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Terms of Engagement
Ann Major
Be swept away by passion… with intense drama and compelling plots, these emotionally powerful reads will keep you captivated from beginning to end.Billionaire Quinn Sullivan is close to taking over his enemy’s company.He simply has to marry his rival’s youngest daughter. But when Kira Murray begs him not to seduce her sister, Quinn can’t help being intrigued. Here is a woman who ignites feelings far more exciting. Now the tycoon has a new agenda…



“Surely there is some sacrifice you’d be willing to make to inspire me to change my mind.”
“I…don’t know what you mean.”
“My hypothetical marriage to your sister is a business deal, after all. As a businessman, I would require compensation for letting the deal fall through.”
Quinn’s blue eyes stung her, causing the pulse in her throat to hammer frantically.
“Maybe…er…the satisfaction of doing a good deed for once in your life?” Kira said.
He laughed. “That’s a refreshing idea if ever I heard one—but, like most humans, I’m driven by the desire to avoid pain and pursue pleasure.”
“And to think—I imagined you to be primarily driven by greed. Well, I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“What do you want then?”
“I think you know,” he said silkily, leaning closer.
Dear Reader,
Stories are the imaginary children of a writer’s soul. I tend to write about family, the need to belong and loneliness.
My heroine, Kira, needs to feel she belongs to her family. There’s no sacrifice she won’t make in that endeavor. To save her sister, she’ll even marry a man whose lifelong goal has been the destruction of her family.
As in real life, when all too often the most mysterious forces in our lives are the yearnings hidden deep within our own hearts that drive us, Kira doesn’t know where her feelings come from until she discovers a long-kept family secret. Fortunately, by then she is in love with her new husband and is loved in return.
Enjoy,
Ann Major

About the Author
ANN MAJOR lives in Texas with her husband of many years and is the mother of three grown children. She has a master’s degree from Texas A&M at Kingsville, Texas, and is a former English teacher. She is a founding board member of the Romance Writers of America and a frequent speaker at writers’ groups.
Ann loves to write—she considers her ability to do so a gift. Her hobbies include hiking in the mountains, sailing, ocean kayaking, traveling and playing the piano. But most of all, she enjoys her family. Visit her website at www.annmajor.com.

Terms of
Engagement
Ann Major


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Ted, with all my love.
And as always I must thank my editor, Stacy Boyd, and
Shana Smith, along with the entire Desire team
for their talented expertise.
I thank as well my agent, Karen Solem.

One
No good deed goes unpunished.
When would she ever learn? Kira wondered.
With her luck, never.
So, here she sat, in the office of oil billionaire Quinn Sullivan, too nervous to concentrate on her magazine as she waited to see if he would make time for a woman he probably thought of as just another adversary to be crushed in his quest for revenge.
Dreadful, arrogant man.
If he did grant her an audience, would she have any chance of changing his mind about destroying her family’s company, Murray Oil, and forcing her sister Jaycee into marriage?
A man vengeful enough to hold a grudge against her father for twenty years couldn’t possibly have a heart that could be swayed.
Kira Murray clenched and unclenched her hands. Then she sat on them, twisting in her chair. When the man across from her began to stare, she told herself to quit squirming. Lowering her eyes to her magazine, she pretended to read a very boring article on supertankers.
High heels clicked rapidly on marble, causing Kira to look up in panic.
“Miss Murray, I’m so sorry. I was wrong. Mr. Sullivan is still here.” There was surprise in his secretary’s classy, soothing purr.
“In fact, he’ll see you now.”
“He will?” Kira squeaked. “Now?”
The secretary’s answering smile was a brilliant white.
Kira’s own mouth felt as dry as sandpaper. She actually began to shake. To hide this dreadful reaction, she jumped to her feet so fast she sent the glossy magazine to the floor, causing the man across from her to glare in annoyance.
Obviously, she’d been hoping Quinn would refuse to see her. A ridiculous wish when she’d come here for the express purpose of finally meeting him properly and having her say.
Sure, she’d run into him once, informally. It had been right after he’d announced he wanted to marry one of the Murray daughters to make his takeover of Murray Oil less hostile. Her father had suggested Jaycee, and Kira couldn’t help but think he’d done so because Jaycee was his favorite and most biddable daughter. As always, Jaycee had dutifully agreed with their father’s wishes, so Quinn had come to the ranch for a celebratory dinner to seal the bargain.
He’d been late. A man as rich and arrogant as he was probably thought himself entitled to run on his own schedule.
Wounded by her mother’s less-than-kind assessment of her outfit when she’d first arrived—”Jeans and a torn shirt? How could you think that appropriate for meeting a man so important to this family’s welfare?”—Kira had stormed out of the house. She hadn’t had time to change after the crisis at her best friend’s restaurant, where Kira was temporarily waiting tables while looking for a museum curator position. Since her mother always turned a deaf ear to Kira’s excuses, rather than explain, Kira had decided to walk her dad’s hunting spaniels while she nursed her injured feelings.
The brilliant, red sun that had been sinking fast had been in her eyes as the spaniels leaped onto the gravel driveway, dragging her in their wake. Blinded, she’d neither seen nor heard Quinn’s low-slung, silver Aston Martin screaming around the curve. Slamming on his brakes, he’d veered clear of her with several feet to spare. She’d tripped over the dogs and fallen into a mud puddle.
Yipping wildly, the dogs had raced back to the house, leaving her to face Quinn on her own with cold, dirty water dripping from her chin.
Quinn had gotten out of his fancy car and stomped over in his fancy Italian loafers just as she got to her feet. For a long moment, he’d inspected every inch of her. Then, mindless of her smudged face, chattering teeth and muddy clothes, he’d pulled her against his tall, hard body, making her much too aware of his clean, male smell and hard, muscular body.
“Tell me you’re okay.”
He was tall and broad-shouldered, so tall he’d towered over her. His angry blue eyes had burned her; his viselike fingers had cut into her elbow. Despite his overcharged emotions, she’d liked being in his arms—liked it too much.
“Damn it, I didn’t hit you, did I? Well, say something, why don’t you?”
“How can I—with you yelling at me?”
“Are you okay, then?” he asked, his grip loosening, his voice softening into a husky sound so unexpectedly beautiful she’d shivered. This time, she saw concern in his hard expression.
Had it happened then?
Oh, be honest, Kira, at least with yourself. That was the moment you formed an inappropriate crush on your sister’s future fiancé, a man whose main goal in life is to destroy your family.
He’d been wearing faded jeans, a white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. On her, jeans looked rumpled, but on him, jeans had made him ruggedly, devastatingly handsome. Over one arm, he carried a cashmere jacket.
She noted his jet-black hair and carved cheekbones with approval. Any woman would have. His skin had been darkly bronzed, and the dangerous aura of sensuality surrounding him had her sizzling.
Shaken by her fall and by the fact that the enemy was such an attractive, powerful man who continued to hold her close and stare down at her with blazing eyes, her breath had come in fits and starts.
“I said—are you okay?”
“I was fine—until you grabbed me.” Her hesitant voice was tremulous … and sounded strangely shy. “You’re hurting me, really hurting me!” She’d lied so he would let her go, and yet part of her hadn’t wanted to be released.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Sorry,” he’d said, his tone harsh again.
“Who the hell are you anyway?” he’d demanded.
“Nobody important,” she’d muttered.
His dark brows winged upward. “Wait … I’ve seen your pictures … You’re the older sister. The waitress.”
“Only temporarily … until I get a new job as a curator.”
“Right. You were fired.”
“So, you’ve heard Father’s version. The truth is, my professional opinion wasn’t as important to the museum director as I might have liked, but I was let go due to budget constraints.”
“Your sister speaks highly of you.”
“Sometimes I think she’s the only one in this family who does.”
Nodding as if he understood, he draped his jacket around her shoulders. “I’ve wanted to meet you.” When she glanced up at him, he said, “You’re shivering. The least I can do is offer you my jacket and a ride back to the house.”
Her heart pounded much too fast, and she was mortified that she was covered with mud and that she found her family’s enemy exciting and the prospect of wearing his jacket a thrill. Not trusting herself to spend another second with such a dangerous man, especially in the close quarters of his glamorous car, she’d shaken her head. “I’m too muddy.”
“Do you think I give a damn about that? I could have killed you.”
“You didn’t. So let’s just forget about it.”
“Not possible! Now, put my jacket on before you catch your death.”
Pulling his jacket around her shoulders, she turned on her heel and left him. Nothing had happened, she’d told herself as she stalked rapidly through the woods toward the house.
Nothing except the enemy she’d feared had held her and made her feel dangerously alive in a way no other man ever had.
When she’d reached the house, she’d been surprised to find him outside waiting for her as he held on to her yapping dogs. Feeling tingly and shyly thrilled as he handed her their tangled leashes, she’d used her muddy clothes again as an excuse to go home and avoid dinner, when her father would formally announce Quinn was to marry her sister.
Yes, he was set on revenge against those she loved most, but that hadn’t been the reason she couldn’t sit across the table from him. No, it was her crush. How could she have endured such a dinner when just to look at him made her skin heat?
For weeks after that chance meeting, her inappropriate attachment to Quinn had continued to claim her, causing her much guilt-ridden pain. She’d thought of him constantly. And more than once, before she’d returned his jacket to Jaycee, she’d worn it around her apartment, draped over her shoulders, just because his scent lingered on the soft fabric.
Now, retrieving the magazine she’d dropped, she set it carefully on the side table. Then she sucked in a deep breath. Not that it steadied her nerves.
No. Instead, her heart raced when Quinn Sullivan’s secretary turned away, saying, “Follow me.”
Kira swallowed. She’d put this interview off to the last possible moment—to the end of the business day—because she’d been trying to formulate a plan to confront a man as powerful and dictatorial and, yes, as dangerously sexy, as Quinn Sullivan.
But she hadn’t come up with a plan. Did she ever have a plan? She’d be at a disadvantage since Sullivan planned everything down to the last detail, including taking his revenge plot up a notch by marrying Jaycee.
Kira had to sprint to keep up with the sleek, blonde secretary, whose ridiculous, four-inch, ice-pick, gold heels clicked on the polished gray marble. Did he make the poor girl wear such gaudy, crippling footwear?
Quinn’s waiting room with its butter-soft leather couches and polished wainscoting had reeked of old money. In truth, he was nothing but a brash, bad-tempered upstart. His long hallway, decorated with paintings of vivid minimalistic splashes of color, led to what would probably prove to be an obscenely opulent office. Still, despite her wish to dislike everything about him, she admired the art and wished she could stop and study several of the pictures. They were elegant, tasteful and interesting. Had he selected them himself?
Probably not. He was an arrogant show-off.
After their one encounter, she’d researched him. It seemed he believed her father had profited excessively when he’d bought Quinn’s father out of their mutually owned company. In addition, he blamed her father for his father’s suicide—if suicide it had been.
Quinn, who’d known hardship after his father’s death, was determined to make up for his early privations, by living rich and large. Craving glamour and the spotlight, he never attended a party without a beauty even more dazzling than his secretary on his arm.
He was a respected art collector. In various interviews he’d made it clear nobody would ever look down on him again. Not in business; not in his personal life. He was king of his kingdom.
From the internet, she’d gleaned that Quinn’s bedroom had a revolving door. Apparently, a few nights’ pleasuring the same woman were more than enough for him. Just when a woman might believe she meant something to him, he’d drop her and date another gorgeous blonde, who was invariably more beautiful than the one he’d jilted. There had been one woman, also blonde, who’d jilted him a year or so ago, a Cristina somebody. Not that she hadn’t been quickly forgotten by the press when he’d resumed chasing more beauties as carelessly as before.
From what Kira had seen, his life was about winning, not about caring deeply. For that purpose only, he’d surrounded himself with the mansions, the cars, the yachts, the art collections and the fair-haired beauties. She had no illusions about what his marriage to Jaycee would be like. He had no intention of being a faithful husband to Kira’s beautiful, blonde sister.
Rich, handsome womanizer that he was, Kira might have pitied him for being cursed with such a dark heart—if only her precious Jaycee wasn’t central in his revenge scheme.
Kira was not gifted at planning or at being confrontational, which were two big reasons why she wasn’t getting ahead in her career. And Quinn was the last person on earth she wanted to confront. But the need to take care of Jaycee, as she had done since her sister’s birth, was paramount.
Naturally, Kira’s first step had been to beg her father to change his mind about using her sister to smooth over a business deal, but her father had been adamant about the benefits of the marriage.
Kira didn’t understand the financials of Quinn’s hostile takeover of Murray Oil, but her father seemed to think Quinn would make a brilliant CEO. Her parents had said that if Jaycee didn’t walk down the aisle with Quinn as agreed, Quinn’s terms would become far more onerous. Not to mention that the employees would resent him as an outsider. Even though Quinn’s father had been a co-owner, Quinn was viewed as a man with a personal vendetta against the Murrays and Murray Oil. Ever since his father’s death, rumors about his hostility toward all things Murray had been widely circulated by the press. Only if he married Jaycee would the employees believe that peace between the two families had at last been achieved and that the company would be safe in his hands.
Hence, Kira was here, to face Quinn Sullivan.
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.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s say I take you at your word. You’re here to save your sister from me. And you’d die before you’d let me marry her. Is that right?”
“Essentially.”
“What else would you do to stop me? Surely there is some lesser, more appealing sacrifice you’d be willing to make to inspire me to change my mind.”
“I … don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, what if I were to agree to your proposal and forgo marriage to your lovely sister, a woman you say is so un-suited to my temperament I could never love her—I want to know what I will get in return.”
“Do you always have to get something in return? You wouldn’t actually be making a sacrifice.”
His smile was a triumphant flash of white against his deeply tanned skin. “Always. Most decidedly. My hypothetical marriage to your sister is a business deal, after all. As a businessman, I would require compensation for letting the deal fall through.”
Awful man.
His blue eyes stung her, causing the pulse in her throat to hammer frantically.
“Maybe … er … the satisfaction of doing a good deed for once in your life?” she said.
He laughed. “That’s a refreshing idea if ever I heard one, and from a very charming woman—but, like most humans, I’m driven by the desire to avoid pain and pursue pleasure.”
“And to think—I imagined you to be primarily driven by greed. Well, I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I think you know,” he said silkily, leaning closer. “You. You interest me … quite a lot. I believe we could give each other immense pleasure … under the right circumstances.”
The unavoidable heat in his eyes caused an unwanted shock wave of fiery prickles to spread through her body. She’d seriously underestimated the risk of confronting this man.
“In fact, I think we both knew what we wanted the moment we looked at each other today,” he said.
He wanted her.
And even though he was promised to Jaycee, he didn’t have a qualm about acknowledging his impossible, unsavory need for the skinnier, plainer, older sister. Maybe the thought of bedding his future wife’s sister improved upon his original idea of revenge. Or maybe he was simply a man who never denied himself a female who might amuse him, however briefly. If any of those assumptions were true, he was too horrible for words.
“I’m hungry,” he continued. “Why don’t we discuss your proposition over dinner,” he said.
“No. I couldn’t possibly. You’ve said more than enough to convince me of the kind of man you are.”
“Who are you kidding? You were prejudiced against me before you showed up here. If I’d played the saint, you would have still thought me the devil … and yet you would have also still … been secretly attracted. And you are attracted to me. Admit it.”
Stunned at his boldness, she hissed out a breath. “I’m not.”
Then why was she staring at his darling dimple as if she was hypnotized by it?
He laughed. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. “Or dinner plans you need to change?”
“No,” she admitted before she thought.
“Good.” He smiled at her as if he was genuinely pleased. “Then it’s settled.”
“What?”
“You and I have a dinner date.”
“No!”
“What are you afraid of?” he asked in that deep, velvet tone that let her know he had much more than dinner in mind. And some part of her, God help her, wanted to rush toward him like a moth toward flame, despite her sister, despite the knowledge that he wanted to destroy her family.
Kira was shaking her head vehemently when he said, “You came here today to talk to me, to convince me to do as you ask. I’m making myself available to you.”
“But?”
He gave her a slow, insolent grin. “If you want to save your sister from the Big Bad Wolf, well—here’s your chance.”

Two
When they turned the corner and she saw the gaily lit restaurant, Kira wished with all her heart she’d never agreed to this dinner with Quinn.
Not that he hadn’t behaved like a perfect gentleman as they’d walked over together.
When she’d said she wanted to go somewhere within walking distance of his office, she’d foolishly thought she’d be safer with him on foot.
“You’re not afraid to get in my car, to be alone with me, are you?” he’d teased.
“It just seems simpler … to go somewhere close,” she’d hedged. “Besides, you’re a busy man.”
“Not too busy for what really matters.”
Then he’d suggested they walk along the river. The lovely reflections in the still, brown water where ducks swam and the companionable silences they’d shared as they’d made their way along the flagstones edged by lush vegetation, restaurants and bars had been altogether too enjoyable.
She’d never made a study of predators, but she had a cat, Rudy. When on the hunt, he was purposeful, diligent and very patient. He enjoyed playing with his prey before the kill, just to make the game last longer. She couldn’t help but think Quinn was doing something similar with her.
No sooner did Quinn push open the door so she could enter one of the most popular Mexican restaurants in all of San Antonio than warmth, vibrant laughter and the heavy beat of Latin music hit her.
A man, who was hurrying outside after a woman, said, “Oh, excuse us, please, miss.”
Quinn reached out and put his strong arm protectively around Kira’s waist, shielding her with his powerful body. Pulling her close, he tugged her to one side to let the other couple pass.
When Quinn’s body brushed against hers intimately, as if they were a couple, heat washed over her as it had the afternoon when she’d been muddy and he’d pulled her into his arms. She inhaled his clean, male scent. As before, he drew her like a sexual magnet.
When she let out an excited little gasp, he smiled and pulled her even closer. “You feel much too good,” he whispered.
She should run, but the March evening was cooler than she’d dressed for, causing her to instinctively cling to his hot, big-boned body and stay nestled against his welcoming warmth.
She felt the red scarf she wore around her neck tighten as if to warn her away. She yanked at it and gulped in a breath before she shoved herself free of him.
He laughed. “You’re not the only one who’s been stunned by our connection, you know. I like holding you as much as you like being in my arms. In fact, that’s all I want to do … hold you. Does that make me evil? Or all too human because I’ve found a woman I have no will to resist?”
“You are too much! Why did I let you talk me into this dinner?”
“Because it was the logical thing to do, and I insisted. Because I’m very good at getting what I want. Maybe because you wanted to. But now I’d be quite happy to skip dinner. We could order takeout and go to my loft apartment, which isn’t far, by the way. You’re a curator. I’m a collector. I have several pieces that might interest you.”
“I’ll bet! Not a good idea.”
Again he laughed.
She didn’t feel any safer once they were inside the crowded, brilliantly lit establishment. The restaurant with its friendly waitstaff, strolling mariachis, delicious aromas and ceiling festooned with tiny lights and colorful banners was too festive, too conducive to lowering one’s guard. It would be too easy to succumb to temptation, something she couldn’t afford to do.
I’ll have a taco, a glass of water. We’ll talk about Jaycee, and I’ll leave. What could possibly go wrong if I nip this attraction in the bud?
When told there was a thirty-minute wait, Quinn didn’t seem to mind. To the contrary, he seemed pleased. “We’ll wait in the bar,” he said, smiling.
Then he ushered them into a large room with a high-beamed ceiling dominated by a towering carved oak bar, inspired by the baroque elegance of the hotels in nineteenth-century San Antonio.
When a young redheaded waiter bragged on the various imported tequilas available, Quinn ordered them two margaritas made of a particularly costly tequila he said he had a weakness for.
“I’d rather have sparkling water,” she said, sitting up straighter, thinking she needed all her wits about her.
“As you wish,” Quinn said gallantly, ordering the water as well, but she noted that he didn’t cancel the second margarita.
When their drinks arrived, he lifted his margarita to his lips and licked at the salt that edged the rim. And just watching the movement of his tongue across the grit of those glimmering crystals flooded her with ridiculous heat as she imagined him licking her skin.
“I think our first dinner together calls for a toast, don’t you?” he said.
Her hand moved toward her glass of sparkling water.
“The tequila really is worth a taste.”
She looked into his eyes and hesitated. Almost without her knowing it, her hand moved slowly away from the icy glass of water to her chilled margarita glass.
“You won’t be sorry,” he promised in that silken baritone.
Toying with the slender green stem of her glass, she lifted it and then tentatively clinked it against his.
“To us,” he said. “To new beginnings.” He smiled benevolently, but his blue eyes were excessively brilliant.
Her first swallow of the margarita was salty, sweet and very strong. She knew she shouldn’t drink any more. Then, almost at once, a pleasant warmth buzzed through her, softening her attitude toward him and weakening her willpower. Somewhere the mariachis began to play “La Paloma,” a favorite love song of hers. Was it a sign?
“I’m glad you at least took a sip,” he said, his gaze lingering on her lips a second too long. “It would be a pity to miss tasting something so delicious.”
“You’re right. It’s really quite good.”
“The best—all the more reason not to miss it. One can’t retrace one’s journey in this life. We must make the most of every moment … because once lost, those moments are gone forever.”
“Indeed.” Eyeing him, she sipped again. “Funny, I hadn’t thought of you as a philosopher.”
“You might be surprised by who I really am, if you took the trouble to get to know me.”
“I doubt it.”
Every muscle in his handsome face tensed. When his eyes darkened, she wondered if she’d wounded him.
No. Impossible.
Her nerves jingled, urging her to consider just one more sip of the truly delicious margarita. What could it hurt? That second sip led to a third, then another and another, each sliding down her throat more easily than the last. She hardly noticed when Quinn moved from his side of the booth to hers, and yet how could she not notice? He didn’t touch her, yet it was thrilling to be so near him, to know that only their clothes separated her thigh from his, to wonder what he would do next.
His gaze never strayed from her. Focusing on her exclusively, he told her stories about his youth, about the time before his father had died. His father had played ball with him, he said, had taken him hunting and fishing, had helped him with his homework. He stayed off the grim subjects of his parents’ divorce and his father’s death.
“When school was out for any reason, he always took me to his office. He was determined to instill a work ethic in me.”
“He sounds like the perfect father,” she said wistfully. “I never seemed to be able to please mine. If he read to me, I fidgeted too much, and he would lose his place and his temper. If he took me fishing, I grew bored or hot and squirmed too much, kicking over the minnow bucket or snapping his line. Once I stood up too fast and turned the boat over.”
“Maybe I won’t take you fishing.”
“He always wanted a son, and I didn’t please Mother any better. She thought Jaycee, who loved to dress up and go to parties, was perfect. She still does. Neither of them like what I’m doing with my life.”
“Well, they’re not in control, are they? No one is, really. And just when we think we are, we usually get struck by a lightning bolt that shows us we’re not,” Quinn said in a silken tone that made her breath quicken. “Like tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Us.”
Her gaze fixed on his dimple. “Are you coming on to me?”
He laid his hand on top of hers. “Would that be so terrible?”
By the time they’d been seated at their dinner table and had ordered their meal, she’d lost all her fear of him. She was actually enjoying herself.
Usually, she dated guys who couldn’t afford to take her out to eat very often, so she cooked for them in her apartment. Even though this meal was not a date, it was nice to dine in a pleasant restaurant and be served for a change.
When Quinn said how sorry he was that they hadn’t met before that afternoon when he’d nearly run her down, she answered truthfully, “I thought you were marrying my sister solely to hurt all of us. I couldn’t condone that.”
He frowned. “And you love your sister so much, you came to my office today to try to find a way to stop me from marrying her.”
“I was a fool to admit that to you.”
“I think you’re sweet, and I admire your honesty. You were right to come. You did me one helluva favor. I’ve been on the wrong course. But I don’t want to talk about Jacinda. I want to talk about you.”
“But will you think about … not marrying her?”
When he nodded and said, “Definitely,” in a very convincing manner, she relaxed and took still another sip of her margarita with no more thoughts of how dangerous it might be for her to continue relaxing around him.
When he reached across the table and wrapped her hand in his warm, blunt fingers, the shock of his touch sent a wave of heat through her whole body. For a second, she entwined her fingers with his and clung as if he were a vital lifeline. Then, when she realized what she was doing, she wrenched her hand free.
“Why are you so afraid of me, Kira?”
“You might still marry Jaycee and ruin her life,” she lied.
“Impossible, now that I’ve met you.”
Kira’s breath quickened. Dimple or not, he was still the enemy. She had to remember that.
“Do you really think I’m so callous I could marry your sister when I want you so much?”
“But what are you going to do about Jaycee?”
“I told you. She became irrelevant the minute I saw you standing inside my office this afternoon.”
“She’s beautiful … and blonde.”
“Yes, but your beauty affects me more. Don’t you know that?”
She shook her head. “The truth isn’t in you. You only date blondes.”
“Then it must be time for a change.”
“I’m going to confess a secret wish. All my life I wished I was blonde … so I’d look more like the rest of my family, especially my mother and my sister. I thought maybe then I’d feel like I belonged.”
“You are beautiful.”
“A man like you would say anything …”
“I’ve never lied to any woman. Don’t you know how incredibly lovely you are? With your shining dark eyes that show your sweet, pure soul every time you look at me and defend your sister? I feel your love for her rushing through you like liquid electricity. You’re graceful. You move like a ballerina. I love the way you feel so intensely and blush when you think I might touch you.”
“Like a child.”
“No. Like a responsive, passionate woman. I like that … too much. And your hair … it’s long and soft and shines like chestnut satin. Yet there’s fire in it. I want to run my hands through it.”
“But we hardly know one another. And I’ve hated you …
“None of the Murrays have been favorites of mine either … but I’m beginning to see the error of my ways. And I don’t think you hate me as much as you pretend.”
Kira stared at him, searching his hard face for some sign that he was lying to her, seducing her as he’d seduced all those other women, saying these things because he had some dark agenda. All she saw was warmth and honesty and intense emotion. Nobody had ever looked at her with such hunger or made her feel so beautiful.
All her life she’d wanted someone to make her feel this special. It was ironic that Quinn Sullivan should be the one.
“I thought you were so bad, no … pure evil,” she repeated.
His eyebrows arched. “Ouch.”
If he’d been twisted in his original motives, maybe it had been because of the grief he’d felt at losing someone he loved.
“How could I have been so wrong about you?” Even as she said it, some part of her wondered if she weren’t being naive. He had dated, and jilted, all those beautiful women. He had intended to take revenge on her father and use her sister in his plan. Maybe when she’d walked into his office she’d become part of his diabolical plan, too.
“I was misguided,” he said.
“I need more time to think about all this. Like I said … a mere hour or two ago I heartily disliked you. Or at least I thought I did.”
“Because you didn’t know me. Hell, maybe I didn’t know me either … because everything is different now, since I met you.”
She felt the same way. But she knew she should slow it down, reassess.
“I’m not good at picking boyfriends,” she whispered.
“Their loss.”
His hand closed over hers and he pressed her fingers, causing a melting sensation in her tummy. “My gain.”
Her tacos came, looking and smelling delicious, but she hardly touched them. Her every sense was attuned to Quinn’s carved features and his beautiful voice.
When a musician came to their table, Quinn hired him to sing several songs, including “La Paloma.” While the man serenaded her, Quinn idly stroked her wrist and the length of her fingers, causing fire to shoot down her spine.
She met his eyes and felt that she had known him always, that he was already her lover, her soul mate. She was crazy to feel such things and think such thoughts about a man she barely knew, but when dinner was over, they skipped dessert.
An hour later, she sat across from him in his downtown loft, sipping coffee while he drank brandy. In vain, she tried to act unimpressed by his art collection and sparkling views of the city. Not easy, since both were impressive.
His entrance was filled with an installation of crimson light by one of her favorite artists. The foyer was a dazzling ruby void that opened into a living room with high, white ceilings. All the rooms of his apartment held an eclectic mix of sculpture, porcelains and paintings.
Although she hadn’t yet complimented his stylish home, she couldn’t help but compare her small, littered apartment to his spacious one. Who was she to label him an arrogant upstart? He was a success in the international oil business and a man of impeccable taste, while she was still floundering in her career and struggling to find herself.
“I wanted to be alone with you like this the minute I saw you today,” he said.
She shifted uneasily on his cream-leather sofa. Yet more evidence that he was a planner. “Well, I didn’t.”
“I think you did. You just couldn’t let yourself believe you did.”
“No,” she whispered, setting down her cup. With difficulty she tried to focus on her mission. “So, what about Jaycee? You’re sure that’s over?”
“Finished. From the first moment I saw you.”
“Without mud all over my face.”
He laughed. “Actually, you got to me that day, too. Every time I dined with Jacinda and your family, I kept hoping I’d meet you again.”
Even as she remembered all those dinner invitations her parents had extended and she’d declined, she couldn’t believe he was telling the truth.
“I had my team research you,” he said.
“Why?”
“I asked myself the same question. I think you intrigued me … like I said, even with mud on your face. First thing tomorrow, I will break it off with Jacinda formally. Which means you’ve won. Does that make you happy? You have what you came for.”
He was all charm, especially his warm, white smile. Like a child with a new playmate, she was happy just being with him, but she couldn’t admit that to him.
He must have sensed her feelings, though, because he got up and moved silently toward her. “I feel like I’ve lived my whole life since my father’s death alone—until you. And that’s how I wanted to live—until you.”
She knew it was sudden and reckless, but she felt the same way. If she wasn’t careful, she would forget all that should divide them.
As if in a dream, she took his hand when he offered it and kissed his fingers with feverish devotion.
“You’ve made me realize how lonely I’ve been,” he said.
“That’s a very good line.”
“It’s the truth.”
“But you are so successful, while I …”
“Look what you’re doing in the interim—helping a friend to realize her dream.”
“My father says I’m wasting my potential.”
“You will find yourself … if you are patient.” He cupped her chin and stared into her eyes. Again she felt that uncanny recognition. He was a kindred soul who knew what it was to feel lost.
“Dear God,” he muttered. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know a damn thing about patience. Like now … I should let you go … but I can’t.”
He pulled her to him and crushed her close. It wasn’t long before holding her wasn’t enough. He had to have her lips, her throat, her breasts. She felt the same way. Shedding her shirt, scarf and bra, she burst into flame as he kissed her. Even though she barely knew him, she could not wait another moment to belong to him.
“I’m not feeling so patient right now myself,” she admitted huskily.
Do not give yourself to this man, said an inner voice. Remember all those blondes. Remember his urge for revenge.
Even as her emotions spiraled out of control, she knew she was no femme fatale, while he was a devastatingly attractive man. Had he said all these same wonderful things to all those other women he’d bedded? Had he done and felt all the same things, too, a thousand times before? Were nights like this routine for him, while he was the first to make her feel so thrillingly alive?
But then his mouth claimed hers again, and again, with a fierce, wild hunger that made her forget her doubts and shake and cling to him. His kisses completed her as she’d never been completed before. He was a wounded soul, and she understood his wounds. How could she feel so much when they hadn’t even made love?
Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into his vast bedroom, which was bathed in silver moonlight. Over her shoulder she saw his big, black bed in the middle of an ocean of white marble and Persian carpets.
He was a driven, successful billionaire, and she was a waitress. Feeling out of her depth, her nerves returned. Not knowing what else to do, she pressed a fingertip to his lips. Gently, shyly, she traced his dimple.
Feeling her tension, he set her down. She pushed against his chest and then took a step away from him. Watching her, he said, “You can finish undressing in the bathroom if you’d prefer privacy. Or we can stop. I’ll drive you to your car. Your choice.”
She should have said, “I don’t belong here with you,” and accepted his gallant offer. Instead, without a word, she scampered toward the door he’d indicated. Alone in his beige marble bathroom with golden fixtures and a lovely, compelling etching by another one of her favorite artists, she barely recognized her own flushed face, tousled hair and sparkling eyes.
The radiant girl in his tall mirror was as beautiful as an enchanted princess. She looked expectant, excited. Maybe she did belong here with him. Maybe he was the beginning of her new life, the first correct step toward the bright future that had so long eluded her.
When she tiptoed back into the bedroom, wearing nothing but his white robe, he was in bed. She couldn’t help admiring the width of his bronzed shoulders as he leaned back against several plumped pillows. She had never dated anyone half so handsome; she’d never felt anything as powerful as the glorious heady heat that suffused her entire being as his blue eyes studied her hungrily. Still, she was nervy, shaking.
“I’m no good at sex,” she said. “You’re probably very good … Of course you are. You’re good at everything.”
“Come here,” he whispered.
“But …”
“Just come to me. You could not possibly delight me more. Surely you know that.”
Did he really feel as much as she did?
Removing his bathrobe, she flew to him before she lost her nerve, fell into his bed and into his arms, consumed by forces beyond her control. Nothing mattered but sliding against his long body, being held close in his strong arms. Beneath the covers, his heat was delicious and welcoming as she nestled against him.
He gave her a moment to settle before he rolled on top of her. Bracing himself with his elbows against the mattress, so as not to crush her, he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her brows and then her eyelids with urgent yet featherlike strokes. Slowly, gently, each kiss was driving her mad.
“Take me,” she whispered, in the grip of a fever such as she’d never experienced before. “I want you inside me. Now.”
“I know,” he said, laughing. “I’m as ravenous as you are. But have patience, darlin’.”
“You have a funny way of showing your hunger.”
“If I do what you ask, it would be over in a heartbeat. This moment, our first time together, is too special to me.”
Was she special?
“We must savor it, draw it out, make it last,” he said.
“Maybe I want it to be over swiftly,” she begged. “Maybe this obsessive need is unbearable.”
“Exquisite expectation?”
“I can’t stand it.”
“And I want to heighten it. Which means we’re at cross-purposes.”
He didn’t take her. With infinite care and maddening patience he adored her with his clever mouth and skilled hands. His fevered lips skimmed across her soft skin, raising goose bumps in secret places. As she lay beneath him, he licked each nipple until it grew hard, licked her navel until he had all her nerve endings on fire for him. Then he kissed her belly and dived even lower to explore those hidden, honey-sweet lips between her legs. When she felt his tongue dart inside, she gasped and drew back.
“Relax,” he whispered.
With slow, hot kisses, he made her gush. All too soon her embarrassment was gone, and she was melting, shivering, whimpering—all but begging him to give her release.
Until tonight she had been an exile in the world of love. With all other men, not that there had been that many, she had been going through the motions, playing a part, searching always for something meaningful and never finding it.
Until now, tonight, with him.
He couldn’t matter this much! She couldn’t let this be more than fierce, wild sex. He, the man, couldn’t matter. But her building emotions told her that he did matter—in ways she’d never imagined possible before.
He took her breast in his mouth and suckled again. Then his hand entered her heated wetness, making her gasp helplessly and plead. When he stroked her, his fingers sliding against that secret flesh, she arched against his expert touch, while her breath came in hard, tortured pants.
Just when she didn’t think she could bear it any longer, he dragged her beneath him and slid inside her. He was huge, massive, wonderful. Crying out, she clung to him and pushed her pelvis against his, aching for him to fill her even more deeply. “Yes! Yes!”
When he sank deeper, ever deeper, she moaned. For a long moment he held her and caressed her. Then he began to plunge in and out, slowly at first. Her rising pleasure carried her and shook her in sharp, hot waves, causing her to climax and scream his name.
He went crazy when she dug her nails in his shoulder. Then she came again, and again, sobbing. She had no idea how many climaxes she had before she felt his hard loins bunch as he exploded.
Afterward, sweat dripped off his brow. His whole body was flushed, burning up, and so was hers.
“Darlin’ Kira,” he whispered in that husky baritone that could still make her shiver even when she was spent. “Darlin’ Kira.”
For a long time, she lay in his arms, not speaking, feeling too weak to move any part of her body. Then he leaned over and nibbled at her bottom lip.
The second time he made love to her, he did so with a reverent gentleness that made her weep and hold on to him for a long time afterward. He’d used a condom the second time, causing her to realize belatedly that he hadn’t the first time.
How could they have been so careless? She had simply been swept away. Maybe he had, too. Well, it was useless to worry about that now. Besides, she was too happy, too relaxed to care about anything except being in his arms. There was no going back.
For a long time they lay together, facing each other while they talked. He told her about his father’s financial crisis and how her father had turned on him and made things worse. He spoke of his mother’s extravagance and betrayal and his profound hurt that his world had fallen apart so quickly and brutally. She listened as he explained how grief, poverty and helplessness had twisted him and made him hard.
“Love made me too vulnerable, as it did my father. It was a destructive force. My father loved my mother, and it ruined him. She was greedy and extravagant,” he said. “Love destroys the men in our family.”
“If you don’t want to love, why did you date all those women I read about?”
“I wasn’t looking for love, and neither were they.”
“You were just using them, then?”
“They were using me, too.”
“That’s so cynical.”
“That’s how my life has been. I loved my father so much, and I hurt so much when he died, I gave up on love. He loved my mother, and she broke his heart with her unrelenting demands. When he lost the business, she lost interest in him and began searching for a richer man.”
“And did she find him?”
“Several.”
“Do you ever see her?”
“No. I was an accident she regretted, I believe. She couldn’t relate to children, and after I was grown, I had no interest in her. Love, no matter what kind, always costs too much. I do write her a monthly check, however.”
“So, my father was only part of your father’s problem.”
“But a big part. Losing ownership in Sullivan and Murray Oil made my father feel like he was less than nothing. My mother left him because of that loss. She stripped him of what little wealth and self-esteem he had left. Alone, without his company or his wife, he grew depressed. He wouldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. I’d hear the stairs creak as he paced at night.
“Then early one morning I heard a shot. When I called his name, he didn’t answer. I found him in the shop attached to our garage. In a pool of blood on the floor, dead. I still don’t know if it was an accident or … what I feared it was. He was gone. At first I was frightened. Then I became angry. I wanted to blame someone, to get even, to make his death right. I lived for revenge. But now that I’ve almost achieved my goal of taking back Murray Oil, it’s as if my fever’s burned out.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she teased, touching his damp brow.
“I mean my fever for revenge, which was what kept me going.”
“So,” she asked, “what will you live for now?”
“I don’t know. I guess a lot of people just wake up in the morning and go to work, then come home at night and drink while they flip channels with their remote.”
“Not you.”
“Who’s to say? Maybe such people are lucky. At least they’re not driven by hate, as I was.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like for you.” She’d always been driven by the need for love.
When he stared into her eyes with fierce longing, she pulled him close and ran her hands through his hair. “You are young yet. You’ll find something to give your life meaning,” she said.
“Well, it won’t be love, because I’ve experienced love’s dark side for too many years. I want you to know that. You are special, but I can’t ever love you, no matter how good we are together. I’m no longer capable of that emotion.”
“So you keep telling me,” she said, pretending his words didn’t hurt.
“I just want to be honest.”
“Do we always know our own truths?”
“Darlin’,” he whispered. “Forgive me if I sounded too harsh. It’s just that … I don’t want to hurt you by raising your expectations about something I’m incapable of. Other women have become unhappy because of the way I am.”
“You’re my family’s enemy. Why would I ever want to love you?”
Wrapping her legs around him, she held him for hours, trying to comfort the boy who’d lost so much as well as the angry man who’d gained a fortune because he’d been consumed by a fierce, if misplaced, hatred.
“My father had nothing to do with your father’s death,” she whispered. “He didn’t.”
“You have your view, and I have mine,” he said. “The important thing is that I don’t hold you responsible for your father’s sins any longer.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
After that, he was silent. Soon afterward he let her go and rolled onto his side.
She lay awake for hours. Where would they go from here? He had hated her family for years. Had he really let go of all those harsh feelings? Had she deluded herself into thinking he wasn’t her enemy?
What price would she pay for sleeping with a man who probably only saw her as an instrument for revenge?

Three
When Kira woke up naked in bed with Quinn, she felt unsettled and very self-conscious. Propping herself on an elbow, she watched him warily in the dim rosy half light of dawn. All her doubts returned a hundredfold.
How could she have let things go this far? How could she have risked pregnancy?
What if … No, she couldn’t be that unlucky.
Besides, it did no good to regret what had happened, she reminded herself again. If she hadn’t slept with him she would never have known such ecstasy was possible.
Now, at least, she knew. Even if it wasn’t love, it had been so great she felt an immense tenderness well up in her in spite of her renewed doubts.
He was absurdly handsome with his thick, unruly black hair falling across his brow, with his sharp cheekbones and sculpted mouth. She’d been touched when he’d shown her his vulnerability last night. Just looking at him now was enough to make her stomach flutter with fresh desire.

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