Until we meet again…
A convulsive shiver ran down Nicole’s spine as the thought struck her that Quin might have been cold to the blonde because he’d already fixed his sights on herself. What if he didn’t accept the rejection she’d just handed out? Five years ago she had fled to Europe to break all connection with him, but she couldn’t do that now. She could only hope he would change his mind about pursuing another meeting, leave her alone.
The woman behind her nudged her towards the most recently vacated toilet cubicle. Nicole hadn’t even realised she now headed the queue. Nor had she noticed the two women who’d been talking about Quin make their exit from the powder room but they were gone. She hurried forward and closed herself into the small private space, wishing she could close out all the worries whirling around her mind.
From what she’d heard, Quin could easily afford to lend her the money needed to keep the dance school afloat. He might even do it if he got what he wanted from her. If it was only sex…
Nicole shocked herself with the treacherous desire that had prompted that thought. It was so stupid to want Quin for anything. He’d stripped her of self-esteem once. To even dally with an idea that would give him the power to do it again, was just plain crazy.
But she would be using him this time…using him to meet her needs. A vengeful streak in her whispered this was a justifiable course. After all, Quin put a money value on everything. Why shouldn’t she?
A controlled situation could be set up—no intrusion on her real life. She wouldn’t be hurt by confusing sex with love again. Not with Quin. In fact, there was a lot of savage appeal in turning the tables on him, only giving what she was prepared to give…on her terms!
The big question was…how much did Quin want her?
CHAPTER THREE
QUIN’S mind and body were firing on all cylinders, energised by the excitement of a challenging chase. He wasn’t about to let Nicole escape him this time. However many obstacles she put in his path, he was determined on getting past them, breaking down her resistance and making her his woman again.
What he needed now was some information—where she was working, how her daily schedule ran. It would be easy enough then to set up another chance meeting so he could reinforce the mutual attraction she was trying to deny, work on it, build the sparks into a flame that would burn up her opposition to any future together.
He caught sight of Tony watching him make his way back to the party. Quin had learnt in his four years of professional and personal association with him, very little escaped Tony Fisher’s notice. Whether it was taking care of legal matters or his keen observation of people, the man was invariably on the ball. He was short and rather stocky, but big with personality, aided by an infectious smile, wickedly merry brown eyes and a wild mop of chestnut curls framing his good-humoured face.
Having sidled around his boisterous guests, he caught Quin just before he joined them. “Trust you to pick out the expert in this crowd,” he remarked, nodding in Nicole’s direction.
For once, Quin wasn’t tuned to Tony’s wavelength. “Expert?” he queried.
“The dancing teacher,” Tony supplied, raising his eyebrows in arch surprise. “You’re slipping if you didn’t find that much out about her.”
Quin frowned. Tony wasn’t making sense. Nicole had been in banking before going overseas. Armed with a top level business degree, she’d worked her way up to the key division of sales, making the most of big investors’ money. One of the great things about their relationship had been her understanding of his work on the trading floor.
Though she could certainly dance like a professional—a natural at Latin American. Even so, Tony must have mistaken her for someone else. A woman with Nicole’s brain for clever commerce had to be earning big bucks somewhere in the workplace and that would not be in a school for dancing.
“I think you’ve got it wrong here, Tony,” he mocked his friend who prided himself on getting everything right.
One eyebrow lowered. The other was cocked higher. “Were you or were you not chatting up Nicole Ashton?”
Her name sent a shock wave up Quin’s spine. Alert signals shot along his nervous system. He eyed his friend very sharply, seeking urgent entry into his mind. “What do you know about her?”
Tony’s mouth formed a curious little smile. “Did she give you the flick?”
Quin tensed as he realised there was definitely some personal previous acquaintance here and he didn’t like it. Tony would be unaware of his own past relationship with Nicole. It was before his time, so the flick question couldn’t relate to that. Which meant it had to come from Tony’s own experience with her.
“You have a good reason for asking that?” he said coldly, hating the thought of his friend having intimate knowledge of Nicole.
“Oh, just that I failed to get anywhere with her beyond the dancing lessons I paid for,” he answered with a shrug. “That doesn’t happen very often. I might not have the pulling power of your physical assets, but when I set out to charm a woman, I usually win her.”
Quin knew that was true, which was why his gut had suddenly been in knots. “But you had no luck with Nicole Ashton,” he pressed.
“Not one flirtatious spark from her,” came the reassuring reply. “Always pleasant but her focus was fixed on feeling the dance, not feeling anything else. Not with me, anyway.”
Relief coursed through Quin. His mind lifted out of a storm of black possessiveness and honed in on getting information. “When was this, Tony?”
“Two years ago. You know me, Quin. I hate not being ahead of the game, and Latin American dancing was becoming popular. I took a month of lessons from her to get all the moves under my belt.”
“At a dancing school.”
“Yes.”