Like a Hurricane

by Roxanne St Claire

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, a warm twinkle in her eyes turning them a stunning sapphire blue. “And they hang a mean roof tile, too,” she said.

  “I had to play all my cards today,” Quinn said, still fighting the urge to plant one on her pretty mouth. “If my hunch was wrong on the insurance policy, then I knew we had to get this roof done fast.”

  Colin stood and gestured across the lines of the roof. “And, frankly, she’s a beauty. A perfect balance of flat and hip with a few high pitches. The architect had a real eye for a bona fide Spanish slant.”

  “My great-grandfather designed and built it,” Nicole said, a note of pride in her voice. “I’ve always loved the angles of it.”

  Quinn crossed his arms and shot Cameron a look. As much as he appreciated the fact that his brothers dropped everything to offer their unique expertise and capable hands, he sure as hell didn’t want to hang out and compare roof lines.

  Without a word, Cameron started retrieving tools, his subtle body language sending the message back to Colin. In a few minutes, Quinn walked them out of the storage suite, promised to see them in a few hours and ignored their knowing glances as he shut the door and slid the chain lock into place.

  He took a deep breath and headed back to the roof. God, he couldn’t wait to be alone with her. Especially since he’d essentially squeezed himself right out of her life today—and probably out of his partnership in the process. Every minute they had left was precious. He climbed the ladder on the balcony, balancing on the top step for an unimpeded view of the roof.

  She perched on the edge of a dormer, her long legs crossed, her short skirt high on her thighs. She leaned back on her hands, gazing toward the Gulf and the last vestiges of sunset. She inhaled and let out a long, content sigh, the movement causing her magnificent breasts to strain the fabric of her blouse. A sudden, loopy grin broke across her face.

  He’d put that smile there, Quinn thought with satisfaction. So, what’s a little career derailment if it makes the woman he…the woman he…if it makes her happy.

  She turned to see him watching her. “So you’re not Donald Trump after all.” She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to one side. “I had you all wrong, mister mogul. I had you all wrong.”

  He folded his arms and leaned on a warm clay tile. “Baby, you can have me wrong or right. Take your pick. Although I prefer wrong.”

  She shot him a sexy smile and dropped her head back, her hair grazing the roof behind her. She sighed like a content kitten and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Quinn.”

  The pose was so innocently seductive that it took his breath away. “Mac,” he corrected her automatically, imagining just how careful they’d have to be if he took her right there on the perfectly balanced pitch of the roof that his brother had admired.

  He considered the balcony; it was dark enough for them to have privacy now. Or maybe the floor of the storage suite. How about all three? “So, am I coming up there to get my proper thanks, or are you coming down here?”

  Slowly, she stood, the skirt still high enough to reveal her long, firm thighs. His groin tightened as he gazed at them, then he hoisted himself up to offer his hand.

  He waited on the lower rungs of the ladder until she reached it, then found solid footing on the balcony as he watched her climb down a few steps at an exasperatingly slow pace. From his vantage point, he could see all the way up her skirt to the top of her thigh. She bent to reach a step and he caught a whisper of bright-red lace.

  “The views at this resort are incredible,” he said with a chuckle, reaching to help her down the last few steps. “You never know what colors you’re going to see.”

  He heard her soft laugh as his hand glided over her skirt and caressed her thigh. She took one more step down, the action pushing the skirt into a bunch around her waist. Then she turned and without a word, she reached for him and covered his mouth with a hot, sudden kiss. Her tongue moved in and out. And in and out.

  “I love that move,” she said huskily into his mouth. “Thanks for teaching it to me.”

  “My pleasure.” His erection pulsed against her. “Literally.”

  She practically purred in his arms. “I do mean to thank you properly,” she said softly, lips to lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a room right now and yours is full of McGraths.”

  “There’s a mattress in the room behind us,” he said, moving his hands over her backside and around to caress her breasts.

  “It’s leaning against the wall.”

  His hand settled on the V-neck of the blouse. “I can do it standing up,” he whispered, flipping open the top button to reveal the first glorious inch of cleavage. “Or on the floor.” He unbuttoned the next two. “Or on this ladder.” He finished the task and pushed the blouse aside to feast his eyes on her, smiling at the sight of the red lace against her beautiful breasts. “Always matching. That’s my girl.” He slipped his fingers between the flimsy fabric and her soft, supple skin, the heat of her engorged nipple searing his hand. “And I happen to love red.”

  She giggled and moaned at the same time. “I thought you loved blue.”

  “I love…” the words stuck in his throat, “…every color you wear.” He unsnapped the front clip and let her bountiful flesh spill into his hands. “I love it even more when it comes off.”

  She inched back against the ladder, letting her shirt and bra fall open, revealing herself to him.

  “You are so gorgeous, baby,” he managed to say, his breath caught in his throat and he leaned in to kiss her.

  She took his head in her hands and pulled him into a long, hungry kiss, finally stepping down to solid ground. Without breaking the kiss, he backed her through the open sliding doors into the darkened room. Still kissing and caressing, they undressed each other, anxious and needy, the sweltering room and heated passion making them glossy with sweat. He grabbed the condom he’d put in his wallet that morning and she slid it on him, her shaking hands turning him on even more.

  “There’s the bed, honey,” Nicole said, nodding toward the mattress leaning against the wall and still covered with plastic. “At least it’s brand new.”

  Mac looked at the queen-size mattress. A massive antique dresser stood two feet in front of it, eliminating the possibility of flipping it down. He turned to Nicole, who wore nothing but a sexy smile. With one hungry sweep of her gorgeous body, he made a quick decision.

  He grabbed the top of the plastic covering the mattress and yanked it off. With the other hand, he pulled her into him and backed her against the satiny tufts of the mattress.

  “Put your legs around me,” he urged as he lifted her up off the ground and rubbed his erection between her legs. Holding her firmly by her narrow waist, he slid her onto him, taking her breath away as he buried himself all the way into her.

  There was nothing gentle about their need for each other. She grabbed his shoulders and rode him. With each thrust, he tumbled harder and faster toward oblivion, unable to slow or stop the sensation swallowing him. He let himself go, murmuring her name, whispering endearments, telling her everything but the three wildly foreign words that screamed in his brain.

  He felt her rock with another orgasm, her mindless, wild noises pushing him further and further to the edge. Finally, he let go completely, relief and release flooding through him as he closed his eyes and spilled into her in long, gratifying bursts.

  Exhausted and spent, they slid down the side of the mattress and curled into each other on the floor. The aching pressure was finally gone. Well, gone from his lower half, anyway. Nothing had lifted the weight from his heart.

  He kissed her hair and she sighed softly. Had it dawned on her what he’d done today? He’d saved her property, yes. He’d also eliminated all ties between them. Now he had no place in her life, no business in her world. He’d ensured that with his heroics that afternoon with Northcott.

  It didn’t matter, he tried to tell himself. She was happy.

  But he…was not.
He’d finally found her, the one his grandmother promised him was out there somewhere, waiting just for him. He found her. And now, he had to leave her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, looking up and stroking his face with delicate, damp fingertips.

  He nodded and smiled, unable and unwilling to speak.

  “You feel…lost.”

  “I am,” he admitted. Then he kissed her with all the tenderness he’d forgotten to show in the last heated ten minutes. They kept their eyes open during the kiss, a long and sensual message passing between them. “I’m lost in your blue eyes, lady.”

  She smiled, and ran a finger over his lips. “You’re a smooth talker, Quinn McGrath. And now, I’d like you to tell me exactly what you said to Tom Northcott that changed his mind.”

  “You only want me for my skills at the negotiating table.”

  She moaned softly. “Good heavens. After this, I can’t wait to see what you can do on a table.”

  Before Mac could provide the explanation Nicole expected, his cell phone rang from the heap of clothes they’d left on the floor.

  He cursed under his breath.

  “The lunatic?” Nicole asked.

  Mac nodded and moved toward the clothes, and immediately Nicole missed his touch. “I’ve been expecting his call. I left a message about the property.”

  Nicole heard the note of inevitable doom in Mac’s voice. “Don’t think he’ll take the news well, huh?”

  With a slow, negative shake of his head, he pulled the phone from the chaos of clothes and flipped it open.

  He barely said his name, then closed his mouth and listened. Every time he started a sentence, he stopped and took in an earful.

  In the dim light, she could see his impassive expression. It occurred to her that maybe he needed privacy.

  Quietly, she moved to the clothes and slipped on her underwear and skirt. Mac watched her while he listened, nodding and saying the occasional “uh-huh.”

  She reached for her bra and he caught her hand. “Don’t leave,” he mouthed.

  “I’ll go on the balcony,” she whispered.

  He shook his head vehemently and pulled her into him. Then he cleared his throat. “Now it’s my turn, Dan.”

  Nicole sucked in a breath at the tone in his voice and froze. She wanted to hear what he was about to say.

  “Tom Northcott’s brother, a crack insurance agent, finagled a no-fault policy on this property that just about assured that the holder was screwed.” He paused. “Because he got a sizable bonus from the insurance company for some very creative wording. And no one from the bank, conveniently enough, sent a copy of the policy to the state, so the owner never received the proper notification—one that is required by Florida law—and therefore, the policy is null and void.”

  Nicole listened in amazement. Why would Tom do that to her? Just to protect his brother?

  “Northcott had a very specific fiduciary benefit,” Mac said, apparently answering the same question she’d been posing. “His brother’s on the run for insurance scams, Northcott was protecting him and at the same time, a Mar Brisas foreclosure gets a fat debt off the books.”

  Mac paused and ran a gentle hand over her shoulder and continued, “And since you’ve ensured him thirty-five additional mortgages…”

  Mac let his voice drop, the implication obvious. Nicole looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

  “No,” he said quietly. “That’s not illegal. It’s unethical—” He closed his eyes and sighed softly. “Yeah, it’s business.”

  Nicole didn’t need to hear the rest. So Tom had quite a bit to gain from this deal with Dan Jorgensen. And he got to keep his brother out of hot water at the same time.

  She stepped out to the balcony and closed the door behind her without looking at Quinn. Leaning over the railing, she saw a few couples taking evening swims and, farther in the distance on the sand, she could see two men throwing a football.

  Cameron and Colin. How amazing to have such a family, she marveled. They just stopped their lives—probably as busy and important as Quinn’s—and came to help him.

  A soft salty breeze lifted her hair and kissed her skin, leaving behind a whisper of goose bumps. Just like Mac had, she thought. For a moment she closed her eyes and remembered the overwhelming sensations of making love to him. Fast and furious or slow and sweet, he melted her with every kiss and every touch.

  How could she say goodbye?

  The question, once finally voiced in her head, repeated itself.

  How could she let him go?

  She could, of course. She would. She must. He was just a fling; a fun, crazy, sexy romp.

  A romp? She was calling that gut-wrenching, soul-shaking, heart-squeezing vertical dance a romp? She’d never experienced anything like him—not just sexually, but on some other level. Since she’d met him, she needed to be with him every minute that they were apart.

  She loved the sound of his voice, and what he had to say. She loved his dry humor and his good heart. She loved the way he worked and the way he cared and his sense of responsibility. She loved his laugh and his mouth and his eyes. She loved…

  Him.

  A romp. Right.

  But what did she expect of him now? It certainly sounded like his career might be on the rocks with this latest setback for Jorgensen Development, but he had a life, an apartment, friends—a whole baseball team—in New York. And she, thanks to him, had Mar Brisas again.

  They had no future. She stifled a little grunt of pain at the thought. Well, they had tonight. And certainly the rest of the weekend. She’d move back into a room and they wouldn’t leave for seventy-two hours—

  The sound of the sliding glass door broke her reverie. He wore his pants, the belt buckle hanging open, and no shirt. His expression was still unreadable.

  “All done?” she asked.

  “I am if I don’t get on a plane in about two hours.”

  “What?” A rock of panic formed in her chest. “Why would you have to go now? At least stay for the rest of your vacation, Quinn.”

  He reached for her hand. “It’s Mac.”

  She pulled away. “It’s Quinn when I’m mad at you.”

  “Don’t be mad at me.” He folded his arms around her and held her against his chest. She could hear the steady beat of his heart, matching hers.

  She leaned back, just enough to see his face. “You’re not really leaving, are you?”

  “I can’t stay.”

  The words cut her like a switchblade to the heart. She looked down, letting the hairs of his chest tickle her cheek.

  After a moment, he tipped her chin up and searched her eyes. “You do understand that there are no real days off in my business, Nicole.”

  She felt slashed again. “As well as the fact that there are no ethics, either.”

  “Some questionable ones, yes.”

  She narrowed her eyes in accusation. “Aren’t you outraged that your boss would orchestrate such a thing?”

  “He didn’t,” he said. “He just played all his cards in order to get what he wanted. That’s bus—”

  “Stop.” She put her hand over his mouth, but he took it, kissed it and laced his fingers through hers.

  “It’s cutthroat and it’s tough and sometimes it’s ugly, Nicole. But it’s business.”

  The pain squeezed at her chest, constricting the air. Taking a ragged breath, Nicole stepped away. “I guess I wasn’t wrong about you after all. You’re a mogul to the core.”

  She reached for the sliding door and he grabbed her hand. “No, I’m not. Business is just one part of me.”

  “It’s the most important part.”

  He shook his head, frustration darkening his eyes. “No. It isn’t.”

  She stopped and stared. “Then what is, Mac?”

  She held her breath and could have sworn he did the same as they regarded each other. What is, Mac?

  She waited for the word. One word would do the trick. One word would keep
her there, have her in his arms, give her a reason to hope.

  You.

  “I need to go home and figure that out,” he finally said.

  She let out a slow breath and looked at him, imagining what it would be like when he got home. When he settled into his Manhattan apartment, and sat behind the wheel of God-knows-what expensive car, when he had a few beers with his baseball buddies and things calmed down at work…then Nicole Whitaker would just be a pleasant memory.

  Hating the tears that threatened, she pushed past him and made it into the room before he caught the sleeve of her blouse. “Nicole, don’t. How can you leave like this?”

  She spun around. “I could ask you the same question, Quinn.” Then she held up her hands, determined to stop the words and emotions that were about to tumble out, shaking her head to get a hold of herself.

  She strode to the door and forced the chain back with shaking hands, whipping the door open before she stopped and turned back to him.

  “I have to ask you another question.” She gathered her strength and looked straight into his eyes. Straight into his soul. “What did you mean when you said…‘you’re the one’?”

  His face changed. It softened, the edges of his jaw loosening, the blaze in his eyes cooling ever so slightly.

  “The truth, Mac,” she insisted.

  But she could read the truth in that face. Whatever he was about to say, it was going to hurt one of them. Bad.

  Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and ran down the hall, making it to the stairwell before the tears actually fell on her cheeks.

  Thirteen

  Aunt Freddie, bless her heart, tried everything. She studied the astrological signs, pampered Nicole with aromatherapy and naturally sweetened brownies, and used her gentle humor to coax a smile from her niece. Nothing worked.

  Nicole knew she had every reason to be happy. She had Mar Brisas back. Monday morning, she promised herself, she’d celebrate and start the process of repair and restoration.

  But until then, she needed to nurse her heartbreak. Nicole lingered late into the night on Freddie’s secret rooftop patio, thinking of where she’d gone wrong…and right.