by Caro Carson
“I never ask the man to dance. I only approached you because you were so obviously in need of a little coaching.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll thank me later, trust me,” she said, answering his sarcasm with sauciness. “Now, what kind of woman do you think you want?”
He looked toward the dance floor, but Lana and Braden weren’t there. They’d probably gotten a hotel room—they were practically on their honeymoon.
Diana sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay. You think Lana is the perfect woman. Then let’s find you a woman like Lana.” Diana scanned the crowd. “Gosh, everyone is so beautiful. The whole ballroom is beautiful. Isn’t it great?”
When he made no comment, she turned to him. “Don’t you think it’s a great night?”
He shrugged, an uncaring movement of masculine shoulders under fine black wool.
“Well, it is. Everyone’s so sparkly. And happy.” She poked his lapel, earning herself another raised eyebrow. “And you’re going to be happy tonight, too.”
“What makes you think I’m not happy?”
Diana started to laugh, but she had the sudden intuition he was asking a sincere question. The man needed to take a good look in the mirror.
Diana decided to be that mirror. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, hard. Dropping her voice to the lowest bass she could manage, she said, “What makes you think I’m not happy?”
Quinn scowled back at her for a good, long while. Then he uncrossed his arms and looked away with a little shake of his head. “That bad?”
“That bad, but not for long. Let me just find you the perfect partner.”
“Do you often perform your matchmaking services for total strangers?”
“All the time.” Every weekend, in fact, but she wasn’t going to tell James Bond that. Every weekend, she volunteered at an animal shelter where she matched total strangers with the perfect pets.
This Quinn-in-a-tuxedo wouldn’t appreciate that her skills had been honed on dogs, but people weren’t much different. It was all a matter of finding complementing temperaments, something Diana had found success at by relying less on talking and more on facial expressions and body language.
Diana trusted her mad matchmaking skills. Lana would never have been right for Quinn, even if she’d been available, but Quinn would never believe Diana. Perhaps she should let him figure it out for himself. “Look—there’s a Lana look-alike for you. Go ask her to dance.”
When he didn’t budge, she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed.
Quinn shook his head as he stood. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”
But he did. The woman was petite and slender, with shiny, straight black hair and an air of confidence about her. Diana watched her graciously present her hand to Quinn, so he could lead her to the dance floor. Like so many men in Texas, men who grew up leading women in the Texas two-step and country waltzes, Quinn was obviously a confident dancer. He and his partner looked elegant together, dancing to a Frank Sinatra standard.
Still, Diana wasn’t surprised when Quinn returned after only one dance. The Lana-type wasn’t what he needed.
“Well?” she prompted him as he sat next to her once more.
“She was the perfect woman—just ask her. She’s chairing the board at whichever museum she said, and she’s running a gardening gig, all out of the kindness of her heart.”
“Charity work sounds like something Lana would do.”
“She wouldn’t brag about it.”
“True, true. Your Lana look-alike was too old for you, anyway.” Diana had a feeling this man would too easily retire into a sedate, settled lifestyle if she let him. Well, not if she herself let him, but if he were matched with the wrong woman, he’d find himself talking politics with gray-haired gentleman at a prestigious club in no time. Quinn was probably only thirty or so. He ought to be surfing or mountain-climbing, not serving on museum boards with a society wife.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my dear matchmaker,” he said. “Lana’s only two years older than I.”
“She’s taken. Get over it.” Really, some cases needed a little tough love. Diana patted his arm, though, to soften her direct words. “Okay, at your three o’clock. Blonde in the sheath dress. A knock-out and still in her twenties. She might enjoy bungee jumping.”
Suave Mr. Bond was apparently caught off guard by that. He gave away his surprise with a discreet cough, a polite clearing of the throat. “Is bungee jumping the criteria now?”
“Go.”
Humoring her, which Diana took to be a sign of progress already, Quinn walked over and struck up a conversation. Diana watched his nod toward the dance floor, watched the woman light up and say yes. Who wouldn’t?
It only lasted one dance. After a polite thank-you nod to the woman, Quinn returned to Diana.
“No?” she asked.
“No.”
“Give me something to go on.”
“She still lives at home with Daddy. Rich Daddy. She wanted to know if I thought a trip to Europe would really be more educational than a trip to the Caribbean. Daddy thinks it would be.”
“Not Lana-like at all, you’re right. You want someone more educated, then?”
“I want someone who is less into money. Lana’s no gold digger.”
Diana felt her first little zip of irritation toward him. She doubted he’d meant to insult her, but there it was. “I would never have matched you with a gold digger.”
“I assure you, Daddy’s Girl would be one very expensive entanglement.”
From their side-by-side chairs, they could easily see the woman with her group of friends. She’d just dropped her gem-studded clutch. She made absolutely no move to pick it up, but pouted down at it, as if the purse had somehow misbehaved. Diana watched with amusement as another woman in her circle picked up the clutch and handed it back.
“That’s not a gold digger, Quinn. She expects expensive things and an easy life, but only because she’s always been given them. Always, from day one, and most definitely by Daddy. She just assumes everyone around her is rich, like she is. That’s not the same thing as a gold digger. Those women calculate which man in the room has the most money and then go after him.”
Quinn had started to take a breath to argue with her before she’d even finished her point, but to his credit, he stopped. Diana enjoyed one lovely, long moment of staring into his green, green eyes before they crinkled just a bit in what was precariously close to a smile.
“You’re right. There is a difference. I stand corrected.” He leaned close to Diana’s ear and said, “But I’m still not interested.”
His voice was warm. His tone was very assured, very in charge, but she could hear that touch of humor that lay just under the surface.
Diana felt...well, she felt antsy. There was something about Quinn that made her feel restless. The prospect of spending more time watching him dance with other women was not appealing. She needed to find a suitable partner for serious Quinn, and then she needed to get back to her mixing and her mingling.
That was all she’d come for tonight. Just a lovely, fun evening. She hadn’t come to pass out business cards, and she certainly hadn’t come to start brooding over a man who wouldn’t stop brooding over Lana MacDowell.
The band struck up a song with a livelier beat. Diana stood, and when Quinn didn’t follow, she grabbed his hand and practically hauled him out of his chair.
“Don’t worry, Quinn, we’re getting closer.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Two o’clock, white dress. Guaranteed not to live at home with Daddy. Looks like she’s terribly educated, but still young enough to go bungee jumping with you.”
“Haven’t I danced with enough women?”
“Third tim
e’s the charm. She looks perfect for you.”
Quinn looked toward the woman Diana had picked out. Diana studied his face, feeling some smug satisfaction as Quinn raised that eyebrow in reluctant approval. “Very well,” he said, and he walked away.
Diana watched. Of course, the woman said hello graciously. Of course, the woman was soon smiling. Of course, the woman walked onto the dance floor and into Quinn’s arms.
This time, Quinn looked like he was enjoying the conversation. His partner looked self-possessed and confident, which was excellent, because she wasn’t going to be Quinn’s girlfriend for long. Diana had just found him his rebound girl, the one who would help him get past this Lana phase.
The lady in white looked like she’d be able to handle it. She and Quinn would share some lovely evenings and mutual interests in the meantime, and then...
And then, when that phase was over and Lana was firmly out of Quinn’s system, would he be open to a different kind of woman? One, say, with a love of parties and a passion for homeless pups?
Diana gave herself a mental shake. She was not a plotter and planner. She was the spontaneous girl who trusted her senses, and she’d sensed right away that this man needed a little fun in his life. That was what had drawn her to him, the desire to help a fellow human being enjoy life. Nothing more.
The woman he was dancing with was the one. Diana could see it in everything about their body language. They looked right together.
Mission accomplished.
Diana toasted herself with a sip of her champagne. It still looked pretty in the glass, but it had grown warm and kind of flat.
She looked around the room, hoping to see someone with whom to strike up a conversation. It would be nice to enjoy herself with a man the way the woman in the white dress was enjoying herself with Quinn.
I’m the gal pal. Again.
Diana knew her role. There was always a character like her in movies and TV shows. Once the gal pal helped the guy decide to go for it, she exited, stage left.
Diana tapped her tiny purse against her thigh as she took one more look around at the crystal and the flames. They were pretty, but they didn’t need her to continue brightening the night. Neither did Quinn.
Diana headed for the grand mezzanine. Maybe someone there was just waiting for a push in the right direction.
Chapter Two
Quinn MacDowell, M.D., was enjoying himself. His family would be surprised.
He was enjoying himself at a mandatory-attendance gala for the hospital. Forget his family’s surprise; Quinn found himself somewhat astonished.
The reason he was enjoying himself was a bold and playful woman with hair the color of whiskey and a green dress that tantalized him with her every move. And that was—
Well, it was...
Unsettling.
At thirty-one years old, Quinn knew himself. He was a cardiologist. He dealt in physics, in measurable pressures and electrical impulses that powered the human body. He served on the board that governed the hospital his father had founded. He visited his mother on the homestead ranch, he badgered his brothers for getting married and tying themselves down, and he dated women who were polished, professional and career-oriented.
He knew himself.
If a complete stranger ordered him to dance with other women at a black-tie gala, then he, Quinn MacDowell, M.D., would never comply.
Never.
Yet here he was.
The woman in his arms purred her words in a cultured, educated voice. “It’s so refreshing to have real music to dance to, not that auto-tuned nonsense, don’t you think?”
She was stunningly beautiful. Every woman Diana had chosen for him had been so. As a matchmaker, Diana actually was good. Quinn had been exaggerating the flaws of his partners after each dance, but Diana had definitely picked out women in whom he’d normally be interested.
He’d fine-tuned his criteria over years of trial and error, and knew exactly the type of woman who fit into the lifestyle that his career as a cardiologist dictated. Long-term relationships saved time and effort when it came to dating, so Quinn generally dated a woman for a half-year or more. Eventually, the girlfriend would announce the need to move on, typically after reporting that her biological clock was ticking, or because she wanted to move into the ranks of the society matrons and needed to find someone with marriage in mind. With no hard feelings, they kissed goodbye.
His last kiss had been quite a while ago.
West Central Hospital had been floundering under poor leadership, and it had taken all of Quinn’s efforts to keep the ship afloat. Despite his aversion for corporate politics, he’d found himself incapable of standing by and watching his father’s legacy flounder, so he’d joined the hospital board. There’d been very little time for female companionship this year, not while he’d been the only MacDowell still in town.
The hospital was going to survive. With some manipulation on Quinn’s part, his oldest brother had left Manhattan to return to Austin, and a more competent CEO for West Central was hard to imagine. His brother’s wife, Lana, the woman whom Diana claimed was her business associate, was rebuilding the research division. Quinn’s youngest brother had finished his years of service in the army and now worked in the emergency department, and had just announced that he would take over as department chair in the fall.
All of which left Quinn with less of a professional burden to bear. He supposed the time was right for the next woman in his life. In fact, while he’d been watching Braden and Lana dance, he’d been thinking just that: something was missing in his life. Then Diana had appeared out of nowhere.
Now here he was, dancing with an entirely eligible woman, someone familiar to him as an acquaintance of an acquaintance. Tonight’s rounds on the dance floor were tantamount to announcing that he was available, something that managed to get around his social circles with quiet efficiency. Appropriate women, like the one in his arms, would find him. Quinn would make a choice, and everything would proceed smoothly.
Diana Connor’s matchmaking mission had been unnecessary.
Still, it was amazing, really, that a perfect stranger like Diana could take one glance at him, another glance around a crowded ballroom, and choose matches for him as well as he could have himself. By every measurable criterion, the woman Diana had chosen, the woman in white who was so smoothly following his lead on the dance floor, was perfect for him.
Yet, something wasn’t quite right. He ought to be more interested in his dance partner. She pressed a little closer, causing her very well-supported, very expensively clad, very tastefully revealed cleavage to swell a bit against his chest.
He ought to be very interested, indeed.
But tonight, he was finding one thing utterly distracting: Diana herself. It was hard to focus on the woman in his arms when green fringe kept shimmying in his mind, shimmying its way over a curvy body that nearly crackled with energy.
To dance with her, to hold that woman in his arms, a woman so vibrant with her enthusiasm for life...
There was no hope for it. Diana had caught his attention completely, and no amount of cultured, educated, wealthy women that she threw his way could divert him.
Diana wasn’t his type. He’d probably never run into her again after tonight. They didn’t move in the same circles, despite her claim to be a business associate of his sister-in-law, Lana. After all, he was a business associate of Lana’s. Diana did not work at West Central, that much Quinn knew.
There were other businesses besides medicine, of course, but there was nothing businesslike about Diana’s behavior. She was too forward in her manner, too familiar in the way she spoke to a perfect stranger.
But she made him laugh. She poked and prodded him—literally—and he was certain that she had no idea that she was physically appealing in a way that
was slowly sending him out of his mind. He’d spent the past half hour waiting for that green fringe to travel that last inch up her thighs.
Life had been all work and no play for too long. He was not going to let a curvaceous, vivacious woman with whiskey-colored hair slip through his fingers without a dance.
And if she refused to dance with him, but insisted he ask someone else of her choosing? Then Miss Diana Connor, the woman who seemed to think he had no idea how to pursue a woman, would find herself on the receiving end of all the charm Quinn MacDowell could muster.
He smiled.
The elegant woman in his arms thought it was meant for her.
Quinn changed directions in time to the music, a move designed to return his partner’s focus to her feet rather than the smile on his face. He glanced toward the chairs he and Diana had been sharing.
She was gone.
* * *
“Strike three.”
The deep voice caused Diana to stutter midstep. She whirled around, a quick pirouette in her smooth-soled sandals on the polished mezzanine floor. Quinn caught her elbow, stopping her so she squarely faced him. He stepped closer as he steadied her, so she found herself caught with just inches between a cold pillar at her back and a hot man at her front.
“Strike three?” she asked, leaning away from the pillar. Hot man in a tuxedo was infinitely preferable. Still, she was a bit baffled that he’d come to tell her his partner hadn’t worked out. She’d left him with a woman who fit him perfectly.
What was more, Quinn didn’t look very upset at striking out.
“What was the problem?” Diana asked.
“Let’s go back to our seats.” Quinn gestured toward the ballroom, and fell into place beside her. She half-expected him to offer her his arm in an old-fashioned way, but he didn’t. Without touching, they walked side by side along the row of pillars. They’d definitely become buddies, just as she’d predicted.
Okay, Quinn, spill your guts to your gal pal.
Diana gave him the opening she knew he needed. “You can’t tell me she wasn’t educated enough. I could tell she was terribly educated just by looking at her.”
