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She was determined to stop him from marrying Jaycee, but how? Pausing in panic even as his secretary rushed ahead, she reminded herself that she couldn’t turn back, plan or not.
Quickening her pace, Kira caught up to the efficient young woman, who was probably moving so quickly because she was as scared of the unfeeling brute as Kira was.
When his secretary pushed open Quinn’s door, the deep, rich tones of the man’s surprisingly beautiful voice moved through Kira like music. Her knees lost strength, and she stopped in midstep.
Oh, no, it was happening again.
She’d known from meeting him the first time that he was charismatic, but she’d counted on her newly amassed knowledge of his despicable character to protect her. His edgy baritone slid across her nerve endings, causing warm tingles in her secret, feminine places, and she knew she was as vulnerable to him as before.
Fighting not to notice that her nipples ached and that her pulse had sped up, she took a deep breath before daring a glance at the black-headed rogue. Looking very much at ease, he sat sprawled at his desk, the back of his linebacker shoulders to her as he leaned against his chair, a telephone jammed to his ear.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, be attracted to this man.
On his desk she noted a silver-framed photograph of his father. With their intense blue eyes, black hair and strongly chiseled, tanned features, father and son closely resembled each other. Both, she knew, had been college athletes. Did Quinn keep the photo so close out of love or to energize him in his quest for revenge?
“I told you to buy, Habib,” he ordered brusquely in that too-beautiful voice. “What’s there to talk about? Do it.” He ended the call.
At least he was every bit as rude as she remembered. Deep baritone or not, it should be easy to hate him.
His secretary coughed to let him know they were at the door.
Quinn whirled around in his massive, black leather chair, scowling, but went still the instant he saw Kira.
He lifted that hard, carved chin, which surprisingly enough had the most darling dimple, and, just like that, dismissed his secretary.
His piercing, laser-blue gaze slammed into Kira full force and heated her through—just like before.
Black hair. Bronze skin. Fierce, brilliant eyes … With a single glance the man bewitched her.
When his mouth lifted at the edges, her world shifted as it had that first evening—and he hadn’t even touched her.
He was as outrageously handsome as ever. Every bit as dark, tall, lean and hard, as cynical and untamed—even in his orderly office with his efficient secretary standing guard.
Still, for an instant, Kira thought she saw turbulent grief and longing mix with unexpected pleasure at the sight of her.
He remembered her.
But in a flash the light went out of his eyes, and his handsome features tightened into those of the tough, heartless man he wanted people to see.
In spite of his attempt at distance, a chord of recognition had been struck. It was as if they’d seen into each other’s souls, had sensed each other’s secret yearnings.
She wanted her family, who deemed her difficult and frustrating, to love and accept her for herself, as they did her sister.
He had longings that revenge and outward success had failed to satisfy. What were they? What was lacking in his disciplined, showy, materialistic life?
Was he as drawn to her as she was to him?
Impossible.
So how could he be the only man who’d ever made her feel less alone in the universe?
Hating him even more because he’d exposed needs she preferred to conceal, she tensed. He had no right to open her heart and arouse such longings.
Frowning, he cocked his dark head and studied her. “I owe you an apology for the last time we met,” he drawled in that slow, mocking baritone that turned her insides to mush. “I was nervous about the takeover and the engagement and about making a good impression on you and your family. I was too harsh with you. A few inches more … and I could have killed you. I was afraid, and that made me angry.”
“You owe me nothing,” she said coolly.
“I don’t blame you in the least for avoiding me all these weeks. I probably scared the hell out of you.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you. Not really,” she murmured, but a telltale flush heated her neck as she thought of the family dinners she’d opted out of because she’d known he’d be there.
If only she could run now, escape him. But Jaycee needed her, so instead, she hedged. “I’ve been busy.”
“Waitressing?”
“Yes! I’m helping out Betty, my best friend, while I interview for museum jobs. Opening a restaurant on the San Antonio River Walk was a lifetime dream of hers. She got busier faster than she expected, and she offered me a job. Since I waited tables one summer between college semesters, I’ve got some experience.”
He smiled. “I like it that you’re helping your friend realize her dream even though your career is stalled. That’s nice.”
“We grew up together. Betty was our housekeeper’s daughter. When we got older my mother kept hoping I’d outgrow the friendship while Daddy helped Betty get a scholarship.”
“I like that you’re generous and loyal.” He hesitated. “Your pictures don’t do you justice. Nor did my memory of you.”
His blue eyes gleamed with so much appreciation her cheeks heated. “Maybe because the last time I saw you I was slathered in mud.”
He smiled. “Still, being a waitress seems like a strange job for a museum curator, even if it’s temporary. You did major in art history at Princeton and completed that internship at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I believe you graduated with honors.”
She had no idea how she’d done so well, but when her grades had thrilled her father, she’d worked even harder.
“Has Daddy, who by the way, has a bad habit of talking too much, told you my life history?”
For a long moment, Quinn didn’t confirm her accusation or deny it.
“Well, is that where you learned these details?”
“If he talked about you, it was because I was curious and asked him.”
Not good. She frowned as she imagined her parents complaining about her disappointments since Princeton during all those family dinners she’d avoided.
“Did my father tell you that I’ve had a hard time with a couple of museum directors because they micromanaged me?”
“Not exactly.”
“I’ll bet. He takes the boss’s side because he’s every bit as high-handed and dictatorial. Unfortunately, one night after finishing the setup of a new show, when I was dead tired, the director started second-guessing my judgment about stuff he’d already signed off on. I made the mistake of telling him what I really thought. When there were budget cuts, you can probably guess who he let go.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m good at what I do. I’ll find another job, but until I do, I don’t see why I shouldn’t help Betty. Unfortunately, my father disagrees. We frequently disagree.”
“It’s your life, not his.”
Her thoughts exactly. Having him concur was really sort of annoying, since Quinn was supposed to be the enemy.
In the conversational lull, she noticed that his spectacular physique was elegantly clad in a dark gray suit cut to emphasize every hard sinew of his powerful body. Suddenly, she wished she’d dressed up. Then she caught herself. Why should she care about looking her best for a man she should hate, when her appearance was something she rarely thought about?
All she’d done today was scoop her long, dark hair into a ponytail that cascaded down her back. Still, when his eyes hungrily skimmed her figure, she was glad that she’d worn the loosely flowing white shirt and long red scarf over her tight jeans because the swirls of cloth hid her body.
His burning gaze, which had ignited way too many feminine hormones, rose to her face again. When he smiled as he continued to stare, she bit her bottom lip to keep from returning his smile.
Rising, he towered over her, making her feel small and feminine and lovely in ways she’d never felt lovely before. He moved toward her, seized her hand in his much larger one and shook it gently.
“I’m very glad you decided to give me a second chance.”
Why did his blunt fingers have to feel so warm and hard, his touch and gaze so deliciously intimate? She snatched her hand away, causing his eyes to flash with that pain he didn’t want her to see.
“That’s not what this is.”
“But you were avoiding me, weren’t you?”
“I was,” she admitted and then instantly regretted being so truthful.
“That was a mistake—for both of us.”
When he asked her if she wanted coffee or a soda or anything at all to drink, she said no and looked out the windows at the sun sinking low against the San Antonio skyline. She couldn’t risk looking at him any more than necessary because her attraction seemed to be building. He would probably sense it and use it against her somehow.
With some difficulty she reminded herself that she disliked him. So, why did she still feel hot and clammy and slightly breathless, as if there were a lack of oxygen in the room?
It’s called chemistry. Sexual attraction. It’s irrational.
Her awareness only sharpened when he pulled out a chair for her and returned to his own. Sitting down and crossing one long leg over the other, he leaned back again. The pose should have seemed relaxed, but as he concentrated on her she could see he wasn’t relaxed—he was intently assessing her.
The elegant office became eerily silent as he stared. Behind the closed doors, she felt trapped. Leaning forward, her posture grew as rigid as his was seemingly careless.
His hard, blue eyes held her motionless.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this afternoon … or should I say this evening?” he asked in that pleasant tone that made her tremble with excitement.
She imagined them on his megayacht, sailing silently across the vast, blue Gulf of Mexico. Her auburn hair would blow in the wind as he pulled her close and suggested they go below.
“You’re my last appointment, so I can give you as much time as you want,” he said, thankfully interrupting her seduction fantasy.
Her guilty heart sped up. Why had she come at such a late hour when he might not have another appointment afterward?
The sky was rapidly darkening, casting a shadow across his carved face, making him look stark and feral, adding to the danger she felt upon finding herself alone with him.
Even though her fear made her want to flee, she was far too determined to do what she had to do to give in to it.
She blurted out, “I don’t want you to marry Jaycee.” Oh, dear, she’d meant to lead up to this in some clever way.
He brought his blunt fingertips together in a position of prayer. When he leaned across his desk toward her, she sank lower in her own chair. “Don’t you? How very strange.”
“It’s not strange. You can’t marry her. You don’t love her. You and she are too different to care for each other as a man and wife should.”
His eyes darkened in a way that made him seem more alive than any man she’d ever known. “I wasn’t referring to Jacinda. I was talking about you … and me and how strange that I should feel … so much—” He stopped. “When for all practical purposes we just met.”
His eyes bored into hers with that piercing intensity that left her breathless. Once again she felt connected to him by some dark, forbidden, primal force.
“I never anticipated this wrinkle when I suggested a marriage with a Murray daughter,” he murmured.
When his eyes slid over her body again in that devouring way, her heart raced. Her tall, slim figure wasn’t appealing to most men. She’d come to believe there was nothing special about her. Could he possibly be as attracted to her as she was to him?
“You don’t love her,” she repeated even more shakily.
“Love? No. I don’t love her. How could I? I barely know her.”
“You see!”
“Your father chose her, and she agreed.”
“Because she’s always done everything he tells her to.”
“You, however, would not have agreed so easily?” He paused. “Love does not matter to me in the least. But now I find myself curious about his choice of brides. And … even more curious about you. I want to get to know you better.” His tone remained disturbingly intimate.
She remembered his revolving bedroom door and the parade of voluptuous blondes who’d passed through it. Was he so base he’d think it nothing to seduce his future wife’s sister and then discard her, too?
“You’ve made no secret of how you feel about my father,” she whispered with growing wariness. “Why marry his daughter?”
“Business. There are all these rumors in the press that I want to destroy Murray Oil, a company that once belonged to my beloved father.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. I would never pay an immense amount of money for a valuable property in order to destroy it.”
“But you think my father blackened your father’s name and then profited after buying your father out. That’s why you’re so determined to destroy everything he’s built, everything he loves … including Jaycee.”
His lips thinned. Suddenly, his eyes were arctic. “My father built Murray Oil, not yours. Only back then it was called Sullivan and Murray Oil. Your father seized the opportunity, when my dad was down, to buy him out at five cents on the dollar.”
“My father made the company what it is today.”
“Well, now I’m going to take it over and improve upon it. Marriage to a Murray daughter will reassure the numerous employees that family, not a vengeful marauder, will be at the helm of the business.”
“That would be a lie. You are a marauder, and you’re not family.”
“Not yet,” he amended. “But a few Saturdays hence, if I marry Jaycee, we will be … family”
“Never. Not over my dead body!” She expelled the words in an outraged gasp.
“The thought of anything so awful happening to your delectable body is hateful to me.” When he hesitated, his avid, searching expression made her warm again.
