She sighed. None of the above.
Against her better judgment, she wanted to spend the evening with Quentin. After six days apart, she missed him. Missed him more than she should have.
“God help me,” she whispered.
Knowing she couldn’t hide in the restroom all night, she mentally squared her shoulders and headed out the door.
The solicitous maître d’ was waiting to escort her back to Quentin. But instead of being led to a table in the main dining area, Lexi was taken to one of the restaurant’s private rooms. As soon as she stepped through the door, she gasped sharply.
The room’s elegant decor featured marble columns and gleaming parquet floors. The walls were hung with mirrors and lush artwork that captured the French countryside. Lights from a crystal chandelier were dimmed intimately low, while candles glowed on the linen-covered table. Nearby, a pair of double doors led onto a terrace that overlooked the glittering night skyline. The soft strains of classic French music could be heard in the background.
“Ohhh,” Lexi breathed, gazing around in utter amazement. She’d been transported back to France.
Quentin rose from behind a baby grand piano tucked into the corner, where he’d been plucking out a few errant chords. He couldn’t play a lick, but vowed to learn someday.
“There you are.” He came toward her slowly, his gaze latched onto hers. “I was starting to think you’d bolted on me.”
“I considered it.” But her voice broke, and to her dismay, tears welled in her eyes. “Quentin. This is… I can’t believe…” She shook her head, too choked up to continue.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured, humor threading his deep voice. “At least not until you’ve tasted the food.”
She let out a teary laugh. Her heart was so full it felt as though it’d burst out of her chest at any moment.
Quentin took her hand and led her over to the table by the French doors. He pulled out her chair, and when she sat down, he gently pushed it back in, making her feel as cherished and delicate as fine china.
As he claimed his own seat, she braced her elbows on the table, rested her forehead on her clasped hands and drew a deep, shaky breath, praying for composure. When she raised her head again, she found Quentin watching her with an expression of tender adoration.
Before she could speak, a waiter appeared with a bottle of Chablis and a platter of French cheeses. To Lexi’s delight, the young man spoke flawless French. After pouring their wine and conversing with them for a few minutes, he departed with the promise to return shortly with their meals.
When Lexi and Quentin were alone again, she asked incredulously, “When did you plan all this? You’ve been tied up with the trial since we got back from our trip!”
He gave her an amused look. “I know how to multi-task.”
“Obviously.” She swept an awed glance around the room. “This is absolutely amazing, Quentin. The paintings, the terrace, the music. Even the French-speaking waiter. I feel like we’re back in Burgundy.”
“Good,” he said softly. “That was the point. Since we didn’t get a chance to visit one of those world-renowned restaurants while we were in France, I figured I’d make it up to you.”
Her heart expanded even more. “But it wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who harangued Asha into letting me and Michael cook dinner for everyone on our last night there.”
“I know.” Quentin smiled wryly. “And I was really looking forward to that meal you promised me when we got home.”
She gave him an abashed grin. “Rain check?”
“Definitely.” Eyes glinting with mirth, he gently swirled his glass and nosed the wine as she’d taught him.
“No choking,” she warned, and they both laughed.
A thought occurred to her. “Wait a minute. How are we having French food? This isn’t even a French restaurant.”
Quentin smiled lazily. “I know. But they had this great room with a view, and they were able to accommodate my needs on short notice. As for what we’re eating tonight, it pays to have more than one friend who’s a chef. Mike pulled some strings for me, so I think you’ll be very pleased with what we’re served.”
Enthralled, Lexi shook her head at him. “You know you’re not playing fair, right?”
“I never said I would.” He raised his glass to her. “To Burgundy.”
She smiled softly. “And unforgettable memories.”
They clinked glasses and sipped, gazing at each other. Soft candlelight flickered across Quentin’s strong, handsome face and illuminated his hazel eyes. She’d always taken for granted how remarkable his eyes were, how arrestingly beautiful and mesmerizing. Now she found herself drowning in them.
“What’re you thinking about?” Quentin murmured.
“Your eyes,” she admitted. “They’re incredible.”
“So are yours. I can’t stop thinking about them.” His voice dipped low. “Or the rest of you, for that matter.”
Her belly quivered. She drank more wine.
“Your eyes are the first thing I noticed about you when we met,” Quentin told her.
She was surprised. “Really?”
He nodded, idly tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. “It was freshman year, and we were at that off-campus party. It was crowded—”
“So you found a cozy corner to make out with some girl,” Lexi interjected with a wry smile.
“Don’t interrupt.”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway,” Quentin continued pointedly. “Yes, I was in a corner getting better acquainted with a young lady—”
Lexi snorted at that. “‘Better acquainted.’”
Quentin scowled. “Are you gonna let me finish?”
“Sorry.” She bit her lip to stifle a grin. “By all means. Please continue.”
“Thank you.” Humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. “As I was saying, the young lady and I were getting better acquainted. But as I leaned in to make my move, something else caught my eye. I glanced up, and there was this pretty little tenderoni moving slowly through the crowd. She was searching for someone, and I took one look into her eyes and hoped it was me.”
Lexi stared at him, her insides tingling with pleasure. They’d reminisced about their first meeting many times over the years, but this was the first time she’d ever heard this version.
“She had the most beautiful, exotic eyes I’d ever seen,” Quentin continued softly. “I won’t lie. They took my breath away. And when the rest of her face came into view, it only got better. Our eyes met, and she gave me this sweet, shy smile—”
“Before she saw the girl in your arms, who definitely was not smiling when she realized you had a wandering eye.”
Quentin grinned sheepishly. “Well, anyway, to make a long story short, the tenderoni’s smile quickly turned into a frown, and with a disgusted roll of those stunning eyes, she moved on without a backward glance. Later, when we were introduced to each other by Mike—who’d apparently made a better first impression than I had—the tenderoni laughed at one of my jokes. And that’s how I eventually won her over.”
Lexi chuckled, nibbling on a piece of Chaource cheese. “Yep. That sounds about right.” She hesitated, then couldn’t resist adding, “I didn’t know that was your first impression of me. You never hit on me after that night.”
Quentin looked amused. “Is that a question or a complaint?”
She blushed. “Neither. I’m just making an observation.”
He chuckled, low and soft. “For starters, you made it perfectly clear what you thought of my, ah, wandering eye. I figured I’d only be setting myself up for rejection if I tried to make a move on you. And once we got to know each other better, I realized that having your friendship was more important to me than trying to get you into bed.”
Lexi gazed at him, her heart constricting. “I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Quentin.”
“Naw,” he guffawed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m pre
tty sure I’ve said much sweeter things than that.”
She laughed, even as his previous words echoed through her mind. She was searching for someone, and I took one look into her eyes and hoped it was me.
She shivered convulsively. The man definitely had a way with words.
Reaching for another piece of cheese, she gave him a small, whimsical smile. “Just out of curiosity, what was the second thing you noticed about me?”
Quentin’s eyes glinted wickedly. “Your ass.”
Sputtering with indignation, Lexi threw her cheese at him.
They were still laughing and teasing each other when the waiter returned with their meals. He set the plates on the table with a flourish and identified each dish: wine-poached salmon with black truffles, cognac shrimp with beurre blanc sauce and foie gras with figs. Lexi was delighted with the classic French food, which she and Quentin proceeded to share, sometimes eating from the same plate at the same time.
They talked throughout dinner. Even after all these years, Lexi marveled that they never ran out of things to say to each other. There was a natural flow to their conversation, the relaxed camaraderie shared by two people who could complete each other’s sentences, even when they chose not to. At the same time, Lexi couldn’t help wondering how it was possible to feel so comfortable with a man who set her blood on fire.
They’d just finished dessert—an exquisite parfait glacé aux marrons—when a romantic Viennese waltz began playing in the background. Suddenly Lexi was transported back to the night of the masquerade ball.
Quentin rose from his chair and rounded the table to stand over her, his hand outstretched to her. “I believe you still owe me a dance.”
Her heart thudded at the deep, intoxicating timbre of his voice. In the far recesses of her mind, she knew she should just thank him for the wonderful dinner and call it a night while she still could.
Instead she smiled, placed her hand in his and murmured, “I believe you’re right.”
Quentin led her out to the middle of the floor and drew her into his arms. She melted at once, curving her arms around his neck and settling her head against the broad wall of his chest. The dramatic difference in their heights should have made their dancing awkward. But they swayed together as easily and gracefully as if their movements had been specially choreographed by the great George Balanchine.
Years of practice, Lexi rationalized. They’d danced together a thousand times over the course of their friendship. But tonight was different. She felt it as surely as Quentin did.
“When was the last time we did this?” he murmured, his cheek resting against the top of her head.
“Danced together?”
“Yeah.”
“Michael’s wedding.”
“Then it’s been too damn long.”
A secret thrill of pleasure curled through Lexi, and she smiled.
His strong, muscled thighs rubbed against hers as he turned her slowly in a circle, keeping one hand at the small of her back and the other firmly around her waist. She could feel his steady heartbeat, the lift of his chest with every breath he took. She relished the warmth of his body surrounding her.
She didn’t want the romantic waltz to end. She didn’t want the night to end. She was completely caught up in the profound perfection of the moment.
So she didn’t mind when the hand at her waist urged her closer. She simply closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. A moment later Quentin ran his other hand up her back, a whisper of sensation against the silk of her blouse. Her breasts tingled, her nipples puckering against his hard chest.
She felt his breathing change at the same time hers quickened.
She lifted her head and stared up at him. Though the lights were dimmed low, there was no mistaking the flare of hunger in the glittering eyes that stared back at her. Her heart thumped against her breastbone.
Cradling her face between his hands, Quentin brushed his lips across her forehead, her closed eyelids, her nose and her cheekbones before claiming her mouth. Lexi trembled, her senses reeling from the fiercely tender assault. She kissed him back, hungrily seeking the heat and flavor of his mouth.
As their tongues tangled sensually, he stroked a hand down her body and cupped her bottom. She moaned. Her blood poured through her veins like heated wine, leaving her feeling flushed and slightly intoxicated.
As Quentin gently kneaded her butt, she leaned up on tiptoe until her aching groin cradled the hard, thick bulge of his erection. He groaned, holding her tightly against him while his mouth devoured hers with searing intensity. Her heart thundered, squeezing the air out of her lungs.
“Lex,” he whispered raggedly. “I want you. Tell me what I have to do to have you.”
The words jarred her back to reality.
She tore her mouth from his and stared up at him. The raw hunger on his face mirrored the desire rampaging through her body. She wanted him, wanted him so badly she shook with it. It would have been so easy to surrender to temptation, to go home with him and let him make love to her. She ached to feel his body joined with hers, possessing her.
But it was too dangerous.
“I—I can’t,” she stammered, shaking her head.
“Lex—”
Quentin took a step toward her and she retreated backward. “I’m sorry. This was such an incredible evening. Everything was perfect. But I can’t do this, Quentin.”
He stared down at her, his eyes smoldering with sexual need and frustration.
“I should go.” It was more plea than declaration.
He held her gaze for another long, electrified moment, then heaved a resigned breath and muttered, “At least let me walk you to your damn car.”
She knew better than to argue.
Chapter 9
But she argued with herself on the drive home. Or rather, she argued with her raging libido, which tormented her with throbbing breasts and a deep, relentless ache between her thighs that had her squirming and wanting to climb out of her skin.
She was halfway home before she finally accepted defeat.
“Screw this.” With barely a glance in her rearview mirror, she hooked a hard U-turn at the next traffic light and headed back toward midtown. By the time she reached the luxury high-rise on Peachtree Street, she was breathless with anticipation, adrenaline and lust.
She swung into the underground parking garage, inserted a coded key card to open the gate, then wheeled her car into the empty guest spot that practically belonged to her. Spying Quentin’s black Jaguar, she nodded with satisfaction.
Inside the lobby, her stiletto heels clicked smartly on the polished marble floor as she strode to the bank of elevators, the flaps of her belted trench coat blowing open across her legs.
“Good evening, Miss Austin,” the concierge said as she sailed past him with a distracted smile and a wave.
The elevator whisked her up to the twentieth floor in seconds, but even that wasn’t fast enough. When she reached Quentin’s penthouse at the end of the corridor, she pressed the doorbell and waited, shaking with nerves and excitement. When there was no response, she quickly punched numbers into the combination keypad. As soon as the lock clicked open, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Then, and only then, did she have a moment’s pause.
Could she really go through with this?
Too late for second thoughts now. You’re already in the lion’s den.
Breathing deeply to bolster her flagging courage, Lexi set her purse on the foyer table and swept a cursory glance around the two-story penthouse, which boasted gleaming mahogany floors, ultramodern fixtures and masculine, contemporary furnishings. A wall of windows commanded a stunning view of downtown Atlanta, now blanketed with glittering lights.
“Lexi?”
Her gaze swung across the shadowy living room, where Quentin was slowly descending a spiral staircase. Her pulse hammered at the base of her throat.
He reached the landing and stepped into a soft poo
l of light. He’d changed for bed, putting on a pair of long black shorts and nothing else. Her mouth ran dry at the sight of his massive shoulders and wide chest sculpted with hard, sinewy muscle. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him shirtless, but tonight she intended to explore every inch of all that glorious male flesh.
“I thought I heard the doorbell.” He stared at her, his eyes shadowed and heavy lidded. “What’re you doing here, Lex?”
She met his gaze directly. “I changed my mind.”
Silence.
“You changed your mind.” His voice was a deep, husky rumble in the semidarkness.
She gulped. “Yes.”
Another pause. Then came his faintly amused drawl, “Is that why you’re still hiding by the front door?”
An embarrassed flush heated her face. So much for all her bravado.
Quentin started toward her. “So what changed your mind, Alexis?”
He only called her by her full name when he was angry or deadly serious about something.
She licked her dry lips. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” His slow, stealthy advance reminded her of a hunter who’s sighted his prey and wants to make certain it doesn’t escape. “Are you sure you don’t know?”
Swallowing, she unglued her feet from the floor and took a brave step forward. “I want you,” she whispered.
He stopped moving. “I didn’t hear you. Speak up.”
So that’s how he wants to play this. Okay. You probably had it coming.
“I want you,” she said in a clearer, stronger voice. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since the night of that damn New Year’s Eve ball. I came here tonight against my better judgment because I can’t seem to help myself. I want to make love with my best friend. But if you’re going to play games—”
As she reached for the door, he lunged.
Her breath whooshed out of her lungs as he hauled her roughly into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers. The kiss was raw and blistering, the heat of his big, hard body scorching her from the inside out. She flung her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, sucking his hot, thrusting tongue with a hunger that staggered them both.
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