Terms of Engagement

Eight

An hour later, after a flight to the coast and a brief but exciting helicopter ride over Galveston Island, they dropped out of the night sky onto the sleek, upper deck of the white floating palace he kept moored at the Galveston marina. She took his arm when the rotors stopped and sucked in a breath as he helped her onto his yacht. Gusts of thick, humid air that smelled of the sea whipped her clothes and hair.

Promising to give her a tour of the megayacht the next day, the captain led them down a flight of steep, white stairs and through a wood-lined corridor to Quinn’s master stateroom. Clearly the captain hadn’t been told that they would not be sharing a room. Crewmen followed at a brisk pace to deliver their bags.


Once alone with Quinn in his palatial, brass-studded cabin, her brows knitted in concern as she stared at the mountain of bags.

“Don’t worry. If you really insist on sleeping alone, I’ll move mine.”

Shooting a nervous glance toward his big bed, she felt her body heat.

Above the headboard hung a magnificent painting of a nude blonde by an artist she admired. The subject was lying on her tummy across a tumble of satin sheets, her slender back arched to reveal ample breasts. Long-lashed, come-hither eyes compelled the viewer not to look away. Surely such a wanton creature would never send her husband away on their wedding night.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he said.

Feeling strangely shy, Kira crossed her arms over her own breasts and shook her head. “So, where will you sleep?”

“Next door.” There was a mesmerizing intensity in his eyes. “Would you like to see my room?”

She twisted her hands. “I’ll be just fine right here. So, if that’s settled, I guess we’ll see each other in the morning.”

“Right.” He hesitated. “If you need anything, all you have to do is punch this button on your bedside table and one of the staff will answer. If you want me, I’ll leave my door unlocked. Or, if you prefer me to come to you, you could ring through on that phone over there.”

“Thanks.”

He turned, opened the door, shoved his bags into the passageway and stepped outside. When the door slammed behind him, and she was alone with his come-hither blonde, a heavy emotion that felt too much like disappointment gripped her.

To distract herself, she studied the painting for another moment, noting that the artist had used linseed oil most effectively to capture the effect of satin.

Feeling a vague disquiet as she considered the nude, she decided the best thing to do was shower and get ready for bed. As she rummaged in her suitcase, she found all sorts of beautiful clothes that she never would have picked out. Still, as she touched the soft fabrics and imagined her mother shopping for such things without her there to discourage such absurd purchases, she couldn’t help smiling. Her mother had always wanted to dress Kira in beautiful things, but being a tomboy, Kira had preferred jeans and T-shirts.

What was the point of fancy clothes for someone who lived as she had, spending time in art vaults, or painting, or waiting tables? But now, she supposed, for however long she was married to a billionaire with his own jet and megayacht, she would run in different circles and have fundraisers and parties to attend. Maybe she did need to upgrade her wardrobe.

Usually, she slept in an overlarge, faded T-shirt. In her suitcase all she found for pajamas were thin satin gowns and sheer robes, the kind that would cling so seductively she almost regretted she wouldn’t be wearing them for Quinn.

Instead of the satin gown, which reminded her too much of the blonde above the bed, she chose black lace. Had he touched the gown, imagining her in it, when he’d picked it out? As the gossamer garment slipped through her fingers she shivered.

Go to bed. Don’t dwell on what might have been. He’s ruined enough of your day and night as it is.

But how not to think of him as she stripped and stepped into her shower? What was he doing next door? Was his tall, bronzed body naked, too? Her heart hammered much too fast.

Lathering her body underneath a flow of warm water, she imagined him doing the same in his own shower. Leaning against the wet tile wall, she grew hotter and hotter as the water streamed over her. She stood beneath the spray until her fingers grew too numb to hold the slippery bar of soap. When it fell, she snapped out of her spell.

Drying off and then slipping into the black gown, she slid into his big bed with a magazine. Unable to do more than flip pages and stare unseeingly at the pictures because she couldn’t stop thinking about Quinn, she eventually drifted to sleep. But once asleep, she didn’t dream of him.

Instead, she dreamed she was a small child in her pink bedroom with its wall-to-wall white carpet. All her books were lined up just perfectly, the way her mother liked them to be, in her small white bookcase beneath the window.

Somewhere in the house she heard laughter and hushed endearments, the sort of affection she’d never been able to get enough of. Then her door opened and her parents rushed inside her bedroom. Only they didn’t take her into their arms as they usually did. Her mother was cooing over a bundle she held against her heart, and her father was staring down at what her mother held as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

She wanted them to look at her like that.

“Kira, we’ve brought your new baby sister, Jaycee, for a visit.”

A baby sister? “Where did she come from?”

“The hospital.”

“Is that where you got me?”

Her mother paled. Her father looked as uneasy as her mother, but he nodded.

What was going on?

“Do you love me, too?” Kira whispered.

“Yes, of course,” her father said. “You’re our big girl now, so your job will be to help us take care of Jaycee. She’s our special baby. We’re all going to work hard to take very good care of Jaycee.”

Suddenly, the bundle in her mother’s arms began to shriek frantically.

“What can I do?” Kira had said, terrified as she ran toward them. “How can I help? Tell me what to do!”

But they’d turned away from her. “Why don’t you just play,” her father suggested absently.

Feeling lonely and left out as she eyed her dolls and books, she slowly backed away from them and walked out of her room, down the tall stairs to the front door, all the while hoping their concerned voices would call her back as they usually did. She wasn’t supposed to be downstairs at night.

But this time, they didn’t call her. Instead, her parents carried the new baby into a bedroom down the hall and stayed with her.

They had a new baby. They didn’t need her anymore.

Kira opened the big front door. They didn’t notice when she stepped outside. Why should they? They had Jaycee, who was special. They didn’t care about Kira anymore. Maybe they’d never really cared.

Suddenly, everything grew black and cold, and a fierce wind began to blow, sweeping away everything familiar. The house vanished, and she was all alone in a strange, dark wood with nobody to hear her cries. Terrified, she ran deeper into the woods.

If her family didn’t love her anymore, if nobody loved her, she didn’t know what she would do.

Hysterical, she began sobbing their names. “Mother! Daddy! Somebody! Please…love me. I want to be special, too…”

Quinn opened her door and hurled himself into her stateroom.

“Kira!” He switched on a light. She blinked against the blinding glare of gold with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Are you okay?” he demanded. “Wake up!”

“Quinn?” Focusing on his broad shoulders, she blinked away the last remnants of that terrifying forest. He was huge and shirtless and so starkly handsome in the half shadows she hissed in a breath.

Her husband. What a fool she’d been to send him away when that was the last thing she really wanted.

When he sat down on the bed, she flung herself against his massive bare chest and clung. He felt so hard and strong and hot.

Snugging her close against his muscular body, he rocked her gently and spoke in soothing tones. “There…there…”

Wrapped in his warmth, she almost felt safe…and loved.

“I was a little girl again. Only I ran away and got lost. In a forest.”

He petted her hair as his voice soothed her. “You were only dreaming.”

She stared up at his shadowed face. In the aftermath of her dream, she was too open to her need of him. Her grip on him tightened. She felt his breath hitch and his heart thud faster. If only he loved her…maybe the importance of her childhood fears would recede.

“Darlin’, it was just a dream. You’re okay.”

Slowly, because he held her, the horror of feeling lost and alone diminished and reality returned.

She was on his megayacht. In Galveston. He’d forced her to marry him and come on a honeymoon. She was in his bed where she’d been sleeping alone. This was supposed to be their wedding night, but she’d sent him away.

Yet somehow she was the one who felt lonely and rejected.

She liked being cradled in his strong arms, against his virile body. Too much. She grew conscious of the danger of letting him linger in her bedroom.

“You want me to go?” he whispered roughly.

No. She wanted to cling to him…to be adored by him.... Another impossible dream.

When she hesitated, he said, “If you don’t send me packing, I will take this as an invitation.”

“It’s no invitation,” she finally murmured, but sulkily. Her heart wasn’t in her statement.

“How come you don’t sound sure?” He ran a rough palm across her cheek. Did she only imagine the intimate plea in his voice? Was he as lonely as she was?

Even as she felt herself softening under his affectionate touch and gentle tone, she forced herself to remember all the reasons she’d be a fool to trust him. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath. “Thanks for coming, but go! Please—just go.”

She felt his body tighten as he stared into her eyes. Time ticked for an endless moment before he released her.


Without a word he got up and left.

Alone again, she felt she might burst with sheer longing. When she didn’t sleep until dawn, she blamed him for not going farther than the room next to hers. He was too close. Knowing that all she had to do was go to him increased her frustration. Because he’d made it clear he would not send her away.

Twisting and turning, she fought to settle into slumber, but could not. First, she was too hot for the covers. Then she was so cold she’d burrowed under them.

It was nearly dawn when she finally did sleep. Then, after less than an hour, loud voices in the passageway startled her into grouchy wakefulness. As she buried her head in her pillow, her first thought was of Quinn. He’d probably slept like a baby.

When the sun climbed high and his crewmen began shouting to one another on deck, she strained to hear Quinn’s voice among theirs shouts, but didn’t.

Sitting up, alone, she pulled the covers to her throat. Surely he couldn’t still be sleeping. Where was he?

A dark thought hit her. Last night he’d left her so easily, when what she’d craved was for him to stay. Had she already served her purpose by marrying him? Was he finished with her?



Feeling the need for a strong cup of coffee, Kira slipped into a pair of tight, white shorts and a skimpy, beige knit top. Outside, the sky was blue, the sun brilliant. Normally, when she wasn’t bleary from lack of sleep, Kira loved water, boats and beaches. Had Quinn been in love with her, a honeymoon on his luxurious yacht would have been exceedingly romantic. Instead, she felt strange and alone and much too needily self-conscious.

Was his crew spying on her? Did they know Quinn hadn’t slept with her? Did they pity her?

Anxious to find Quinn, Kira grabbed a white sweater and left the stateroom. When he didn’t answer her knock, she cracked open his door. A glance at the perfectly made spread and his unopened luggage told her he’d spent the night elsewhere. Pivoting, she stepped back into the corridor so fast she nearly slammed headlong into a crewman.

“May I help you, Mrs. Sullivan?”

“Just taking a private tour,” she lied. On the off chance he’d think she knew where she was going, she strode purposefully past him down the wood-lined passageway.

Outside, the gulf stretched in endless sapphire sparkle toward a shimmering horizon. Not that she paid much attention to the dazzling view. Intent on finding Quinn, she was too busy opening every door on the sumptuously appointed decks. Too proud to ask the numerous crew members she passed for help, she averted her eyes when she chanced to meet one of them for fear they’d quiz her.

The yacht seemed even bigger on close inspection. So far she’d found six luxury staterooms, a cinema, multiple decks, a helipad and a grand salon.

Just when she was about to give up her search for Quinn, she opened a door on the uppermost deck and found him slumped over a desk in a cluttered office. Noting the numerous documents scattered on chairs, desks, tables and even the floor, she crossed the room to his side. Unfinished cups of coffee sat atop the jumbled stacks. Obviously, he’d worked through the night on a caffeine high.

At the sight of his exhausted face, her heart constricted. Even as she smoothed her hand lightly through his rumpled hair, she chastised herself for feeling sympathy for him. Hadn’t he bullied her into their forced, loveless marriage?

Now that she knew where he was, she should go, order herself coffee and breakfast, read her magazine in some pristine chaise lounge, sunbathe—in short, ignore him. Thinking she would do just that, she stepped away from him. Then, driven by warring emotions she refused to analyze, she quickly scampered back to his side.

Foolishly, she felt tempted to neaten his office, but since she didn’t know what went where, she sank into the chair opposite his. Bringing her knees against her chest, she hugged them tightly and was pleased when he slept another hour under her benevolent guardianship. Then, without warning, his beautiful eyes snapped open and seared her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

She nearly jumped out of her chair. “He awakens—like a grumpy old bear,” she teased.

Managing a lopsided grin, he ran a hand through his spiked, rumpled hair. “You were a bit grumpy…the morning after…you slept with me in San Antonio, as I recall.”

“Don’t remind me of that disastrous night, please.”

“It’s one of my fondest memories,” he said softly.

“I said don’t!”

“I love it when you blush like that. It makes you look so…cute. You should have awakened me the minute you came in.”

“How could I be so heartlessly cruel when you came to my rescue in the middle of the night? If you couldn’t sleep, it was my fault.”

When his beautiful white teeth flashed in a teasing grin, she couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“I could bring you some coffee. Frankly, I could use a cup myself,” she said.

He sat up straighter and stretched. “Sorry this place is such a mess, but as I’m not through here, I don’t want anybody straightening it up yet.”

She nodded. “I sort of thought that might be the case.”

“What about breakfast…on deck, then? I have a crew ready to wait on us hand and foot. They’re well trained in all things—food service…emergencies at sea…”

“They didn’t come when I screamed last night,” she said softly. “You did.”

“Only because you didn’t call for their help on the proper phone.”

“So, it’s my fault, is it?” Where had the lilt in her light tone come from?

Remembering how safe she’d felt in his arms last night, a fierce tenderness toward him welled up in her heart. He must have sensed what she felt, because his eyes flared darkly before he looked away.

Again, she wished this were a real honeymoon, wished that he loved her rather than only lusted for her, wished that she was allowed to love him back. If only she hadn’t demanded separate bedrooms, then she would be lying in his arms looking forward to making love with him again this morning.

At the thought, her neck grew warm. She’d been wishing for the wrong stuff her whole life. It was time she grew up and figured out what her life was to be about. The sooner she got started on that serious journey, one that could never include him, the better.