Make that two grave sites.
Loving meant losing. Didn’t it?
She closed her eyes to the easy morning light and wandered through the wispy memories that she normally kept locked away. Memories of eating pancakes at a round table in a sunny kitchen. Of a sweet-smelling lady reading to her, legs and arms intertwined on a cushy, blue-velvet sofa. Of a big, dark-haired man with a hearty laugh, who picked her up by her slender waist and flew her around the room, singing “Nicole the Pickle.”
She swallowed at the hard lump in her throat and blinked against the wetness in her eyes. Why was she letting her mind go to these forbidden places?
Because Quinn had touched her in some way. Some indescribable way that she didn’t want to be touched. Hadn’t Aunt Freddie done just fine, just really fine, without a husband?
A husband? She inhaled a sharp breath of stunned surprise at the thought and the highly charged emotional response it generated. Who said anything about a husband? At her sudden gasp, Mac’s hand moved from her tummy to her breast. Awake. She was almost afraid to turn over, afraid that he could read her thoughts and know she’d actually been lying there thinking about…a husband.
She felt his lips on her shoulder blade. “What are you thinking about, beautiful?”
Oh God. “Insurance policies.”
“Wow. I must have really knocked your socks off last night.”
She laughed a little. “Along with everything else I had on.”
“Hmm. Reminds me of those little pink undies. Would you wear them again? And nothing else?” He put enough pressure on her shoulder to turn her, but she still wasn’t quite ready to face him. “Hey,” he whispered. “Come to me.”
The words, that honey-toned voice, made her dizzy. Come to me. How could she not?
Slowly she rolled over, but instead of looking at him, she buried her face in his neck. He took her chin and lifted it toward him. The reaction in his eyes told her exactly how well he read her emotions.
“What’s the matter? Are you crying?”
She shook her head vehemently, but the lump in her throat enlarged. She nodded. Then shook her head again. He moved his hand over her face, palming her cheek, stroking her quivering lips with his thumb. “Why, baby? Did I make you cry?”
“I told you,” she said quietly. “Insurance.”
He stared at her for a minute and opened his mouth to say something. But the digital melody of his cell phone interrupted from across the room. He ignored it and continued to look at her.
“You can get it, Mac.”
He shook his head. “It can wait. Tell me what’s the matter.”
She gave him a little push. “Get your phone. It could be important this early in the morning.”
“Nah. It’s my boss. This is the middle of the day to him.” But he sat up and slipped out of bed, giving her a breathtaking shot of his tight, bare backside. Nicole stifled a moan. Now that was something to cry over.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, as he gruffly answered his phone using only his last name.
She pulled the covers up and scooted up on the pillow, studying the incredible muscles of his back, noticing a few pink fingernail scratches on his skin. Desire tickled between her legs and she reveled in it. Oh, yes. Far safer to think of the insanely wonderful moments from the night before…than the bittersweet and confusing thoughts that had awakened her.
“Today?” She heard the startled note in Mac’s voice. “Why today? We’re not ready to do that.”
A silent alarm rang in her heart. This was about Mar Brisas.
“I’ve never heard anything about another buyer.”
Another buyer? He must be talking about a different property.
“Northcott’s yanking your chain, Dan.”
Nope. This was about her. Nicole sat up a little higher on the pillow and waited for him to turn and share a look with her.
“How much?” Mac ran a hand through his morning hair.
Look at me, Mac. She wanted him as her accomplice, not her adversary with that icy mogul voice again. But he didn’t turn.
“That’s twenty-five percent over our offer. That bastard Northcott. He’s had this in his back pocket the whole time. That’s why he stalled on the papers.” Oh, he was in full mogul mode now. She’d bet he’d forgotten she was in the room. “I hear you. They want it as is, won’t go a dime higher for any improvements. So we match it.”
She could see the movements of his hand, scratching his chin in thought, listening to the “lunatic” who worked round the clock. “Well, the roof’s fixed.” He paused. “The owner found somebody to do it.”
Finally, he leaned on one arm and turned for a look at her. But his face was expressionless. No glimmer of hope, no worried frown, no shared secret.
“Let’s match the price, Dan,” he suddenly insisted, turning away. “We can’t back away now.”
Match the price? Can’t back away? What was going on?
He lowered his voice. “But I have to dig around the insurance problems a little longer. There’s a questionable clause that we’ll have to have changed.”
A sickening wave of nausea threatened Nicole’s stomach. He was still after the property. Nothing had changed. Nothing. He wasn’t on her side. She’d been dead wrong about him.
“I’ll meet with Northcott today.”
The same painful lump tightened Nicole’s throat again. For a different reason. An entirely different reason.
“Look, we should pay more now, Dan. The roof is fixed. Nearly fixed, anyway.” He listened again. “Oh, yeah. I can talk to her.” He looked at her again. This time with the faintest smile. “I’ve developed a fairly good working relationship with her.”
She felt her jaw drop. A working relationship? Nicole grabbed the sheet for coverage, yanked it off the bed and wrapped it around her, stumbling a bit toward the bathroom. The quivering in her stomach erupted into full-blown shakes. A working relationship?
She slammed the bathroom door behind her, leaned against the warm wood and waited. In less than thirty seconds, he was on the other side. “Nicole. Nicole. I have to talk to you.”
“Call my office,” she snarled. “We have a working relationship.”
“Come on. What am I going to say to my boss? Let me ask her, she’s right here in my bed?”
Nicole stared at the pale face in the mirror. Why was she so aghast? Did she expect him to change his mind and not buy the property after they slept together? Well, what did that make her? No better than Mr. The-Roof-Is-Fixed.
“Be honest,” she mouthed at her own blank expression.
He shimmied the door handle.
With a jerk, she flipped the lock and yanked the door open, swishing air with the movement. She clung to the knotted sheet at her chest and swallowed against his all-out masculine nudity. “You are a cool liar, Quinn McGrath. You had no problem telling him the roof was finished. What other tales have you been spinning?” The words were right at the edge of escape. You’re the one. Was that one of his lies, too?
“None.” If he knew what she was referring to, he didn’t reveal it. “The roof will be finished. At least, it could be. If I had more time.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You heard that conversation, Nicole, and you’re not stupid. You know what this means. Northcott’s got another buyer.”
She arched a brow and swept him with a look, avoiding a direct gaze at his casually exposed body. “So what? One’s as bad as the next.”
“No. This one won’t even entertain the possibility of restoring Mar Brisas and keeping you on. This one doesn’t want a single thing done. They won’t pay for the roof improvements because they’ve already offered a lot more than we have.”
She stared at him. “I don’t follow you.”
“Nicole, if we buy this property, there’s a chance—a slim one—that you could at least stay on and I could convince Dan to restore it instead of level it. Wouldn’t that make you happy?”
The sweet, implori
ng note in his voice touched a chord in her. “Happier than if you bulldozed it. I guess.”
“And now it looks like I’m going to have to convince Dan to cough up a lot more money if we’re going to buy. I had to tell him the roof had been fixed.”
At her skeptical look, he shrugged. “I could have the roof done by this weekend.”
“How?”
He raked a hand through his hair again, then crossed his arms, seemingly unaware that he didn’t have a stitch of clothes on his magnificent body. “I have a plan. A few simple steps.” He held up a finger to count, and Nicole tried to stay focused on it, not the rest of him.
“One. Finish the roof and get Dan to agree to meet the price of the other buyer.” His gaze dropped over her as he thought. “Two. Figure out how to get the insurance policy changed so we’re not stuck with that clause. Three.” He looked at her hands, clinging to the sheet at her breasts. “Three. I forget three.”
She wanted to smile. Wanted to drop the sheet and be just as naked as he was. “It must have something to do with getting rid of the other buyer.”
“Nope.” He nodded and glanced down at his own body. Her gaze followed. He was one very aroused mogul. “Three is to make really serious love to you. Now.” In a flash, he scooped her toward him but she flattened her palms on his chest, narrowing her eyes.
“This is not what I call a working relationship.”
With a sly grin, he pressed his erection into the fabric of the sheet. “It’s working for me.”
With more force than she expected to show, she pushed him away. “No, Quinn.” He winced at the name, but she held up her free hand. “It’s not working for me.”
He put his hands on her bare shoulders, his expression changing from sexy to serious. “Nicole, don’t let this property business come between us. We can work this out. I’m on your side. I’ll do everything in my power to have Jorgensen Development keep this place the way you want it. With you in charge.”
She stared at him. God, she wanted to believe him.
“Isn’t that what you want?” he asked.
That unwelcome ball of emotion started in her damn throat again, closing up her windpipe and threatening to choke her. “I’m not sure what I want anymore. I can’t divide my course of action into three easy steps and march on like you can. I…I—”
Oh, why did he have to confuse her with that unexpected confession last night? You’re the one. Was it simply erotic mutterings in the throes of passion? She had to know.
“Mac?”
He reached his hand out and tentatively touched her chin, melting her. “What is it?”
If she knew the truth and the truth was what she suspected it might be, then what? What did that do to her simple plans for the rest of her life?
She took a deep breath. And chickened out. “How the heck are you going to get that roof finished and deal with the bank?”
He snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah. That was step three.”
“What?”
He grinned. “Honestly, I have a plan.”
Sure he did. Moguls always did.
Eleven
Everything seemed empty once she left. Quinn wandered around the main room of the villa, then out to the porch to watch the flat waves slurp against the sand. He held a cup of coffee that turned cold before he ever tasted it.
He was in way, way too deep.
Not with the business end of the deal, because he felt confident that he could beat Northcott at his game and fairly certain he could get Jorgensen to agree to restoring, instead of destroying, Mar Brisas. It wouldn’t be easy, but Quinn had faced far tougher challenges.
No, it was Nicole Whitaker, the Lady in Blue. Or white. Or pink. That’s who had him drowning right now. He closed his eyes and imagined her face as they’d made love. Just the thought of it stirred him sexually, but if that organ were the only one in action, he wouldn’t have given Nicole too much thought beyond how to get her back in bed again. It was another body part, the one dead center in the middle of his chest, which overtook Quinn McGrath.
No woman had ever made him feel so…complete. Whole. Like he’d spent the last however-many years looking for one lost piece of a puzzle to slide into place to finish a picture. When he found it and it fit, whoa. It was satisfying to the bone.
He exhaled slowly through puffed cheeks. What the hell was the matter with him? She lived in Florida. He lived in New York. She was a beachcombing, free-spirited handy-man-in-a-dress and he was a six-figure corporate executive who held power meetings and talked tough.
But they fit together. They just fit.
He sipped the cold coffee and, over the rim of his cup, he saw two dolphins break the surface of the water in a graceful, diving curl, then disappear. Did dolphins mate for life? He’d read that somewhere, he thought, as he watched the ripples of water they’d caused.
But it wasn’t the question of lifelong mates that vexed him. That, oddly enough, seemed downright natural. But something was bothering him. His trusted gut instinct was on fire and he had no idea how to douse it.
He had a plan, didn’t he? Fix the roof. Easy. Hammer out a new price. Doable. Get Dan to agree to the restoration and keep Nicole on board. Fine.
But was it? Where did his neat little plan leave that woman who’d put her heart and soul and blood into Mar Brisas? An employee, at the whim of some invisible corporation, after her great-grandfather had built the place, for crying out loud.
It simply wasn’t good enough for the woman he…for the one. The need to make her happy rocked him with its sheer force. Sure, he wanted her in his arms and in his bed and in his life, but more than that, he wanted her to be happy.
The dolphins leaped again. Together for all time, or just a brief interlude in the salt and sea?
Quinn’s throat suddenly went dry. If he wanted her happiness more than his—really wanted it, not just said he did—then what did that mean? If that wasn’t the definition of…love, then what the hell was it?
Quinn stared at the glassy Gulf, letting the reality wash over him like the changing tide, waiting for the dolphin couple to jump in agreement.
But they were gone. As he would be once he fixed her roof and solved her problems and got back on that plane to New York. Gone.
He turned away from the water view and walked toward the kitchen. No doubt about it. He was in way, way, way too deep.
When he found the manila folder he’d brought over from Nicole’s villa, he dumped the contents on the counter. Flipping to the insurance policy, he stared at the sea of six-point type that covered the page. Who could possibly stand to read this garbage word for word?
He could.
He dropped onto the bar stool and frowned at the paper, the fire in his belly raging now. This is what really bothered him. Quinn McGrath’s trusted gut was screaming at him. Something, somewhere in this mass of fine print was a mistake, a loophole, a violation, an omission or a flippin’ typo that would get Nicole Whitaker what she deserved. Because nothing less would do for her.
But just in case his gut let him down again, he needed a backup plan. Picking up the phone and dialing a number from memory, he smiled to himself. This plan was brilliant. It rang twice before being answered.
“Brace yourself,” Quinn said, certain his voice didn’t need to be identified. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’m in love.”
Nicole squeezed her eyes closed as she passed the billboard on Route One, just long enough to avoid reading it, but not endanger her life. Then she kept her gaze straight ahead, navigating the morning traffic with ease as she continued on her impulsive journey to Aunt Freddie’s. She hated that her aunt had moved off St. Joseph’s, but understood that her dressmaking business had grown so nicely that she needed far more space than she could afford now that real estate had shot sky-high on the island.
Real estate. Did every thought have to return to the same avenue? She swallowed, remembering their awkward goodbye, when he’d tried to kiss her an
d she’d dodged him and somehow managed to slip out the door.
It had been so bad, Nicole hadn’t even stopped to drop her clothes off or change in her temporary quarters. She just climbed in her car with the single objective of getting away from Mar Brisas and Quinn. Or Mac. Or whatever the heck he wanted to be called.
“McLiar,” she muttered as she opened the door to the unattached garage Freddie used as a workroom. “That would just about cover everything.”
Freddie looked up from a mountain of gold lamé, her black hair swooped up into a swinging ponytail, her face unadorned by any makeup.
“The lamé? It shouldn’t cover anything. It should be worn alone, with grace. Only, of course, if you have the right coloring.” Freddie waved the material in the air. “Hello, sweet pea. What takes you away from work on this lovely morning?”
Nicole smiled, knowing her decision to run was the right one. “A couple of lovebirds are paying good money for the use of my villa. Can I stay here for a few days?”
Freddie opened her mouth, frowned, and shut it. “Of course. What a grand idea.”
Grand. Yeah. “I just need somewhere to sleep for a couple of nights.” Other than villa 1601. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t,” Freddie said with a wary glance.
To avoid it, Nicole wandered to a row of armless, headless mannequins, each swathed in the brilliant colors and feminine designs of FreddieWear. She fingered the gauze fabric of one. “This is pretty.”
“Mmm. A lot like that skirt you’re wearing.”
Nicole looked down at the white skirt, remembering Quinn’s fingers in the waistband and on the zipper. “You know, I think I’ll get my bags and change.”
“I like that top with it, though.” Freddie said. “It’s far more, how should I say…revealing than what I originally designed for it. It suits you.”
Nicole turned away toward the door. In a moment, Aunt Freddie would surely know exactly what Nicole had been revealing and to whom.
“It’s a thrill to see you in something that flatters your beautiful figure instead of hiding it.” Freddie’s words held Nicole in place. “It must be that Jupiter’s stuck in Aries, forcing change in your life.”
Like a Hurricane Page 13
