by Louise Clark
And then he would convince her to put her trust in him, stay in Vancouver, and explore the wondrous possibilities a relationship between them could bring.
He contemplated his tie collection. For what he planned tonight there were only three possibilities. One was a solid red silk that would contrast nicely with the navy blue fabric of his suit and stand out against his crisp white shirt. Red was a power color, another bonus, but it was also a favorite of Canadian politicians of a certain stripe. He moved on.
Option number two had a pattern of thin alternating stripes of blue and silver. The blue was a nice marine color and the silver had a bit of a shimmer to it. It too would work well with the suit. But how about his shirt? He held it up against one white sleeve. The silver washed out a bit, so the tie didn't have the punch the red one had. Still, he liked the combination. He put it aside for the moment.
The next choice was striped as well, but the stripes on this one were wide and the blue and red combination was eye-catching. The colors were also those of his alma mater. In fact, the tie was the official school tie.
He looked at the tie. Power was owned in many ways. Money and old wealth were the obvious ones, but networks made through friendships, shared experiences, allied interests, and personal outlooks were another. This tie represented such a network, one that was part of the new Vancouver, because the university was an upstart institution from academic expansion of the 1960s. Formed in the heady days of student protests, it began as an innovative school where the rebellious and radical congregated. Over the fifty years since, the student body had sobered up from that intoxicating beginning. The rebels of the sixties and seventies turned into the corporate CEOs of today and the upstart itself became one of the top educational institutions in Canada.
The red-and-blue striped tie said he was resourceful, inventive and creative. He might not have old money behind him, but he had something better—a link to some of the brightest minds and most successful entrepreneurs in the country.
He slipped the old school tie around his neck, flipped the shirt collar down around it, then knotted it.
After shrugging on the suit jacket, he fiddled with his shirt collar to make sure it lay flat, then moved the knot an infinitesimal bit to the left, just to be sure it was perfectly straight. A quick check of his chin, by rubbing his hand down his skin, to make sure he'd shaved closely enough, and he was ready.
As ready as he'd ever be when his future was on the line.
* * *
Christy's heart did a little flip when Quinn arrived to pick her up. She was attracted to him when he dressed in casual, everyday clothes and might or might not have shaved that morning, but tonight he'd clearly gone to some trouble for her. The suit he was wearing shaped to his body, the shirt perfectly pressed, and the tie an elegant understatement of good taste. He'd shaved and it looked like he'd had his hair cut that day. He'd done it all for her and the knowledge set butterflies free in her stomach and made her feel suddenly shy. She opened the door wider and said, "Hi. I'm almost ready. Come on in."
He smiled as he entered her small foyer. His gaze drifted over her, slow, sensual and yes, approving. "Take your time," he said, but the look in his eyes said she didn't need to do any more primping on his account.
She stood there for a moment, lost in that gaze, then she shook herself free and said, rather breathlessly, "I won't be long," and ran upstairs to put the finishing touches on her outfit.
She was wearing a dress that she'd bought a couple of years before, so it was hardly in the first stare of fashion, but she knew it looked good on her and she liked how the neckline dipped down in a vee toward her breasts and the way the teal-colored fabric hugged her body. Upstairs she checked her makeup, added some simple costume jewelry at her throat and on her ears and grabbed a pair of black pumps with spike heels that she knew made her legs look long and slender. She carried the shoes when she hurried back down the stairs; she didn't want to start the evening by twisting her ankle.
In the foyer she found Quinn sitting on the stairs talking to Noelle, who was going over to the Armstrong house for the evening. She was looking forward to her night out as much as Christy was. It was like, she'd confided earlier, having a Vancouver grandparent. Her eyes lit up when she saw her mother. "You look beautiful, Mom!"
Christy blushed, because her words had Quinn smiling that sexy smile again. "Thank you, sweetheart."
They walked over to Quinn's house. Noelle held her hand, chatting all the way and skipping every second step. Frank had made himself scarce, for which she was relieved. Tomorrow he'd probably say that Stormy wanted to roam the greenbelt looking for mice, but they both knew that seeing her prepping for a date and going on it with Quinn—another man—was hard for Frank to accept, even if his body was now that of a cat.
When Noelle was settled, Quinn took Christy's hand and led her out to the car. Noelle stood in the doorway with Roy behind her and waved energetically as they drove off. When they were out of sight, Quinn found a spot to park the car, then he'd leaned over, dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her thoroughly. When he eased away, he said, "I think you look beautiful, too," his voice low and sexily rough.
Christy looked into his eyes and saw the truth of what he'd just said in his gaze. Her heart did that little flutter again and she'd turned her face into his hand. "Thank you. I'm lucky to be going out for an evening with such a handsome man."
He grinned at that and whatever constraints might have existed were gone.
He took her to a restaurant she'd heard about, but never been to. It was a small space, very high end in ambiance and clientele, with secluded corners and muted lighting for privacy. The tables were covered with linen cloths, the cutlery was silver, and heavy in the hand, and the glassware was crystal. Despite the almost European look and feel to the place, the food was First Nations, with menu items that included West Coast salmon, plains bison, and eastern venison.
Quinn had reserved a table in a small alcove that gave them privacy to talk and enjoy the evening, but let Christy observe the action in the rest of the dining room. It also allowed other patrons to see her with Quinn, she thought with some amusement as they were seated. She cocked her head at him once they were settled. "This is an amazing place. Have you eaten here before?"
"No, but the restaurant critic at the paper claims it's a 'must visit' and he says that the food is some of the best in the city."
Since Vancouver had a reputation for top-notch, innovative cuisine, that was high praise indeed. Christy was about to say that, when she was distracted by the couple who just walked into the dining room.
She knew the woman through Vancouver Royal Academy, Noelle's former school. Her daughter had been in Noelle's class and she and Christy had been parent helpers on many of the children's field trips. The woman looked around the room with a casual glance. Christy knew when she'd been noticed. There was a quick hitch, almost a stutter, in the woman's glance, then she deliberately looked away.
Some things didn't change. Particularly when Ellen, formerly the most respectable of the Jamiesons, had been arrested for the murder of her lover.
Holding the drinks menu in one hand, Quinn frowned at her. "What just happened?"
She frowned back. "What do you mean?"
"Your expression blanked for a minute and you tilted you head up and your chin out. You only do that when you're being a Jamieson. What happened?"
Christy stared at him, the embarrassment of a moment ago dissipated by astonishment. He had her pat. She did push out her chin when she had to pretend to be one of the rich and unflappable Jamiesons. She also looked down her nose at the same time. Just the way Ellen did when she'd wanted to make Christy feel small.
She said, "You've been watching me." Her voice was low, almost throaty, and it sounded seductive, even to her ears.
What must Quinn be thinking?
"Always," he said. Something smoldered in his eyes, making them gleam.
In that moment, Christy
had a very good idea of what he was thinking.
She blushed.
He smiled, slowly, and with a considerable amount of satisfaction.
The awkward moment passed. Quinn ordered a bottle of wine and they discussed appetizers and mains. Christy chose West Coast salmon, smoked Native-style and candied with fruit preserves for her appetizer, and wild duck roasted with salmonberries for her entrée. Quinn began with game soup and followed it with a ragout made from bison short ribs, flavored with wild berries, and served with wild rice. By the time they reached the dessert and coffee stage, Christy was much more relaxed.
"That was delicious," she said, putting down her fork and leaning back in her chair. Quinn had already finished his short rib stew and was drinking the last of his wine.
Their waitress appeared to clear the table. She smiled at them, in a friendly way. "Can I interest you in dessert and an after-dinner drink?" She was a pretty woman, with thick black hair that she wore in a single long braid, and wide dark eyes. She clearly had Native heritage in her ancestry.
Quinn cocked a brow at Christy. "Can you manage dessert?"
She laughed. "I shouldn't."
"We have a selection of fresh berry pies and tonight we are featuring bread pudding made with bannock instead of the traditional bread," the waitress said helpfully.
Quinn laughed at Christy's expression. "Your eyes just lit up." To the waitress he said, "We'll share a bannock bread pudding, please." He looked at Christy. "Would you like a brandy? Or a liqueur?"
She shook her head. "Just a coffee, please."
Quinn ordered two coffees and the waitress went away. He reached across the table to take Christy's hand. "I'm glad you enjoyed the food."
"I enjoyed everything!" She smiled at him. "Especially the company."
He smiled briefly at her, then sobered. "Christy, I know you're worried about Shively and what she can do to Noelle. But I want you to know that I won't let anything happen to her. To either of you."
Her heart did that little flip thing again, and she could feel tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She didn't think that it was possible for one person to ever completely protect another. In that moment, though, she believed it could happen. Quinn was a man comfortable in himself and in his ability to create change when change was necessary. He could slip easily into the Jamieson world of elites, money, and power, or live quite happily in an everyday world. Tonight he wanted to convince her to stay in Vancouver. He deliberately chose clothes and a restaurant that would remind her that he could be successful in her world. He wanted her to know she wasn't on her own; he was there for her and she could depend on him.
She had already made her decision, but Quinn wasn't aware of that. Everything he had done tonight was deliberately staged to make her stay in Vancouver. To make her stay with him. His clothes, his choice of restaurant, his promise to protect her—Quinn might not realize it yet, but he had committed himself to her, and to Noelle, even if he wasn't able to express his feelings in words.
"I know," she said, smiling rather mistily at him.
He looked down at their entwined hands. His dark lashes swept down, covering his eyes. His expression was intent when he looked up again. Christy had a sense that he needed to reassure her. "You've been through a hell of a lot in these last few months and until September, you had to face it all on your own. You don't anymore."
"No," she said. "I have you, Quinn." Her voice was soft, little more than a whisper. His words were bringing her emotions so close to the surface it was impossible for her to speak in a normal way.
It took a moment for her words to penetrate, then he grinned widely. "Yeah, you do. And my dad. And it looks like Trevor is on your team as well."
She smiled. "Your dad is great, but it's you I trust." She sobered and sighed. "I need your help, Quinn. I talked to Noelle about a move to Kingston this afternoon and she told me she didn't want to go. In fact, she begged me to stay. I realized that she is putting down roots here, in Burnaby. She's making friends and she likes her new school. I promised her we'd stay. But I'm scared, Quinn. Shively is like a bulldog. She never gives up. And she has no imagination. She doesn't see that no matter how strange Noelle's family is, we love her and we'd never hurt her." She looked down at their joined hands as he had moments before. "Quinn, when I promised Noelle that we'd stay, I was thinking of you." A little sob escaped before she could catch it as she looked up and into his eyes. "Because I know I can count on you, no matter what."
He lifted their joined hands and kissed the knuckles of hers. "Shh. It's okay. We'll work it out."
She sniffed. "I know."
He laughed. There was a tender look in his eyes. "I'm a lucky guy."
She managed a watery laugh. "How do I answer that without sounding stuck on myself?"
He gave her a teasing smile. "Give it a try anyway."
She was saved by the arrival of their waitress carrying the bannock bread pudding and two spoons. A dark-colored sauce had been drizzled over the warm slice. Whipped cream was swirled to one side. A quick taste told her the sauce was whiskey-based. "Yum," she said, her mouth watering.
She scooped up a portion, then offered the spoon to Quinn. "You get first dibs, lucky guy," she said.
Something smoldered in his eyes as he opened his mouth and accepted her offering.
As his mouth closed over the spoon, Christy's imagination took flight, going to places that sent shivers of desire shooting through her.
Her body felt like it was on fire as he savored the morsel. Slowly.
Her eyes tracked his progress as he swallowed.
And while he savored, his eyes never left hers. "Delicious."
She drew a deep, unsteady breath, then moistened her lips.
He smiled as he spooned a portion of the pudding, added whipped cream, and sauce, then held it to her to taste.
She opened her mouth and let him in. The dessert's flavors exploded on her tongue, sweet and spicy at the same time. The pudding was satisfyingly solid, the whipped cream as light as air, the sauce sweet with just the hint of a bite. The perfect ending to a culinary feast.
The future blazed brightly in that moment. For her. For them.
"Thank you," she whispered when she'd consumed the pudding.
He smiled at her, an endearing half-smile that was pleased, though a little rueful. "Like I said, I'm a lucky guy."
"No. I'm the lucky one." And this time is was Christy who lifted their joined hands and kissed his.
Chapter 18
"Where's Uncle Trevor?" Quinn asked, when he found his father at the kitchen table with his laptop open. It was the day after his dinner with Christy. He'd been working in the basement rec room, which he'd converted into an office, for the last two hours. His research had been split between computer searches and telephone conversations. He'd come up to take a break and make some sense of the information he'd gathered.
Roy was peering at the screen, a frown on his face. "I hate Track Changes," he said. "Inserts right in my text and all these little balloons beside it. I wish the editor would just courier me a paper manuscript with good old-fashioned mark-up."
Used to this complaint, Quinn opened the fridge door and pulled out a jug of ice water. "It's faster this way." He poured himself a glass then offered his father one.
Roy nodded. "I'm going blind," he said. "What the hell does that mean? Is this guy nuts?" He hunched deeper into himself and began to mutter, "No, no, no," as he deleted proposed changes.
"Uncle Trevor, Dad. Is he around?"
Roy sighed, then sat back. He picked up the glass Quinn had placed on the table beside him and drank, still staring at the screen. Then he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, which was tied at his nape. The result was a rather wild lumpy look, with some locks bunching and others escaping to hang over his eyes. He shoved those back roughly, causing more damage. "No," he said. "He's gone out." He leaned forward, okayed or canceled another couple of changes, then dragged hi
s gaze away from the screen. His eyes lit on Quinn's face and sharpened. "Down to the cop shop to see what he can do for Ellen. He left about nine this morning."
It was eleven now. Quinn made a noncommittal noise then drank the cold water.
Roy pointed at him. "You've been researching the university people. Did you find out anything interesting?"
Quinn rummaged around in the pantry cupboard, found a bag of jalapeño potato chips and brought them over to the table. He sat down opposite his father and said, "Lots."
Roy made a "give" motion with his hand, twitching his fingers toward himself. Quinn opened the bag of chips and offered it to him. Roy made a face, which caused Quinn to grin, but he took a handful and stared to munch.
Quinn delved into the bag and came up with a big round chip, heavily spiced. He bit off one side and chewed. "Turns out Dr. Jacob Peiling's research program is in deep financial trouble."
"You don't say." Roy dug into the bag for another handful.
Quinn nodded. "His funding for the program comes from a bunch of different places. The Jamieson Trust grant is only one of many and not particularly large at that. His major funding is from a government agency, the Science Council. The initial funding was for four years."
"And the four years are up?" Roy said, speculating.
Quinn nodded. "To get an extension, he had to write a results report and create a proposal for the next four years. He didn't get it in on time."
Roy raised his brows and raided the chip bag again. "Is he a perfectionist procrastinator who couldn't get his act together?"
"No." Quinn drew out the word, consuming one chip and digging in for another. He waved it at his father. "Not all of his grad students got their reports done and into him on time."
