His Blackmailed Bride

Music drifted towards her from a door that stood ajar just down the hall. Mozart, she thought, walking slowly towards it. At the doorway, she paused, her mouth suddenly dry. Alone in the guest room, it had been easy to tell herself she would lay down the rules that would govern her new life. Now, with the moment at hand, she knew it wouldn’t be half as simple as she’d let herself think. But she would do it—that was what counted. Determination squared her shoulders, and she took a step forward and rapped on the partly open door.

‘Come in, Paige. Close the door behind you.’

Quinn was seated at an old-fashioned partners’ desk on the far side of the room. As she entered, he rose and dropped a handful of papers on the desk’s cluttered surface.

The room was pleasant. A brass and teak wood campaign table stood near the desk, topped by a sleek computer. The walls were lined with books and more photographs, some of them unframed and simply tacked in place. The room’s focal point was a handsome marble fireplace; coals glowed in the heart, chasing the morning’s chill. Net-curtained French doors overlooked what she assumed was a garden, and a table set for two stood before them.

Her eyes returned to Quinn. He was wearing pale grey trousers and a blue sweater, and he was watching her with a bemused expression.

‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Do you like the room?’

Paige looked at him steadily. ‘Norah said you wanted to see me.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘That wasn’t precisely the message I sent. I asked her to tell you breakfast was ready.’

A light flush brushed her cheeks. ‘Yes, that’s what she said. But I never have breakfast, thank you. I only take coffee in the morning. And…’

‘Nor do I,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But I thought, since this was such a special day…’

Her flush deepened, and she started to turn away, determined not to be drawn into a game of cat and mouse. ‘If that’s all you wanted…’

‘Do you like your coffee black? Or with cream and sugar?’ He crossed the room to the neatly set table and looked at her.

‘Black. But…’

‘Black,’ he repeated, picking up a silver coffee pot. An aromatic fragrance filled the room as he filled two cups and held one out to her. ‘I’ll remember that. A husband should know how his wife likes her coffee, don’t you think?’

Now, she thought, and she took a breath.

‘Quinn, there are things we should discuss…’

‘Coffee first,’ he said. ‘After that, I’ll consider a discussion.’ He sipped at his coffee and then looked at her again. ‘Are you feeling better?’

She nodded. ‘Much. I… I was just tired, I guess. I…’

A slow smile curled at the corners of his mouth. ‘Yes, I know. When I looked in on you…’

She drew in her breath. ‘When you… when you looked in on me?’

‘Yes. You were dead to the world.’

The dream-image came again. Heated skin against hers, lips brushing hers with the lightest of kisses…

‘And then, when I saw you this morning, I was tempted to let you sleep as long as you liked. But that only makes the time change more difficult.’ Quinn cocked his head to the side. ‘Is something wrong with your coffee, Paige?’

But he knew what was wrong, damn him. She could see the amusement in the cold, ocean-blue depths of his eyes.

‘You were in my room during the night and again this morning?’ He shook his head. ‘But you said…’

‘I was in my room,’ he said softly.

His room. She had slept in his room. In his bed.

‘Your room.’ Spoken aloud, the words seemed to tremble in the air. ‘I thought… I assumed I was in the guest room.’

Quinn’s eyes met hers. ‘Why would my wife sleep in the guest room?’

‘Quinn…’