Gerald’s stare was lingering as he admired Mick’s unconsciously provocative stride.
Mick smoothed her hands across the lilac silk suit she wore and focused on the double glass doors in front of her. Her suit, with its plunging V-neckline and row of tiny buttons along the front, was coordinated with a matching above-the-knee flippy skirt that emphasized the shapeliness of her legs. The outfit was both alluring and businesslike. She looked great, but prayed she wouldn’t fall flat on her face. Literally.
Past the double doors stood a tall young woman with a café au lait complexion and huge dark eyes. She would have looked severe had it not been for the warmth in her gaze and smile.
“Ms. Sellars,” she greeted, stepping forward with an outstretched hand, “so glad you could make it.”
“Quite a place you have here,” Mick noted, as she surveyed her surroundings with an unabashed eye.
“Indeed,” the woman agreed with a chuckle. “I’m Jasmine Hughes, administrative director for the Ramsey Group.”
Mick nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“I apologize for the cloak-and-dagger feel to the meeting, but the guys want to keep the staff and the rest of the family out of this for the time being.”
“I understand,” Mick assured her, then fixed Jasmine with a sly smile. “The guys, don’t you mean, the gods?”
Jasmine laughed then, her cheeks darkening a bit as she grew flushed. “I see you’ve been talking to your publisher.”
“Mmm, and she really enjoyed your conversation.”
Jasmine was shaking her head. “She really has a way of coaxing information out of people.”
Mick leaned close. “Don’t tell her I said so, but she’s even better at it than I am.”
“Well, nothing I said was an exaggeration, I promise you,” Jasmine said, while pushing her hands into the pockets of her lime-green pantsuit. “The guys are cool, but you’ll see that for yourself.”
Mick’s smile disappeared to a halt. “Uh, Jasmine?”
She turned. “Yes?”
Mick saw the expectant look in the woman’s eyes and prayed she wouldn’t offend her. “I don’t know how much Contessa told you about my work, but I don’t write entertainment pieces. I dig deep for my stories, and if the gods believe the other is the sort of work I do, I’m afraid they’ll be very disappointed.”
Jasmine didn’t appear the least bit offended as she nodded in understanding. “Quiet as kept, but I’m very familiar with your work, Ms. Sellars. It’s one of the reasons I was so excited about the guys speaking with you. Many are eager for the story and many are against it, and unless one person in particular changes his mind, this book may never be written.”
Before Mick could question the foreboding statement, Jasmine was waving her hands in the air.
“Here we are,” she announced when they approached a lone elevator. “This will take you straight up to the office,” she said as Mick stepped inside the car. “Good luck,” she added just before the doors closed.
Inside the walnut-paneled car, Mick closed her eyes. She was unused to feeling on edge about anything or anyone.
“Calm down, Mick,” she told herself, “you’re about to meet with the gods.”
The elevator’s dark pine doors opened with a quiet swoosh and Mick took a moment to step out. Her stylish open-toed wedge heels sank into a thick black carpet. The area was bathed in dim lighting and was only partially illuminated by the calming glow that radiated from at least four gargantuan aquariums spaced throughout the room.
The sound of the central air-conditioning combined with the aquarium’s ventilators provided a soothing hum that enhanced the mellow ambience of the office.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice sounding soft and melodic in the quiet atmosphere.
There was no answer, but Mick barely noticed as she was already strolling toward the bay of miniature landscapes in one corner. There were at least four of the shellacked oak boxes that reached her waist. The models were obvious replicas of Ramsey Group constructions. Mick studied each one, growing entranced by the detail put into each display.
A gasp slipped past her mouth when she discovered a massive world map that partially filled the opposite wall. It too was lit by dim spotlights and seemed to notate every location of a Ramsey Group office, residential or commercial development, or work in progress.
Mick felt that overwhelming feeling fill her chest again. “Oh boy,” she breathed.
“Ms. Sellars?”
Michaela whirled around when the canyon-deep voice reached her ears. She blinked, her amber stare narrowing.
“Yes?” she inquired softly, though she found no one in the vicinity.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the voice said, though it seemed to be gaining volume as if its owner was drawing near.
“No, it—it’s quite all right,” Mick whispered, the natural arch of her brows lifting a bit as she waited. At last, she was able to just make out a figure in the distance. The more the form grew defined, the wider her eyes became.
The man who came into view then forced a soft sound from her throat. Her lips parted, giving her an expression of complete amazement.
“Quaysar Ramsey,” he introduced while extending his hand to shake.
Mick’s reaction was delayed as she was struck by the man who stood before her. She remembered rolling her eyes and regarding all the accolades about the Ramsey men as fantastic musings by sex-crazed women. Now she could see that the label “gods” fit this man, and quite probably his brother, to a tee.
Mick had never considered herself to be a short woman. She wasn’t some leggy model type, of course, but she did have some height on her. Sadly, that height seemed miniscule while she stood before this male who had to be at least six and a half feet tall. His eyes were a bottomless black, set beneath long, straight, sleek brows, close-cut hair, long distinctive nose, and the mouth—
Mick shook her head, commanding her attention to business. “Sorry,” she whispered, accepting his hand to shake. “Michaela Sellars,” she added, then grimaced at remembering he’d already spoken her name.
Quaysar grinned and only grew more gorgeous, if that were possible. His teeth were brilliantly white and even, making the single dimple and cleft in his chin more striking.
“Yes.” He acknowledged her uneasy introduction as though he was accustomed to such reactions toward him. He covered her hand with his other and gently guided her into the depths of the office. “Have a seat,” he urged softly, when they approached mocha suede furnishings on the other side of the office. “Can I get you anything?” he offered.
Mick waved her hand. “I’m okay,” she said, quickly taking her place on one of the armchairs instead of the extremely long sofa they flanked.
Quaysar’s grin widened. His dark eyes narrowed to a playful squint as he unbuttoned his sandstone suit coat and chose the chair opposite Mick. “I suppose you’ve wondered why we wanted to meet with you alone?” he asked.
Mick’s lashes fluttered. She glanced around the dim, majestic, and clearly masculine office for any sign of the “we” he spoke of. Finally, she offered a conceding smile to her host. “I did wonder about that,” she admitted.
Quaysar leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. For the first time, he seemed to lose a bit of his playfulness. “Ms. Sellars, when the issue of a book being written is presented to a family as reclusive as mine, there’re bound to be mixed feelings involved,” he confided, the muscle twitching in his jaw as he focused on his clasped hands. “Unfortunately, that’s what we’re faced with now.”
Mick smiled. “I see,” she acknowledged with a slow nod.
“Since I was the one who wanted to go full steam with this, I’m the one who has to break the news to you,” he continued. “I’m afraid it’s news you won’t like.” He raised his ebony gaze to her face. “Call me a coward, but there was no way I could handle disappointing two women at the same time.”
Michaela almost laughed aloud, but restrained
herself. “You have to say no to the book?” she supplied for him.
Quaysar grimaced and leaned back against the armchair. “When you come from a family like mine, you’ll find that you have plenty of sticks in the mud. Sadly, my partner is one such stick.”
Mick settled her hands in her lap and stifled the urge to smile. “Your brother,” she guessed.
Quaysar nodded. “He’s completely against it, and without his support, this thing is dead in the water.” He shrugged. “Again, I apologize.”
“Please don’t,” Mick told him while raising her hands. “I completely understand. Your brother’s just very protective of you all. A book could bring unimagined attention to your family—that attention could quickly become unwanted and harassing.”
Quaysar’s brows drew close and he appeared a bit taken aback by her outlook. “Shouldn’t you be trying to talk me into this or at least helping me to devise a way to persuade my stick-in-the-mud brother?”
Mick was already shaking her head no. “If I had a family, I’d do everything in my power to protect their privacy too.”
“If you had a family?” Quaysar probed softly, tilting his head at the sadness that quickly flashed across Mick’s pretty brown face.
“I lost my parents at a young age. No brothers or sisters,” she said, her tone of finality a silent message to Quaysar that he not probe any further.
Again, Quaysar leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “I am sorry that we wasted your time,” he said in his softest tone.
“Oh, it was no waste. I promise you. I’ve never visited Seattle, but I love it. Now I’ll have a bit more time to explore the city.”
The solemn look vanished from Quaysar’s midnight stare, and it was once again playful and sparkling. Blatantly, he appraised the creamy brown beauty in his presence. Like most men, he grew transfixed on her heart-shaped mouth, complete with a tiny mole in the corner. Images of the delights that mouth could provide made his thoughts run wild.
“I at least have to have you for dinner,” he decided. He sounded as though he were speaking to himself and as if he were referring to dining on something other than food. “I’ll call your hotel and we’ll set it up before you leave,” he added.
Mick laughed. “I’d like that,” she said, nodding as she stood from the oversized chair.
Quaysar’s hand settled to the small of her back as they retraced their steps through the office. “I would’ve enjoyed working with you, Ms. Sellars,” he told her when they stood before the elevator.
“Call me Mick,” she requested, watching as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “It’ll make our dinner conversation less formal,” she figured.
“And you can call me Quay,” he permitted, squeezing her hand once before releasing it. Then he pressed the button on the wood panel and the pine doors opened.
Quay waited until the elevator began its descent, before leaning back on his long legs and stroking his square jaw. “Mmm… Mick…yummy,” he added, and then rolled his eyes when he heard the disgusted grunt from the far corner of the room. “Don’t even try it, you cannot deny any compliment to that lusciousness that just walked out of here,” he challenged, watching as a large form moved in the shadows while leaving the chair behind the desk.
“And that’s the only reason you even considered this book nonsense,” was the reply, spoken in a deep voice that possessed a softer, more unsettling quality that differed from Quaysar’s.
“I agreed to this book because it’d be good for the family.”
“Bull.”
“Why?”
Quest Ramsey perched on the edge of the desk then. “You took one look at her photo and wanted her here for however long it’d take you to get her into bed.”
“Damn,” Quay retorted, pretending to be stunned in the midst of his amazement. “Man, are you forgetting how many women are in Seattle?”
“No, but as you saw fit to point out, she’s quite…yummy and luscious.”
Quay smiled. “And I suppose you never noticed that?”
“Oh, I noticed,” Quest admitted, his eyes narrowing sharply. The deep-set gray stare darkened to black as he recalled the poised, soft-spoken beauty whose perfume still lingered in the office. “I noticed something else too. Her work,” he added when Quay fixed him with a dumbfounded expression. “Did you even bother to read anything in that proposal her publisher sent?”
Quay folded his arms across his chest and produced a pointed look. Quest laughed, revealing the dimple that flashed in his left cheek.
“And I suppose you’ve never read any of her books, either?” Quest asked, receiving another pointed look from his brother. “Is there anything on your nightstand besides Playboy, man?”
“Of course there is. Penthouse,” Quay revealed coolly.
Quest brought one hand to his left arm and massaged the dull ache forming at the brand on his arm—a reminder of college days, the result of a frat branding party gone wrong. Now it only ached when he was frustrated. “Look, Quay,” he urged, moving his hand from the sleeve of the cobalt blue shirt he wore, “the lusciousness you’re so taken by is no fool. She’s got a master’s in journalism, one in English, and eight years as a crime reporter. She doesn’t write fluff, no entertainment stories with more pictures than words,” he carefully explained, his glare now as black as his brother’s. “Don’t think she’s so interested in the family because she wants to tell the world what great people we are. She wants a story, she wants dirt, and the Ramseys got plenty.”
Quay rolled his eyes and massaged the back of his neck. “You work my damn nerves with this suspicion of yours, Q,” he almost growled.
Quest shrugged. “This suspicion of mine has kept us out of a lot of crap. Don’t forget that.”
“Maybe a little trouble would shake things up a bit. Get us to face some things,” Quay argued softly, perching on the edge of the desk as well.
“I will admit that I don’t believe she’s only out for dirt. Unlike you, I’ve read her work,” Quest shared. “She’s got an easy style, it’s nonfiction that reads like a novel, and you can almost feel her dedication to highlight both good and bad details of her subjects.” He grimaced then, as though he was contemplating. “There’s something else too—another side that I can’t quite put a label on yet. She’s great at showing the love and triumphant spirit in each family she portrays. I was also impressed by the way she didn’t try to persuade you to change your mind when you turned down the book.”
Quay’s hands met in a single clap. “There you go! Now that, at least, warrants her a little benefit of the doubt.”
Quest groaned, knowing where his twin was headed next. “My position still stands,” he said and left the desk.
“Well, at least we won’t have to waste time talkin’ business during our dinner date,” Quay reasoned with a lazy shrug.
Quest’s expression tightened as he strolled toward the elevator.
“Where’re you goin’?” Quay called, but received no reply.
Mick was fluffing out the unruly curls across her head. She and County were scheduled to have dinner later and she was trying to decide whether to do anything different with the mop of riotous locks. The doorbell chimed then and Mick took that as confirmation to let her hair alone. It’d never obey her wishes to stay pulled into an elaborate updo anyway, she thought with a disapproving snort.
Turning quickly, she shuffled toward the door. The long ears on her bunny slippers slapped the carpet as her steps quickened. She figured it was County, but looked out the peephole anyway. A quick “oh” wisped past her lips when she glimpsed her visitor.
“Damn it,” she whispered, glancing down at her attire, which consisted of a cap-sleeved tee with a pair of glittery pink lips emblazoned across her breasts. The sleep pants hugged her hips, while flattering her bottom in the most adoring manner, and were covered with hundreds of full pink lips. Then there were the bunny slippers….
“Oh, what the hell, he’s already
seen me dressed up,” she reasoned and flung open the door. Her expression was light and inviting as she prepared to greet Quaysar Ramsey. But the easy look in her amber stare turned questioning as she gazed up at the man who filled her doorway. Subconsciously, she took a step backward.
“Mr. Ramsey,” she greeted, her coolness returning a bit. “I was hoping to meet you before I left town.”
Now it was Quest’s turn to appear confused. “You know who I am?” he asked, obvious disbelief clinging to every word.
Mick nodded, her soft smile instantly drawing his eyes to her mouth.
“How?” he probed after commanding himself not to allow the woman’s X-rated lips to make him lose track of his senses.
Mick was surprised by her intuition as well, but realized that although the Ramsey twins were clearly identical, they possessed distinct differences. Especially Quest. For some reason, Mick believed she would know him anywhere, and that belief was more than a little disconcerting.
At last, she shrugged. “It’s my secret,” she said in a prim tone, her heart fluttering when his laughter touched her ears. Stop it, Mick! she demanded, feeling completely disgusted by her light-headed behavior.
“I’m sorry for keeping you in the hall, please come in,” she urged with a gracious wave as she stepped aside.
Quest stood just inside the suite. Mick closed the door and waited for him to precede her to the living room, but he didn’t move. Finally, she realized that he was waiting on her to precede him.
“Could I get you something or have something sent up?” Mick offered as she breezed into the living area.
Quest shook his head. “I’m good. Don’t go to any trouble.”
For a moment, they stood opposite one another in the room. Finally, Mick nodded. “Please have a seat,” she invited.
Quest simply waved one hand toward the cushiony cream furnishings, and Mick saw that he was waiting for her to do so first. She responded slowly, almost stunned that this man could actually possess the rare—in her opinion, the extremely rare—quality of gallantry. She watched him settle into the armchair across from her and recalled the meeting with his brother.
A Lover's Dream Page 3
