Manhattan Boss, Diamond Proposal

‘I know.’

There was an awkwardness lying between them that hadn’t been there in a long time either. Quinn felt the loss of their usual ease with each other, but he couldn’t see how to fix it without continuing on the path he’d already taken.

‘What happens after the questionnaire?’

Lowering his gaze, he caught sight of her mouth twitching before she lifted her chin. ‘We have a sit down interview.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘About what?’

‘Dating etiquette…’

His eyes widened. She had to be yanking his chain. ‘You think I don’t know how to behave on a date?’

‘It’s how you behave we need to discuss.’ And now she was fighting off laughter, wasn’t she? He could see it in her eyes. ‘Men and women can have very different expectations of dating.’

Quinn was at a loss for words. Now he wasn’t just commitment-phobic, he didn’t know how to treat a woman either? She probably thought he kicked kittens too.

‘A lot of men expect a first date to end with—’

He held up a palm. ‘That debate can wait.’

When her mouth opened, he pointed a long finger towards the door. ‘Work now—deep water later. I don’t pay Pauley to hang on the phone all day.’

Waiting until the door clicked shut behind her, he stared at the wood, and then ran a palm down over his face. If she thought he was discussing his sex life with her in that little sit-down interview of hers then she could think again. And if she was going to delve into his private life on any level beyond the one he’d given her access to, then she’d better be prepared for the turnabout is fair play rule. In fact she could go first. His mom had raised all the Cassidy boys to be mannerly—no matter how much they’d protested.

Actually, now he had time to think about it, getting to know her better appealed to him. There were plenty of things he’d like to know that he’d never asked because it felt as if he’d be crossing some kind of invisible chalk line. If he delved beneath the surface a little he could find out if she was hiding behind the matchmaking. And if she was?

Well. He could use that.

Not to mention the point he now had to make regarding his eligibility as potential long-term partner material, should he ever decide to settle down—which, in fairness, wasn’t going to be any time soon.

But it was a matter of pride now…

All right, so she’d never believed her questionnaires were all that amusing until she started reading Quinn’s that evening at home. It turned out knowing someone beforehand shed a whole new light on the answers—some of them so blatantly Quinn they made her laugh out loud.

But then there were the other ones…

Ones that made her wonder if she knew him anywhere near as well as she’d thought she did, or if she’d ever made as much of an effort trying to get to know him as she should have. Thanks to the questionnaire, she wanted to know everything. Everything she might have missed or misconstrued. Even if she discovered along the way that the friend she had was an illusion she’d conjured up in her head. Like an invisible friend a small child needed after they’d gone through an emotional trauma they couldn’t deal with alone.

On paper Quinn was quite the package: stupidly rich, scarily successful at everything he did, liked pets, wanted kids one day, supportive of a woman’s need for a career as well as a family. Add all that to how he looked and it was a wonder he’d managed to stay single as long as he had…

It certainly wasn’t for the lack of women trying to hunt him down.

Ever since she’d first been introduced to Quinn he’d been either in the company of or photographed with stunningly beautiful women. None of them she now knew, as his PA, lasted beyond the maximum six-week cutoff point before he backed off and Clare was told to send a little blue box. And miraculously, barring the few weeping females she’d had to lend a sympathetic ear to, Clare was unaware of any of them stalking him. But surely one of them would have been worth hanging on to?

Thing was, if he genuinely was ready to make a commitment to someone then she was going to have to take their bet more seriously.

When the phone beside her sofa rang she picked it up without checking the caller ID. ‘Hello?’

‘What you doing?’

For some completely unfathomable reason her pulse skipped at the sound of his familiar rough-edged voice. ‘Talking to you on the phone. Why?’

It wasn’t as if she could confess to committing all his questionnaire answers to memory, was it?

‘Thought I’d come down for my interview.’

Now? Clare dropped her chin, her eyes widening at the sight of the minute cotton shorts and cropped vest she’d thrown on after her shower, sans underwear. Not that she’d ever felt the need to dress up to see him, but what she was wearing wasn’t designed for anyone’s eyes—not even her own in a mirror. It was a ‘not going anywhere on a hot, humid summer’s night’ outfit.

‘Are you home?’ The slightly breathless edge to her voice made her groan inwardly.

‘Yup, I’ll bring down a bottle of something.’

‘Erm…I’m not exactly dressed for company… You need to give me a minute.’

There was a pause.

Then, ‘And now you know I need to know, right?’

The way his voice had lowered an octave did something weird to her stomach. And her lack of a reply gave him reason enough to ask the obvious: ‘You are dressed right?’

‘Stop that.’

‘Well, at least I didn’t use the tell me what you’re wearing line.’

‘You may as well have.’ Feeling confident he wouldn’t appear while he was upstairs on the phone, she curled her legs underneath her and settled back, wriggling deeper into the massive cushions as she smiled at the all-too-familiar banter. ‘Friends don’t do that kind of phone call.’

After a heartbeat of a pause he came back with another rumbling reply, adding an intimacy to the conversation that unsettled her all over again. ‘I’d consider it, with that lilting accent of yours. We could do one as part of the date training I’m apparently in need of.’

She shook her head against the edge of the sofa and sighed. ‘I give up.’

‘’Bout time too. So tell me what you’re wearing that’s such a big problem.’

When a burst of throaty laughter made its way out of her mouth she clamped a hand over it to make sure nothing else escaped.

‘C’mon…it can’t be that bad. It’s sweats two sizes too big, isn’t it?’

She frowned, blinking at a random point on the wall over her mantel. Because, actually, she didn’t think she wanted one of the most eligible bachelors in New York thinking she couldn’t wear something sexy if she felt like it. Not that she was looking for a blue box of her own at any stage.

Widening her fingers enough to speak, she felt an inner mischievous imp take over. ‘How do you know I’m not wearing something sexy I don’t want you to see?’

When there was silence on the other end of the line she contemplated jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge out of embarrassment. And then, above the sound of her heart thundering in her ears, she heard an answer so low it was practically in the territory of pillow talk. ‘Are you flirting with me? Cos if you are…’

If she was—what? She swallowed hard and summoned up the control to keep her voice calm as she risked removing her hand from her mouth. ‘You’re the one who said he wanted it to be a training call.’

Another long pause. ‘A training call before a training date is a bit of a leap, don’t you think?’

‘I didn’t start this.’

Terrific. Now she was an eight-year-old.

‘I’d argue that, but let’s just give this another try. What exactly is it you’re wearing that means I can’t come down there right this second?’

‘You don’t think I even own anything sexy, do you? When you think of me down here you automatically assume I’m dressed like a slob.’

‘Can’t say I’ve ever wondered what you were wearing down there before this phone call.’

The Brooklyn Bridge was getting more tempting by the second.

Then he made her stomach do the weird thing again by adding ‘Always gonna wonder after this though. And any inappropriate thoughts I have will be entirely your fault. You’re the girl next door—I’m never s’posed to think of you as anything but cute.’

‘I’m the girl downstairs. And for your information I’m wearing something entirely too sexy to be considered cute.’ She almost added a so there.

‘Liar.’ She could hear him smiling down the line. ‘And don’t pout. With those braids in it makes you look about sixteen.’

Clare shot upright and looked out of the French windows leading to their small garden. To find Quinn sitting on the stone steps, long legs spread wide and a bottle of wine tucked under one arm while two glasses dangled from his fingers as he grinned at her. She didn’t even need to be closer to see the sparks of devilment dancing in the blue of his eyes. The rat.

He jerked his head. ‘C’mon out. It’s cooler now.’

‘I don’t drink wine with peeping Toms.’ She smirked.

‘I’m in my own backyard looking into an apartment I own and if you’d been naked I like to think you’d have had the sense to pull the drapes.’

She dropped her chin and looked down again.

There was another rumbling chuckle of laughter. ‘I promise not to make a pass at you. We haven’t even been on a training date yet.’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘No?’

Clare scowled at him. ‘No. It’s a discussion about dating—not a dress rehearsal.’

‘If you plan on winning this bet you might have to treat me as a special case.’ He even had the gall to waggle his dark brows at her before jerking his head again. ‘Come on.’

‘I’m staying where I am—it’s your dime.’

Quinn shrugged. ‘Okay, then.’

Clare sighed heavily while he lodged the receiver between his ear and his shoulder. Tugging the loosened cork free from the bottle, he set the glasses down before lifting them one by one to pour the deep red liquid. Then he set the bottle at the bottom of the steps before leaning forwards to place a glass by the door.

Lifting the other glass, he pointed a long finger. ‘That one’s yours.’

‘Can’t reach it from here…’

‘You’ll have to come get it, then, won’t you?’

‘I’m good, thanks.’

‘I’m not actually so desperate—’

‘Thanks for that.’ And, ridiculously, it hurt that he’d said it. ‘A little tip for you, Romeo: don’t use that line on any of the dates I send you on.’

‘I was going to say, not so desperate I have to force myself on a woman. You really think I’m slime, don’t you? When did that happen?’

Heat rising on her cheeks, she mumbled back, ‘I don’t think you’re slime.’

‘Good. Cos I was starting to wonder…’

Unable to hold his gaze for long, even from a distance, Clare frowned at the music she had playing in the background. It had been fine listening to the sultry tones when she’d been on her own, reading his questionnaire, but she really didn’t need a romantic ambience now he was there in person—especially when she was feeling so irrational with him close by. So she lifted the control, aiming it at the CD player.

‘No—leave it. I gave you that album for Christmas. Hardly likely to give you something I wouldn’t like listening to, was I?’

Clare had discovered a lot of the music she loved thanks to Quinn’s massive collection upstairs. When she’d first moved in she would hear it drifting downwards on the night air, and for weeks every morning conversation had started with ‘What were you playing last night?’

Sometimes she’d even wondered if, after a while, he’d chosen something different every night just to keep her listening. It had become a bit of a Cassidy-O’Connor game.

‘So, how’d I score on my questionnaire?’

The hand holding the controls dropped heavily to her side. He really didn’t miss a thing, did he? And there was no point trying to deny she’d been reading it when she still had it on her lap.

‘It’s not a test. Did you tell the truth all the way through it?’

‘The whole truth and nothing but; didn’t take the Fifth on a single one. Why?’

Clare shrugged, risking another look at him. ‘There was some stuff I didn’t know, that’s all.’

The familiar lazy smile crept across his mouth, and his voice dropped again. ‘Ahh, I see. Surprised you, did I?’

‘Maybe a little…’ She felt the beginnings of an answering smile twitching the edges of her mouth.

‘I did say we were still pretty new to this friendship thing.’

‘Yes, you did, but I really thought I knew you better. Now I feel like I wasn’t paying enough attention.’ When the confession slipped free of its own accord, her heart twisted a little in her chest, and her voice was lower as she followed the old adage of ‘in for a penny’. ‘And I’m sorry about that, Quinn—I really am. I should have been a better friend. You helped me out when I needed help most, when I was broke and jobless and about to become homeless. If you hadn’t been there…’

Quinn’s reply was equally low, and so gentle it made her heart ache. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing.’ She heard him take a breath. ‘I needed a PA; you needed a job. I had an empty apartment; you needed a place to live. It was good timing. And you were right to stay when you did. Don’t second-guess that—it took guts to stay.’

Great, now she had a lump in her throat. She even had to look away long enough to blink her vision back into focus. What was with her tonight? She hadn’t felt so vulnerable in a long, long while.

‘Do you miss home, O’Connor?’

‘I am home.’ Clare frowned down at her knees when she realized how the statement could be misconstrued. After all, she couldn’t keep living in Quinn’s basement for ever any more than she could keep relying on the job he’d given her. It was well past the point where she should have been able to step out from underneath his protective wing.

‘New York is home now.’ She made an attempt at lightening the mood. ‘And when I have lots of successful matchmaking nights at your clubs and half the door I can afford an apartment of my own, can’t I?’

The teasing smile she shot his way was met with one of his patented unreadable expressions. ‘Can’t get away from me fast enough, can you?’

‘I’m not trying to get away from you.’

‘Looks that way…’ He twisted the stem of the wine glass between his thumb and forefinger, dropping his gaze to study the contents. ‘You need to be careful there, O’Connor. You might hurt my feelings…’

He threw her a grin, but Clare’s heart twisted at the very thought of hurting him even the littlest bit. Not that she thought she ever could. It took a lot to get through Quinn’s outer shell—ninety-nine point nine percent of things were water off a duck’s back.

Without thinking, she swung her legs out over the edge of the sofa, looking straight into the dark pools of his eyes so he knew she was sincere—because she was

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