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
