. “To new beginnings.” He smiled benevolently, but his blue eyes were excessively brilliant.

  Her first swallow of the margarita was salty, sweet and very strong. She knew she shouldn’t drink any more. Then, almost at once, a pleasant warmth buzzed through her, softening her attitude toward him and weakening her willpower. Somewhere the mariachis began to play “La Paloma,” a favorite love song of hers. Was it a sign?

  “I’m glad you at least took a sip,” he said, his gaze lingering on her lips a second too long. “It would be a pity to miss tasting something so delicious.”

  “You’re right. It’s really quite good.”

  “The best—all the more reason not to miss it. One can’t retrace one’s journey in this life. We must make the most of every moment…because once lost, those moments are gone forever.”

  “Indeed.” Eyeing him, she sipped again. “Funny, I hadn’t thought of you as a philosopher.”

  “You might be surprised by who I really am, if you took the trouble to get to know me.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Every muscle in his handsome face tensed. When his eyes darkened, she wondered if she’d wounded him.

  No. Impossible.

  Her nerves jingled, urging her to consider just one more sip of the truly delicious margarita. What could it hurt? That second sip led to a third, then another and another, each sliding down her throat more easily than the last. She hardly noticed when Quinn moved from his side of the booth to hers, and yet how could she not notice? He didn’t touch her, yet it was thrilling to be so near him, to know that only their clothes separated her thigh from his, to wonder what he would do next.

  His gaze never strayed from her. Focusing on her exclusively, he told her stories about his youth, about the time before his father had died. His father had played ball with him, he said, had taken him hunting and fishing, had helped him with his homework. He stayed off the grim subjects of his parents’ divorce and his father’s death.

  “When school was out for any reason, he always took me to his office. He was determined to instill a work ethic in me.”

  “He sounds like the perfect father,” she said wistfully. “I never seemed to be able to please mine. If he read to me, I fidgeted too much, and he would lose his place and his temper. If he took me fishing, I grew bored or hot and squirmed too much, kicking over the minnow bucket or snapping his line. Once I stood up too fast and turned the boat over.”

  “Maybe I won’t take you fishing.”

  “He always wanted a son, and I didn’t please Mother any better. She thought Jaycee, who loved to dress up and go to parties, was perfect. She still does. Neither of them like what I’m doing with my life.”

  “Well, they’re not in control, are they? No one is, really. And just when we think we are, we usually get struck by a lightning bolt that shows us we’re not,” Quinn said in a silken tone that made her breath quicken. “Like tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Us.”

  Her gaze fixed on his dimple. “Are you coming on to me?”

  He laid his hand on top of hers. “Would that be so terri
ble?”

  By the time they’d been seated at their dinner table and had ordered their meal, she’d lost all her fear of him. She was actually enjoying herself.

  Usually, she dated guys who couldn’t afford to take her out to eat very often, so she cooked for them in her apartment. Even though this meal was not a date, it was nice to dine in a pleasant restaurant and be served for a change.

  When Quinn said how sorry he was that they hadn’t met before that afternoon when he’d nearly run her down, she answered truthfully, “I thought you were marrying my sister solely to hurt all of us. I couldn’t condone that.”

  He frowned. “And you love your sister so much, you came to my office today to try to find a way to stop me from marrying her.”

  “I was a fool to admit that to you.”

  “I think you’re sweet, and I admire your honesty. You were right to come. You did me one helluva favor. I’ve been on the wrong course. But I don’t want to talk about Jacinda. I want to talk about you.”

  “But will you think about…not marrying her?”

  When he nodded and said, “Definitely,” in a very convincing manner, she relaxed and took still another sip of her margarita with no more thoughts of how dangerous it might be for her to continue relaxing around him.

  When he reached across the table and wrapped her hand in his warm, blunt fingers, the shock of his touch sent a wave of heat through her whole body. For a second, she entwined her fingers with his and clung as if he were a vital lifeline. Then, when she realized what she was doing, she wrenched her hand free.

  “Why are you so afraid of me, Kira?”

  “You might still marry Jaycee and ruin her life,” she lied.

  “Impossible, now that I’ve met you.”

  Kira’s breath quickened. Dimple or not, he was still the enemy. She had to remember that.

  “Do you really think I’m so callous I could marry your sister when I want you so much?”

  “But what are you going to do about Jaycee?”

  “I told you. She became irrelevant the minute I saw you standing inside my office this afternoon.”

  “She’s beautiful…and blonde.”

  “Yes, but your beauty affects me more. Don’t you know that?”

  She shook her head. “The truth isn’t in you. You only date blondes.”

  “Then it must be time for a change.”

  “I’m going to confess a secret wish. All my life I wished I was blonde…so I’d look more like the rest of my family, especially my mother and my sister. I thought maybe then I’d feel like I belonged.”

  “You are beautiful.”

  “A man like you would say anything…”

  “I’ve never lied to any woman. Don’t you know how incredibly lovely you are? With your shining dark eyes that show your sweet, pure soul every time you look at me and defend your sister? I feel your love for her rushing through you like liquid electricity. You’re graceful. You move like a ballerina. I love the way you feel so intensely and blush when you think I might touch you.”

  “Like a child.”

  “No. Like a responsive, passionate woman. I like that…too much. And your hair…it’s long and soft and shines like chestnut satin. Yet there’s fire in it. I want to run my hands through it.”

  “But we hardly know one another. And I’ve hated you…”

  “None of the Murrays have been favorites of mine either…but I’m beginning to see the error of my ways. And I don’t think you hate me as much as you pretend.”

  Kira stared at him, searching his hard face for some sign that he was lying to her, seducing her as he’d seduced all those other women, saying these things because he had some dark agenda. All she saw was warmth and honesty and intense emotion. Nobody had ever looked at her with such hunger or made her feel so beautiful.

  All her life she’d wanted someone to make her feel this special. It was ironic that Quinn Sullivan should be the one.

  “I thought you were so bad, no…pure evil,” she repeated.

  His eyebrows arched. “Ouch.”

  If he’d been twisted in his original motives, maybe it had been because of the grief he’d felt at losing someone he loved.

  “How could I have been so wrong about you?” Even as she said it, some part of her wondered if she weren’t being naive. He had dated, and jilted, all those beautiful women. He had intended to take revenge on her father and use her sister in his plan. Maybe when she’d walked into his office she’d become part of his diabolical plan, too.

  “I was misguided,” he said.

  “I need more time to think about all this. Like I said…a mere hour or two ago I heartily disliked you. Or at least I thought I did.”

  “Because you didn’t know me. Hell, maybe I didn’t know me either…because everything is different now, since I met you.”

  She felt the same way. But she knew she should slow it down, reassess.

  “I’m not good at picking boyfriends,” she whispered.

  “Their loss.”

  His hand closed over hers and he pressed her fingers, causing a melting sensation in her tummy. “My gain.”

  Her tacos came, looking and smelling delicious, but she hardly touched them. Her every sense was attuned to Quinn’s carved features and his beautiful voice.

  When a musician came to their table, Quinn hired him to sing several songs, including “La Paloma.” While the man serenaded her, Quinn idly stroked her wrist and the length of her fingers, causing fire to shoot down her spine.

  She met his eyes and felt that she had known him always, that he was already her lover, her soul mate. She was crazy to feel such things and think such thoughts about a man she barely knew, but when dinner was over, they skipped dessert.

  An hour later, she sat across from him in his downtown loft, sipping coffee while he drank brandy. In vain, she tried to act unimpressed by his art collection and sparkling views of the city. Not easy, since both were impressive.

  His entrance was filled with an installation of crimson light by one of her favorite artists. The foyer was a dazzling ruby void that opened into a living room with high, white ceilings. All the rooms of his apartment held an eclectic mix of sculpture, porcelains and paintings.

  Although she hadn’t yet complimented his stylish home, she couldn’t help but compare her small, littered apartment to his spacious one. Who was she to label him an arrogant upstart? He was a success in the international oil business and a man of impeccable taste, while she was still floundering in her career and struggling to find herself.

  “I wanted to be alone with you like this the minute I saw you today,” he said.

  She shifted uneasily on his cream-leather sofa. Yet more evidence that he was a planner. “Well, I didn’t.”

  “I think you did. You just couldn’t let yourself believe you did.”

  “No,” she whispered, setting down her cup. With difficulty she tried to focus on her mission. “So, what about Jaycee? You’re sure that’s over?”

  “Finished. From the first moment I saw you.”

  “Without mud all over my face.”

  He laughed. “Actually, you got to me that day, too. Every time I dined with Jacinda and your family, I kept hoping I’d meet you again.”

  Even as she remembered all those dinner invitations her parents had extended and she’d declined, she couldn’t believe he was telling the truth.

  “I had my team research you,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I asked myself the same question. I think you intrigued me…like I said, even with mud on your face. First thing tomorrow, I will break it off with Jacinda formally. Which means you’ve won. Does that make you happy? You have what you came for.”

  He was all charm, especially his warm, white smile. Like a child with a new playmate, she was happy just being with him, but she couldn’t admit that to him.

  He must have sensed her feelings, though, because he got up and moved silently toward her. “I feel like I’ve l
ived my whole life since my father’s death alone—until you. And that’s how I wanted to live—until you.”

  She knew it was sudden and reckless, but she felt the same way. If she wasn’t careful, she would forget all that should divide them.

  As if in a dream, she took his hand when he offered it and kissed his fingers with feverish devotion.

  “You’ve made me realize how lonely I’ve been,” he said.

  “That’s a very good line.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “But you are so successful, while I…”

  “Look what you’re doing in the interim—helping a friend to realize her dream.”

  “My father says I’m wasting my potential.”

  “You will find yourself…if you are patient.” He cupped her chin and stared into her eyes. Again she felt that uncanny recognition. He was a kindred soul who knew what it was to feel lost.

  “Dear God,” he muttered. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know a damn thing about patience. Like now… I should let you go…but I can’t.”

  He pulled her to him and crushed her close. It wasn’t long before holding her wasn’t enough. He had to have her lips, her throat, her breasts. She felt the same way. Shedding her shirt, scarf and bra, she burst into flame as he kissed her. Even though she barely knew him, she could not wait another moment to belong to him.

  “I’m not feeling so patient right now myself,” she admitted huskily.

  Do not give yourself to this man, said an inner voice. Remember all those blondes. Remember his urge for revenge.

  Even as her emotions spiraled out of control, she knew she was no femme fatale, while he was a devastatingly attractive man. Had he said all these same wonderful things to all those other women he’d bedded? Had he done and felt all the same things, too, a thousand times before? Were nights like this routine for him, while he was the first to make her feel so thrillingly alive?

  But then his mouth claimed hers again, and again, with a fierce, wild hunger that made her forget her doubts and shake and cling to him. His kisses completed her as she’d never been completed before. He was a wounded soul, and she understood his wounds. How could she feel so much when they hadn’t even made love?