in its matching action. Quin was a great dancer. Better than Jules. Best on the dance floor, in fact. Best at everything.
Except actually caring about someone, Nicole savagely reminded herself. The trick with Quin was to take what he offered of himself, enjoy it, and not care back. She simply hadn’t been capable of doing that when she’d been with him, caring too much about too many things and losing her own sense of self-worth because he hadn’t responded in kind.
She shouldn’t have measured herself by that.
The fault lay in Quin, not her.
Five years ago it had been a matter of survival to walk away from him and his lack of caring. Now she was facing a different issue of survival, based on the one commodity Quin apparently had in plenty. Since he put a money value on everything, she wondered how much he would give to warm himself at her hearth. Could she steel herself to shut out everything else and put the question to him?
If he said no…well, that was that, nothing lost, nothing gained.
If he said yes…since he’d more or less limited their previous relationship to the bedroom, it seemed logical he’d accept that same limitation again, so there should be no great risk in such an arrangement. In fact, satisfying the desire he was stirring up might do her a power of good. It was Quin who had caused the hole Jade perceived in Nicole’s love life. A short, sharp dose of him might cure the long hangover from having been his possession.
Control was the key.
She had to hold it, not let Quin take it over.
Could she do it?
Could she?
The dance ended.
She watched him escort the brunette in red off the dance floor. Jade and Jules were noisily approaching their table. Bold, enterprising Jade. She wouldn’t think twice about approaching Quin for help if she needed it from him. Striking deals were second nature to her. Seize the day, she’d say. Make it yours.
Nicole rose to her feet, standing firmly on her stiletto heels, moving forward with determined purpose. “I’m going to speak to Quin Sola,” she informed her friends in passing.
Either he caught sight of her approach in some mirrored surface, or his personal antennae picked up her churning chemistry and swung him around to face her, negating any need to break into his social group. She halted a metre away, her mouth tilting into a wry little smile as she tossed at him, “I have a proposition for you, Quin.”
He nodded towards the bar. “Let me buy you a drink.”
The move would ensure some privacy from his companions, which certainly suited Nicole. It would also prolong this encounter which undoubtedly suited him since she’d cut him off earlier tonight. “Thank you. I’d like that,” she replied, her ready agreement bringing a smile of satisfaction to his lips.
He led off without a backward glance at the people he’d been with, instantly making her the exclusive focus of his attention, shepherding her through the crowd without actually touching her—quite a masterful operation with people in front of them moving aside at the commanding wave of his hand or a look into the bullet grey eyes.
The force, Nicole thought. Quin had always had it—the power to draw or repel people at will. It was some form of energy he knew how to exert. Or maybe it was an innate thing in him, a kind of charisma he’d been born with. It made him special, out of the ordinary, and dangerous because it was all too easy to fall under his spell and then you belonged to him.
Even knowing this and being on guard against it, Nicole felt every nerve in her body quivering with excitement at being close to the source of this treacherous power. Locking horns with Quin on any ground was tantamount to playing with fire. But she had learnt lessons from being burnt. Nothing would induce her to let this man take over her life again. She’d go so far with him and no further.
They reached the bar and despite the crush of thirsty people, somehow space was made for them and a waiter was ready to take their order. “Two margaritas,” Quin told him, not offering Nicole any choice, assuming command of the situation as he always had. But it was not going to be all his way this time, Nicole fiercely determined.
She recalled only too sharply that he’d bought them both margaritas on the very first evening they’d spent together. If he thought he could stir some sentimentality with the memory, he could think again. The cocktails were made. Quin handed over some notes and told the waiter to keep the change. Nicole took her glass, not waiting for it to be handed to her.
Quin picked up his and raised it in a toast. “To second meetings. And second thoughts,” he said whimsically, his eyes warmly welcoming her apparent change of mind.
She baulked at entering into any flirtatious banter. Nothing had to be won from Quin. He either went for the deal or he didn’t. “You asked me what would meet my needs,” she reminded him with sharp directness.
“I did,” he agreed, adopting a more attentive expression. “Have you been concocting a list?”
She ignored that question. “You said you’d like to make them your business.”
“Within reason,” he quickly amended, his eyes more calculating now.
She sipped her margarita, needing to loosen up her taut nerves, hoping a good slug of alcohol would do it. Having worked up the courage to deliver the next line, she plunged on. “You said money adds a value to everyone.”
He sipped his drink, silently weighing the thrust of her statements before laying out his interpretation of them. “Are you telling me you have a primary need for money, and if I bring enough to the table, it will open the magic door?”
“An urgent need,” she corrected him. “So the question is, Quin, how much are you willing to give to get me back into your bed?”
“Give,” he repeated, eyes narrowing. “We’re not talking about a loan?”
“No.” Her chin lifted belligerently, silently defying whatever he was thinking of her. It didn’t matter. Only the chance of a positive outcome mattered. “We’re talking about an outright gift. And it has to be available to me tomorrow,” she spelled out unequivocally.
“And when will you be available to me, Nicole, assuming that I accept your proposition?”
Her heart was pounding at the possibility he would accept. She hadn’t really believed it enough to work out how she would manage her side of the deal. What was possible for her, given her other commitments? She had to keep him away from her mother’s home at Burwood.
“Where do you live now, Quin?”
“I have an apartment at Circular Quay.”
Getting public transport to Circular Quay was not a problem—a twenty-minute train trip from Burwood. With a heavy sense of irony, she said, “I could warm the hearth of your home on two nights a week for…” What would be a reasonable offer for the money involved? There had to be a time limit.
“For as long as I want you,” he pushed.
“No!” That would be handing control to him. “For three months,” she quickly decided, not caring what he thought of it, intuitively knowing she couldn’t risk
