A Lover's Dream (5 page)

“I can't answer that,” Mick retorted, hoping County wouldn't read more into that as well.

“You have such a sad view of romance,” County remarked, pretending to be interested in removing a string from her low-slung black crop pants.

Michaela groaned. “County…come on. Romance?”

“Possibly.”

“Just the thought of it makes me want to cringe. Romance. Love. They have an aftertaste I just can't stomach. All the newness that has you so foolish and giddy with excitement eventually fades and the true light of the person always shines through.”

County traced a light pattern in the peach tablecloth. “So you just want happiness all the time, no aggravations?”

“And we both know how unrealistic that is, don't we?”

County leaned back in her chair as well and finally pinned Mick with an airy look. “You know, you try to come across as so hard-assed and cynical, but you're the biggest dreamer—the biggest romantic.”

“I'll allow you to believe that,” Mick replied with a flip wave.

“One day you'll admit it to yourself,” County predicted.

“You know,” Mick said, fixing County with an unwavering look, “this may sound like a cliché, but my work is enough for me. It gives me satisfaction, notice, money…and it hasn't let me down yet.”

“Mmm…and does it make your toes curl and your heart flutter when it looks at you?”

Mick had no reply.

 

After lunch with County, Mick returned to her hotel suite to be greeted by the sound of a ringing phone. A low groan rose deep in her throat as she pulled the receiver from its cradle.

“Michaela Sellars,” she greeted.

“Mick!”

“Quaysar?” Mick returned, frowning slightly.

“Damn, how in the hell do you do that? I should be flattered that you recognize my voice so quickly.”

Mick laughed at the man's never-ending supply of self-confidence. Amidst the lightness of the mood, however, she could sense something wasn't quite right.

“Is there a problem?” she asked eventually.

Quay was silent on the other end and Mick thought she could hear him grinding his teeth.

“I have to cancel our dinner date.”

Mick smiled. “I see.”

“Damn it. I really hate this. I really wanted us to go out.”

“It's all right, Quay. I understand, really.”

“Can I make this up to you?”

Mick shook her head. “There's no need. I assure
you. This great hotel you're putting me up in is makeup enough, trust me.”

“You're a great lady, Mick Sellars.”

“And don't you forget it,” she ordered, pointing her index finger toward the floor. “Just look me up if you're ever in Chicago.”

“Count on it.”

“Good night, Quay,” she said, and then set down the phone. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and rubbed her hands across her face and through her hair. She ambled across the softly lit living room and flopped into one of the cushioned armchairs.

“What a day,” she moaned to the empty room, kicking off her white Reeboks and rubbing her feet. Again, she closed her eyes to savor the treat to her aching toes.
So much walking
, she recalled from the day. Of course, she knew she'd do it all over again if it promised a chance to spend time with Quest Ramsey.

“Damn it, Mick,” she hissed, becoming angry with herself for behaving like a fool.
Just because the man is charming, interesting, intelligent, smelled great, acted like a gentleman, looked like a god…

“Stop it, Mick!” she demanded, bolting out of the chair to make a beeline for the bar cart in the corner of the room. She splashed a bit of the forbidden juice into a cooler and heartily imbibed. After two tangy glasses of vodka and OJ, she was quite at ease.

The relaxation ended a second or two later when the phone rang. Mick pressed her hands to her ears briefly before turning herself in the direction of the message desk.

“Yes?” she greeted lazily.

“Michaela?”

“Mmm, hi, Quest,” she said, recognizing the man's voice when it filtered through the line.

Quest didn't bother to ask how she knew it was him. He only knew that he liked it. He liked it very much.
He shook his head, remembering the purpose of his call. “Do you have plans for dinner?” he asked her.

Mick laughed and leaned against the desk. “Well, I thought I did, but your brother just canceled out on me.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he lied, “but it must've been something really important to make him do that. I know how much he was looking forward to, um, seeing you.”

“Mmm…”

“So will you settle for second best?”

Mick's lashes fluttered as she gazed up at the ceiling. “Well, since
second best
just canceled out on me, I'd love to have dinner with you. If you're asking.”

Quest leaned back against the leather headrest in his truck. “I'm definitely asking,” he confirmed, loving the low husky sound of her voice drifting from his cellular phone. “Be ready by seven,” he requested.

“I will,” Mick promised, closing her eyes when the connection ended and praising herself for not fumbling the two words. She set down the phone and then squeezed her hands tight and twirled right where she stood.

“Hold it!” she commanded, raising one hand as though she were about to testify. “Michaela Sellars does
not
twirl in place because a man asked her out. Besides…all that twirling makes one dizzy,” she acknowledged with a haughty sniff before trudging away from the desk toward the sofa. Her fingers traveled to the buttons along the bodice of her pink tee and she had every intention of removing the top. Sadly, she had only managed to finish unbuttoning the shirt when her eyelids grew heavy and she fell face-first into the sofa cushions.

 

Michaela opened one eye. “Ow,” she groaned, feeling a fierce pain pulse to life there. Her agony wasn't
eased a bit when the insistent ring of the doorbell pierced the silence. Slowly, she pushed herself into sitting position while smoothing a horde of curls from her face. Taking a deep breath, she scooted off the sofa and headed for the door. With one hand holding her shirt closed, she whipped open the door and focused her hazy stare on the man who filled the doorway.

After a moment or so, Mick's lashes fluttered close over her eyes. “Quest,” she groaned and rested her head against the doorjamb.

The cool smile Quest wore faded, as it was replaced by a look of concern. “Are you okay?” he inquired softly.

“I'm so sorry,” she responded, trying desperately to keep her eyes open. Her legs weakened then and she would have fallen flat on her face again had it not been for Quest, who took her in his arms and carried her to the sofa.

“I don't know why I did that.” She sighed, resting back against the arm of the sofa while she stared at the coffee table.

Quest's gray eyes narrowed and he turned his head toward the direction she looked. A knowing smile crossed his mouth when he glimpsed the cooler with remnants of OJ in the bottom. “Hmm…orange juice and…vodka, I take it?”

Mick closed her eyes. “Mmm…” she confirmed.

“One?”

“Two.”

Quest chuckled, sparking the dimple in his left cheek. In an absent manner, he tugged the curls away from her chocolate face that was relaxed in drowsiness. “Can't hold your liquor, hmm?”

“Can't hold
any
,” Mick said, massaging her temples before sliding both hands through her curls. “It puts me completely out of it and I say things—
crazy
things—before I fall asleep. So excuse me if I made
a fool of myself. After Quay's call, I just wanted to relax. I'd only planned on one drink but…” she grunted. “Oh, Quest, I'm sorry.”

“Hey, hey, shh…” he urged, leaning forward to pat her knee. “You should get some sleep.”

“No, I don't want to miss our dinner date.” Mick pouted, folding her arms across her chest. “I was really looking forward to it.”

“Don't worry about that,” Quest ordered, moving to pull her into his arms again. “Right now I'm taking you to bed.”

Mick's eyelids grew heavy and she smiled, moaning the first thing that came to mind. “It's sad that you're saying that to me, because I'm about to pass out.”

Quest knew she was out of it and chuckled as he lifted her close. Mick's eyes closed, her head falling to one side as she lost consciousness. Quest simply held her for a time, staring down into her face. His intense gray stare caressed every nuance. Her features were relaxed and trusting as her head rested against his tan linen shirt. Quest faced an acknowledgment and it stunned him. In the day and a half that he'd known her, he'd become hooked and it was just that simple. Yes, she was lovely, luscious, and completely provocative, but she was also the sort of woman who intrigued him. He presumed there were things in her past—unpleasant things—that had formed her into the woman he assumed she was: no-nonsense, focused, and dedicated. He'd give anything to hear
her
story and believed he'd give more to keep her with him.

Quest shook his head as though to clear it. The depth of his feelings came as a total shock. After all, as he'd acknowledged, he'd only known her a day and a half—if that. This couldn't be more than physical attraction, could it?

Mick stirred a bit, grimacing as she snuggled her head against his chest in search of a more comfortable
position. Quest ceased his contemplating and carried her up the short staircase to the bedroom suite. After laying her down, he debated upon whether he should relieve her of the snug pink tee and formfitting pants. He decided against it, knowing he'd never make it out of the room if he saw any more of her body. He tugged an afghan from the foot of the bed and covered her prone form.

“Quest?” Mick croaked, feeling him moving away.

“I'll be here when you wake up,” he promised, watching her closely for only a second longer before he left the room.

 

Mick shuffled downstairs two hours later, following the sounds of the TV that led her back into the living room. She walked in and took a seat on the sofa before Quest had the chance to stand.

“How do you feel?” he asked, after shutting off the television.

Mick produced a weary, yet serene smile. “Not like I'm about to pass out,” she told him.

“Good.” He chuckled.

Mick's look turned apologetic as she opened her mouth to put that expression into words.

Quest raised his hand before she could utter a word. “I don't want to hear the word ‘sorry' again.”

“But your entire evening's been shot to hell.”

“I wouldn't say that.”

Clearly, she didn't believe him. “You could've stayed at home and watched television,” she pointed out.

“True,” Quest conceded with a nod. “But I couldn't look around and find a woman strolling into my living room, could I?”

“I don't know.” Mick sighed, shrugging lazily as her brows rose a notch higher. “From what I've heard, you have no problems in that area.”

“From what you've heard?”

“Mmm-hmm, your staff—the women especially—have nothing but the sweetest things to say about their boss,” she said in a teasing tone.

Quest's smile sparked his dimple. “What sort of things?” he inquired while leaning forward to clasp his hands together.

Mick couldn't help but laugh over his curiosity. “I won't betray their confidences except to say that they're all a little in love with you.”

Laughing softly, Quest looked down and appeared every bit the shy little boy. “I swear to you I've never slept with any of them.”

“Mmm…and does that go for your other half?”

“Ha!
I've
never slept with any of them,” Quest emphasized, knowing his brother's sexual escapades were legendary. He cleared his throat once the laughter quieted a bit. “We should order,” he suggested.

Mick's spirits sank when she saw him reaching for one of the restaurant menus. “Room service,” she lamented.

Quest ignored her tone. “Here. You order,” he decided and passed her the card.

Mick sat fidgeting with the menu. Her eyes were riveted on Quest.
You should leave tomorrow on that plane with County,
a voice warned and she silently agreed. Quest Ramsey was too…
mmm.
She truly believed that all he had to do was snap his fingers and her panties would come tumbling down. Then she'd be done for. Both mentally drawn to him and physically dazzled.

 

Following a hearty Italian feast, both Quest and Mick were patting their stomachs in satisfaction.

“It's been a while since I've had a meal at the Sorenson,” Quest said.

“So you visit their restaurants during business meetings, huh?”

Quest shrugged, his eyes narrowing devilishly. “I wouldn't exactly call them
business
meetings.”

Mick figured as much. “I got it,” she said, and then gave a long lazy stretch, which Quest thoroughly appreciated.

“We didn't do much talking once the food arrived,” she pointed out when she noticed him staring.

“No problem. It wasn't much different from most of my dates,” he confided while silently thinking how he had no real desire to talk with most of the women he took out. They were pretty easy to peg after the first fifteen or twenty minutes—if that long.

“I'm sorry it was such a boring night,” Mick whispered, as though sensing his thoughts.

Quest blinked and fixed her with an intent stare. “No, Michaela. I didn't mean it the way it sounded,” he said, pressing one hand to his chest. “This was one of the best dates I've ever had.”

“Mmm-hmm. I don't believe you, but thank you.”

“I swear to you it's true,” he returned, his gorgeous gray stare fixed and unwavering. And it was true. He'd talked with Mick enough to know she could hold his interest talking about toenails let alone anything more worthy. The silence during dinner wasn't strained. It was easy and he enjoyed every minute. This date wasn't just one of the best, it was
the
best. He knew she'd really think he was full of it if he told her that.