A Lover's Dream (13 page)

Mick turned in his arms, determined to tell him the scene would play differently that night, but she never had the chance.

Quest captured her mouth in a fantastic kiss. His tongue thrust lustily and deep as though he were thirsty for the taste of her. His eyes were tightly closed, so that a tiny furrow formed between his sleek black brows. He had the look of complete, unflinching concentration to kiss her senseless.

Mick whimpered, her hands smoothing across the incredible breadth of his shoulders. Her fingers grazed his soft, close-cut hair and she gave in to the delicious sensations the kiss aroused. Her confession could wait until the scene ended, she decided.

Quest, however, had something different in mind for the evening. Had Mick known that, she would surely have told him her news the moment she'd seen him that evening. His mouth was everywhere, kissing her lips, outlining the mole there with his tongue, grazing his teeth across the curve of her jaw, and suckling her earlobe in a feverishly possessive manner.

He placed her on the sofa, then followed her down. Mick uttered an indecipherable sound into the air as her breasts and nipples were thoroughly manipulated. The row of tiny buttons had proven to be a minute obstacle. He favored the undersides of her breasts with gentle nudges from his nose, before delving lower. His mouth dipped past one of the splits in her dress in search of what he most wanted. His nose grazed her womanhood clearly outlined against the lacy fabric of her white panties. Mick's lashes fluttered amidst waves of unexpected arousal.

“Wait!” she gasped a moment later, her hand tensing on his shoulders. “Oh, wait,” she moaned. “Mmm…” she added, when his tongue teased her through the material.

Quest's expression was arrogance pure and simple. “You're sure?” he questioned teasingly, mouthing the words against the dampening center of her undergarment.

“Wait…” she tried again, failing when a sob followed the word.

Quest rose above her then and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Do you want me to?” he asked again. To help her decide, he smoothly inserted his middle finger just slightly inside her body.

“Oh, no, no, don't stop. Don't stop just yet,” Mick chanted, arching up to take a bit more of the caress. He barely rotated his finger in the wealth of moisture there.

Quest suckled the diamond stud adorning her ear
lobe. He loved the helpless whimpers she emitted when he barely moved his finger or when his thumb stroked the extra-sensitive folds of flesh guarding her femininity.

He ended the caress and she moaned her disappointment. When he settled himself fully against her and Mick felt the extent of his thrusting power, she forced herself to sober.

“Quest, Quest, wait, wait.”

“Mick…” he groaned torturedly, hiding his handsome face in the crook of her neck.

She was just as agitated. “I don't
want
you to, but you should. I… I have something I need to say.”

He raised his head to search her light eyes with his unsettling ones. “Something you need to say? Now?”

She nodded, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. “Mmm-hmm,” she confirmed and then cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said firmly then.

Quest closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the base of her throat. Michaela's lashes fluttered as she silently commanded herself not to arch or grind her hips against the delicious hardness right next to the part of her that ached most for it. To her relief, she felt the powerful erection subside as Quest took deep breaths and sought to quell his desire.

He moved away at last and leaned back against the opposite end of the sofa. Mick slowly pushed herself up, her feet resting in his lap as she watched him. After a while, Quest raised his hand, signaling for her to go on with what she wanted to say.

Mick swung her legs to the floor, smoothing her hands across her hips as she stood. “I met with Johnelle Black today,” she announced when she felt there was enough space between them.

Quest's head snapped up when he heard the name, but Mick had her back turned and didn't see his reaction.

“We talked about her daughter. Sera. Her death,” she went on, wringing her hands as she spoke. “She insists that it wasn't suicide, but murder. She wants me to investigate, says she'll financially back a book or simply a look into the case. She told me about the payoff she got from the Ramseys.”

Mick stopped talking then and turned to observe Quest. She didn't care for the set look on his face, the darkness of his eyes, or the way he absently massaged his left arm. She took a seat in the armchair opposite the sofa and waited.

“Will you do it?” he asked finally.

“The woman loves and misses her daughter,” Mick said, leaning forward to brace her elbows on her knees. “You wouldn't understand what it does to someone like me to see that. You've always had the love of your parents. I don't know what that is,” she confided and settled back in the chair. “I can't turn away from a request like that.”

Quest studied her for a long moment. His expression offered no clues about his thoughts.

Mick wanted to scream at him to show some sort of reaction. It was then that he told her he should go. With a nod, Mick stood and followed him to the door. Quest left without a word or a look back.

“I swear I didn't give anyone your contact information in Seattle,” County said again as Mick grilled her by phone about the call she'd received from Johnelle Black. “I was hoping something like this would happen though. I wish I could give the person who did give her your number a big hug.”

Mick flopped down into the chair before the message desk. “Huh?” she grunted.

County hesitated a moment. “This should be done and you know it.
That's
why you agreed to help her.”

“Quest looked like I'd just thrown a brick at his chest,” Mick recalled, envisioning the look on his face before he left her suite the night before.

“Look, Mick, you know I think Quest is fantastic,” County said, hearing the dismay in her friend's voice, “but the Ramseys have a lot of secrets. Some of those secrets may be worth revealing, you know?”

Mick fidgeted with the lace hem of her nightie. “Yeah,” she admitted.

“You're in love with him, aren't you?”

“County!” Mick cried, sitting straight in the chair. “Just because I'm concerned about what this news did
to him doesn't mean I—I've seen him a lot and we've gotten close, but—you're impossible.”

“Mmm…so that's a yes, right?”

Mick groaned, laying her forehead against the desk. “I'm so weak,” she lamented.

“Girl, it's not weak to have those feelings.”

“It is when they get in the way of work.”

“Work? Mick, look, all right? Yes, when
you
work,
I
make money. But that's not what life's all about. All that dramatic, silly, heart-pounding stuff you find so corny, so bothersome is what makes life—
love
worth having. It's what tells you you're alive, hon.”

County was right. Mick knew it. After all, hadn't she been telling herself that very thing? “So you're saying I shouldn't do the book or become involved in the investigation? Just turn it down, run to Quest, and confess my love before we race off into the sunset?”

“You phrased that well. Could it be you've already thought of doing that very thing?”

“When'd you become so sarcastic?” Mick asked, running a hand through her tousle of curls.

“You've rubbed off on me,” County said. “And now that you've mentioned it, you don't seem
nearly
as sarcastic as usual. Could it be those sappy emotions of love are wearing away at that protective shell around your heart?”

“It may be just that,” Mick admitted, none too happy by the fact. “It's all the more reason to become involved with this.”

“Mick—”

“Quest Ramsey is a dream. A woman's fantasy. But dreams and fantasies fade, love grows old. Once the newness wears off the pain begins. I was new to my parents once. Then they got bored and threw me away.”

“Baby? You all right?” County asked, concerned by the turn in the conversation. She could hear Mick's shuddery breathing across the line.

Mick shook her head as though she was even surprised by her words. “County, I'll let you go now. I'll call and tell you what flight,” she added hastily and clicked off the cordless phone.

 

“Any coffee in the break room, Jazz?”

Jasmine Hughes smiled up at Vincent Carroll, Ramsey Group's lead attorney. “There sure is. What's wrong? Didn't get your caffeine fix this morning?” she teased.

“Nah,” Vincent said with a shiver. “Just cold as hell,” he complained.

“Are you feeling sick?” Jasmine asked.

“It's Quest,” Vincent said, jerking his thumb across his shoulder. “Do you know what kind of mood he's in?”

Jasmine's lashes fluttered closed. “Yeah, I got a taste of it when I got here this morning.”

“He doesn't say a thing,” Vincent went on. “What he
does
say is barely above a whisper. He barely nods or shakes his head, just watches you talk.”

Jasmine nodded in perfect agreement with Vincent's assessment. She recalled feeling the same way when she had spoken with Quest earlier that morning. The man's gray-black stare was even more haunting and unsettling in light of his mood.

“Hey, Jazz, what's up with Quest this morning?” Theo Stone from accounting asked when he approached.

“What have you heard?” Jazz asked.

“Nothing good,” Theo said.

“Well, you heard right.”

“Morning, group!”

Everyone turned when Quaysar arrived. Conversation was silenced, but only for a moment.

“Could you take this up to the office for me, Quay?” Theo asked.

Quay was already reaching for the file. “No problem. Did Quest leave already?” he asked.

“Unfortunately not,” Vincent grumbled.

“What?”

“Quay, it's Quest. His mood, more specifically,” Jasmine said.

Quay nodded once, understanding perfectly. He'd noticed his brother's mood during their meeting earlier that morning and believed it had everything to do with Mick, but at the time, he dared not question it. In many ways, Quest's moods were far more unsettling than his own. While Quay roared his anger so that everyone was aware, Quest raged in silence. He'd barely say a word, yet his anger and frustration seethed so close to the surface they could almost be felt. Quay slapped the folder against his palm, braced himself, and headed up to the penthouse office.

 

“Quest?… Q? You in here, man?”

Quay received no answer when he entered the dim room. Setting the folder on one of the Gothic iron bookshelves, he stepped farther into the office. He continued to search for his twin until he found him seated in the living area. Quest gazed intently at the myriad of colorful fish frolicking in the huge, extravagant tank.

“Q?” Quay called, a bit softer this time. “Damn, man, keep your foul mood at home. You got everybody edgy as hell,” he snapped, hoping to rouse some reaction from the man.

Quest closed his eyes and offered a humorless half smile. Determined to ignore his brother's obvious attempts to rile him, he remained unresponsive.

“This have anything to do with Mick?” Quay asked, easing both hands into the deep pockets of his blackberry trousers.

The muscle danced furiously along Quest's jaw-line. He left his chair and went to prop his elbow against the tank while gazing at the fish more closely.

“Why don't you just call her?”

“Quay.”

“What?”

“Leave it.”

“Then leave your mood at the crib, man. We don't need it round here. You got half the building afraid to talk to you,” Quay chastised, glaring when he received a flippant wave from Quest. “What happened between the two of you?” he queried softly.

Quest turned suddenly, slanting Quay a fierce stare before he literally brushed past him.

Quay, of course, was undaunted and simply followed his brother to the other side of the office. “You're a fool if you let her get away,” he surmised.

Quest had just reached his desk when he heard the words. Both hands curled into massive fists, which he brought thundering down to the maple surface. Everything jumped in response. A few papers and a cup of pens splashed to the floor.

Quay stood quietly, taking in his brother's murderous expression. Silence bathed the room until the phone buzzed. “Yeah, Jazz, this is Quay,” he greeted.

“Um, hey, Quay. Is Quest there by any chance?”

“He's here, J,” Quay supplied when Quest remained mute.

“Michaela is here to see him.”

Quay fixed Quest with a taunting look. “Send her up, Jazz,” he told her.

“You stay out of this, Quay,” Quest ordered, his tone low and dangerous.

Quay folded his hands across his chest. “Or what?” he challenged, grinning devilishly at his twin. “Seriously, Q,” he said, sobering a little. “She's too special. I won't let you lose her.”

Quest blinked, looking as though he was actually surprised that his brother noticed about Mick what he had the moment he'd met her. The elevator chimed then and its doors opened.

 

Mick felt much the way she had the first day she'd stepped into the Ramseys' hallowed penthouse office. Like before, she was uncertain and curious. But with those feelings came a new sensation of being hopelessly in love. She was there to tell Quest that she was leaving. Childish as it may have been, she prayed he would ask her to stay. As much as she wanted to help Johnelle Black, she knew she'd stay if he asked her to. Aside from their fiery physical encounters, she had no idea of his feelings. Perhaps this meeting would tell her if his feelings even trickled in the same direction as hers.

“Hey, girl!”

Mick uttered breathless laughter at the sound of Quay's roar before she was pulled into one of his crushing hugs.

“How you doin'? I hardly get the chance to see you with my brother keeping you locked away,” Quay complained playfully.

Mick tossed a few curls from her eyes and returned Quay's broad grin. “I'm good, and I see I don't need to wonder how you are.”

Quay winked. “Lookin' good, huh?” he said, probing shamelessly for a compliment.

Despite her mood, Mick couldn't resist laughing. “Is Quest here?” she finally got around to asking.

“Come on,” Quay instructed, dropping an arm around her shoulders as he led her deeper into the office.

Mick's shivers had nothing to do with the long, muscular arm settled across her shoulders or the sheer
fabric of the powder-blue shirt she wore. She had never relished confrontation.

“Q, look who's here!” Quay bellowed, when he brought Mick into the main office. He grinned at his twin, even as his eyes narrowed in a clear warning for his brother to remain civil.

Quest's hazy gray stare had already softened. He had no idea how much emotion radiated from his stunning gaze. He nodded once toward Michaela.

Quay rubbed his hands together, satisfied by his reaction. “All right, sweetness, I'm gonna give y'all some privacy,” he told Mick.

“Actually, Quay,” she called, curving her hand across his wrist, “you should hear this too,” she said, risking a quick glance at Quest. “I spoke with Johnelle Black,” she announced.

Quay's dark gaze lost its cool, relaxed appearance. Instantly, he realized why his brother was in such a foul mood.

“We talked about her daughter,” Mick said. “She doesn't believe it was suicide and wants me to conduct a new investigation.” She stopped and turned to Quest. “I accepted. I'll be leaving Seattle in a couple of days.”

Quest went rigid, his eyes now as black as the shirt he wore. He couldn't move, though every nerve ending cried out that he do something—anything to stop her from going.

Say something!
Mick pleaded silently, knowing she was a fool.
You, say something!
she ordered herself.
No!
As badly as she wanted this man—wanted to be a part of his life—she would not humiliate herself more by begging him. After all,
she
was in love with him, not the other way around.

Sighing, she turned back to Quay. “Thanks for being so great,” she said and laughed when he pulled her into another crushing embrace.

“Don't you be a stranger,” he ordered, pressing a kiss into her curls.

“You either,” Mick said, her voice a bit muffled against the fine fabric of his blackberry suit coat.

Across the top of Mick's head, Quay fixed his twin with a disgusted stare.

“Bye,” Mick whispered as she stepped back. With barely a glance in Quest's direction, she all but ran from the room.

“Fool,” Quay breathed at his brother, before he too left the office.

Alone, Quest stared down at his desk but a moment, before he shoved all the contents to the floor.

“Mick, wait!”

Michaela's steps halted on her way to the elevator. She whirled around, her eyes blurry with tears. On seeing the man bounding toward her, her first thought was that it was Quest. Her face clouded again when she saw that she was mistaken. “Oh, Quay, it's you.”

“Sorry, baby,” he apologized, frowning when he saw the wetness on her cheeks. “Hey,” he soothed, using his thumbs to dry her face.

The tender gesture forced another slew of tears from her eyes. The elevator doors opened then and Quay hurried her inside.

“It's all right,” he continued to reassure her as she cried fervently.

“Damn it,” Mick muttered, pulling away. “Weak,” she called herself, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Damn tears,” she hissed.

“Hey, don't do this,” Quay whispered, keeping his hands folded across her upper arms as he leaned down to peer directly into her eyes.

“I shouldn't have come here today,” Mick said, through her sniffles. “I knew it wouldn't make a difference, but I had to see him.”

“You don't have to explain a damn thing to me. Hell, I'm glad you're doing this, Mick.”

The sadness left Mick's eyes as her curiosity soared. “What?” she whispered.

Quay's gaze was unwavering. “I need you to do this.”

The elevator arrived on the ground floor, but Quay gave Mick a chance to prepare herself before he let the doors slide open.

“Jazz, hold my calls. I'm taking Ms. Sellars to her car,” he told his assistant.

When they reached the rental Altima she'd acquired after her third week in Seattle, Mick just stood at the driver's-side door. She waited patiently, simply staring up into Quaysar's handsome face.

“The party that night was my idea,” he said, folding his arms across his chest while leaning against the trunk of the hunter-green car. “Quest had to get the room in his name because I had a…not so nice reputation with many of the finer hotels in town.” He grinned with a shrug. “My parents were sick of it and not about to put their names to a room I'd be in charge of.”