Michaela sauntered from bed the next morning feeling as though she’d been deliciously ravished and it had only been a bit of foreplay. A bit? She wondered about that. The way Quest Ramsey made her feel last night…she doubted foreplay was an adequate description. It was, however, a foreshadowing of things to come. Things she hoped would come. Things? Sexual satisfaction or something more? Mick closed her eyes and shook her head, feeling as though she were drowning in her own thoughts. She and Quest had simply acted on the attraction existing between them—that was all.
Sounds good, Mick. That should get you through the next two hours.
She swung her legs from the bed, but remained seated on the edge deciding on her next move. Call County? Mick knew the woman was probably at her wits’ end wondering what was going on in Seattle. Driggers had grilled her to no end when she called him the previous afternoon, and Mick knew her demanding publisher would be no different. Besides, Mick had already planned to leave after one week. Now she wasn’t sure. She believed she wanted to stay longer. Like an avalanche, her curiosity about Quest Ramsey was growing rapidly. She wanted to know everything about him and not for any book. Massaging her eyes then, she silently scolded herself for falling head over heels for a man she’d known little over a week. This was not the way Mick Sellars behaved.
The phone rang then and she welcomed the interruption. Reaching across the bedside table, she pulled the burgundy cordless from its cradle. “Yes?” she greeted softly.
“Ms. Sellars? Good morning. This is Dion, the host at Sorenson Café.”
“Yes, good morning,” Mick replied, recognizing the name of one of the hotel’s restaurants.
Dion cleared his throat. “Ms. Sellars, will you be dining downstairs this morning?”
The question caught Mick by surprise. “Well—I—um, I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Well, ma’am, your attendance is desired.”
“Why?”
“Just a little thank-you breakfast. Something special we’ve just started. For our guests that have been staying with us awhile.”
“I see,” Mick whispered.
“So may we expect you?”
Finally, Mick shrugged. “Why not? Yes, I’ll be there.”
When the call ended, Mick leaned her back against the huge cushiony pillows lining the headboard and studied the ceiling. Then she was glancing around the elaborate room and her light stare fell upon the package the front desk concierge had handed her the day before.
Forcing herself from bed, Mick ambled over to the lounge chair where she’d tossed the package. Ripping into the wrapping, she found a leather-bound book. The front cover was engraved with what looked to be an etching of a school and cursive writing of the words Remans Golden Bears 1989. Obviously a yearbook, she quickly surmised.
Written in bold script inside the front cover were the words. Georgia, p. 118. Mick turned to the page of class pictures and saw that one row had been circled with a red pen. There were the identifying names at the end of the row, but Mick already knew at least three of the students. She recognized Quest, Quaysar, and Taurus, brushing her fingers across their photos and acknowledging they’d been drop-dead gorgeous even then.
The entire row was marked, however, and Mick reluctantly moved her gaze past Quest’s photo to the other young men on the row. Fernando, Moses, and Yohan Ramsey. Mick could only shake her head, for no one could dispute that the Ramseys were a devastating brood. Mick’s attention wavered from the six sinfully handsome teens to the scribbling at the bottom of the page: 143 was all it said. Figuring it to be another page number, Mick turned and found only one photo highlighted. It was the picture of a young girl with a shy brown gaze and a happy laugh. Mick recognized her instantly—Sera Black.
Mick frowned, studying the young woman’s picture longer than she realized. She took another look at the photos of the six cousins. In her mind she could hear Houston Ramsey. That young woman fell to her death from a hotel room window. The room was in Quest Ramsey’s name.
“Fool,” Mick hissed, slamming the book shut. Still, she couldn’t resist going downstairs to look through the photos and news clippings on the death. She scoured the material as though she expected some answer to magically leap out at her. At last, she snapped out of her trance and decided it was time to get dressed for breakfast.
The Sorenson boasted restaurants with some of the best cuisine Seattle had to offer. Sorenson Café was one of those places. Located on the lower level of the hotel, the area was an elegant, cozy hideaway that offered guests a quieter, more mellow atmosphere instead of the rushed craziness of most breakfast spots.
Mick arrived, appearing somewhat uncertain as her amber eyes scanned her surroundings. The dining room was practically deserted with the exception of the staff. She glanced at her watch.
“Ms. Sellars.”
Mick turned to find a short, balding man rushing toward her.
“Dion, ma’am,” he introduced in a voice that matched the pleasant smile he wore.
“Am I in the right place?” Mick asked, smiling when Dion chuckled.
“You most certainly are and we thank you for joining us this morning. Right this way,” Dion urged.
A resigned smile in place, Mick smoothed her hands across her flare-legged khaki-colored chinos and followed the little man into the café. She stopped in her tracks after walking a short distance. Her heart leaped to her throat when she saw Quest across the room speaking with one of the waiters.
“This way, Ms. Sellars,” the host urged, taking a second to look back at her.
Mick complied, though her steps were a bit less confident.
Quest turned to see her approaching. His mesmerizing gray stare lowered to rake her slender, curvaceous form several times. The white, asymmetrical halter she wore outlined her full breasts adoringly while drawing attention to her flawless chocolate skin.
The host nodded toward Quest, and then left him and Mick alone. She opened her mouth to speak, but failed.
“I forgot to ask if you’d like to get together for breakfast this morning,” Quest said as though reading her thoughts.
“Breakfast?” Mick parroted, looking around at the beautiful dimmed atmosphere. “Place looks closed,” she noted.
Quest grinned, sparking the gorgeous left dimple. “Not closed. Just opened for two at the moment.”
“Two?” Mick questioned, hated the feeling of total confusion surging through her. Suddenly, realization dawned and her eyes narrowed. “Tell me you didn’t have this place shut down just for us?”
Quest shrugged, his gray eyes holding an expectant light. “Why not? We’re worth it, aren’t we?”
“Obviously you are.”
Quest stood back and wondered about this cool beauty who seemed totally oblivious of her power. “Don’t tell me a man has never shut down a restaurant for you?”
Mick was speechless, unable to form a cohesive comeback as she studied his face. “Um…no, no, I can’t say I recall any man ever doing this,” she finally replied, pretending to be in deep concentration.
Quest made a tsking sound while folding his arms across the slate-blue shirt that hung out over the sagging dark denims he wore with black Gortex boots.
“Well, it’s past time that one did,” he decided finally and cupped her elbow to lead her to the round table that had been prepared.
Mick settled into one of the deep-cushioned black armchairs he held for her. Her lashes fluttered minutely when she felt his fingers in her hair.
Quest couldn’t resist. Michaela was becoming more than a woman to him. She was a light—a light he desperately needed and wanted in his life. He had known more than his share of sensual women, beautiful women, and sweet women. Michaela was the first woman he’d met who had the perfect proportion of each quality.
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him.
Quest moved his hand from her curls reluctantly and took his place at the table.
They studied their menus in silence for a moment, before Mick uttered a short laugh and set hers aside. “I’m sorry, but this is a bit over the top. Don’t you think?”
Quest propped his chin against his fist and regarded the expectant look on her face. His eyes locked on her heavenly mouth and again, he allowed himself to envision the delights it was capable of offering.
“Quest?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head, “‘over the top,’ you were saying?”
“Very over the top.”
“So you really don’t think you’re worth it?”
Mick leaned back in her chair. “I’d like to think I am, but—”
“You’d like to think you are?” he whispered in disbelief.
Mick rolled her eyes while waving her hand in the air. “Don’t sit there and think I have any self-esteem problems. I don’t. But you’ve only known me a little over a week, and this isn’t the sort of thing you do for a woman you’ve only known a week.”
“It is when you want to know her longer than that,” Quest countered. “It is when she lives in Chicago and you live in Seattle. It is when you know she’ll be leaving soon and you very much want her to stay.”
Mick had no chance to reply, for the waiter had arrived to take their orders. She realized she wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.
Later, Mick and Quest enjoyed an easy silence over a spread of golden brown, expertly seasoned salmon croquettes, cinnamon toast, hash browns, and fruit.
“You don’t like to see food go to waste, I see,” Quest teased, taking note of the way she wholeheartedly indulged in her breakfast.
Mick nodded. “This is true, but I also know you had to spend a pretty penny here today, so I figure you might as well get your money’s worth.”
“Hmph, well, that all depends.”
“On?”
“How long I can convince you to stay.”
Mick cleared her throat, her fork pausing over her hash browns. The man had no qualms about speaking his mind, she’d give him that.
“Well, I am a working girl,” she slyly reminded him and indulged in another bite of the browns. “Besides, I read the Ramseys own at least three jets. You can always visit Chicago,” she suggested softly.
“True,” Quest acknowledged with a nod. “But here in Seattle my brother and my cousin are my only competition so far. In Chicago, I may find myself standing in line for your time.”
Mick almost burst into a hysterical fit of laughter. “Standing in line behind who? Oh! Other men, you mean? Ha! No, no, I’m afraid you won’t find a line.”
“That I don’t believe.”
“Believe it.”
Quest didn’t press further. Her words more than pleased him. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” he asked.
Mick shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Would you like to see what I do for a living?”
Mick took a sip of raspberry juice. “I thought I already had.”
Quest shook his head. “You saw a building. Ramsey Group is successful because Quay and I are hands-on. We hardly spend more than thirty percent of our time inside the office.”
“Impressive.”
“Necessary,” Quest corrected. “The real estate division is not part of the family’s main holdings as you might’ve thought. In college, Quay and I wanted to revitalize one of the group’s poorest performing companies. The realty company was formed by Houston, but it floundered partly because he’d focused his attention elsewhere. He was all too happy to let it go when we asked for it.” A wicked grin further darkened his incredible features. “Besides, my father bought it from him for more than it was worth. No one was more surprised than Uncle Hous when the company turned a significant profit.”
Which would explain why there’s no love lost between Houston and his nephews, Mick thought.
“So? What do you say? You up for it?” Quest challenged.
Mick clapped her hands. “Let’s go.”
Quest and Mick spent the remainder of the day in his stylishly rugged Ford truck. They seemed to travel from one end of Seattle to another.
He was right, Mick thought. She hadn’t really seen what he did for a living. In truth, her idea of a real estate developer was a person in a big office, behind a big desk on a big phone making it happen while he delegated the more menial duties to his subordinates.
The Ramseys were anything but. They were truly hands-on. They did everything from meeting one on one with the architects and construction workers to dropping in on the donut and deli shops to ensure that the goodies kept flowing steadily to the workers. Mick was more than impressed; she was astonished by the company’s attention to the little things.
“Last stop,” Quest announced, while turning the truck down a rock-laden dirt road. “Forgive me for boring you to death today,” he added, flashing her a quick apologetic glance.
“Please,” Mick retorted with a flip wave. “This was anything but boring. I’ve seen more of Seattle today than I ever could’ve taking some old tour. You really run an exciting business, Quest.”
He didn’t appear too convinced. “Mmm-hmm, well, onto the next round of excitement. Feast your eyes.”
Mick looked past the streaky windows to an expanse of property beneath the sunny skies. The outlay of land was a seemingly unending mass of dirt and small patches of grass. The only thing that had been “put down” on the property were the wooden stakes with their red ties at the top and the miles of string that seemed to connect them.
Quest left the truck, and then went to escort Mick out. It was then that she noticed an old black pickup in the distance. The driver’s side door opened and a man stepped out.
“J.C.!” Quest called, grinning when the man returned his wave. “Careful,” he whispered, his attention instantly riveted back to Mick. “Watch your step,” he advised, keeping an arm about her waist as they began to trek across the uneven landscape.
“What’s goin’ on?” Quest greeted the man once the distance was closed between them. After shaking hands he turned back to Mick. “Michaela Sellars, this is Ramsey’s top construction chief, Jason Calloway. J.C., this is Michaela Sellars visiting from Chicago.”
Jason whistled. “Chicago,” he noted with an impressed nod. “Good to meet you, ma’am.”
“Same here,” Mick replied, smiling as his callused hand closed over hers in a shake.
“What do you think, Quest?” J.C. asked.
Quest’s gray eyes narrowed when he squinted against the sun to get a better look at the land. “Incredible. It’s everything you said it was.”
While J.C. and Quest talked, Mick glanced around. Her expression was skeptical as she decided they were clearly seeing more of the property than she was.
Quest noticed the look on her face and felt the need to explain. “Michaela, this is the site for our next development,” he said and pointed to the sign they stood next to.
Mick was surprised she hadn’t seen it before and took a closer look at what would be the completed project. “Hmm, nice,” she uttered after a moment or two.
The men exchanged glances.
“That’s it?” Quest asked softly.
Mick’s amber gaze was blank. “That’s what?”
Quest bowed his head while massaging his jaw. “Well, I know it’s just a sign, but this place is going to be one of our most ambitious housing endeavors. You just don’t seem very impressed,” he added, without realizing how much he wanted her to be.
“Oh, Quest, I’m sorry,” Mick said and laid her palm flat against his chest. “The homes look like they’ll be exquisite—beyond exquisite. It—it’s the yards that put them to shame.”
“The yards?” Both men sounded off in unison.
Mick trailed one hand through her curls as they whipped against the wind. “I’ve seen these high-end, high-income developments before, and for the most part one thing is both consistent and disappointing—the yards.”
“Go on, Ms. Sellars,” J.C. urged, interest clear on his tanned face.
“Well, all the yards just appear so small. They make the homes seem like giants crouching for space on the same hill. Sure, many of these developments boast private parks, but it should be considered that some parents may prefer having their kids play closer to home. You guys should take that into account, that this is a Ramsey Group project. It should boast spacious yards in addition to spacious homes.”
Quest and J.C. stroked their jaws simultaneously. Their eyes surveyed the land with renewed understanding.
“Sorry for speaking so frankly. I’m sure whatever you guys decide will be great,” Mick said, to assuage their egos.
“Ms. Sellars, please don’t apologize. Your honesty is more than appreciated, believe me,” J.C. assured her.
“Michaela, honestly you’ve not only given us a new direction to take our project, you’ve given us a terrific selling point to exploit,” Quest added.
“I can’t believe we didn’t discuss this before. We should set up a meeting with Stanton and his group right away,” J.C. suggested, referring to their architect. “We could definitely use a troubleshooter like you on our team, Ms. Sellars,” he added, smiling down at Mick before he looked up at Quest. “When does she start?”
Quest’s laughter was easy. “She’s mine,” he responded simply.
Mick wondered if she was the only one who heard the underlying message in that remark.
The day wrapped up at the Cigar Bar, an establishment frequented by the area’s most powerful professionals. Men and women alike flocked to the dark, stern watering hole that harbored a surprisingly relaxed mood with its hand-rolled cigars, top-notch whiskeys and liquors, light menu, and very own pianist.
“Mmm…so this is where the deals are made,” Mick noted, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of leather and cigar smoke.
“Made or broken,” Quest teased, nodding toward those he recognized. “It’s best to dangle this treat before the client after the papers are signed,” he added and graced Mick with a sly wink.
“Mr. Ramsey!” the bartender called when Mick and Quest approached. “And Mr. Ramsey’s beautiful companion,” he added.
Quest grinned. “Ralph, this is Michaela Sellars.”
“Beautiful,” Ralph continued to compliment.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Mick said, enjoying the man’s adoration.
“We’re going to eat here at the bar, Ralph,” Quest said as he ushered Mick into one of the high-backed maple-wood stools skirting the bar. “What’ll you have, Michaela?”
“Hmm?” she responded absently, her eyes feasting on the portraits of famous celebrities from Hollywood’s golden era. Each portrait featured a different actor or actress puffing on a cigar.
“Michaela?”
“Oh! Um, I’ll let you order,” she responded hastily.
“What sort of cigar do you want?”
The question almost rendered Mick speechless. Quest asked the question in the same manner he would had he been inquiring if she liked her steak well done. She managed to contain her amusement enough to address his question.
“Quest, I’m afraid you’re with a woman who is completely out of her element here. I’m not afraid to admit that. I honestly wouldn’t know what to do with the damn thing,” she confided, staring skeptically at the small menu of cigars he held.
Quest only nodded while his deep-set gaze scanned the book. “You up for a lesson?” he challenged.
“No,” Mick sang, “I’m not about to let you waste a bundle on an expensive cigar that I’d only mess up.”
“Ralph,” Quest called, waving in the barkeep’s direction, “bring me two Royal Jamaicas. The lady will have a Robusto and I’ll take a Ten Downing Street.”
“Yessir,” Ralph replied and quickly obliged the order.
“All right,” Quest announced once he’d used a brass cutter to clip the end of the longer cigar. He took it between his thumb and index finger. “You light the end like so,” he demonstrated, puffing intermittedly, “and you’re all set,” he added, motioning for Mick to take the cigar he held.
“No way,” she refused flatly.
“Come on.”
“No way.”
“I hate to smoke alone,” he said then, fixing her with his most disappointed expression.
Mick was thankful he hadn’t requested anything more involved. That expression could make her give in to anything. Of that, she was sure. She took the cigar and put forth a valiant first try. Sadly, she only succeeded in a bout of coughs and sputters.
Quest leaned forward to pat her back, chuckling as he did so.
“I can do this,” Mick decided, bracing herself for another puff. After a few more unsuccessful attempts, she managed to take a long drag from the cigar that had to be at least ten inches long.
“Mmm…” she murmured, offering a little smile. She found the taste and smell to be quite intoxicating.
Quest was intoxicated as well. He was entranced by the sight of her, not quite believing how alluring and arousing was the sight of a woman with a mouth like hers puffing on the end of a cigar. He’d driven around town all day with her trying to keep his mind off how good she looked and smelled. The majority of his thoughts revolved around how very much he wanted to carry her off some place and make love to her until she couldn’t walk. Now he’d brought her there and she was succeeding in arousing him to an even higher level. Down, Quest, he warned.
Mick noticed his intense stare. “Sorry,” she whispered, believing she’d been hogging his cigar.
“You’re fine,” he said and reached for the other cigar. “Are you ready for your own?”
“Yaay,” Mick said.
“Don’t make this a habit,” he warned softly.
“I promise I won’t,” she replied eagerly, lowering her eyes in a demure fashion when he began to laugh.
“I’m sorry for putting down the project before,” Mick said later when they were dining. “I’ve been known to be pretty opinionated,” she explained when he looked over at her.
“What are you talking about?” Quest set aside his knife and fork. “Your opinion was very valued. We’re real big on constructive criticism at Ramsey. You’ve got a job there if you ever decide to leave the writing business,” he added.
“Mmm, is this another ploy to get me to stay, Mr. Ramsey?” she teased, watching him slice off another morsel of his rib eye.
“Is it working?” he asked,
“No comment,” Mick decided with a chuckle. “I must admit, though, this place is incredible. Seattle is incredible. I’d definitely like to visit a lot more.”
“Glad to hear it,” Quest said, amidst savoring the tender beef. “I really want you to consider coming back.”
“Well, I’m not gone yet,” Mick pointed out lightly, having no idea how serious Quest was in his statement.
It was her use of the word “yet” he didn’t like, and it showed. Mick glanced over at him and caught the tightness of his expression before he could mask it. She decided to let silence settle for the duration of the meal.
When Quest returned Mick to her hotel suite that evening, he went through his ritual of checking the room. As usual, Mick waited by the message desk near the front door.
“Lunch tomorrow? If you’re free?” he asked when he joined her out front.
Mick rolled her eyes. “Quest, no,” she said, groaning when she saw the hurt flash in his misty gray eyes. “You’ve taken up enough time with me today. You do have a business to run, you know?”
“One has nothing to do with the other,” he argued, folding his arms across his shirt.
“So why’d you insist on showing me every aspect of it today?” she challenged.
“Because I’m trying like hell to impress you.”
“I was impressed way before today,” Mick admitted, and then looked away as though she’d said too much.
“Lunch tomorrow?” he asked again.
“I’ll be ready,” Mick accepted softly.
Unfolding his arms, Quest stepped closer. His hand curved loosely beneath her chin while his mouth slanted across hers. Mick parted her lips eagerly, moaning seconds before his tongue began to caress her own. What could have been a sweet good-night kiss quickly became something heated and intense. Soft moans rose in Quest’s throat as his tongue delved deeper into her mouth. He was lost in a sea of unsatisfied and constantly building desire.
Mick stood on her toes and kissed him with wild abandon. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and wished he’d never stop thrusting and curving his tongue around hers. Quest’s hands tightened upon her waist as though he were struggling to keep them there. He lost that battle and soon his thumbs were brushing her nipples outlined against the silky cotton fabric of the asymmetrical shirt she wore. Mick tried to gasp his name, but she couldn’t breathe beneath the kiss and she didn’t care. When she felt Quest moving back, she frowned and curled her fingers more tightly into his shirt.
“Michaela,” he whispered, breaking the kiss to speak against the corner of her mouth. “Baby, wait.”
The soft urging in his voice told Mick that the magical day had truly reached its end. She refused to look up at him while stepping out of his embrace. She turned her back toward him, leaning into the kiss he placed at her temple before he left.
“That’s what you think.”
Mick rolled her eyes in response to County’s rebuttal to her announcement that the Ramsey book was dead in the water. “As far as I’m concerned, it is,” she retorted.
“Well, the last time I checked, Contessa House had my name on the sign,” County challenged tersely. “You won’t feel betrayed by us continuing our research and putting another author on it, will you?”
Again, Mick’s lashes fluttered in the midst of another eye-roll. “Betrayed, hell. You probably already have another author in mind.”
“You know me so well.” County sighed over the phone. “Seriously, Mick, I really wanted you on this. A book like this has the makings of millions—dollars and awards.”
“I know,” Mick fully agreed, but silently admitted she’d choose Quest Ramsey over a tell-all any day.
“So have you made a decision about L.A., or are you gonna disappoint me on that too?”
Mick was slapping her palm to her forehead as she approached the hotel restaurant where she was to meet Quest for lunch. “The literary conference?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Next week, right?”
“Mmm-hmm…”
Mick groaned. “Oh, County—”
“Damn it, Mick! This man has got you floating in the clouds.”
“Yeah…yeah, he does.” Mick didn’t bother to lie. Her amber eyes sparkled when she saw him already seated in the restaurant. His head was tilted and his eyes were narrowed as he concentrated on the menu he held. Mick felt completely removed from her body as she studied him—admiring the presence he made without doing a thing. He raised his head and his gaze shifted to hers. Mick smothered a gasp and barely managed a wave.
“Mick!”
“Sorry—sorry, County. I—um—”
“Forget it. I’ll have a fine time at those boring lectures and an even better time all alone in my room for the week.”
Mick fiddled with the hem of the thin-strapped copper swing tee she wore and smiled. “You must think I’m a fool to believe you’ll be all alone anywhere. Especially your hotel room.”
County sucked her teeth. “On that note, I’ll say good-bye.”
“I’ll call if anything changes.”
“Which it won’t.”
“County…”
While Michaela debated with her best friend, Quest watched from across the dining room. His sleek brows drew close and his head bowed again when his heart refused to cease its frantic beating. Lord, he felt like a kid overjoyed because the girl he liked had just walked into the cafeteria. Sure, she was a luscious beauty, but he’d been a fan of her work long before he ever met her. Putting such a face (and body) to such a sharp mind held him in a captive state and he wanted to remain there forever. She affected every last male hormone he possessed. He felt almost desperate to lose his fingers in those gorgeous curls of hers and take her body until only exhaustion forced him to stop.
Last night he’d almost scared himself by the intensity of how much he wanted her. If he hadn’t left they would’ve gone too far, too fast. It was the reason he’d suggested they meet in a crowded restaurant. The more people, the better. Michaela Sellars was too luscious and sweet and alluring and intelligent, and even still there was so much more that intrigued him.
“Hi, Quest,” Mick greeted when the host escorted her to the table. Her voice was surprisingly airy since she could barely look into his probing gray stare when he stood.
“I got it, Graham,” Quest told the host, already holding Mick’s chair.
She cleared her throat and reached for her own menu. “Have you ordered?” she asked.
Quest reclaimed his seat and grimaced. “No, no, I haven’t. There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Curious about his tone, Mick leaned back and watched him. He was clearly on edge about something judging from the repetitive manner in which he tugged on the cuffs of his camel-colored suit coat and the white shirt beneath. “What’s wrong?” she inquired softly.
“Ramsey’s unveiling a new project next week. I’d like you to go with me.”
Mick blinked, certain there was more to it. She decided against asking “that’s it?” seeing how unnerved he appeared. “I’d like that,” she told him in a careful tone.
He grimaced again and the deep left dimple flashed. “It’s in California. Malibu,” he clarified, sounding as though he were waiting for her to decline.
Nodding, Mick realized why he was on edge. “I’d still love to.”
“It’s an overnight trip.”
“That’s fine, Quest.”
“I mean, of course, you’d have your own room,” he began to explain. “I don’t expect you to, um…you’d have your own room.”
“All right, Quest,” she assured him, enthralled by his uncharacteristic unease. “Malibu, you say? County’ll be out in L.A. that week.”
“Great! Tell her to come out! The more the merrier.” And a better chance of me behaving myself.
“So what kind of project is it?” Mick asked, hoping the conversation would keep her from smiling over-much.
Quest cleared his throat. “It’s a teen center.”
“In Malibu? Wow, yes, I’d love to see that.”
“Well, hold on before you toss out any accolades,” Quest warned with a raised hand. “Quay and I haven’t been down there as much as we’d like, so we hope the construction crew followed our instructions. It’s already complete, but I want your honest opinion on it.”
Mick’s light eyes narrowed playfully. “Why?” she asked, leaning closer to the table. “Will you have it torn down if I don’t like it?”
“I might,” he replied without hesitation, without humor.
Mick had no doubt that he’d do just that. Thankfully, the waiter arrived then, and their attention was directed toward lunch.