Читать книгу Manhattan Boss, Diamond Proposal - Trish Wylie - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU KNOW, I THINK I’LL have dessert.’ Quinn patted his washboard-flat stomach as he came back to the table, smiling wickedly in Clare’s direction.

‘You cheated.’

‘You said I’d be late—I wasn’t—I won.’

Clare couldn’t hold back the laughter that had been brewing inside her all evening, thanks to his ridiculous level of gloating. But then he’d always been able to draw laughter out of her, even when he was being so completely shameless.

‘I need someone else to hang out with twelve hours a day.’ She glanced around to see if any of their friends, seated round the table, would take up her offer. ‘Anyone?’

‘Nah, I’m irreplaceable.’ Turning his chair with one large hand, he sat down, forearms resting on the carved wooden back while he dangled the neck of his beer bottle between long fingers with his palm facing upwards.

‘She tell you she quit her job today?’ The bottle swayed back and forth while startlingly blue eyes examined each of their faces in turn; a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth.

‘Don’t listen to him.’

Erin smiled. ‘Oh, honey, we never do.’

There was group laughter before Quinn continued in the rumbling, husky-edged voice that made most women smile dumbly at him. ‘Yup, she’s dumping me to go help the sad and the lonely.’

‘Leaving you sad and lonely?’

Clare laughed softly when Evan took her side with his usual deadpan expression. ‘He’d never admit it out loud but he’d miss me, you know…’

‘Rob and Casey got engaged.’ Madison smiled an impishly dimpled smile when Clare’s face lit up. ‘That’s three now, isn’t it?’

‘Four.’ Clare almost sighed with the deep sense of satisfaction it gave her. ‘And I’ve had ten referrals in as many days.’

‘You’re charging the new fee you talked about?’

She nodded. ‘And I talked to a website designer yesterday. He reckons we can have a site put together in a month or so—soon as I’m ready.’

‘Make sure there’s a disclaimer somewhere.’ Quinn rumbled in a flat tone.

Clare scowled at him. ‘Just because you don’t believe in love in the twenty-first century doesn’t mean other people don’t.’

His dark brows quirked just the once, his gaze absent-mindedly sweeping the room. ‘Never said I don’t believe in it.’

Clare snorted in disbelief. ‘Since when?’

Attention slid back to her and he held her questioning gaze with a silent intensity that sent an unfamiliar shiver up her spine.

‘So if I’m not married by thirty-four it automatically means I don’t believe in it, does it?’

‘You only believe in it for other people…’

And, come on, he couldn’t even say the word out loud, could he? Not that she doubted he felt it for family and friends, but when it came to Quinn and women…well…they probably cited him in the dictionary under ‘love ’em and leave ’em’.

Without breaking his gaze, he lifted a hand to signal a waitress—as if he had some kind of inner radar that told him where she was without him having to look. Or more likely because he knew waitresses in restaurants had a habit of watching him wherever he went. They were women after all,

‘I could throw that one right back at you.’

It was just as well he was sitting out of smacking distance, because he knew why she wasn’t as starry-eyed about love as she’d once been. Not that she didn’t believe she might love again one day. She’d just be more sensible about it next time. It was why the method she used for matchmaking made such sense to her. Didn’t mean his words didn’t sting, though…

And now he was putting her back up. ‘If you believe in it, then how come you have such a problem with me doing what I do?’

Quinn broke the visual deadlock to order dessert with a smile that made the young waitress blush, and then attempted to drum up support. ‘C’mon, guys—tell her I’m right. People will blame her when they don’t end up riding off into the sunset on a white horse.’

Clare dipped her head towards one shoulder, a strand of hair whispering against her cheek while she blinked innocently. ‘Aren’t you always right? I thought that was the general impression you liked people to have.’

There was chuckling around the table, but Quinn’s expression remained calm, inky-black lashes brushing lazily against his tanned skin. ‘I’m right about this.’

‘You’re a cynic.’

‘I’m a realist.’

‘You don’t have a romantic bone in your body.’

A dangerously sexy smile made its way onto his mouth, light dancing in his eyes. ‘I have a few dozen women you can call who’d disagree with that.’

Clare rolled her eyes while the male contingent at the table laughed louder and the women groaned. ‘Whatever miracle it is you pull with women it has nothing to do with romance—it’s got more to do with your availability.’

‘I keep telling you I’m available, but do you take advantage of me? Oh no…’

It was impossible not to react. And since it was either gape or laugh, she went with the latter. Quinn could say the most outrageous things, smile that wicked smile of his, and he always got away with it. He was that guy a girl’s mother warned her about: the devil in disguise.

Clare could hardly be blamed for having had the odd moment of weakness when she’d wondered what it would be like to flirt a little with someone like him. Thankfully, with age came the wisdom of experience. And she’d been burned by a devil in disguise once already, hadn’t she?

She smiled sweetly. ‘You see, I would, but I hate queues.’

‘I’d let you jump the line, seeing we’re friends…’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘You believe in love at first sight now as well, I s’pose?’ Erin leaned her elbows on the chequered tablecloth and challenged Quinn.

‘Nope.’ He shook his head and lifted his hand to draw a mouthful of liquid from the moisture-beaded bottle. ‘Lust at first sight? That’s a different story.’

He clinked his bottle with Evan’s in a display of male bonding that made Clare roll her eyes again.

‘And we wonder why you three are still single.’

Quinn’s face remained impassive. ‘I still maintain you can’t use the ‘finding soulmates’ tag line on business cards. It’s false advertising…’

‘Soulmates exist—you ask anyone.’ She reached for her wine glass while Erin and Rachel agreed with her.

Quinn nodded. ‘Yep, right up there with chubby cherubs carrying bows and arrows. They had a real problem with one of them stopping traffic on East Thirtieth a while back—it was on CNN…’

Morgan almost choked on a mouthful of beer.

Taking a sip of wine and swirling the remaining liquid in her glass while she formulated a reply, Clare waited until Quinn had thanked the waitress for his slice of pie.

And then, despite deeply resenting the fact that she felt the need to justify her fledgling business, she kept her tone purposefully determined. ‘Soulmates are simply people who are the right fit for each other. That means finding someone with common goals and needs, someone who wants what you want out of life and is prepared to stick with you for the long haul, even when things get tough—’

‘You go, girl!’

Madison winked while Clare kept her gaze fixed on Quinn, watching him stare back with a blank expression so she couldn’t tell what he thought of her mission statement.

She persisted. ‘What I do is put a person looking for commitment with someone who feels the same way they do about life. That’s all. Whether or not it works is up to them. I’m the middle man in a business deal, if you want to put it in terms you’ll understand.’

Quinn’s eyes narrowed a barely perceptible amount. ‘And now who’s the cynic?’

She set her glass down on the table and leaned forwards. ‘If I was a cynic would I even bother in the first place? People need other people, Quinn; it’s a fact of life.’

‘And meeting the right guy’s not easy—you ask any girl in New York.’

Erin’s words raised a small smile from Clare. ‘No, it’s not. But men in the city find it just as tough as the women, especially when they both have busy careers.’

Quinn set his bottle lightly on the table, lifting a fork. ‘You don’t feel the need to go out and date any, though, do you? Hardly a good ad for your business: the matchmaker who can’t find a match…I think this is your way of avoiding getting back in the game when everybody at this table thinks it’s about time you did.’

Clare gritted her teeth. He could be so annoying when he put his mind to it.

‘Clare will date when she’s ready to—won’t you, hon?’ Madison smiled a smile that managed to translate as sympathy into Clare’s eyes.

But Clare didn’t need any help when it came to dealing with Quinn. She’d been doing it long enough not to be fazed. ‘It’s not that I’m not ready, it’s—’

‘Jamie wasn’t a good example of American guys, O’Connor—you need to get back out there.’

The words drew her gaze swiftly back to his face, and her answer was laced with rising anger. ‘And how am I supposed to find the time to date anyone when I spend so much time with you?’

It stunned the table into an uneasy silence; all eyes focused on Quinn as he frowned in response. ‘So I’m your cover now, am I?’

She opened her mouth, but he’d already shrugged and returned his attention to his plate, digging forcefully with the edge of his fork. ‘Funny how it hasn’t stopped me finding time to date in the last year.’

Now, there was the understatement of the century! Without looking round the table to confirm it, Clare felt five pairs of eyes focusing on her. Waiting…

She damped her lips before answering. ‘So long as the relationship doesn’t last more than five or six weeks, right?’

The eyes focused on Quinn, who shrugged again. ‘You know by then if there’s any point wasting your time or theirs.’

‘And you’re too busy to waste any time, right?’ Which kind of proved her point.

‘Still made the time to begin with, didn’t I?’

Okay, he had her on that one. But before she could get herself out of the hole she’d apparently just dug for herself, he added, ‘Maybe I should just save myself some of that precious time by getting you to find my ‘soulmate’ for me. Then I can settle down to producing another generation of heartbreakers and you can stop using me as a stand-in husband.’

Clare inhaled sharply, her lips moving to form the name for him that had immediately jumped into the front of her brain.

But Erin was already jumping to her defence. ‘That was uncalled-for, Quinn.’

‘Yet apparently overdue.’ The fork clattered onto the side of his plate before he leaned back, lifting his arms and arching his back in a lazy stretch. ‘Can’t fix a problem if I don’t know it exists in the first place, can I?’

He said it calmly, but Clare knew he wasn’t happy. So she made an attempt at humour to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. ‘And why bother finding a wife when I fill eight out of ten criteria for the job every day, right?’ She added a small smile so he’d know she was kidding. ‘Maybe I’m your cover?’

The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Okay, then, since we’re in such an unhealthy relationship—you find my mythical soulmate and I’ll not only get out of your way, I’ll get off your case about the matchmaking too.’

Evan’s deep voice broke the sudden stunned silence with words that would seal her fate: ‘She’ll never in a million years find someone for you to settle down with.’

And that did it—Clare had had enough of her fledgling business being the butt of the guys’ jokes. So it was a knee-jerk reaction.

‘Wanna bet?’ She folded her arms across her breasts and lifted a brow at Evan. But when Evan held his hands up in surrender, she looked back at Quinn. To find him smiling the merest hint of a smile back at her, as if he’d just won some kind of victory.

So she lifted her chin higher, to let him know he hadn’t won a darn thing. ‘Well?’

‘You win, you can do matchmaker nights at the clubs and I’ll split the door with you.’

What? Her heart raced at the very idea, a world of possibilities growing so fast in her mind that she skimmed over the fact that the offer had been made so quickly. Almost as if he’d planned what to wager before the bet had been made. But she wasn’t blinded enough by the business potential not to ask the obvious. ‘And if I lose?’

Quinn cocked his head. ‘Having doubts about your capabilities already, O’Connor?’

‘Simply making the terms clear in front of witnesses. And if you’re trying to claim you’ve only been playing the field all these years because you haven’t met the right girl, then I guarantee you—I’ll find you a girl who can last way longer than six weeks…’

‘Wanna bet?’ The smile grew.

Which only egged her on even more. ‘I think we’ve already established that.’

Though she couldn’t help silently admitting her unknown forfeit was scaring her a little. She’d call the whole thing off if her payoff wasn’t so huge, and if he just didn’t have that look in his eyes that said he had her right where he wanted her…

‘I’m starting a pool—who’s in?’ There were several mumbled answers to Morgan’s question.

None of which Clare caught because she was too busy silently squaring off with Quinn, neither of them breaking the locked gazes that signalled a familiar battle of wills. Well, she was no push-over these days, so if he thought she was backing down now they’d gone this far in front of an audience he was sorely mistaken.

‘If you lose…’

She held her breath.

‘It’s a blind forfeit.’

Meaning he could chose anything he wanted when it was done? Anything? He had to be kidding! She could end up cleaning his house for months, or wearing clown shoes to work, or—well, the list was endless, wasn’t it?

He continued looking at her with hooded eyes, thick lashes blinking lazily and silent confidence oozing from every pore of his rangy body. And then he smiled.

Damping her dry lips, she looked round at the familiar faces, searching each one for a hint of any sign they’d see what was happening as a joke and let it slide so she could get out of trouble.

No such luck.

‘You could just admit I’m right about this business idea of yours and let it go. Keep it as a hobby if you must. That’d give you more time for dating, right?’

With a deep breath she stepped over the edge of what felt distinctly like a precipice. ‘No limit on the number of dates. And once you hit the six weeks without a Tiffany’s box I automatically win.’

‘Fine, but if I say it’s not working with one we move on. I’ll give you…’ his gaze rose to a point on the ceiling, locking with hers again when he had an answer ‘…three months to find Little Miss Perfect.’

‘Six.’

‘Four.’

‘Five.’

‘Four from the first date…’

It was the best she was going to get and she knew it. ‘Done.’

There was a flurry of activity as their friends sought out a pen, and Morgan used the back of a napkin to place their bets. And in the meantime Quinn had Clare’s undivided attention while he slowly made his way round to her, hunkering down and examining her eyes before extending one large hand, his husky-edged voice low and disturbingly intimate.

‘Shake on it, then.’

Clare turned in her seat and looked at his outstretched hand, her pulse fluttering. She damped her lips again, and took another deep breath, before lifting her palm and setting it into his. Her voice was equally low when she looked up into his eyes.

‘Cheat this time and you’re a dead man.’

A larger smile slid skilfully into place a split second before his incredible eyes darkened a shade, and long fingers curled until her smaller hand was engulfed in the heat of his. But instead of shaking it up and down to seal the deal he simply held on, rubbing his thumb almost unconsciously across the ridges of her knuckles. Then his voice dropped enough to merit her leaning closer to hear him, and the combined scent of clean laundry and pure Quinn overwhelmed her,

‘Don’t have to. Cos either way I win—don’t I?’