Had he selected them himself?
Probably not. He was an arrogant show-off.
After their one encounter, she’d researched him. It seemed he believed her father had profited excessively when he’d bought Quinn’s father out of their mutually owned company. In addition, he blamed her father for his father’s suicide—if suicide it had been.
Quinn, who’d known hardship after his father’s death, was determined to make up for his early privations, by living rich and large. Craving glamour and the spotlight, he never attended a party without a beauty even more dazzling than his secretary on his arm.
He was a respected art collector. In various interviews he’d made it clear nobody would ever look down on him again. Not in business; not in his personal life. He was king of his kingdom.
From the internet, she’d gleaned that Quinn’s bedroom had a revolving door. Apparently, a few nights’ pleasuring the same woman were more than enough for him. Just when a woman might believe she meant something to him, he’d drop her and date another gorgeous blonde, who was invariably more beautiful than the one he’d jilted. There had been one woman, also blonde, who’d jilted him a year or so ago, a Cristina somebody. Not that she hadn’t been quickly forgotten by the press when he’d resumed chasing more beauties as carelessly as before.
From what Kira had seen, his life was about winning, not about caring deeply. For that purpose only, he’d surrounded himself with the mansions, the cars, the yachts, the art collections and the fair-haired beauties. She had no illusions about what his marriage to Jaycee would be like. He had no intention of being a faithful husband to Kira’s beautiful, blonde sister.
Rich, handsome womanizer that he was, Kira might have pitied him for being cursed with such a dark heart—if only her precious Jaycee wasn’t central in his revenge scheme.
Kira was not gifted at planning or at being confrontational, which were two big reasons why she wasn’t getting ahead in her career. And Quinn was the last person on earth she wanted to confront. But the need to take care of Jaycee, as she had done since her sister’s birth, was paramount.
Naturally, Kira’s first step had been to beg her father to change his mind about using her sister to smooth over a business deal, but her father had been adamant about the benefits of the marriage.
Kira didn’t understand the financials of Quinn’s hostile takeover of Murray Oil, but her father seemed to think Quinn would make a brilliant CEO. Her parents had said that if Jaycee didn’t walk down the aisle with Quinn as agreed, Quinn’s terms would become far more onerous. Not to mention that the employees would resent him as an outsider. Even though Quinn’s father had been a co-owner, Quinn was viewed as a man with a personal vendetta against the Murrays and Murray Oil. Ever since his father’s death, rumors about his hostility toward all things Murray had been widely circulated by the press. Only if he married Jaycee would the employees believe that peace between the two families had at last been achieved and that the company would be safe in his hands.
Hence, Kira was here, to face Quinn Sullivan.
She was determined to stop him from marrying Jaycee, but how? Pausing in panic even as his secretary rushed ahead, she reminded herself that she couldn’t turn back, plan or not.
Quickening her pace, Kira caught up to the efficient young woman, who was probably moving so quickly because she was as scared of the unfeeling brute as Kira was.
When his secretary pushed open Quinn’s door, the deep, rich tones of the man’s surprisingly beautiful voice moved through Kira like music. Her knees lost strength, and she stopped in midstep.
Oh, no, it was happening again.
She’d known from meeting him the first time that he was charismatic, but she’d counted on her newly amassed knowledge of his despicable character to protect her. His edgy baritone slid across her nerve endings, causing warm tingles in her secret, feminine places, and she knew she was as vulnerable to him as before.
Fighting not to notice that her nipples ached and that her pulse had sped up, she took a deep breath before daring a glance at the black-headed rogue. Looking very much at ease, he sat sprawled at his desk, the back of his linebacker shoulders to her as he leaned against his chair, a telephone jammed to his ear.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, be attracted to this man.
On his desk she noted a silver-framed photograph of his father. With their intense blue eyes, black hair and strongly chiseled, tanned features, father and son closely resembled each other. Both, she knew, had been college athletes. Did Quinn keep the photo so close out of love or to energize him in his quest for revenge?
“I told you to buy, Habib,” he ordered brusquely in that too-beautiful voice. “What’s there to talk about? Do it.” He ended the call.
At least he was every bit as rude as she remembered. Deep baritone or not, it should be easy to hate him.
His secretary coughed to let him know they were at the door.
Quinn whirled around in his massive, black leather chair, scowling, but went still the instant he saw Kira.
He lifted that hard, carved chin, which surprisingly enough had the most darling dimple, and, just like that, dismissed his secretary.
His piercing, laser-blue gaze slammed into Kira full force and heated her through—just like before.
Black hair. Bronze skin. Fierce, brilliant eyes … With a single glance the man bewitched her.
When his mouth lifted at the edges, her world shifted as it had that first evening—and he hadn’t even touched her.
He was as outrageously handsome as ever. Every bit as dark, tall, lean and hard, as cynical and untamed—even in his orderly office with his efficient secretary standing guard.
Still, for an instant, Kira thought she saw turbulent grief and longing mix with unexpected pleasure at the sight of her.
He remembered her.
But in a flash the light went out of his eyes, and his handsome features tightened into those of the tough, heartless man he wanted people to see.
In spite of his attempt at distance, a chord of recognition had been struck. It was as if they’d seen into each other’s souls, had sensed each other’s secret yearnings.
She wanted her family, who deemed her difficult and frustrating, to love and accept her for herself, as they did her sister.
He had longings that revenge and outward success had failed to satisfy. What were they? What was lacking in his disciplined, showy, materialistic life?
Was he as drawn to her as she was to him?
Impossible.
So how could he be the only man who’d ever made her feel less alone in the universe?
Hating him even more because he’d exposed needs she preferred to conceal, she tensed. He had no right to open her heart and arouse such longings.
Frowning, he cocked his dark head and studied her. “I owe you an apology for the last time we met,” he drawled in that slow, mocking baritone that turned her insides to mush. “I was nervous about the takeover
