Mick frowned and looked around the room. “Well, I’m afraid it may be a few days. I just got to Seattle and—”
“Sweetie, I really need you here now.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Just come home,” County urged, unmistakable firmness clutching her every word.
“What the hell is going on back there?” Mick snapped, her friend’s vagueness only agitating her further.
“Mick, one of the girls went to your house to pick up a tape or something. She went into the den and she found Driggers there.”
“What do you mean she found him?” Mick asked, her fingers flexing around the phone.
Again, County cleared her throat. “Sweetie, Driggers… Driggers is dead. They think he passed in his sleep.”
“What?” Mick whispered, her lips barely able to form the word. The sharpest pain knifed through her heart and she lost strength to stand. She was still holding the phone to her ear when she fell to the floor.
“Mick?” County called. “Mick!”
Quay was already kneeling beside Mick as he called out for his brother. Quest had been across the room, trying to pay attention to a conversation and keep his mind and his eyes off Michaela. When he turned in the sound of Quay’s voice and saw the scene on the other side of the room, he broke into a run to get to Mick. Questions abounded, but Quest simply pulled her into his arms and carried her out of the living room. Mick was shaking fiercely by then. Quest, thoroughly terrified, managed to keep his calm.
Quay had Mick’s phone and was speaking to County, who told him about Driggers. He whispered the news in Quest’s ear while they bounded down the hall. Quest closed his eyes, muttering a curse while squeezing Mick even closer. When they entered the private den, he sat with her on the nearest sofa.
Just then, she snapped to. Instantly, she began to struggle against Quest. She twisted to and fro, attempting to escape his hold. Finally, she pounded her fists against his chest and shoulders.
“Let go,” she grumbled. “Let go, Quest. Drig…” she moaned.
Quest held Mick fast, tightening his grip the more she struggled. He whispered soft soothing words in her ear and tried to rock her as she fought him. Eventually, her attempts at pounding his body eased and slowly the fight left her.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Quest soothed, kissing her temple and cheek. Over the top of her head, he locked gazes with his twin. “Get one of the jets ready. We’re going to Chicago,” he said.
Chapter 15
Driggers Morgan was laid to rest on a Tuesday in the most elaborate of services. Driggers had no family, but his friends were numerous. Quest was proud to consider himself among that group and he spared no expense to put the beloved man to rest in the finest.
“Hey,” Quest called, finding Mick hidden away in her den. No one in the procession had seen her since returning to her home following the funeral.
Mick had the heavy drapes drawn in the room—which was only lit by a single, small lamp. She didn’t turn when Quest called out to her.
He said nothing more, knowing her hurt was deep and would have a long stay. Pulling her back against him, he held her in a slow, rocking embrace.
“Excuse me?” A hushed voice broke into the silence some time later.
Quest and Mick turned to find a thin, Caucasian man standing just inside the room.
“Drake Bynum,” the man announced, approaching the couple slowly. “I was Mr. Morgan’s physician.”
“Physician,” Mick silently repeated, her expression relaying her surprise.
“I’m sure he never spoke of me, Ms. Sellars,” Dr. Bynum acknowledged. “He spoke of you so often, I feel I’d know you anywhere.”
“Drig,” Mick whispered, moving closer to the doctor as though she expected Driggers to step out from behind him.
“You were like his own child. He said it all the time,” Dr. Bynum mused. “He knew you’d have questions today.”
“Why?” was all she could muster.
The doctor smiled. “I suppose I was like Mr. Morgan’s surrogate psychologist. He talked to me about the things he could tell no one else.”
“How could he have been so sick?” Mick blurted, her lower lip trembling.
Taking her hands, Dr. Bynum led Mick to a sofa and joined her there. “I was so stunned when those tests came back. I had them redone so often my lab people thought I’d gone mad.”
“What was it?” Mick asked, squeezing the doctor’s hands.
“A form of colon cancer,” the doctor explained. “Mr. Driggers was a man who didn’t believe in seeing a doctor if there was nothing hurting.”
“That was Drig,” Mick agreed softly. “Why did he come to see you, then?”
The doctor took a deep breath. “He found blood in the toilet. Deep down, I think he always knew something was wrong, but he was—”
“Stubborn and strong—physically and mentally,” Mick supplied.
“Exactly.” The doctor chuckled a little before the amusement faded and was replaced by something more solemn. “The cancer had done so much damage by the time he… Chemo and other treatments may have eased the pain he’d started to feel near the end, but he said he didn’t want anything to take more life out of him than the cancer already had. He didn’t want you to be suspicious in any way. When you went off to research your book in… Seattle, I believe it was, he could finally put down the strong front.”
Mick could barely see the doctor’s face through her tears. “When I’d call and get the voice mail, I just assumed he was out and about.”
Dr. Bynum patted her forearm.
“Why didn’t he tell me? I could’ve taken care of him until…” Her sobs gained volume.
“You’d lost so much in your life—those you loved. He didn’t want to think about you being alone again. In truth, I think he felt guilty about it. I think it’s why he tried to hold on so long.”
“Until the cancer won,” Mick said.
“And I believe even that was a decision he made.”
Mick sniffled and rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek. “He decided?”
Dr. Bynum looked over at Quest, who stood behind Mick where she sat on the sofa. “He knew you were reluctant to tell him about everything going on in Seattle. He had his suspicions though and then he was given confirmation.”
“Contessa,” Mick guessed.
“After meeting Mr. Ramsey, sensing the good in him and the love he had for you, he told me he didn’t worry that you would suffer alone—forever afraid to take a chance on having a real life for yourself. He felt content that you would be fine without him.”
Mick expressed no comment, and after a while the doctor felt he’d left her with enough information to satisfy her questions. Giving her hands a final squeeze, he rose from the sofa and went to speak briefly with Quest. Then he was gone.
“Michaela?” Quest whispered, when they were alone again.
“How could he think I didn’t need him anymore?” she asked, her sobs tumbling forth.
“Hey…” Quest soothed, drawing her near.
Mick accepted the closeness as her tears flowed freely. They soaked the lapel of Quest’s dark suit until they were spent. Mick was so drained she rested her head on his thigh and took solace in his hand stroking her back.
From that day on, Mick had been unable to do much. She was at first in denial, and then the shock returned. Everyone was very concerned by the quiet, detached persona she displayed. County was so worried she opted to stay with Mick for at least a week. Quest kept his distance, fearing his presence might in some way upset her further.
But when yet another week came and went, everyone’s worries increased. Michaela made no move to pull herself from her disassociated state. County called Quest to intervene. He found Mick in Driggers’s room one afternoon. She was staring out the window overlooking the back lawn and barely responded when Quest called her name.
“He loved the view from up here,” she said, after long mom
ents of silence.
Quest took a step toward her, his gray eyes also focusing past the window.
“He was probably enjoying one of those dance rehearsals,” he said, taking a chance on teasing, and his heart soared when she laughed.
“He was all I had,” she told him, pushing her hands into the pockets of her nylon joggers.
Quest bowed his head. “He was, but that’s not true anymore, is it?” he asked, risking a sideways glance toward her.
Slowly, Michaela met his gaze. She started to shake her head as the tears arrived. Quest drew her close, holding her as she wept.
When Mick opened her eyes, she was lying cuddled close to Quest’s chest. They were on the furry dark carpeting that covered most of the bedroom floor. She yawned and blinked several times to get her bearings. At last, she focused on the glitter before her eyes. Her lips parted when she realized the glitter came from a ring.
A smile tugged at her mouth and she shook her head once. “You knew he was the one, didn’t you, Drig?” she asked and could have sworn the ring gleamed brighter in response.
“Do I have his permission to ask?”
Mick heard his voice and raised her head to look directly into Quest’s unforgettable gaze. “You do,” she confirmed.
Quest trailed his fingers around the curve of her dark face and cupped her chin. “Will you marry me, Michaela Sellars?”
“I will,” she accepted in a tone of fierce certainty. “I will,” she whispered again, her amber gaze searching his face until their lips met to seal the promise.
The incredible view from the balcony of Quaysar’s penthouse apartment had Mick spellbound. Inside, the place was alive with conversation and laughter. Outside, she and Quest were in their own little world there on the spacious, vine-covered balcony.
Sighing her contentment, Mick rested her head back on his chest. The steady beat of his heart made her feel cozy and delighted. Quest smoothed his hands across her arms bared by the thin knotted straps of her multicolored silk dress.
Mick’s lashes fluttered when she felt his hands cupping her breasts; his thumbs were barely grazing the firming nipples. “Quest…” she warned.
“When can we get out of here?” he murmured against her temple.
“For the fifteenth time, we can’t leave.”
“Why? No one’s paying attention to us,” he argued.
“This is our engagement party. Quay went all out for us,” Mick pointed out.
Quest wasn’t softened. “He’ll get over it,” he decided while toying with the zipper at the back of the dress. When Mick wiggled, he switched tactics and lowered his hands to the hemline of the curve-hugging frock.
“Quest…”
“What?”
“No,” she ordered, brushing at his hands while pulling the hem back into place.
“Damn it,” Quest hissed, turning her around to face him. “At least let me kiss you.”
Laughing, Mick stood on her toes. “That I’ll do,” she granted, deciding she’d be safe with a simple kiss.
Of course, a simple kiss was far from what Quest had in mind. His tongue thrust deep and Mick eagerly met the throaty lunges with a fire of her own. Their moans mingled in the night air as desire surged in an almost intolerable wave of need.
Mick curved her fingers around the open collar of Quest’s maple-brown shirt as he hoisted her against his chest. He was preparing to place her on the balcony ledge when a knocking sound rose from somewhere behind them.
“Break it up,” Quay sang, a devilish smile on his dark gorgeous face.
Quest’s lashes fluttered closed as he turned back to Mick. “I really hate him sometimes.”
Mick’s laughter filled the air.
Quaysar’s grand apartment seemed awfully small with the number of guests who’d arrived for Quest and Michaela’s party. Of course, everyone came bearing gifts. The largest and most extravagant of all came from Ramsey’s construction and architectural divisions. It was to be the final gift presented that evening.
“We pride ourselves on having the best ideas, which result in the best creations,” said Jason Calloway, Ramsey’s construction chief. “But for out latest residential division, our best idea came from someone who isn’t even on our staff. Ms. Sellars—soon to be Mrs. Ramsey,” Jason rephrased when Quest cleared his throat. “I hope this is more of what you had in mind.”
Several gasps and clapping rose when a veil was lifted to reveal a scale model of the next residential endeavor. Construction was set to begin that fall. Mick recognized it as the project site Quest had taken her to when he’d showed her around Seattle.
“The yards are fantastic,” she commended, rousing laughter from everyone in the room.
Shortly, the group dispersed, but Mick was still captivated by the model.
“You approve?”
“I approve,” Mick said, nodding as Quest’s arms settled about her waist. “This is beautiful. I can’t believe they even took my advice into consideration.”
Quest pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Why?”
Mick flashed him a funny look. “Please, the boss’s girlfriend? Hell, I wasn’t even your girlfriend then.”
“We don’t care who the idea comes from, so long as it’s good.”
“And you,” Mick said, turning in his arms, “most men don’t even want their women involved in their personal business, let alone professional.”
Quest leaned close and cradled her face in his palms. “Most men don’t have a woman like you.”
Mick squeezed his hands and smiled. “Baggage and all?”
“I like ’em thick,” he teased, joining in when she laughed. “Now can we get out of here?” he pleaded.
“Let’s go,” she whispered, shaking her head when Quest clenched his fist triumphantly.
The following week, Michaela was surveying a familiar sight. Her look of surprise was mixed with suspicion “What are we doing here?” she queried her fiancé in a sly tone.
Quest shrugged beneath his buttercream suede jacket. “We needed to get away and I had a good reason for wanting to get away to here.”
“Ah…our honeymoon.” Mick sighed with mock sweetness. “But, uh, sweetie, I think you’re backward. The honeymoon comes after the wedding.”
“Funny,” Quest replied, fixing her with a warning glance. “Do you remember the last time we were here?” he asked, turning back to the truck’s flatbed.
Michaela’s eyes took on a dreamy look as she reminisced of the time spent at the secluded cabin in up-state Illinois.
Quest shook his head, knowing where her thoughts were centered the moment he saw her face. “You have a one-track mind. I wasn’t talking about the good times.”
The light dimmed in Mick’s eyes. “Quest,” she groaned, while bowing her head. “That’s over now, why—”
“Because I want all our times here to be good ones and I’d like us to deal with the bad ones the moment they happen,” he said, hooking the strap of a garment bag across his shoulder. “After what happened here before, it took us a while to get back on track, remember?”
Mick nodded. “I remember,” she admitted, pulling the cuffs of her cobalt-blue hoodie over her hands.
Quest sent her a wink, and then finished collecting their things from the truck’s flatbed.
Dusk had settled and night was right on its heels by the time Mick and Quest got everything unpacked. That evening, Mick decided to show off her culinary talents. In addition to homemade sweet bread and juicy herb-roasted chicken, she prepared a recipe for a saucy vegetable rice dish. The aromas of the combined dishes filled the house with the most exquisite smells.
“I’m starved!” Quest bellowed, for the fifth time since Mick announced dinner was ready.
Michaela was silent while preparing her plate. She placed it upon the intimate round table, and then sat with her arms folded across her chest. Patiently, she waited watching Quest devour his food as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
&nbs
p; He glanced up once from his plate, doing a double take when he noticed her stale expression. “What?” he asked.
Mick’s lips parted, her surprise evident.
Quest shrugged. “What?” he asked again.
“I have been patient. Too patient waiting for you to get to the point of this visit,” she explained softly.
Quest’s sleek brows tugged close above his deep-set eyes. He appeared thoroughly confused. “I thought I had gotten to the point.”
“Quest!” Mick cried.
He laughed then, raising his hands defensively. “All right,” he said, setting his knife and fork alongside his plate. “There are things we never discussed when we talked about my uncle’s visit here.”
“Oh, we discussed it,” Mick argued, her expression souring. “I hated every minute of it, but we discussed it.”
“But there was still something left unsaid.”
“Such as?”
“The people who attended that opening mixer are the best of my family. They always arrive several weeks early for the reunion.”
Mick’s eyes narrowed. “So? What’s wrong with that?” she asked.
“What I’m trying to tell you is that you haven’t met the worst people. My uncle Marc was just the tip of the iceberg,” he shared, his easy expression growing darker with agitation. “No one can accuse the Ramseys of biting their tongues. We all speak our minds regardless of who it hurts. I can almost guarantee you’ll have a nasty scene with another member of my family be it over your job or some other aspect of your background.” He shook his head and settled back wearily against his chair. “I’ll do my best to protect you from it, but even my best won’t stop it from happening,” he warned.
Michaela watched Quest closely as he spoke. She’d never heard the man ramble before, and it was fascinating. He looked so much like a little boy trying to get out all of an explanation in one breath. Slowly, she left her chair and deposited herself in his lap. Quest was still talking and, aside from bringing his hands up to cup her waist, he barely seemed to register her being there. In one smooth move, Mick cupped his jaw and kissed him.
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