A Lover's Dream (6 page)

Mick took a deep breath, tugging on her lower lip as though she were debating. “Quest? May I ask you something?” she said finally.

His gaze remained fixed. “You can ask me anything.”

“Um.” Mick looked down in her lap and cleared her
throat. “Why didn't you come out during the meeting? I mean, you were there and—why did you stay away?”

The muscle worked along the curve of his jaw when he heard her question. A question he had no answer to—not an answer he wanted to share anyway. Michaela Sellars had captivated him from the moment he saw her. He knew if he'd joined her and Quaysar during the meeting, he'd have spent the better portion of the time staring at her. He'd wanted the opportunity to do that alone without having to participate in a conversation he had no interest in.

“I don't know why I stayed back,” he told her at last, running his index finger along the perfect crease in his navy trousers, “but I'd like to make it up if you'll let me.”

If possible, Mick's eyes sparkled more vibrantly. “How?”

“Let me take you out?”

Mick smiled. “Again?” she teased.

“
Outside
the hotel.”

“Definitely.”

Satisfied, Quest nodded before fixing Mick with a look that said he should be going.

She stood and watched him follow suit. She was about to pass the sofa when his hand cupped her elbow. She turned, sighed as though she was preparing herself.

He simply tugged her close. Mick stood on her toes, her eyes focused on his heavenly mouth when he dipped his head. Her eyes grew wide and she studied his face up close before her lashes drifted closed.

Her lips parted in eager anticipation, but Quest merely applied soft kisses to her mouth in rapid succession. Each time, Mick arched closer, her lips parting farther in a quiet plea for him to cease his teasing.

Moments away from moaning her need, she
brushed her fingers against his neck and sought to bring him closer. Quest's hands remained curved around her elbows, flexing slightly as he added more pressure to the kiss. His tongue thrust lightly—still teasingly so. Briefly, he stroked the roof of her mouth, the ridge of her teeth. A brief smile flashed on his face when he heard the helpless cry lilt from her throat. His hands moved from her arms to cup her face. His thumbs began a sensuous assault on the soft skin below her earlobes.

“Mmm…” Mick whimpered, when his tongue rotated around hers, caressing in the same manner as his thumbs were caressing her skin with slow sweeping circles.

Mick's gasp that time caught on another helpless cry and her legs weakened. Quest never broke the kiss and allowed her to take refuge on the arm of the sofa. He followed her down, his big hands fisted against the chair on either side of her.

Mick toyed with the buttons on his shirt, before her fingers curled weakly into the neckline. Aside from her lips, she could feel no other part of her body. She mimicked the lazy strokes of his tongue and knew she could have kissed him forever. She found herself praying as hard for the kiss to go on as she did for it to end.

Just don't let him snap his fingers. The panties will surely come tumbling down….

He kissed as though he were making love to her mouth and as though he had no intention of stopping. When he would have pulled away, Mick uttered a smothered cry of disagreement. In a spontaneous gesture, her teeth fastened to his lower lip and a jolt of power surged through her when he grunted his satisfaction.

Finally, Quest returned his hands to her arms, squeezing firmly while breaking the kiss. “Tomor
row at seven?” he suggested, pressing his forehead to hers and taking deep breaths.

Mick nodded. “I'll be ready…and sober,” she promised, her breathing just as strained.

Quest grinned. “Good night,” he whispered, applying a lingering kiss to the mole at the corner of her mouth before he walked away.

Mick sat there with one hand curved over her mouth. Her fingers massaged her throbbing lips as she watched him go. She realized that finally she understood what the phrase “thoroughly kissed” meant.

The ring of the phone shattered the dream and Mick reluctantly blinked herself back to reality. Stiffly, she moved off the sofa and made her way to the message desk.

“Michaela Sellars,” she greeted in her softest tone.

“Ms. Sellars, Houston Ramsey.”

The curt, businesslike voice on the line quickly snapped Mick from her spell. “Mr. Ramsey,” she greeted.

“Forgive the hour, Ms. Sellars. I'd planned to contact you earlier today.”

“Uh, no, that—that's quite all right,” Mick assured him, tousling her hair as she began to pace the living room. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, first let me apologize for not meeting you when you visited the other day.”

Mick nodded. “Well, it was a brief meeting. I'm afraid we won't be doing business.”

“Ah, the book.”

“Yes. We won't be pursuing it, I'm afraid.”

“My nephew's decision. Not mine.”

The clarification brought a curious frown to Mick's face. “I was under the impression that the family was against it?” she probed, settling back on an armchair as she spoke.

Houston uttered a short, bitter laugh. “No, young
lady. Certain members of this family are against the book. My wife, Daphne, and I would've been completely behind the project.”

“I see,” Mick said.

“We want that book written, Ms. Sellars, and we'd like to speak with you about it.”

“That could be arranged.”

“Good. Shall we say a breakfast meeting in the morning?”

Mick crossed her legs. “I'm afraid tomorrow morning won't be good for me,” she said, remembering that she was seeing County off at the airport then.

“Perhaps lunch, then?” Houston suggested. “We can have a car sent to your hotel and you can meet with us at our club. We have a private dining room.”

Mick raised her brows. “That sounds nice. I'll look forward to seeing you then.”

“Good night, Ms. Sellars.”

Mick stared at the phone once the call had ended. Leaning back in her chair, she gazed up at the ceiling. “What now?” she groaned.

“Don't let this man mesmerize you so that you forget you have a home and responsibilities back in Chicago,” County warned, as she and Mick shared one last hug after her flight had been called.

Mick smirked and pulled away. “You are definitely overreacting,” she accused, while toying with the myriad of rings adorning County's right hand.

County rolled her eyes. “I don't think so. Damn it, I didn't even get a chance to meet even one of the twins. It's not fair,” she said, pouting.

“Well, you could always stay another few days. I know they'd arrange for you to stay.”

County's full lips twisted to one side as she seemed to consider the proposal. Then, with a flashy wave, she grimaced. “Nah, I think I'll pass. Seeing how goo-goo you are, I know I can't afford to lose my head like that.”

“Hush,” Mick ordered, tugging on the sleeve of County's periwinkle-blue cardigan.

“Seriously, Mick,” she said and stepped a bit closer. “I like what going goo-goo over a man has done for you. It's only been a few days and I've seen you looking happier than you have in a long time.”

“County,” Mick sighed, doubt tingeing her voice.

“That is, except for when you're bouncing around with your little half-dressed girlfriends,” she chastised in a tone of phony disdain.

Mick laughed and slipped one hand inside the back pocket of her jeans. “Yeah, well, you can rest assured that I won't lose myself here when I know I have to get back to my little girlfriends. Not to mention Driggers.”

“Hmph.” County sniffed, kissing Mick's cheek before she headed toward her gate.

Mick waved, all the while ignoring the voice that told her she should be getting on that plane. “Oh, shut up,” she hissed to herself.

 

Quest and Quaysar were in the midst of their morning meeting. Seated at the spacious round table in the office's living area, they sat with their calendars before them while confirming dates for meetings, events, and other obligations.

“I talked with Spotty and it looks like the center will be on schedule to open as planned,” Quaysar mentioned, referring to their foreman for the project, Spotty Crawford.

“Good,” Quest mumbled, making a notation on his book.

“Yeah, that's gonna be some ribbon cutting in Cali. Those kids are gonna go crazy over a community center on the beach,” Quay predicted.

Quest laughed. “They deserve it,” he said, thinking about the project. Each year Ramsey Group chose a group to work with to provide housing, counseling, recreation, and job placement. That year had proven to be especially rewarding as Ramsey Group completed the first community center of its kind. One that would combine recreation, shelter, and education for a select group of youth. Should the endeavor be
successful, the number of teens housed by the center would increase as would its state funding.

A devilish glint sparked in Quay's dark eyes as he glanced across the table toward his brother. “You know, this ribbon cutting sounds like something Mick would like to go to.”

Quest didn't bother to look at his brother, though a knowing smile crossed his face. “Get off it,” he ordered quietly.

“What, man?”

“Stop bein' so nosy.”

Quay pressed one hand across the lapel of his navy pin-striped suit coat. “I swear that's not it. I am concerned about you though, and it's my place to make sure you're okay.”

Quest couldn't help but laugh at his brother's nerve. “This is private, Quay.”

“Well, all right,” Quay said, “it pleases me to know Miss Michaela Sellars has earned the right to be placed in the
private
category. That tells me a lot.”

“Unbelievable,” Quest muttered. “Isn't there a woman somewhere who you should be trying to coax into bed?”

“No, right now we're talking about the woman
you're
trying to coax into bed.”

“I won't have to coax her.”

“Ahh…confidence. I like it and it also pleases me to know you're so interested in the lady.”

Quest leaned back in his chair and began to toy with the stylish coral tie he wore with a tailored three-piece black suit. “Michaela is a business associate. She was here to investigate us if you recall.”

“Oh, I recall,” Quay said with a nod. “And that's exactly what has
you
so intrigued by her. She ain't here to cast her vote as your next sex partner or gold digger. She's luscious
and
smart and mysterious, and you is hooked, brotha,” he drawled while standing
from the table. “I gotta go,” he said, before his twin could offer a rebuttal.

Quest broodingly conceded that his brother would have the last word.

 

“Thank you,” Mick whispered to the escort who showed her into the Ramseys' private dining room at the Sharpe Club. The establishment was a haven for much of the commercial real estate crowd who closed the deals with the largest revenues.

“Ms. Sellars.”

Mick smiled at the couple across the room. Though older, they were extremely beautiful and seemed to complement each other's flair for casually elegant attire.

Houston Ramsey stepped forward with both hands outstretched. “My wife, Daphne,” he said after introducing himself to Mick.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Daphne said while shaking hands.

“Well, our conversation had me intrigued,” Mick shared, smoothing her fingers across the silver buckle that secured the taupe knee-length skirt she wore. “I was under the impression that the book was a no from all the Ramseys,” Mick said, missing the glance exchanged between Houston and Daphne.

Mick was too in awe of the room to pay much attention to anything else. The dining room was designed with devastatingly beautiful bay windows that offered breathtaking views of the hazy Seattle sky on one side and a distant view of the city's skyline on the other.

“Impressive, isn't it?” Houston remarked, seeing how affected Mick appeared. “The city's realtors decided to go in on the facility several years ago. It's come a long way since then too,” he boasted, stroking a sideburn as he joined Mick in watching the view. “Now
the place can facilitate everything from meetings and parties to weekend stays for couples or large groups.”

“You're right, it
is
impressive,” Mick acknowledged while turning her back on the view. “But I'm sure you didn't call me here to discuss the history of the Sharpe Club.”

Houston smiled and waved his hand toward the area where his wife relaxed. “Please, have a seat,” he urged Mick. “As far as pretty much the entire Ramsey clan are concerned, a book—
no
book on the family should be written.”

“Pretty much the entire Ramsey clan,” Mick reiterated.

“My wife and I feel differently,” Houston said, smiling down at Daphne, who nodded her agreement as he spoke. “I've always had my differences with my brothers and their sons. Those sons have done nothing but stain the Ramsey name.”

Mick bristled beneath the declaration, and Houston noticed.

“There are things I have little proof of, but I know a black line trails from each of their names.”

Mick folded her arms over the matching taupe suit jacket. “Mr. Ramsey, forgive me for saying this, but it sounds like you have plenty of speculation. Are there any specifics?”

Again, the Ramseys exchanged glances. Then, at her husband's nod, Daphne leaned down to retrieve a folder from the cream leather satchel that matched her pumps. She handed it to Mick.

“I think a dead young woman is a bit more than speculation, don't you, Ms. Sellars?” Houston challenged.

Mick didn't respond. She was too busy scanning the folder, which consisted of a news clipping and a picture of a young pretty woman. The clipping brought a frown to Mick's brown face. “Suicide?” she questioned, looking up at the couple.

Houston pretended to be focused on one of his diamond cuff links. “We think a reporter of your ilk could prove that it wasn't.”

Mick responded with a knowing smile and stood. “I'm not in the habit of making up lies to sell books. Mr. Ramsey, Mrs. Ramsey,” she bade the couple and prepared to leave the room.

“The young woman in that photo fell to her death from a hotel room window,” Houston called after Mick. He waited until her steps slowed before he continued. “That room was in Quest Ramsey's name.”

 

“The story doesn't even mention Quest's name,” Mick noted later while they were dining. She had spent the better part of her time scouring the full-page article. “Most of the copy is reaction from friends, teachers, and family. There's mention of a party, but—”

“A party given by my nephews,” Houston interjected. “They were all there and any one of them could've been involved in that girl's murder.”

Mick set the folder aside and fixed Houston with an exasperated look. “Mr. Ramsey, I just can't understand why you'd want to open a can of worms about your family after all these years.”

“Every one of those boys is spoiled rotten and has been from the minute they were born,” Houston blurted, pounding his fist next to his plate of Caesar salad. “They were raised fully aware of the influence their family possessed. Knowledge of money and power is dangerous in the hands of adults, Ms. Sellars. It's deadly in the hands of children.”

Mick toyed with a curl that bobbed along her ear. “You must know your nephews won't be too pleased when they hear about this. You know I'll have to get their side of the story,” she forewarned.

Houston waved his hand. “Please talk to them, by all means,” he urged, appearing undaunted.

Mick tapped her fingers along the edge of the table. “I understand the two of you have children?” she inquired, not wanting to consider all parents so cold and vindictive toward others who were basically children beneath them.

A proud smile brightened Houston's handsome chiseled face. “We have two. A daughter, Dena, and a son, Taurus. Both are exceptional people, beautiful inside and out.”

Mick smiled and nodded. “Thank you both for a lovely meal,” she said as she stood. “I'll be in touch.”

 

Mick opened her door to Quest just a few minutes before seven o'clock that evening.

“Hello,” he greeted, his mesmerizing gray stare slowly assessing the gorgeous aqua-colored V-neck dress she wore.

Mick took a deep breath, trying to hide her smile when Quest quickly looked away from her heaving bosom. “Hi,” she whispered, looking askew when she heard her voice tremble. Her gaze lowered when Quest leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth. His lips lingered against the mole there. When he pulled back, he could see the intensity in her eyes as she watched him.

“What's the matter?” he asked, concern already filtering his eyes.

Mick shook her head and smiled. “I'm just waiting on you to compliment my sober state,” she teased.

Quest chuckled. “Very nice,” he said, reaching for the chiffon coat she held. “We better get a move on,” he suggested, knowing he was seconds away from forgetting going out for the evening.

 

Michaela's observant qualities were in high gear that evening. She covertly studied Quest's every movement and mannerism for any sign that he was the sort that could be involved in a girl's death—er, murder. She didn't find it surprising that his every action was consistent.

In spite of her thoroughly suspicious nature, Mick simply didn't believe certain things could be devised. The way he held on to her hand until she was secure in the passenger seat of his Navigator, telling her to be sure the belt was securely locked and then checking to see that it was. He teased with the valets at the restaurant—all young black men whom he tipped even though they hadn't even parked his car. He kept his hand at her waist and introduced her to everyone he spoke to.

The restaurant Quest chose for their dinner came complete with a beautiful view of the Puget Sound. Mick was quiet for a very long time as she sat enchanted by the view.

“Sorry,” she whispered to Quest when she glanced up to see him staring at her. “This is so beautiful, I can't find a thing to talk about.”

Quest's lashes closed briefly over his eyes. “It's no problem,” he assured her.

It was true. He could never tire of watching her. The sweet chocolate face held that perfect combination of sensuality and innocence. The silky blue-black curls made him want to lose his hands in them while he kissed her.

“Hungry?” he asked, desperate to focus his attention elsewhere.

“Starving,” Mick groaned, selecting one of the leather-bound menus from the table. “What's good?”

The simple question erased any hope Quest had of
focusing his attention elsewhere. His gaze locked on her X-rated mouth.

“Quest?”

“Everything,” he replied, “everything's very good,” he said, hopelessly fixated on her full soft lips.

“Let's see,” Mick breathed, opening the menu. “Ooooh, you're right. It'll take me all night to decide.”

Quest only smiled and leaned back in his chair in order to watch her more comfortably. By the time the waiter approached, Mick had at least decided on drinks. The young Hispanic waiter barely wrote down the order, his eyes were so focused on Mick. Quest didn't like it, but he surely couldn't blame the guy. For good measure—and agitation—he asked the young man to repeat the selection.

Mick laughed when they were alone. “So you're one of those, huh?”

Quest shook his head once in confusion.

“One of those difficult diners who send their dish back five times because of the smallest imperfections.”

Quest tugged on the lapel of his mocha suit jacket. “I'm not like that and it wasn't about that. The guy was just staring at you so hard.”

Mick studied the water past the window. “Are you the jealous type?” she asked in a sly tone.