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WHEN Nicole emerged from the powder room, the dance floor was once again crowded, couples throwing themselves into the cha-cha with much energetic panache. This left an easy passage for her back to the table where Jade and Jules remained seated, watching the action.
“Got to say Quin Sola is a superb dancer,” Jade immediately commented, pointing to where he was partnering the brunette in red from the powder room. “Did you teach him, Nicole?”
She shook her head. “It’s natural to him. He once told me dancing is an expression of life in South America. He grew up with it.”
“Where in South America?” Jules asked, his curiosity piqued.
“I don’t know. He would never say.”
“Ah! A mysterious past,” Jade pounced, waggling her highly mobile eyebrows.
“Whatever…” Nicole waved dismissively. “He became an Australian citizen and left the past in the past. Now why don’t you two go and dance? I’m happy to sit this one out.”
She didn’t want to talk about Quin.
She needed more time alone to think about him.
Jade and Jules obligingly left her to it.
Sexual memories bombarded her mind as she watched him dance, his strong, muscular legs snapping out the cha-cha rhythm, his taut cheeky butt almost mesmerising in its matching action. Quin was a great dancer. Better than Jules. Best on the dance floor, in fact. Best at everything.
Except actually caring about someone, Nicole savagely reminded herself. The trick with Quin was to take what he offered of himself, enjoy it, and not care back. She simply hadn’t been capable of doing that when she’d been with him, caring too much about too many things and losing her own sense of self-worth because he hadn’t responded in kind.
She shouldn’t have measured herself by that.
The fault lay in Quin, not her.
Five years ago it had been a matter of survival to walk away from him and his lack of caring. Now she was facing a different issue of survival, based on the one commodity Quin apparently had in plenty. Since he put a money value on everything, she wondered how much he would give to warm himself at her hearth. Could she steel herself to shut out everything else and put the question to him?
If he said no…well, that was that, nothing lost, nothing gained.
If he said yes…since he’d more or less limited their previous relationship to the bedroom, it seemed logical he’d accept that same limitation again, so there should be no great risk in such an arrangement. In fact, satisfying the desire he was stirring up might do her a power of good. It was Quin who had caused the hole Jade perceived in Nicole’s love life. A short, sharp dose of him might cure the long hangover from having been his possession.
Control was the key.
She had to hold it, not let Quin take it over.
Could she do it?
Could she?
The dance ended.
She watched him escort the brunette in red off the dance floor. Jade and Jules were noisily approaching their table. Bold, enterprising Jade. She wouldn’t think twice about approaching Quin for help if she needed it from him. Striking deals were second nature to her. Seize the day, she’d say. Make it yours.
Nicole rose to her feet, standing firmly on her stiletto heels, moving forward with determined purpose. “I’m going to speak to Quin Sola,” she informed her friends in passing.
Either he caught sight of her approach in some mirrored surface, or his personal antennae picked up her churning chemistry and swung him around to face her, negating any need to break into his social group. She halted a metre away, her mouth tilting into a wry little smile as she tossed at him, “I have a proposition for you, Quin.”
He nodded towards the bar. “Let me buy you a drink.”
The move would ensure some privacy from his companions, which certainly suited Nicole. It would also prolong this encounter which undoubtedly suited him since she’d cut him off earlier tonight. “Thank you. I’d like that,” she replied, her ready agreement bringing a smile of satisfaction to his lips.
He led off without a backward glance at the people he’d been with, instantly making her the exclusive focus of his attention, shepherding her through the crowd without actually touching her—quite a masterful operation with people in front of them moving aside at the commanding wave of his hand or a look into the bullet grey eyes.
The force, Nicole thought. Quin had always had it—the power to draw or repel people at will. It was some form of energy he knew how to exert. Or maybe it was an innate thing in him, a kind of charisma he’d been born with. It made him special, out of the ordinary, and dangerous because it was all too easy to fall under his spell and then you belonged to him.
Even knowing this and being on guard against it, Nicole felt every nerve in her body quivering with excitement at being close to the source of this treacherous power. Locking horns with Quin on any ground was tantamount to playing with fire. But she had learnt lessons from being burnt. Nothing would induce her to let this man take over her life again. She’d go so far with him and no further.
They reached the bar and despite the crush of thirsty people, somehow space was made for them and a waiter was ready to take their order. “Two margaritas,” Quin told him, not offering Nicole any choice, assuming command of the situation as he always had. But it was not going to be all his way this time, Nicole fiercely determined.
She recalled only too sharply that he’d bought them both margaritas on the very first evening they’d spent together. If he thought he could stir some sentimentality with the memory, he could think again. The cocktails were made. Quin handed over some notes and told the waiter to keep the change. Nicole took her glass, not waiting for it to be handed to her.
Quin picked up his and raised it in a toast. “To second meetings. And second thoughts,” he said whimsically, his eyes warmly welcoming her apparent change of mind.
She baulked at entering into any flirtatious banter. Nothing had to be won from Quin. He either went for the deal or he didn’t. “You asked me what would meet my needs,” she reminded him with sharp directness.
“I did,” he agreed, adopting a more attentive expression. “Have you been concocting a list?”
She ignored that question. “You said you’d like to make them your business.”
“Within reason,” he quickly amended, his eyes more calculating now.
She sipped her margarita, needing to loosen up her taut nerves, hoping a good slug of alcohol would do it. Having worked up the courage to deliver the next line, she plunged on. “You said money adds a value to everyone.”
He sipped his drink, silently weighing the thrust of her statements before laying out his interpretation of them. “Are you telling me you have a primary need for money, and if I bring enough to the table, it will open the magic door?”
“An urgent need,” she corrected him. “So the question is, Quin, how much are you willing to give to get me back into your bed?”
“Give,” he repeated, eyes narrowing. “We’re not talking about a loan?”
“No.” Her chin lifted belligerently, silently defying whatever he was thinking of her. It didn’t matter. Only the chance of a positive outcome mattered. “We’re talking about an outright gift. And it has to be available to me tomorrow,” she spelled out unequivocally.
“And when will you be available to me, Nicole, assuming that I accept your proposition?”
Her heart was pounding at the possibility he would accept. She hadn’t really believed it enough to work out how she would manage her side of the deal. What was possible for her, given her other commitments? She had to keep him away from her mother’s home at Burwood.
“Where do you live now, Quin?”
“I have an apartment at Circular Quay.”
Getting public transport to Circular Quay was not a problem—a twenty-minute train trip from Burwood. With a heavy sense of irony, she said, “I could warm the hearth of your home on two nights a week for…” What would be a reasonable offer for the money involved? There had to be a time limit.
“For as long as I want you,” he pushed.
“No!” That would be handing control to him. “For three months,” she quickly decided, not caring what he thought of it, intuitively knowing she couldn’t risk more. Three months was as fair a bargain as she was prepared to offer.
“Twenty-six nights…” he said musingly, his eyes smoking with memories of sexual highs with her.
Panic galloped through Nicole. She hadn’t done the maths, just grabbed at a time limit. Could she sustain objectivity with Quin for that long, hold the line she had to hold?
It was impossible to recant now. Quin would instantly pick up on how vulnerable she felt about it. Besides, he himself might baulk when it came to the cost of those twenty-six nights with her. No doubt he could get a high class callgirl to satisfy his every desire for much less.
“How much money do you need, Nicole?” he asked, coming straight to the point.
Her own eyes issued a mocking challenge as she replied with the total figure of the debts to be paid. “Seven hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars and fifty-five cents.” The numbers were deeply imprinted on her mind from having been so terribly plagued by them.
Quin digested them without so much as a flicker of an eyelid, maintaining a poker face as he checked on what she’d said before. “And you need it tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Or what will happen?”
She shook her head. “That’s private. This is a take it or leave it proposition. You say yes or no.”
“Spend tonight with me while I consider it.”
“No! I’m not giving out freebies, Quin. I won’t spend a night with you until you give me my value in money and it has to be given tomorrow.”
“Your value…” he drawled derisively.
“You used those words,” she fiercely reminded him, her stomach churning with the anticipation of imminent humiliation. “Yes or no,” she repeated.
His eyes glittered with plans of his own as he reached out and took her glass from her, a glass that was empty although she couldn’t recall having drunk all its contents. She saw that his was empty, too, as he placed both glasses on the bar. So this mad encounter was at an end, she thought, steeling herself to turn her back on it.
“I’ll give you my answer after you dance this tango with me,” he said with a relish that sent warning tingles down her spine.
Nicole was given no time to respond, no time to resist. Her hand was captured by his and strongly held as he pulled her after him, onto the dance floor. The band had only just started up again. No other couples had begun dancing. Quin swung her into the centre of the empty floor, then lifted her arms, arrogantly positioning the initial embrace for the traditional start of the tango.
Her body arched back in instinctive resistance as he assumed the dominant role, his strong legs forcing hers into the salida, the basic walking pattern, which Quin turned into a physical—sexual—stalking, igniting a volatile energy in Nicole that sizzled with the need to challenge him, fight him, beat him at his own game.
It was more than a matter of pride to match his perfectly executed figure-eights, his turns, twists and sweeps. Every chance she had she threw in some fancy embellishments to the hooks and kicks, challenging him to meet her creativity, beat it if he could. It goaded him to hurl her into a masterful drag, making her submit to a feet together slide, then swiftly engineering a sandwich, trapping her thigh against his, leaning into her, his arm circling her waist in possessive support as she arched back, his hand almost cupping the soft swell of her breast.
“Don’t think you can take, Quin,” she shot at him.
“Just checking the merchandise,” he retorted.
Nicole’s blood boiled at the crass term but there was no point in taking offence since it was in keeping with her proposition. Besides, it was best she knew Quin thought of her like that—a strong deterrent to any emotional attachment forming.
Merchandise…
She’d show him merchandise!
The intricate footwork and dark passion of their tango had drawn spectators who stood back, clapping them on, leaving them plenty of room to indulge themselves in the dramatic rhythm of the music. Nicole recklessly abandoned herself to the sexuality of the dance with a wild display of provocative wiggles and shakes until Quin claimed her again, sweeping her into a whirl of double-time steps, then re-establishing his dominance with a high lift and a body curl around him. Nicole hit back with a full contact downward slide which gave her undeniable evidence of his excitement.
“Nothing without the money, Quin,” she reminded him, exulting in the hard bulge of his erection.
His eyes blazed raw desire at her. “Don’t tell me you’re not on fire, Nicole.”
“You won’t break my resolve,” she taunted and maintained a haughty disdain throughout his heat-seeking manoeuvres for the rest of the dance.
They were breathing hard when the music ended, her breasts heaving against his chest, their bodies bent in the traditional aggressive/resistant pose, her head, shoulders and arms straining away from him, her long hair almost sweeping the floor, his face hovering over hers. Although loud applause broke out around them, neither of them acknowledged it. Quin wasn’t yet ready to break from the sizzling sexuality of this last embrace.
“Admit you want me!” he demanded.
“Prove that you value what I can give you,” she counter-demanded.
“Tomorrow morning, the money. Tomorrow night, you come to me.”
“Agreed.”
His eyes glittered with animal savagery. “I’ll have my pound of flesh, Nicole.”
But not my heart, she thought with the same depth of ferocity. Quin Sola couldn’t take it twice.
“Twenty-six nights,” he reaffirmed.
“Payment in full,” she promised.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“I know.”
“As long as you understand there is no escape clause.”
“Understood.”
“Right! So let’s get down to necessary details.”
He scooped her upright again and released her from his embrace, retaining only her hand as he swung her out beside him to perform an acknowledging bow to the still applauding spectators. Their faces were a blur to Nicole. She was gripped by a weird sense of shock that the deal had actually been made. Quin was going to pay off the ruinous debt and she was about to become his sex slave for three months.
Being his sex slave was not something new, she sternly told herself, just a repetition of the past, but her legs started wobbling as they made their way back to the bar. Neither she nor Quin were inclined to head for their respective tables since there was still private business to be done. She hoped he understood that their negotiated intimacy should remain private, too.
“Another drink?” Quin asked.
“Just iced water,” she replied.
He ordered two, probably feeling the same need to cool down. While they waited, a man came up and clapped Quin on the shoulder, claiming his attention and making Nicole’s nerves even more jumpy.
“Got to say you’ve met your match, Quin,” he rolled out with a grin, twinkling brown eyes spreading his good humour to both of them. “Great dancing! You should snag him for a partner if you’re still doing dance competitions, Nicole.”
Shock hit her hard, squeezing her heart and making her stomach contract in fear.
Tony Fisher!
She remembered giving him dancing lessons—something like two years ago—but she couldn’t remember how she’d been working her situation at the time. Did he know about Zoe? Would he mention her to Quin? How closely were the two men connected?
“Tony…” she greeted him belatedly.
