Terms Of Engagement

His burning gaze, which had ignited way too many feminine hormones, rose to her face again. When he smiled as he continued to stare, she bit her bottom lip to keep from returning his smile.

Rising, he towered over her, making her feel small and feminine and lovely in ways she’d never felt lovely before. He moved toward her, seized her hand in his much larger one and shook it gently.

“I’m very glad you decided to give me a second chance.”

Why did his blunt fingers have to feel so warm and hard, his touch and gaze so deliciously intimate? She snatched her hand away, causing his eyes to flash with that pain he didn’t want her to see.

“That’s not what this is.”

“But you were avoiding me, weren’t you?”

“I was,” she admitted and then instantly regretted being so truthful.

“That was a mistake—for both of us.”

When he asked her if she wanted coffee or a soda or anything at all to drink, she said no and looked out the windows at the sun sinking low against the San Antonio skyline. She couldn’t risk looking at him any more than necessary because her attraction seemed to be building. He would probably sense it and use it against her somehow.

With some difficulty she reminded herself that she disliked him. So, why did she still feel hot and clammy and slightly breathless, as if there were a lack of oxygen in the room?

It’s called chemistry. Sexual attraction. It’s irrational.

Her awareness only sharpened when he pulled out a chair for her and returned to his own. Sitting down and crossing one long leg over the other, he leaned back again. The pose should have seemed relaxed, but as he concentrated on her she could see he wasn’t relaxed—he was intently assessing her.

The elegant office became eerily silent as he stared. Behind the closed doors, she felt trapped. Leaning forward, her posture grew as rigid as his was seemingly careless.

His hard, blue eyes held her motionless.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this afternoon … or should I say this evening?” he asked in that pleasant tone that made her tremble with excitement.

She imagined them on his megayacht, sailing silently across the vast, blue Gulf of Mexico. Her auburn hair would blow in the wind as he pulled her close and suggested they go below.

“You’re my last appointment, so I can give you as much time as you want,” he said, thankfully interrupting her seduction fantasy.

Her guilty heart sped up. Why had she come at such a late hour when he might not have another appointment afterward?

The sky was rapidly darkening, casting a shadow across his carved face, making him look stark and feral, adding to the danger she felt upon finding herself alone with him.

Even though her fear made her want to flee, she was far too determined to do what she had to do to give in to it.

She blurted out, “I don’t want you to marry Jaycee.” Oh, dear, she’d meant to lead up to this in some clever way.

He brought his blunt fingertips together in a position of prayer. When he leaned across his desk toward her, she sank lower in her own chair. “Don’t you? How very strange.”

“It’s not strange. You can’t marry her. You don’t love her. You and she are too different to care for each other as a man and wife should.”

His eyes darkened in a way that made him seem more alive than any man she’d ever known. “I wasn’t referring to Jacinda. I was talking about you … and me and how strange that I should feel … so much—” He stopped. “When for all practical purposes we just met.”

His eyes bored into hers with that piercing intensity that left her breathless. Once again she felt connected to him by some dark, forbidden, primal force.

“I never anticipated this wrinkle when I suggested a marriage with a Murray daughter,” he murmured.

When his eyes slid over her body again in that devouring way, her heart raced. Her tall, slim figure wasn’t appealing to most men. She’d come to believe there was nothing special about her. Could he possibly be as attracted to her as she was to him?

“You don’t love her,” she repeated even more shakily.

“Love? No. I don’t love her. How could I? I barely know her.”

“You see!”

“Your father chose her, and she agreed.”

“Because she’s always done everything he tells her to.”

“You, however, would not have agreed so easily?” He paused. “Love does not matter to me in the least. But now I find myself curious about his choice of brides. And … even more curious about you. I want to get to know you better.” His tone remained disturbingly intimate.

She remembered his revolving bedroom door and the parade of voluptuous blondes who’d passed through it. Was he so base he’d think it nothing to seduce his future wife’s sister and then discard her, too?

“You’ve made no secret of how you feel about my father,” she whispered with growing wariness. “Why marry his daughter?”

“Business. There are all these rumors in the press that I want to destroy Murray Oil, a company that once belonged to my beloved father.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. I would never pay an immense amount of money for a valuable property in order to destroy it.”

“But you think my father blackened your father’s name and then profited after buying your father out. That’s why you’re so determined to destroy everything he’s built, everything he loves … including Jaycee.”

His lips thinned. Suddenly, his eyes were arctic. “My father built Murray Oil, not yours. Only back then it was called Sullivan and Murray Oil. Your father seized the opportunity, when my dad was down, to buy him out at five cents on the dollar.”

“My father made the company what it is today.”

“Well, now I’m going to take it over and improve upon it. Marriage to a Murray daughter will reassure the numerous employees that family, not a vengeful marauder, will be at the helm of the business.”

“That would be a lie. You are a marauder, and you’re not family.”

“Not yet,” he amended. “But a few Saturdays hence, if I marry Jaycee, we will be … family”

“Never. Not over my dead body!” She expelled the words in an outraged gasp.

“The thought of anything so awful happening to your delectable body is hateful to me.” When he hesitated, his avid, searching expression made her warm again.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s say I take you at your word. You’re here to save your sister from me. And you’d die before you’d let me marry her. Is that right?”

“Essentially.”

“What else would you do to stop me? Surely there is some lesser, more appealing sacrifice you’d be willing to make to inspire me to change my mind.”

“I … don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, what if I were to agree to your proposal and forgo marriage to your lovely sister, a woman you say is so un-suited to my temperament I could never love her—I want to know what I will get in return.”

“Do you always have to get something in return? You wouldn’t actually be making a sacrifice.”

His smile was a triumphant flash of white against his deeply tanned skin. “Always. Most decidedly. My hypothetical marriage to your sister is a business deal, after all. As a businessman, I would require compensation for letting the deal fall through.”

Awful man.

His blue eyes stung her, causing the pulse in her throat to hammer frantically.

“Maybe … er … the satisfaction of doing a good deed for once in your life?” she said.

He laughed. “That’s a refreshing idea if ever I heard one, and from a very charming woman—but, like most humans, I’m driven by the desire to avoid pain and pursue pleasure.”

“And to think—I imagined you to be primarily driven by greed. Well, I don’t have any money.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“What do you want, then?”

“I think you know,” he said silkily, leaning closer. “You. You interest me … quite a lot. I believe we could give each other immense pleasure … under the right circumstances.”

The unavoidable heat in his eyes caused an unwanted shock wave of fiery prickles to spread through her body. She’d seriously underestimated the risk of confronting this man.

“In fact, I think we both knew what we wanted the moment we looked at each other today,” he said.

He wanted her.

And even though he was promised to Jaycee, he didn’t have a qualm about acknowledging his impossible, unsavory need for the skinnier, plainer, older sister. Maybe the thought of bedding his future wife’s sister improved upon his original idea of revenge. Or maybe he was simply a man who never denied himself a female who might amuse him, however briefly. If any of those assumptions were true, he was too horrible for words.

“I’m hungry,” he continued. “Why don’t we discuss your proposition over dinner,” he said.

“No. I couldn’t possibly. You’ve said more than enough to convince me of the kind of man you are.”

“Who are you kidding? You were prejudiced against me before you showed up here. If I’d played the saint, you would have still thought me the devil … and yet you would have also still … been secretly attracted. And you are attracted to me. Admit it.”

Stunned at his boldness, she hissed out a breath. “I’m not.”

Then why was she staring at his darling dimple as if she was hypnotized by it?

He laughed. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. “Or dinner plans you need to change?”

“No,” she admitted before she thought.

“Good.” He smiled at her as if he was genuinely pleased. “Then it’s settled.”

“What?”

“You and I have a dinner date.”

“No!”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked in that deep, velvet tone that let her know he had much more than dinner in mind. And some part of her, God help her, wanted to rush toward him like a moth toward flame, despite her sister, despite the knowledge that he wanted to destroy her family.

Kira was shaking her head vehemently when he said, “You came here today to talk to me, to convince me to do as you ask. I’m making myself available to you.”

“But?”

He gave her a slow, insolent grin. “If you want to save your sister from the Big Bad Wolf, well—here’s your chance.”

Two

When they turned the corner and she saw the gaily lit restaurant, Kira wished with all her heart she’d never agreed to this dinner with Quinn.

Not that he hadn’t behaved like a perfect gentleman as they’d walked over together.

When she’d said she wanted to go somewhere within walking distance of his office, she’d foolishly thought she’d be safer with him on foot.

“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 terrible?”

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.