A Lover's Dream (4 page)

“Oh no, ma'am, he took care of it on his way in. Mr. Ramsey does much business here at the Sorenson. I recognized him the moment he greeted me here at the desk.”

Mick blinked and slowly backed away from the majestic cherry-wood desk. “Thank you,” she told the man and headed for the elevators.

On her way to the nineteenth floor, Mick thought about Quest Ramsey more sternly. Aside from the quiet charm and gallantry he exuded, he'd done little else to show any further interest—unlike his brother. Though Quaysar was no less gorgeous than his twin, he hadn't ignited that “something” the way Quest had. What was that
something
? Mick asked herself. And how could she of all people be so impressed,
infatuated
by a man she'd only met with for fifteen minutes?

 

The next morning, Quest rapped on the door of his brother's private office nestled within the depths of their top-floor dwelling. “Be sure to call and cancel out with Michaela this morning,” he told Quaysar, smiling coolly when the man looked up in confusion.

“I hadn't planned to cancel out on her, Q,” Quay countered.

Quest's gray eyes narrowed. “But you will,” he
commanded softly, then flashed his brother a wink and left the room.

A grin spread across Quay's face as he reclined in his office chair. Then he bolted up and went after his brother.

“Q?” he called, spotting Quest on his way down the hall. “What's up, man?” he asked, when his brother turned. “What is this?” he added, though his black stare was narrowed as though he already had a good idea. “Q?” he called again when his twin was about to walk away. Finally Quest turned and waited.

“What's up?” Quay probed, tilting his head just slightly while spreading his hands.

Quest pushed both hands into his sandalwood trousers and grimaced. “She's sweet and you're…up to no good. Leave her alone.”

“You went to see her, didn't you?” Quay realized, stepping a bit closer. Quest didn't reply, but his silence was confirmation enough. “Hmph,” Quay said, fixing his brother with a sly look. He'd always considered Quest far more selective than he when it came to choosing a woman.

Quaysar was pleased with looks, body, and all that was physical. Quest looked for more. Usually, he didn't find the mental capacity to sustain his interest past three or four sexual encounters. Quay constantly criticized his brother for being too picky, but in his heart he knew Quest wanted more than a bed warmer. He wanted a woman who could accept him for who he was—a man who loved intensely, be he a multimillionaire, sought-after mogul or not. Moreover, he needed a woman who could understand the lengths he would go to in protecting those he loved.

“All right, Q, you gotta come clean now and tell me why you're makin' me cancel out on her.”

Quest rolled his eyes. “Just do it, Quay.”

“Uh-uh,” Quaysar argued, shaking his head as he
pressed a hand to the lapel of his pin-striped suit coat. “You're tellin' me to skip a date with a very sweet, very luscious lady. You gotta give me a reason here, man.”

Quest fixed his brother with a look that Quaysar knew all too well. Satisfied that he had his answer, Quay shrugged and decided to drop it. Obviously, his twin was smitten. Getting him to admit that would be a chore within itself.

“So where're you off to?” Quay asked, deciding to take a break from his inquisition.

If possible, Quest's expression turned even darker. “I'm off to see the elders.”

“Yuck.”

“Mmm…”

“What about?”

Quest shook his head and continued on toward the elevators. “I'm about to find out.”

 

The younger generation of the family ran the majority of the business dealings spanning the Ramsey empire. Though rather unfitting, they'd titled their predecessors “the Elders.” The group consisted of Damon and Catrina Ramsey, Quest's and Quaysar's parents, and their aunts and uncles, Josephine and Marcus Ramsey, Westin and Briselle Ramsey, and Houston and Daphne Ramsey. When Quest stepped into the posh white and gold conference room of the downtown office, he found only two of the Elders waiting.

“Uncle Hous, Aunt Daphe,” he greeted slowly.

The couple responded with barely a nod, and since Quest hadn't been exactly looking forward to the meeting, he decided not to waste time with further niceties.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

Houston pretended not to notice his nephew's curtness and idly removed a nonexistent string from
the cuff of his cream suit coat. “We heard about the book offer. We also heard that you and Quay had turned it down.”

Quest's broad shoulders rose in a smooth shrug beneath his olive green shirt. “We felt it was for the best.”

“Hmph, we're sure you did.” Houston's tone was blatantly smug. “We, however, felt that the book was a fine idea and we'd have liked more of a say in the final decision.”

“I see,” Quest responded softly, clearly not surprised that his uncle disagreed. “So you're eager to have the family business pried into?” he challenged in the softly sarcastic tone that never failed to sit the Elders on edge. “It may surprise and disturb you to know that Quay is also in favor of the book. I'll tell him like I told you, Michaela Sellars does not write fluff. She's a hard investigative journalist and she digs until she gets to the bottom of the story.
Every
story.”

“You say Quaysar is in favor of the book?” Daphne Ramsey asked then, a slight frown marring the café au lait skin of her brow. When Quest nodded, her frown deepened. “That's surprising considering…”

“Considering?” Quest prompted.

“
Considering
the fact that you, Quaysar, and the rest of my brothers' children have done nothing for the Ramsey reputation but run it into the ground,” Houston finished.

Quest's jaw clenched, triggering the taut muscle there. “Is this why you called me here? To waste my time?”

Houston dismissed the dangerous raspiness of his nephew's voice. “You people left a mess down in Georgia and trailed it all the way up here to Seattle.”

“See ya,” Quest said, leaving the conference room as coolly as he'd entered.

Houston sat fuming, his deep-set brown eyes
rage-filled. When the door closed behind Quest, he reached for the phone on the edge of the table.

“Find Michaela Sellars,” he told the person on the other end of the line.

Michaela and Contessa enjoyed a hearty breakfast the next morning. They'd planned to make a day of sightseeing. Unfortunately, the conditions were rather overcast, giving County the perfect reason to cut the walking tour down to just under twenty minutes. They'd barely spanned three blocks beyond the hotel. The two debated a bit, but County finally won out, telling Mick they'd meet back at the hotel for lunch.

Mick really didn't mind the change in plans as it gave her more of an opportunity to enjoy the sights of the city. She'd wanted to tour Seattle's cultural venues and found herself at the Bellvue Art Museum an hour after she and County parted ways.

“The artists' work is sure to be more abundant in the coming months.”

Mick blinked, hearing the soft deep voice close behind. Turning away from the exquisite piece she studied, she was stunned to see who had spoken.

“Seeing as how he's from Washington State and all.”

Mick smiled. “Hi, Quest.”

He seemed taken aback when she said his name. “How do you do that?” he whispered.

Mick made a phony show of innocence, though her eyes brightened in a knowing manner. “Do what?”

“Recognize me so easily,” he clarified promptly.

“It's
my
secret,” she replied just as quick. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Quest watched her a moment longer before shaking his head. “I love coming to the museums. Especially after an aggravating day.”

Mick's amber gaze narrowed as she studied him closely. The tiny muscle working frantically along his jaw was tough to ignore. “What happened?” she probed quietly.

“Don't ever go into business with family, Michaela.” He sighed, shoving his hands deep inside his gray trouser pockets.

Mick's smile was bittersweet. “I don't think I'll ever have to worry about that.”

Quest closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, the grimace triggering the dimple in his left cheek. “I'm sorry about what happened to your family.”

“My family?” Mick parroted, tilting her head to one side. “How did you—”

“Quay and I share the same office space. I overheard what you told him,” he admitted, folding his arms across the front of the olive green shirt that hung outside his trousers.

Mick didn't know what to make of the revelation.
Why didn't you come out?
she wanted to ask. Something told her he wouldn't be ready with an answer.

Quest, however, had judged her reaction perfectly. He knew she wanted to question his absence during the meeting. “You'd probably give anything to go through that kind of headache,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

The summation did draw a grin from Mick. “Well…I wouldn't say that,” she groaned playfully while
smoothing her hands across her curve-hugging black yoga pants. “So I take it, it's pretty difficult belonging to such a huge family?” she asked, smiling when he fell in step beside her.

“Does the phrase ‘the twelfth level of hell' mean anything to you?” Quest muttered, shaking his head when Mick burst into laughter.

“Come on, you're exaggerating. It can't be
that
bad?” she argued.

Quest massaged the back of his neck where his hairline tapered off. “Hmph, it shouldn't be that bad, but it is. Just last week we were only on level ten.”

Mick cast a nervous glance across her shoulder when the last remark roused a roar of laughter from her throat. Quest's attempt at brutal honesty had succeeded in thoroughly amusing her.

“I don't know whether to be impressed or concerned by my ability to make you laugh so hard.”

Mick pressed one hand to her chest and closed her eyes briefly. “I swear I don't view you as a clown.”

“Thank God,” Quest breathed, his haunting gray stare holding traces of relief.

“Still,” Mick considered as she toyed with the satin-trimmed row of buttons along the bodice of her pink polo tee, “it's interesting to find you so humorous when you first struck me as so serious.”

Quest's serious side reasserted itself then. “Tell me about your family,” he requested softly.

Mick, who rarely spoke about her family, or lack thereof, felt no hesitation then. A part of her wanted to share her story—her secrets—with this man.

“I do miss all the craziness of family and all the drama. I miss not even having cousins to spar with.”

Quest didn't like the sadness in her light eyes. He wanted to reach out and smooth back the heavy black curls that fell into her face when her head bowed.

“Cousins,” he groaned playfully, deciding to redirect
the conversation, “the twentieth level of hell,” he complained amidst her laughter.

The couple continued to stroll the museum's long corridors and grand rooms. Of course, they hardly noticed all the lovely pieces because their conversation was so enjoyable. Michaela wanted to swoon whenever Quest's hand curved beneath her elbow to move her from the path of some tourist or museum employee.

“Is not having a family why you busy yourself with the books?” he asked when they stood before a centuries-old bronze statue.

“Oh, I promise you I'm not a bookworm. I know how to have fun,” she was quick to assure him.

“I have no doubt,” Quest replied, his long lashes shielding his gaze as it raked her alluring frame. The black yoga pants hugged and emphasized her bottom adoringly.
Down, Quest
, he ordered himself.

“I grew up hard and it made me cynical,” she admitted, studying the artwork with an idle gaze, “but growing up underprivileged also instilled a desire to enjoy my success to the fullest and I do that every chance I get.”

A curious light brightened Quest's handsome molasses features. “How so?” he inquired.

“Well, I love to play beach volleyball,” she shared, grinning when she spied the surprise on his face. “I love to fish. In fact, there's a resort I visit on Rhode Island whenever I have to go to New York.”

“Hmm, volleyball—”

“
Beach
volleyball.”

“And fishing. I'm impressed, Michaela.”

“Mmm,” she replied in her most prim manner, “then there's Rollerblading, dog racing, car racing—”

“Whoa, whoa, you're not telling me you actually like to watch car races?”

“No, I'm telling you I like to race cars.”

“Get out.”

Mick threw back her head and laughed. “I hope you don't expect me to believe that
you
don't have a wild streak somewhere in there?” she taunted.

Quest shrugged, a hint of playfulness coming to his gray-black stare. “I prefer racing motorcycles and I take part in the Seahawks spring training every chance I get.”

Mick felt that went without saying. She appreciated the definition of his torso, and by observing alone, she could tell it was a wall of unyielding muscle.
Down, Mick
, she ordered herself. “So you like football?” she asked in a hasty tone, hoping to draw her attention away from his physique.

“Love it,” Quest confirmed.

Mick nodded. “It's a great game.”

Quest grinned. “Your looks would make a man think you like anything besides car racing and football.”

“My looks?”

“Pretty.”
Beautiful
, he really wanted to say. “Delicate,” he added.

Mick couldn't deny the warmth spreading throughout her body. She had never considered herself pretty, let alone delicate.

“Have you eaten?” Quest asked when they'd walked a bit farther in silence.

Mick's eyes filled with regret as her lunch date with County came to mind. “I have a date with my publisher in another hour,” she told him.

He nodded, and then focused his eyes toward the floor as though he were debating. Mick could see the muscle working in his jaw again. She had no idea how intently she watched him, praying he would ask her to change her plans.

Finally, he looked up. “Would ice cream ruin your appetite?” he asked. She shook her head and they walked toward the museum cafe.

“So you visit the museum when you want to escape the office. What happened today?” Mick asked, recalling that they'd veered onto the subject of her family when she inquired earlier.

“I had a bad meeting with the Elders as usual,” he shared absently, as they enjoyed ice cream in the café.

“The Elders?” Mick inquired, her spoon poised in a cup of cookies and cream.

“The grown folks in the family,” Quest clarified, “our parents, aunts, uncles. My uncle Houston and aunt Daphne are the only two I had the joy of meeting with today.”

“Ah, and judging from your mood, I take it you don't get along so well with them?”

Quest rolled his eyes. “No one gets along with them.”

“Yuck,” Mick retorted, making a face.

Quest ate another spoonful of his butter pecan ice cream and shook his head. “While Quay and I and our cousins were out hootin', hollerin,' and raisin' hell, their kids were excelling in piano, mathematics, and science.”

Mick propped her chin in her palm and listened.

“Dena and Taurus always did everything right. Making the honor roll—straight A's, no less,” he emphasized with an authoritative glare, “joining the chess club, playing polo. You name it.”

“They sound fascinating,” Mick said, turning back to her ice cream.

Quest's expression was grim. “Hmph, fascinating. Yeah, if it was boring as hell in everyone else's opinion, you best believe Houston and his crew had to do it.”

“So your meeting was just another in a long line of aggravations?” Mick guessed, before spooning a heap of cookies and cream into her mouth.

“You said it.”

“And so you escape to the museum?” Mick asked in a whimsical manner.

Quest winced. “Pitiful, huh?”

“Kind of,” Mick confessed softly, joining in when he laughed. “So did your aunt and uncle want to see you just to pick a fight or what?” she questioned nonchalantly, dipping into her ice cream again.

Quest's magnificent features tensed visibly, and Mick looked up in time to witness the reaction.

“Sorry,” she whispered, believing she'd delved too far into personal business.

Quest waved his hand. “No reason for you to be. Those two just get to me. Always have.”

Mick could see his extraordinary gray stare darken to ebony and realized the effect took place whenever he was stressed. She hadn't much time to mull over the discovery. Tiny chimes rendering Stevie Wonder's “Ribbon in the Sky” sounded and Mick reached for her cellphone.

“It's Mick.”

“Where the hell are you!”

“Hello. How are you?” Mick drawled in a polite airy manner.

“What?” County retorted, her voice still bellowing.

Mick remained nonplussed, hoping Quest couldn't hear County on the other end. “What can I do for you?”

“What's wrong with you?” County demanded from the other end. “Did you forget we're having lunch?”

Mick uttered a fake lengthy laugh. “We're not supposed to meet for almost another hour,” she sang.

“I don't care. I'm hungry now!”

Mick kept the phony smile plastered to her lips. “All right, I'll be there shortly,” she promised and quickly clicked off the phone. She glanced up to see Quest grinning broadly at what he'd overheard.

“Sorry,” she whispered, while rolling her eyes. “My publisher is a beast,” she complained, a solemn smile
coming to her face. “I should go,” she told him, hating having to do so. Odds were, they wouldn't be running into one another during the few remaining days of her stay.

“Can you find your way back okay?” he asked, standing once she rose from her seat.

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” she assured him softly. Her amber stare lingered on his fantastic dark face, coolly appraising every angle.

“Thanks for joining me,” Quest said, glancing back at the booth they'd shared.

Mick shrugged. “I enjoyed it a lot,” she said. Her eyes drifted around the elaborately designed museum. “This was so much fun. The museum is definitely not a place just to come to when you're feeling frustrated,” she advised quietly, then nodded and moved past him.

Quest turned to watch her leave. He pushed one hand into his trouser pocket while massaging his jaw with the other. His eyes narrowed then. Ice cream in a tiny shop of a museum and she enjoyed it. If the successful author was anything, she was not predictable.

 

“Well, why didn't you tell me you were with Quest?” County was asking once they'd ordered lunch at one of the hotel's three restaurants. “And why are you giving
me
the evil eye?” she demanded, watching her friend with a haughty stare.

Finally Mick shook her head, sending a slew of blue-black curls into her face. “It was probably for the best that we were interrupted. I think the conversation was getting a little too intense.”

“Really?” County's brown eyes took on that familiar light that said details were necessary.

Mick took the hint and settled back in her chair. “I
don't think he appreciated my probing so much about his family.”

County flipped a lock of her thick hair across her shoulder. “Well, the book's dead, so what the hell?”

“Still… I mean, I can understand him being reluctant to talk with me about them,” Mick admitted.

County's mouth curled into a knowing smirk. “Nah, there's more going on there, I'm sure of it.”

Mick laughed and nodded. “Mmm-hmm, I was waiting for you to start reading too much into all of this.” She leaned forward, the glint in her eyes a clear warning. “Listen to me, County, there is nothing—
nothing
going on here. He was stressed. I was there. He confided a bit. It got uncomfortable and that was it.”

“Well, since the book isn't going to happen, what's the harm in getting to know each other a little better?” County coolly reasoned.