“Well are you going to at least tell me what you’re doin’ here?” Quest didn’t bother with preventing the agitation from clouding his voice.
“Why don’t you tell me about this lovely young thing you’ve gone crazy over?”
Quest’s suspicion increased ten-fold. He set the glass on the mahogany bar with such force that remnants of Scotch sloshed over the edges. “Get to it, Marc,” his voice took on a deeper, more gravely undertone.
“She’s a writer,” Marc replied without hesitation. “If I understood correctly, her genre revolves around powerful black families,” he folded his arms across the crisp blue shirt he wore. “From what I hear, she’s quite a lady and I’d have no problem with you seeing her if our family were more normal.”
“The book is dead, Marc.”
“But the investigation isn’t.”
Quest turned away, his jaw muscle working fiercely beneath his skin.
“This investigation has to come to an end,” Marc was saying as he followed his nephew across the room.
Quest turned. “Do you realize there may be a chance that we’re not even responsible for Sera’s death?”
“Fool,” Marc hissed, his brow furrowed to the point that it was difficult to tell where his brow ended and his bald head began. “This is about more than the death of some little fast-assed girl who was sniffin’ around you and Quay! Your little girlfriend’s poking around could uncover a great many things. She’d be too interested not to poke further.”
“Things,” Quest’s misty gray eyes had darkened to pitch black. “A great many things, you say,” he added, strolling the line of his cheek as he circled Marcus. “I hope you’re not leaving out your own dealings. Dealings I’m sure my father knows nothing about. You always stay true to form, Marc. Always lookin’ out for number one.”
Marcus managed a smile. “Know this,” he said, sneering and stepping closer to his nephew, “aside from my foolish brother, Houston, no one in this family wants a book, an investigation, or any knowledge of what happened at that damned party. Get rid of her, Quest...or forget us.”
Quest winced. “What?”
“You heard me. No way will this family tolerate some snoop hoping for her next big story to break.” Marc rested a hand on Quest’s shoulder. “I don’t care how good a lay she is.”
A gargled sound filled the room then. Marc had barely finished his last statement when Quest’s hand rose to practically smother his neck in an iron grip. Marc’s eyes widened in obvious shock over Quest’s uncharacteristic loss of temper. His fingers pried against Quest’s hand in hopes of loosening the grip.
Quest maintained his hold, until he’d escorted his uncle across the living room. He whipped open the door. “Michaela is my family, Marc.” He said, pulling the man close. “The fact that you're my uncle will not stop me from half killing your ass,” Quest released his hold. “Forget this address,” he advised, before slamming the door un Marc’s face.
Mick had listened to the angry exchange from her spot on the first floor landing. With a quiet sigh, she turned and headed back upstairs.
~~~
Lunch that afternoon was enjoyed beneath the gazebo near the river. The incredible spread of roast chicken and beef sandwiches was barely touched by the diners, however. After a while, Mick tired of pretending and set her plate aside.
“I talked to Harriet Forman this morning. The Forman Hotel?” she added for clarification.
Quest recognized the name and grimaced., “Michaela, I’m not interested in that right now,” he told her in his softest voice.
Mick took no offense. She wasn’t interested in the subject either. “Then let’s discuss the real issue at hand,” she decided, her heart lurching in dread of what she was about to say- what had to be said.
“This has all been lovely and I’d do anything to relive it, but I think we both know it can never happen again.”
Quest looked up then, his eyes filled with unspoken questions.
“I heard you talking with your uncle this morning.”
Anger returned full-fold and Quest’s face tightened into a sinister mask. He pushed his plate away. “Jackass,” he muttered while leaving the table.
“He was right, Quest.”
“Mick-”
“Your family would never accept me,” she pulled the napkin from her jean-clad thighs and slapped it to the table. “If all the things you’ve told me are true, they’d always be on guard around me. And you’d always be on edge with them because of the way you feel it’s affecting me. I can’t have you lose touch with your family and that closeness because of me.”
Quest fixed her with a suddenly helpless look. “I love you,” he whispered as though it were the only thing he was certain of.
Her heart melted. “I love you too,” tears pooled her eyes when he appeared shocked that she’d returned the sentiment.
A moment later, Quest was pulling her into a crushing embrace. His mouth melted with hers in a searing kiss.
“You made me see that love is real,” she said when he pulled back. “Not just some word that may or may not have power. Love is action. Physical, yes, but also the act of sharing, sharing all your fears and truly being concerned about mine. You’ve shown me all that and more and I love you for it.”
Quest’s eyes narrowed as he brushed the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand.
“But while you’re ready to turn your back on your flesh and blood for that love,” she said, squeezing his hand in hers. “I’m not ready to let you do that. Family is too important.”
“You’re my family.”
“They’re your blood They’ve always been there. Always cared for you,” she shook her head as she spoke. “I’ve never had that and while you may take it for granted, I can’t and I can’t be with you knowing what you’re sacrificing by being with me.”
Quest leaned closer, peering directly into her eyes. “Are you suggesting I let you go?” he whispered in disbelief.
“You have to.”
“That’s not an option.”
“Quest-”
“No.”
“Listen to me,” she whispered, making him sit along the gazebo’s vine-covered ledge. “My third book was about a family out of Oklahoma. The Cowans.”
Quest rolled his eyes. “Michaela-”
“Please listen,” she pounded her fists lightly against his denim shirt. “Let me say this, alright?” she waited for him to nod. “For me, the most emotional part of the story involved the patriarch and matriarch of the family- Blue and Esther Cowan. They’d overcome so many struggles to be together, raising seven children, being black during the Depression.” Mick shook her head. “They had all the odds against them, but they knew they wanted a life together,” she said, taking a seat next to Quest along the railing.
“She was fourteen and he was fifteen when they married. Her parents weren’t as much against their youth as they were against Blue himself. Esther said they hated him passionately- he had no family, no money, no prospects, but she loved him. They were both in their eighties when Esther told me this story. She’d loved Blue all of her life, in spite of the struggles. But even with all that love, there was still a place in her heart that was filled with hatred. It was a tiny place, but a place just the same. She said she didn’t hate her husband, but it was because of him that she had to choose against ever having her parents in her life.”
Quest pulled a windblown curl away from Mick’s cheek. “Baby what the hell does this have to do with anything?”
Mick caught his hand. “Quest, don’t you see? I can’t live knowing a place like that could exist in your heart for me. That’s a choice no one should have to make, especially when their family loves them the way yours loves you.”
Quest muttered a curse. “That’s a foolish reasoning Michaela. Besides, a family with that sort of love wouldn’t allow there to be a choice to begin with,” his gray eyes slanted Mick a probing look as he watched her shake her head. He k
new that he wouldn’t convince her. She’d been through too much, years of disappointment and hurt- longing for family and love. What she couldn’t understand was that unconditional love wasn’t always an option in family. Because of that, it made one wonder if family was worth all the headache.
“I’m going to pack,” she said softly already easing off the railing.
Quest caught her wrist before she got too far. He said nothing, simply held on to her wrist, his thumb stroking the pulse point hidden beneath the extra-long sleeve of the lavender knit top she wore. When he released her at last, Mick all but ran from the gazebo. Alone, Quest walked over to the table they’d shared. With one swift move of his arm, he swiped everything from the surface.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Instead of remaining home after she and Quest parted ways, Mick prepared for another trip. This time, to a private park in Newport, Rhode Island, where she often traveled to enjoy a few days of fishing, hiking or just quiet thinking time. She knew it was all a cowardly act, but she couldn’t handle Driggers’ questions, mostly because she had no answers. Letting go of Quest was the very last thing she ever wanted. Of course, she better than anyone was well aware that one could rarely have what one wanted.
Mick squatted near the straw basket she’d carried to the lake. Setting aside her fishing poles, she opened the basket to check her supplies. She was placing the cap back on a can of bait when she heard boots crunching upon dirt and brush in the distance. She waited, her exotic amber eyes widening just briefly when Quest came into view.
“County,” Mick breathed, standing to wipe her hands across the seat of her jeans.
Quest placed his fishing gear to the ground. “She and Driggers asked me to come out and check on you, since you won’t talk to anybody else,” he fixed her with a challenging stare while folding his arms across the front of his oatmeal heather polo shirt.
Mick spread her hands about her. “As you can see, I’m fine.”
Quest offered no response, though he couldn’t help but treat himself to the sight of her looking sexy and deliciously rugged in the faded jeans and snug-fitting navy blue and olive-green flannel shirt. Slowly, his gray stare narrowed toward the lake. “That your boat?” his mouth curved into a half smile as he surveyed the twenty-foot Bowrider in the calm lake.
“It’s mine,” she confirmed, her expression grim. “I was looking forward to being alone.”
Quest smiled and looked down, accepting the dig. “I know, but you wouldn’t want to be breaking your promise to me now, would you?”
Mick only tilted her head and watched him curiously.
“The fishing trip, we were supposed to take back at the cabin,” he said, “you weren’t up for it,” he added softly.
Michaela blinked, feeling her cheeks burn as memories of that time filled her mind. Without another word, she collected her gear and headed for the dock, Quest followed.
The lake was calm and crystal clear with a spectacular view from any direction. Quest and Mick did not speak as they baited hooks and cast their lures. They celebrated one another’s catches, but that was the only interaction they shared. Hours passed, morning turned into late afternoon. The two headed back to shore and came to an unspoken decision that Quest would follow her back to the cottage she’d rented. Inside, their unspoken communication continued. They cleaned the fish in the shed a short distance from the cottage, then took their catch inside.
Mick told Quest where he could settle in, before she headed for a shower. She pampered herself beneath the water’s heavy spray and indulged in the fragrant gels and shampoos she’d packed. She would not allow herself to think of Quest and why he wouldn’t at least try to accept that it couldn’t happen between them. But, then, she already knew why. It was the same reason that she’d been so surprised and so very happy to see him that morning. It was why she was so happy to have him there now. She loved him.
Later, Mick stood at the top of the short, navy-blue carpeted stairway and inhaled. The unmistakable smells of fish and fresh vegetables filled the air. The lulling tones of classical instrumentals softly intruded into the otherwise silent atmosphere. After a moment, Mick shook herself to reality, hoping to dismiss the deja vu that washed over her as she recalled a similar scene the evening after she and Quest first made love.
He was there in the kitchen, placing the last of the golden fish on a heavy blue and white ceramic platter. Mick saw the table was set with condiments for the fish, a bottle of white wine chilled in the center of the table.
“Dig in,” Quest called, seeing her standing there.
Mick offered no hesitation in obeying the request. Dinner was a silent event.
~~~
Mick dozed lightly from her spot on the armchair before the fire. After they ate, Quest had insisted on cleaning the kitchen himself. No hefty task, since he cleaned as he cooked which made the chore far less cumbersome. Now he too enjoyed the fire, relaxing on the sofa that flanked Mick’s chair. His long legs extended before him as he rested his feet against the coffee table.
“You know I love you, Michaela,” his deep voice was solemn.
“I know. I love you too,” she managed once her heart had ceased its lurching.
Quest grimaced. “So you say.”
Her head lifted. “You doubt me?”
Quest didn’t take his eyes from the fire. “I don’t doubt you meant to say the words. If you know what the words mean, is what I question.”
“Quest-”
“Love doesn’t run when things get rocky, Michaela,” he said, still reclining on the sofa with his hands hidden in the pockets of the forest-green sweats he wore. “Love fights to stay,” he continued, “it doesn’t give a damn about who does or doesn’t approve. If you knew what love was, you’d know that.”
Mick’s breathing came in shuddery gasps, her eyes pooling with tears. Quest’s words had been as hurtful as a slap. Yet, reluctantly, she acknowledged that he was most likely right. Sitting up straight in her chair, she smoothed her hands across her legs left bare by the short hemline of her denim dress. “If I don’t know what love is, Quest, maybe it’s because I never had it in my life. Not until I was grown anyway,” her words were a tad shaky as she spoke, “By then I had Driggers and County...but having no real family when I was a child- it does something to you. It deadens something inside you.” She pinned him with a sharp glare then.
“But you aren’t dead inside, Quest, that part of your heart was nourished by a family. Whatever they’ve done in the past, it isn’t right to turn away from them,” she said, unable to stop thoughts of her mother’s rejection from entering her mind. “It isn’t right,” she whispered.
Quest massaged his eyes and muffled a curse when he saw how his words had upset her. Leaving the sofa, he went to kneel before her chair. “Shh,” he brushed away the tears that streamed her face. “Shh,” he kissed her cheeks and the tiny mole at the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before burying his handsome dark face in the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry,” he pulled her into a gently rocking embrace.
~~~
The next morning, Mick woke with a jerk, realizing she was secure in her bed in the cottage’s upstairs suite. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to recall whether the previous night, the bittersweet scene before the fire, had all been a dream. She rested on a very firm pillow. Upon lifting her head, she discovered that it was Quest’s thigh. He was fully dressed and sat playing in her hair while he waited for her to awaken.
He kissed her mouth when she looked up at him. “I’ll tell County and Driggers you’re doing fine,” he said against the top of her head.
“You’re leaving?” Mick whispered, while pushing herself up to sit facing him.
Quest followed the path of his fingers toying with her curls. “Yeah, I think I should.”
“You’re angry,” she guessed.
“Not a bit,” his hand curved around her neck, squeezing reassuringly.
Mick focused on the bed
linens. “You’re giving up,” she figured.
“Never,” he swore.
“But-”
“I’m going back to Seattle. You need time to think. You can’t do that with me here.”
“Then why’d you come in the first place?” she pouted, hating the whine in her voice. She couldn’t help it. She wanted him to stay.
Quest’s entrancing gray eyes fixed on the mole at the corner of her heart-shaped mouth. “I wanted to give you more to think about it,” he whispered just before his lips melded with hers.
“Mmm,” the sound came out weak and tortured. Instantly, Mick moved onto his lap, snuggling the center of herself against the part of his body she wanted him to share.
Quest groaned, as affected by the closeness as she was. He kept the sheets bunched at her hips while cradling the fullness of her bottom in his wide palms. A surge of arrogance swelled within him when she cried his name upon feeling his thrusting power stiffen beneath the zipper of his jeans.
“Please stay,” she begged, unashamed, her hands moving to bring him closer as they disappeared beneath the vintage Tribe Called Quest sweatshirt he wore.
He delighted himself in her body only a minute longer and then eased away. “Love, if I don’t leave now, I’ll never go.”
Michaela declined to tell him again that she didn’t want him to leave. His mind was clearly made up.
“How long will you be here?” he retrieved his bag and jacket from the armchair near the door.
Mick shrugged, tucking the sheet beneath her arms. “Only a few days more.”
“When can I see you?”
“You can see me now.”
“Mick…” he warned, closing the distance between them to plant a hard kiss to his mouth. “I’ll call in a few days. We’ll make plans. Use this time,” he encouraged.
“I will,” she promised, hating him for leaving and loving him so very much for putting what she needed above what they both wanted. But she was trying to do the same, wasn’t she? He had to see that nothing was worth turning his back on his family, right? Never having a real family of her own, she believed she knew better than he how very important they were. They were who he needed and she had to put that fact above what she wanted.
The Ramseys Boxed Set Page 19
