Naturally, Kira’s first step had been to beg her father to change his mind about using her sister to smooth over a business deal, but her father had been adamant about the benefits of the marriage.
Kira didn’t understand the financials of Quinn’s hostile takeover of Murray Oil, but her father seemed to think Quinn would make a brilliant CEO. Her parents had said that if Jaycee didn’t walk down the aisle with Quinn as agreed, Quinn’s terms would become far more onerous. Not to mention that the employees would resent him as an outsider. Even though Quinn’s father had been a co-owner, Quinn was viewed as a man with a personal vendetta against the Murrays and Murray Oil. Ever since his father’s death, rumors about his hostility toward all things Murray had been widely circulated by the press. Only if he married Jaycee would the employees believe that peace between the two families had at last been achieved and that the company would be safe in his hands.
Hence, Kira was here, to face Quinn Sullivan.
She was determined to stop him from marrying Jaycee, but how? Pausing in panic even as his secretary rushed ahead, she reminded herself that she couldn’t turn back, plan or not.
Quickening her pace, Kira caught up to the efficient young woman, who was probably moving so quickly because she was as scared of the unfeeling brute as Kira was.
When his secretary pushed open Quinn’s door, the deep, rich tones of the man’s surprisingly beautiful voice moved through Kira like music. Her knees lost strength, and she stopped in midstep.
Oh, no, it was happening again.
She’d known from meeting him the first time that he was charismatic, but she’d counted on her newly amassed knowledge of his despicable character to protect her. His edgy baritone slid across her nerve endings, causing warm tingles in her secret, feminine places, and she knew she was as vulnerable to him as before.
Fighting not to notice that her nipples ached and that her pulse had sped up, she took a deep breath before daring a glance at the black-headed rogue. Looking very much at ease, he sat sprawled at his desk, the back of his linebacker shoulders to her as he leaned against his chair, a telephone jammed to his ear.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, be attracted to this man.
On his desk she noted a silver-framed photograph of his father. With their intense blue eyes, black hair and strongly chiseled, tanned features, father and son closely resembled each other. Both, she knew, had been college athletes. Did Quinn keep the photo so close out of love or to energize him in his quest for revenge?
“I told you to buy, Habib,” he ordered brusquely in that too-beautiful voice. “What’s there to talk about? Do it.” He ended the call.
At least he was every bit as rude as she remembered. Deep baritone or not, it should be easy to hate him.
His secretary coughed to let him know they were at the door.
Quinn whirled around in his massive, black leather chair, scowling, but went still the instant he saw Kira.
He lifted that hard, carved chin, which surprisingly enough had the most darling dimple, and, just like that, dismissed his secretary.
His piercing, laser-blue gaze slammed into Kira full force and heated her through—just like before.
Black hair. Bronze skin. Fierce, brilliant eyes … With a single glance the man bewitched her.
When his mouth lifted at the edges, her world shifted as it had that first evening—and he hadn’t even touched her.
He was as outrageously handsome as ever. Every bit as dark, tall, lean and hard, as cynical and untamed—even in his orderly office with his efficient secretary standing guard.
Still, for an instant, Kira thought she saw turbulent grief and longing mix with unexpected pleasure at the sight of her.
He remembered her.
But in a flash the light went out of his eyes, and his handsome features tightened into those of the tough, heartless man he wanted people to see.
In spite of his attempt at distance, a chord of recognition had been struck. It was as if they’d seen into each other’s souls, had sensed each other’s secret yearnings.
She wanted her family, who deemed her difficult and frustrating, to love and accept her for herself, as they did her sister.
He had longings that revenge and outward success had failed to satisfy. What were they? What was lacking in his disciplined, showy, materialistic life?
Was he as drawn to her as she was to him?
Impossible.
So how could he be the only man who’d ever made her feel less alone in the universe?
Hating him even more because he’d exposed needs she preferred to conceal, she tensed. He had no right to open her heart and arouse such longings.
Frowning, he cocked his dark head and studied her. “I owe you an apology for the last time we met,” he drawled in that slow, mocking baritone that turned her insides to mush. “I was nervous about the takeover and the engagement and about making a good impression on you and your family. I was too harsh with you. A few inches more … and I could have killed you. I was afraid, and that made me angry.”
“You owe me nothing,” she said coolly.
“I don’t blame you in the least for avoiding me all these weeks. I probably scared the hell out of you.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you. Not really,” she murmured, but a telltale flush heated her neck as she thought of the family dinners she’d opted out of because she’d known he’d be there.
If only she could run now, escape him. But Jaycee needed her, so instead, she hedged. “I’ve been busy.”
“Waitressing?”
“Yes! I’m helping out Betty, my best friend, while I interview for museum jobs. Opening a restaurant on the San Antonio River Walk was a lifetime dream of hers. She got busier faster than she expected, and she offered me a job. Since I waited tables one summer between college semesters, I’ve got some experience.”
He smiled. “I like it that you’re helping your friend realize her dream even though your career is stalled. That’s nice.”
“We grew up together. Betty was our housekeeper’s daughter. When we got older my mother kept hoping I’d outgrow the friendship while Daddy helped Betty get a scholarship.”
“I like that you’re generous and loyal.” He hesitated. “Your pictures don’t do you justice. Nor did my memory of you.”
His blue eyes gleamed with so much appreciation her cheeks heated. “Maybe because the last time I saw you I was slathered in mud.”
He smiled. “Still, being a waitress seems like a strange job for a museum curator, even if it’s temporary. You did major in art history at Princeton and completed that internship at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I believe you graduated with honors.”
She had no idea how she’d done so well, but when her grades had thrilled her father, she’d worked even harder.
“Has Daddy, who by the way, has a bad habit of talking too much, told you my life history?”
For a long moment, Quinn didn’t confirm her accusation or deny it.
“Well, is that where you learned these details?”
“If he talked about you, it was because I was curious and asked him.”
Not good. She frowned as she imagined her parents complaining about her disappointments since Princeton during all those family dinners she’d