musingly, his eyes smoking with memories of sexual highs with her.
Panic galloped through Nicole. She hadn’t done the maths, just grabbed at a time limit. Could she sustain objectivity with Quin for that long, hold the line she had to hold?
It was impossible to recant now. Quin would instantly pick up on how vulnerable she felt about it. Besides, he himself might baulk when it came to the cost of those twenty-six nights with her. No doubt he could get a high class callgirl to satisfy his every desire for much less.
“How much money do you need, Nicole?” he asked, coming straight to the point.
Her own eyes issued a mocking challenge as she replied with the total figure of the debts to be paid. “Seven hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars and fifty-five cents.” The numbers were deeply imprinted on her mind from having been so terribly plagued by them.
Quin digested them without so much as a flicker of an eyelid, maintaining a poker face as he checked on what she’d said before. “And you need it tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Or what will happen?”
She shook her head. “That’s private. This is a take it or leave it proposition. You say yes or no.”
“Spend tonight with me while I consider it.”
“No! I’m not giving out freebies, Quin. I won’t spend a night with you until you give me my value in money and it has to be given tomorrow.”
“Your value…” he drawled derisively.
“You used those words,” she fiercely reminded him, her stomach churning with the anticipation of imminent humiliation. “Yes or no,” she repeated.
His eyes glittered with plans of his own as he reached out and took her glass from her, a glass that was empty although she couldn’t recall having drunk all its contents. She saw that his was empty, too, as he placed both glasses on the bar. So this mad encounter was at an end, she thought, steeling herself to turn her back on it.
“I’ll give you my answer after you dance this tango with me,” he said with a relish that sent warning tingles down her spine.
Nicole was given no time to respond, no time to resist. Her hand was captured by his and strongly held as he pulled her after him, onto the dance floor. The band had only just started up again. No other couples had begun dancing. Quin swung her into the centre of the empty floor, then lifted her arms, arrogantly positioning the initial embrace for the traditional start of the tango.
Her body arched back in instinctive resistance as he assumed the dominant role, his strong legs forcing hers into the salida, the basic walking pattern, which Quin turned into a physical—sexual—stalking, igniting a volatile energy in Nicole that sizzled with the need to challenge him, fight him, beat him at his own game.
It was more than a matter of pride to match his perfectly executed figure-eights, his turns, twists and sweeps. Every chance she had she threw in some fancy embellishments to the hooks and kicks, challenging him to meet her creativity, beat it if he could. It goaded him to hurl her into a masterful drag, making her submit to a feet together slide, then swiftly engineering a sandwich, trapping her thigh against his, leaning into her, his arm circling her waist in possessive support as she arched back, his hand almost cupping the soft swell of her breast.
“Don’t think you can take, Quin,” she shot at him.
“Just checking the merchandise,” he retorted.
Nicole’s blood boiled at the crass term but there was no point in taking offence since it was in keeping with her proposition. Besides, it was best she knew Quin thought of her like that—a strong deterrent to any emotional attachment forming.
Merchandise…
She’d show him merchandise!
The intricate footwork and dark passion of their tango had drawn spectators who stood back, clapping them on, leaving them plenty of room to indulge themselves in the dramatic rhythm of the music. Nicole recklessly abandoned herself to the sexuality of the dance with a wild display of provocative wiggles and shakes until Quin claimed her again, sweeping her into a whirl of double-time steps, then re-establishing his dominance with a high lift and a body curl around him. Nicole hit back with a full contact downward slide which gave her undeniable evidence of his excitement.
“Nothing without the money, Quin,” she reminded him, exulting in the hard bulge of his erection.
His eyes blazed raw desire at her. “Don’t tell me you’re not on fire, Nicole.”
“You won’t break my resolve,” she taunted and maintained a haughty disdain throughout his heat-seeking manoeuvres for the rest of the dance.
They were breathing hard when the music ended, her breasts heaving against his chest, their bodies bent in the traditional aggressive/resistant pose, her head, shoulders and arms straining away from him, her long hair almost sweeping the floor, his face hovering over hers. Although loud applause broke out around them, neither of them acknowledged it. Quin wasn’t yet ready to break from the sizzling sexuality of this last embrace.
“Admit you want me!” he demanded.
“Prove that you value what I can give you,” she counter-demanded.
“Tomorrow morning, the money. Tomorrow night, you come to me.”
“Agreed.”
His eyes glittered with animal savagery. “I’ll have my pound of flesh, Nicole.”
But not my heart, she thought with the same depth of ferocity. Quin Sola couldn’t take it twice.
“Twenty-six nights,” he reaffirmed.
“Payment in full,” she promised.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“I know.”
“As long as you understand there is no escape clause.”
“Understood.”
“Right! So let’s get down to necessary details.”
He scooped her upright again and released her from his embrace, retaining only her hand as he swung her out beside him to perform an acknowledging bow to the still applauding spectators. Their faces were a blur to Nicole. She was gripped by a weird sense of shock that the deal had actually been made. Quin was going to pay off the ruinous debt and she was about to become his sex slave for three months.
Being his sex slave was not something new, she sternly told herself, just a repetition of the past, but her legs started wobbling as they made their way back to the bar. Neither she nor Quin were inclined to head for their respective tables since there was still private business to be done. She hoped he understood that their negotiated intimacy should remain private, too.
“Another drink?” Quin asked.
“Just iced water,” she replied.
He ordered two, probably feeling the same need to cool down. While they waited, a man came
