A Lover's Dream (9 page)

“Don't ever dance with Quay again,” he commanded softly.

Michaela blinked once before a slow curious smile began to tug at her mouth. “Why not?” she whispered, searching his eyes with her hypnotic stare.

“Because I don't like it,” he admitted. “And it could get him hurt,” he added.

Mick nodded slowly. “Ahh…so this is for his own protection?”

Quest could no longer hold out against smiling. “Exactly,” he confirmed.

“I see.” Mick shivered, she was so thoroughly amused. “Does that go for your cousin Taurus too?”

“Goes for all the men in my family,” he clarified without hesitation.

Then, slowly he moved. Mick watched him backing
away from her with the grace of a big cat who was done with its prey. He was beautiful, she thought. He was every fantasy she'd never considered herself wanton enough to have.

“Good night,” he whispered when he stood and looked down at her.

Mick didn't try to cover her nudity. In his eyes she saw raw desire and something more. Never had she felt more beautiful. When the door closed behind him, her lashes fluttered closed. She squeezed her legs together and moaned.

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.