He continued looking at her with hooded eyes, thick lashes blinking lazily and silent confidence oozing from every pore of his rangy body. And then he smiled.
Damping her dry lips, she looked round at the familiar faces, searching each one for a hint of any sign they’d see what was happening as a joke and let it slide so she could get out of trouble.
No such luck.
‘You could just admit I’m right about this business idea of yours and let it go. Keep it as a hobby if you must. That’d give you more time for dating, right?’
With a deep breath she stepped over the edge of what felt distinctly like a precipice. ‘No limit on the number of dates. And once you hit the six weeks without a Tiffany’s box I automatically win.’
‘Fine, but if I say it’s not working with one we move on. I’ll give you…’ his gaze rose to a point on the ceiling, locking with hers again when he had an answer ‘…three months to find Little Miss Perfect.’
‘Six.’
‘Four.’
‘Five.’
‘Four from the first date…’
It was the best she was going to get and she knew it. ‘Done.’
There was a flurry of activity as their friends sought out a pen, and Morgan used the back of a napkin to place their bets. And in the meantime Quinn had Clare’s undivided attention while he slowly made his way round to her, hunkering down and examining her eyes before extending one large hand, his husky-edged voice low and disturbingly intimate.
‘Shake on it, then.’
Clare turned in her seat and looked at his outstretched hand, her pulse fluttering. She damped her lips again, and took another deep breath, before lifting her palm and setting it into his. Her voice was equally low when she looked up into his eyes.
‘Cheat this time and you’re a dead man.’
A larger smile slid skilfully into place a split second before his incredible eyes darkened a shade, and long fingers curled until her smaller hand was engulfed in the heat of his. But instead of shaking it up and down to seal the deal he simply held on, rubbing his thumb almost unconsciously across the ridges of her knuckles. Then his voice dropped enough to merit her leaning closer to hear him, and the combined scent of clean laundry and pure Quinn overwhelmed her,
‘Don’t have to. Cos either way I win—don’t I?’
CHAPTER THREE
QUINN SINCERELY DOUBTED he’d be asked as many questions if he applied to join the CIA. Who knew proving his point was going to involve so much darn paperwork? It was a deep and abiding hatred of paperwork that had merited a PA in the first place…
Swinging his office chair back and forth while he read through the rest of Clare’s questionnaire, he wondered why she couldn’t just have answered the majority of them herself. Because if working together and spending time together socially wasn’t enough, then the fact she’d lived in the basement apartment of his Brooklyn Heights brownstone for the last eleven months should have given her more than enough information.
She knew him as well as anyone he hadn’t grown up with ever had; it was a proximity thing.
Lifting the folder off his desk, he challenged gravity by leaning further back in his chair, twirling his pen in and out of his fingers and laughing out loud when he discovered: How important is sex in a relationship?
It even came with a rating system. Unfortunately he didn’t think the rating went high enough for most men.
‘It’s not supposed to be funny.’
Rocking the chair forwards, he swung round to face the door where Clare was standing with her arms folded. In fairness he thought she’d done well to stay away for as long as she had. He’d had the questionnaire for a whole ten minutes already.
‘Aw, c’mon, O’Connor. Not only is it funny, you gotta admit some of it’s pretty darn pointless too.’
‘Like what, exactly?’
With a challenging cock of his head he wet his thumb and forefinger and loudly flicked back two pages, looking down to quote. ‘“Do you feel it’s important that the man earns more money than the woman”?’
When he looked up Clare was scowling. ‘Some people think that’s important—you’d be surprised how many men feel emasculated if the woman earns more than they do.’
He nodded sagely. ‘You know the pathetic rating on all your male clients just went up a couple dozen notches right there, don’t you?’
‘Spoken by the man who sends a gift from Tiffany’s as a goodbye. Money is hardly an issue for you, is it?’
‘I never felt like less of a man when I didn’t have any. Money’s not what makes a man a man. Women who think that aren’t interested in who he really is.’ He looked down and flicked over another page. ‘And another one of my personal favourites: “Do you feel pets can act as a substitute family?”’ Lifting his chin, he added, ‘Shouldn’t you ask about dressing them up in dumb outfits and carrying them around in matching bags?’
‘Not everyone wants children.’
‘Why don’t you just ask that, then?’
Swiftly unfolding her arms, she marched across the room and reached for the edge of the questionnaire. ‘It’s on page five. I knew you weren’t taking this seriously. You’ve no notion of finding the right girl.’
Quinn held the questionnaire out of her reach behind his head, fighting off the need to chuckle. ‘I’m taking this very seriously. You just might want to think about tailoring the questions differently for men and women—no self-respecting guy is gonna read this without tossing it in the nearest wastepaper basket.’
Clare stood to her full five-seven, the look of consternation written all over her face making him feel the need to laugh again. But somehow he doubted she’d appreciate it, so he cleared his throat.
‘I’m just giving you my professional opinion. You do questionnaires for the clubs’ clientele all the time and none of them are ever this bad.’
‘They have to be the same questions so I can put like-minded people together.’
‘What happened to opposites attracting?’
‘The things that matter have to match.’ She folded her arms again. ‘You can back out of this any time you want you know—just say the word and we can go back to the way we were before.’
Nice try. But it was attempting to get back to the way they were that had given him the dumb idea in the first place. It was the very opening he’d been looking for. There was no way he was letting her out of this one. And she was no more likely to find him a soulmate through a questionnaire than he was to start dressing pets in clothes. Not that he had time for pets right this minute but there was a dog somewhere in his future—a large dog—one docile enough to make a loyal friend for kids to climb all over.
He lowered his arm and flicked through the pages to see if he could find a question that asked about pets and kids. Every kid should have a dog, he felt—and, not having had one when he was a kid, Quinn had no intention of his own kids missing out. And, yes, he would be ticking the kids question on page five—he came from a large family—there had just better be a box that said ‘some day’.
‘If you’re going to treat this like a big joke it’ll never work. You have to give it a chance.’
‘I already told you I’m taking it seriously.’
When she didn’t say anything he looked up, momentarily caught off-guard by the cloud in her usually bright eyes. ‘What?’
Clare