Terms of Engagement

Seven

“You look…absolutely amazing,” her mother said, sounding almost as pleased as she usually did when she complimented Jaycee. “Don’t frown! You know you do!”

In a trancelike daze, Kira stared at the vision in the gilt mirror. How had Quinn’s beauty experts made her look like herself and yet so much better? They’d tugged and pulled, clipped and sprayed unmercifully, and now here she was, a sexy, glowing beauty in a diaphanous silk gown that clung much too revealingly. The dress flattered her slim figure perfectly. How had he known her exact size and what would most become her?

All those blondes, she told herself. He understood glamour and women, not her. The dress wasn’t about her. He wanted her to be like them.

Still, until this moment, she’d never realized how thoroughly into the Cinderella fantasy she’d been. Not that she would ever admit that, on some deep level, he’d pleased her.

“How can I walk down the aisle in a dress you can see straight through?”

“You’re stunning. The man has flawless taste.”

“Another reason to hate him,” Kira mumbled, brushing aside her mother’s hard-won approval and pleasure for fear of having it soften her attitude toward Quinn.

“Haven’t I always told you, you should have been playing up your assets all along,” her mother said.

“Straight guys aren’t supposed to know how to do stuff like this.”

“Count yourself lucky your man has such a rare talent. You’ll have to start letting him dress you. Maybe he knows how to bring out your best self in other areas, as well. If he does, you’ll amaze yourself.”

The way he had during their one night together. A shiver traced through her. “May I remind you that this is not a real marriage?”

“If you’d quit saying that in such a sulky, stubborn tone, maybe it would become one, and very soon. He’s very handsome. I’ll bet there isn’t a single woman in this church who wouldn’t trade places with you.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Well, why don’t you start talking to him in a sweet voice? More like the one that you always use with that impossible cat of yours?”

“Maybe because he’s not my loyal, beloved pet. Maybe because being bullied into a relationship with him does not make me feel sweet and tender.”

“Well, if you ask me, the men you’ve chosen freely weren’t much to brag about. Quinn is so well educated and well respected.”

A few minutes later, when the wedding march started, Kira glided down the aisle in white satin slippers holding on to her father’s arm. When she heard awed gasps from the guests, she lifted her eyes from the carpet, but in the sea of faces it was Quinn’s proud smile alone that made her heart leap and brought a quick, happy blush to her cheeks.

Then her tummy flipped as their souls connected in that uncanny way that made her feel stripped bare. Fortunately, her father angled himself between them, and she got a brief reprieve from Quinn’s mesmerizing spell.

Not that it was long before her father had handed her over to her bridegroom where she became her awkward, uncertain self again. As she stood beside Quinn at the altar, she fidgeted while they exchanged rings and vows. With a smile, he clasped her hand in his. Threading her fingers through his, he held them still. Somehow, his warm touch reassured her, and she was able to pledge herself to him forever in a strong, clear voice.

This isn’t a real marriage, she reminded herself, even as that bitter truth tore at her heart.

But the tall man beside her, the music, the church and the incredibly beautiful dress, combined with the memory of her own radiance in the mirror, made her doubt what she knew to be true. Was she a simple-minded romantic after all, or just a normal girl who wanted to marry a man she loved?

After the preacher told Quinn he could kiss his bride, Quinn’s arms encased her slim body with infinite gentleness. His eyes went dark in that final moment before he lowered his beautifully sculpted mouth to hers. Despite her intention not to react to his lips, to feel nothing when he kissed her, her blood pulsed. Gripping his arms, she leaned into him.

“We’d better make this count because if you have your way, it will probably be a while before I convince you to let me kiss you again,” he teased huskily.

She threw her arms around his warm, bronzed neck, her fingers stroking his thick hair, and drew his head down. Fool that she was, it felt glorious to be in his arms as he claimed her before a thousand witnesses.

Such a ceremonial kiss shouldn’t mean anything, she told herself. He was just going through the motions. As was she.

“Darlin’,” he murmured. “Sweet darlin’ Kira. You are incredibly beautiful, incredibly dear. I want you so much. No bridegroom has ever felt prouder of his bride.”

The compliment brought her startled eyes up to his, and his tender expression fulfilled her long-felt secret desire to be special to someone. For one shining instant, she believed the dream. If a man as sophisticated as he was could really be proud of her and want her…

He didn’t, of course… Oh, but if only he could…

Then his mouth was on hers. His tongue inside the moist recesses of her lips had her blood heating and her breath shuddering in her lungs. Her limbs went as limp as a rag doll’s. When she felt his heart hammering against her shoulder blade, she let him pull her even closer.

The last thing she wanted was to feel this swift rush of warm pleasure, but she couldn’t stop herself. How could a single, staged kiss affect her so powerfully?

He was the first to pull away. His smile was slow and sweet. “Don’t forget—the last thing I want is for our marriage to be business-only,” he whispered against her ravaged lips. “You can change your mind anytime, darlin’. Anytime. Nothing would please me more than to take you to my bed again.”

“Well, I won’t change my mind! Not ever!” she snapped much too vehemently.

He laughed and hugged her close. “You will. I should warn you that nothing appeals to me more than a challenge.”

After a lengthy photography session—she was surprised that he wanted photos of a wedding that couldn’t possibly mean anything to him—they were driven by limousine to the reception, held at his opulent club in an older section of San Antonio.

Once again he’d planned everything—decorations in the lavish ballroom, the menu, the band—with enough attention to detail that her critical mother was thoroughly impressed and radiantly aglow with pride. Vera sailed through the glittering throng like a bejeweled queen among awed subjects as she admired the banks of flowers, frozen sculptures and the sumptuous food and arrangements. Kira was secretly pleased Quinn had at least married her under circumstances that gave her mother, who loved to impress, so much pleasure.

With a few exceptions, the majority of the guests were employees and clients of Murray Oil. The few personal friends and family attending included Quinn’s uncle Jerry, who’d been his best man, and her friend Betty. The guest list also included a few important people from the Texas art world, mostly museum directors, including Gary Whitehall, the former boss who’d let her go…for daring to have an opinion of her own.

Since the wedding was a business affair, Kira was surprised that Quinn had allowed his employees to bring their children, but he had. And no one was enjoying themselves more than the kids. They danced wildly and chased each other around the edges of the dance floor, and when a father spoke harshly to the little flower girl for doing cartwheels in her long velvet gown, Quinn soothed the child.

Watching the way the little girl brightened under his tender ministrations, Kira’s heart softened.

“He’s very good with children,” Betty whispered into her ear. “He’ll make a wonderful father.”

“This is not a real marriage.”

“You could have fooled me. I get all mushy inside every time he looks at you. He’s so good-looking.”

“He’s taken over my life.”


“Well, I’d be glad to take him off your hands. I think he’s hunky. And so polite. Did I tell you how nice he was to Rudy after he found out the reason the beast wouldn’t stop meowing was because he missed you? He sat down with that cat and commiserated. Made me give the beast some tuna.”

“I’ll bet he got you to feed him, too.”

“Well, every time Quinn came to the restaurant he did sit down with me and whoever was waiting tables, like he was one of us. He bragged on my pies.”

“Which got him free pies I bet.”

“His favorite is the same as yours.”

“Your gooey lemon meringue?”

“I thought he was sweet to remember to invite me to the wedding. He called this evening after you showed up.”

Betty hushed when Quinn appeared at his bride’s side and stayed, playing the attentive groom long after his duties in the receiving line ended. Even when several beauties—one a flashy blonde he’d once dated named Cristina, whom he’d apparently hired as a junior executive—came up and flirted boldly, he’d threaded his fingers through Kira’s and tucked her closer.

For more than an hour, ignoring all others, he danced only with Kira. He was such a strong partner, she found herself enjoying the reception immensely as he whirled her around the room. She could see the admiring glances following them. He smiled down at her often, no doubt to give the appearance that she delighted him. The women who’d flirted with him watched him with intense interest, especially Cristina, whose lovely mouth began to pout.

“I’ve never been much of a dancer,” Kira confessed during a slow number.

“You could’ve fooled me. Just goes to show that all you need is a little self-confidence.”

Had his attentiveness given her that, at least briefly? When Gary Whitehall’s gaze met hers over Quinn’s broad shoulder, he smiled tightly. As Quinn’s wife, she’d taken a huge step up in the art world. Was Gary wishing he’d let someone else go other than her when the budget had been tight? Why had Quinn included him on the guest list?

After a fast number, when Kira admitted she was thirsty, Quinn left her to get champagne. Seeing his chance, Gary rushed up to her.

“You look lovely,” he said, smiling in the way he used to smile at major artists and important donors. How rare had been the smiles and compliments he’d bestowed on his lowly curator for her hard work. “I’m very happy for you,” he said.

She nodded, embarrassed to be so pleased that her marriage had won his respect.

“If I can do anything for you, anything at all, just call me. I am rewriting your letter of recommendation. Not that you’ll need to work now.”

“I intend to work again. I loved my job.”

“Your husband has been most generous to the museum. We value his friendship and expertise almost as much as we will value yours—as his wife,” he gushed. “I have a feeling we may have a position for a curator opening up soon. If so, I’ll give you a call.”

She thought about what Gary had said about a position possibly being available and was surprised she was so pleased. Maybe…she would consider working for him again…if he made her the right offer. She would, however, demand to have more power.

Stunned, she stared at him. Then Quinn returned with her champagne. The two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. When Quinn made it clear he preferred his bride’s conversation to art talk, Gary quickly eased himself back into the crowd. But every time after that conversation, when their eyes met, Gary smiled at her.

For a man who supposedly hated her family, Quinn was excessively attentive to her mother and father and Jaycee. He talked to them, ordered them wine and appetizers, acted as if he actually wished to please them. He was especially solicitous of her mother, who positively glowed.

Kira watched him during dinner, and his warm smiles and polite comments rang with sincerity. If she hadn’t known better, she wouldn’t have believed he was simply acting a part in order to reassure oil company clients and executives that Murray Oil was in good hands.

Never had a bridegroom appeared more enthusiastic, even when his uncle Jerry congratulated him on his marriage.

“Kira, he’s had his nose to the grindstone so long, we were beginning to think that’s all he’d ever do,” Jerry said. “We’d given up on you, son. Now I see you just hadn’t met the right girl. Sooner or later, if we’re lucky, love comes our way. The trick is to know it and appreciate it. When you fall in love, wanting to spend the rest of your life with the same woman doesn’t seem that hard to imagine.”

Quinn stared at her as if he agreed. The two men shook hands again and laughed. But since Quinn’s heart wasn’t really in their marriage, she wondered how soon he’d give up trying to pretend to people like his uncle. After that, when she felt herself too charmed by one of Quinn’s thoughtful smiles or gestures, she reminded herself that she’d be a fool if she fell for his act. Their marriage was a business deal. She didn’t matter to him. She never would.

All too soon the dinner and dancing came to an end, and she and Quinn had changed into street clothes and were dashing out to his limo while cheering guests showered them with birdseed. When someone threw seeds straight at her eyes, and a tear streamed down her cheek, Quinn took out his monogrammed handkerchief and dabbed her face while everybody cheered.

She expected to be driven to his loft. Instead, the limo whisked them to his sleek private jet, which had been prepared for flight and was waiting outside a hangar at the San Antonio International Airport.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he helped her out into the blinding glare of dozens of flashes.

“Honeymoon,” he whispered, his mouth so close to her ear she felt the heat of his breath. Her heart raced until she reminded herself he was only staging a romantic shot for the press.

Putting his arm around her, he faced the reporters, who asked him questions about his pending international oil deal as well as his marriage.

With abundant charm and smiles, he answered a few and then, grabbing her by the elbow, propelled her into his jet.

“Surely a honeymoon isn’t necessary,” she said when they were safely on board.

He smiled down at her. “A man only marries once.”

“Like that reporter asked—how can you afford the time when you’re working on that important EU deal?”

“You have to make time…for what’s important.”

“So, why did you notify the press about our honeymoon? Was it only so the EU people would know you married into the Murray family?”

“Why don’t you relax? Step one, quit asking so many questions. Step two, just enjoy.”

“You’re thorough. I’ll have to give you that. Even so, how can I leave town when I haven’t even packed for a trip,” she said. “Besides, I have a cat—Rudy. I promised Betty I’d relieve her… He’s been crying for me.”

“I know. Rudy’s all taken care of. Jacinda’s going to look after him at your apartment. So, he’ll be on his own turf. I bought him a case of tuna.”

“You shopped for Rudy?”

“Okay—so I sent my assistant. And your mother helped me shop and pack for you.”

“I’ll bet she loved that.”

“She did—although I did make certain key choices.”

“Such as?”

“The lingerie and bikinis.”

“Lingerie? I’m not much for lingerie! Or bikinis!”

“Good. Then you’ll be exquisite in nothing. You slept in my arms like that all night, remember.”

Hot color flooded her face. “Don’t!”

“With your legs wrapped silkily around me,” he added. “You were so warm and sweet, I can’t believe you really intend to sleep alone tonight.”

The images he aroused in her, coupled with his warm gaze and sexy grin, made her blood hum.

“I meant I feel bad about going away again so soon without telling Betty.”

“Already done. Betty’s fine with the idea.”

“You are thorough.”

When her temples began to throb, Kira squeezed her eyes shut. “Did everyone, absolutely everyone, know I was getting married to you today before I did?”

“Not me, darlin’. I was scared sick you wouldn’t turn up or that you’d order me straight to hell after I proposed.”

Had he really felt that way? Did he care a little?

No! She couldn’t let herself ask such questions.

Or care at all what the answers might be.