Terms of Engagement

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?”