Ann Major - Terms of Engagement

“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.”

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.