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  “Oh.” She tried to sound dismissive and tug her hands out of his grip. “Don’t take that too seriously.”

  He just held her hands tighter, pulling her toward him. “I take it very seriously. I like a woman who goes after what she wants.” His face was close enough for her to see the individual whiskers and smell the toothpaste she’d just tasted. “Especially when I want the same thing.”

  “You…you do?”

  He smiled slyly. “Pleasure in paradise. Like the ad says, only at Mar Brisas.”

  “Uh, yes. That’s what it says.” A wave slapped against her thigh, threatening the stability of her shaky legs. He held on to her, but his gaze returned to her wet suit, making Nicole aware of the sheer fabric molded to her body.

  “You look as good in white as you do in blue,” he said huskily.

  She felt her body tighten under his scrutiny, the Lycra clinging relentlessly to every inch. She wanted to cross her arms and cover up. No one ever saw her in the revealing bathing suit; it was strictly for her morning walk and swim.

  His eyes darkened lustily. “And as good wet as dry.”

  Oh, he was smooth. Too damn smooth. “Stop it,” she said roughly, pulling away from his firm grip and embracing herself in the protection of her own arms. “Just stop it.”

  He took a surprised step backward, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You put up the billboard.”

  “That wasn’t an appeal for sex.”

  He dropped his jaw a little, then he broke into a grin. She knew what was coming next. Then what was it? Would she tell him the truth?

  But the hard, masculine lines of his face softened. “Good.”

  The single word threw her. “Good?”

  “Very good.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head, looking down through thick lashes, just the way he had in the elevator before he kissed her. It was a sexy tilt. A cavalier, devil-may-care, I’m-going-to-eat-you-alive-in-a-minute tilt that took her heart for a wild ride.

  “Why is that good?” she managed to ask.

  “I don’t want sex.”

  “You don’t?” A stab of disappointment warred with a rush of relief. “Then what do you want?”

  “I want to get to know you.”

  Oh no. Too smooth. This wasn’t real. This was more of a fantasy than his bare chest and bedroom eyes. This man could not be trusted. “You’re a liar.”

  “Excuse me?” he choked out a laugh.

  “You lied about being a guest.”

  He shook his head. “I had every intention of registering, but there seemed to be a run on rooms while we were, uh, otherwise occupied.”

  “Well, you’re lying now. About not wanting sex.” Of that she was sure.

  He shrugged and broke into a deadly smile. “Guilty as charged. But I also want to know you better.”

  She peered at him. God, she wanted to believe him. Because she wanted to know him better, too. “You thought if we were locked on the third floor long enough, we would have…”

  His dark eyes smoked with lust. “We would have.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.” She did, but no need to confirm it. “You don’t know me. And God knows, I don’t know you.”

  “That’s the problem,” he said, taking her hand. “I want to know you. And as for me, I can tell you this much. I’m not a liar.” He held up her hand to his chest, laying it over his heart. It thumped in synchronization with hers. “What you see is what you get.”

  She took a shaky breath. If what she saw was what she got, she was going to be one satisfied woman. “That whole encounter was really intense,” she finally whispered. “It left me dazed.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for ten minutes.”

  The words poured over her like the sun behind him.

  “I almost wrecked when I saw the billboard.” His lips curled in an intimate half smile. Very intimate. “It really made me feel good that you wanted to see me again that much.”

  An overdose of guilt surged through her veins. “Mac, please. It’s not what you think. I’m not this desperate single woman seeking—”

  He lifted her fingers to his lips and feathered them with a kiss. “Shh. Don’t apologize.”

  For one insane minute, Nicole thought maybe she wouldn’t tell him the truth. Was it such a bad thing that he thought she’d run the ad to find him? It worked. She found him.

  He looked into her eyes. “I promise you, I’m no more a wolf who attacks women in elevators than you are an exhibitionist who hangs from the ceiling.”

  Sanity and common sense started to slowly return to her numb brain. She’d have to explain everything. “I think we need to start over,” she said.

  “Absolutely. Let me take you on a date.”

  She took a watery step backward. “What kind of date?”

  “A bona fide, pick-you-up-at-seven, wear-a-pretty-dress, eat-an-expensive-meal, walk-on-the-beach and make-out-for-hours date.”

  “Mmm.” She bit her bottom lip. “I bet you look nice in a pretty dress.”

  He laughed and took both her hands, pulling her into his chest. “Not as good as you do,” he whispered, wrapping her arms around him and clasping their hands together to lock her into place. His chest and abdomen were hot and solid and she had to look up to hold his gaze.

  He reached down and kissed her nose. “Tell me yes.”

  The little bit of sanity and common sense that had just made an appearance dissolved in an instant, replaced by a dizzying, addictive, irrational pleasure. Drunk with the sensation, she nodded.

  “Then I will pick you up tonight at seven. What suite are you in or should I just knock on the ceiling of the elevator?”

  She looked over his shoulder toward 1801. “I live there.”

  “You live there?”

  That instant, she remembered the meeting and jumped back with a gasp. Oh, God, she was going to be late to meet with Quinn McGrath. “I have to go,” she told him. “I have to be somewhere.” She couldn’t show up in her white bathing suit with wet hair.

  He looked a little skeptical at her sudden change. She’d explain it to him tonight, not now. Her life, her very foundation, was crumbling and she couldn’t get sidetracked, even by this achingly attractive man in her arms. She’d tell him the truth about the ad tonight, she promised herself. She didn’t have time now.

  “I really have to go,” she insisted.

  “Okay.” With obvious reluctance, he let her go. “I’ll see you tonight. For our date.”

  “I can’t wait.” The words brought such a blinding, sexy smile to his face that her throat closed over a tiny gasp of surprise. What an amazing man. She’d been all wrong about him. He was honest. He was the real deal. She shouldn’t be scared. She’d find out everything about him tonight.

  She scooped up her gauze dress from the sand and started jogging toward her villa. As she neared the stairs, she stole a glance back, thrilled to see him standing there, watching her. “Bye, Mac,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Wait!” he suddenly yelled. “I don’t know your name!”

  She giggled and ran to the top stair, pausing at the railing to look at him. She impulsively blew him a two-handed kiss and stretched her arms toward him, feeling like Juliet on the balcony. “Tonight!” she called.

  He grinned and touched his fingers to his lips and sent her his kiss in return.

  Romance was definitely in the air at Mar Brisas and Nicole Whitaker was going to inhale every breath of it.

  “Where the hell is he?”

  Nicole tapped her desk and looked at the clock again. All her determination to give the guy a chance was evaporating rapidly. She’d raced through her shower and makeup, dressed in a rush, then jogged to the office, not even taking time to wallow in the thrill of seeing Mac again.

  She’d decided to forego the power suit and wear one of her safe, crisply cut blouses to minimize, not accentuate, her assets. For some reason, she felt like saving thos
e for someone more deserving than Quinn McGrath.

  Who was more than fifteen minutes late.

  “Sally,” she called out, unable to see Sally’s station at the front desk from her office, “please call that thoughtless, rude and arrogant bonehead of a tycoon and tell him my time is valuable, too.”

  At that instant, Sally appeared in the doorway, and Nicole watched the color drain from her rosy cheeks at the comment. “Uh, he’s right here. With Mr. Northcott.”

  Nicole made a horrified face as she heard a soft laugh from behind the wall.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been called worse.”

  It took a moment to register the honeyed tone of her guest. Just long enough for him to step into her doorway and take her breath away.

  Mac.

  Mac. Standing before her wearing a white shirt, tie, navy jacket and a stunned expression that had to mirror hers.

  She stared at him, unable to speak for the second time that day. And he stared back.

  Tom Northcott came in behind him. “Nic?” The questioning tone in Tom’s voice had to be due to the dumb-founded look on her face. “Let me introduce you to Quinn McGrath.”

  Slowly, she stood, hoping her wobbling knees could support her. She extended a shaky hand and was vaguely aware that he took it. How could he be Quinn McGrath? How?

  “Quinn, this is Nicole Whitaker.”

  Quinn’s grip tightened at her name and something akin to realization registered on his face.

  “Nic is the owner and no doubt you saw her latest handiwork on your way into St. Joseph’s,” Tom continued. “That brilliant ad campaign for Mar Brisas.”

  Suddenly, his gaze darkened from chocolate to charcoal as he dropped her hand and burned her with his unwavering stare. “Campaign for Mar Brisas?”

  She wanted to look away. She wanted to jump over the desk and slap him. She wanted to scream.

  He was Quinn McGrath? He was the man who was going to steal her memories and bulldoze her future?

  Tom moved into the room, glancing from one to the other with his own look of confusion. “That ad sure is unconventional, I agree,” he said, sitting in a guest chair. “But reservations are up and that’s what she was trying to accomplish.”

  “Well, congratulations on that,” Mac said coolly as he took the other chair, no smile evident on his face. Without looking away from Nicole, he dropped a manila folder on her desk. “But I can’t see how that will solve the problems with Mar Brisas.” He snapped open the file. “Miss Whitaker.”

  The honey in his voice was gone, replaced by hard, cold steel as he said her name for the first time. Nicole tried to swallow, but her thumping heart had moved into her throat.

  Tom leaned forward and looked at Mac. “Didn’t you think Nic’s campaign is clever, Quinn?”

  “It certainly got my attention,” Mac said, finally dropping his gaze to the papers in front of him. “I actually thought it was real.” He looked up and stared directly into her eyes. “For a minute.”

  Four

  For the first time in his adult life, Quinn’s gut had let him down. Duped him. Taken him for a ride. Ate him up and spit him out.

  He wasn’t mad at Nicole Whitaker. He allowed her name to roll around his head and cursed the fact that he’d made the stupid assumption that Nick was man. He’d never seen it in writing—his secretary had talked to Northcott’s secretary and the mistake was made. No, that wasn’t her fault. And as much as he wanted to let her have it for playing him as a fool, he knew who was to blame. This was his fault. His trusted instinct had gotten all fogged up by his hormones. All distorted by her body, her smile, her eyes. Her ad.

  Such a grave mistake would never happen to Quinn McGrath again.

  She looked guilty as hell, too. Her creamy skin had gone pale, and her luminous blue eyes had dulled to a flat slate gray. Guilty and more than a little ticked off. She was ticked off?

  All of his assumptions about Nick Whitaker came crashing back to him. A scam artist, exploiting the system for his—or her—own benefit. It was impossible to associate those characteristics with…the Lady in Blue. They were two distinctly different beings.

  Tom Northcott cleared his throat, apparently realizing that some real funky dynamics were going on in the room. Quinn rolled his shoulders, leaned back in the chair and eased into his negotiating mode. Cool and collected. The role came naturally and never failed him.

  “Miss Whitaker.” He stopped and raised a dubious eyebrow. “It is Miss, isn’t it?”

  She pierced him with a glare. “It is McGrath, isn’t it? Not MacDougall?”

  He didn’t smile at the jab. He crossed his ankles, glancing at his shoes as though he was more concerned with their shine than the deal at hand. “Miss Whitaker, we’re prepared to make a very attractive offer, to you or the bank. Since you are dangerously close to foreclosure on this property due to your unwillingness to repair storm damage—”

  “What?” She shot forward, the color returning to her cheeks with a vengeance. “Unwillingness?” She looked at Tom questioningly. “Haven’t you told him?”

  Tom shook his head, and Quinn saw the warning in his eyes. “Your situation is confidential, Nicole. I would never presume to discuss that with a potential buyer.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but Tom leaned forward, silencing her. “And I suggest you don’t, either.”

  She closed her mouth as ordered. He stole a glance at Northcott, a crisp yuppie-looking type with thinning brown hair and nondescript eyes behind thick glasses. She must trust this guy.

  Nicole bit her bottom lip, which yanked Quinn’s attention back to her. He zeroed in on the sight of her pouty mouth, remembering the taste of salt and sea when he’d kissed her in the water that morning. And the way her incredible body looked and felt, soaking wet and warmed by his presence. A familiar tightness threatened his crotch and he shifted in his chair, clenching his jaw to will it away. He would not think with anything but his brain anymore.

  At the same time, he narrowed his eyes and watched Nicole flinch in return. A warning bell in his head told him to take it easy. But he ignored it. He couldn’t trust those internal signals where she was concerned. Something about her whacked out his intuition, so he’d have to let experience guide him. He had a job to do. And then he had to get out of there.

  “Miss Whitaker, we don’t care who we buy this property from, you or the bank. I am prepared to hand you an offer right now, but it will be contingent on certain repairs being completed.”

  He saw her sweet little throat rise and fall as she swallowed. “What kind of repairs?”

  “Have you seen the whole property yet, Quinn?” Northcott asked.

  “Some of it,” Quinn answered vaguely. “Enough to know you need work on the roof and exterior, the windows and…” he looked directly into her eyes “…the elevator.”

  A flush darkened her cheeks and he felt an involuntary tug at his heart. Damn. He didn’t want to hurt or embarrass her. But why did she do it? Why did she make light of something so serious and real?

  Because it wasn’t serious or real to her. It was a game.

  “What if I can’t…what if I don’t make those repairs?” she asked quietly.

  Quinn turned a piece of paper in his file folder. “We are prepared to offer you a much lower price, reduced to cover our costs of demolition.”

  She sucked in a tiny breath.

  Tom leaned forward. “That price wouldn’t cover your loan, Nicole.”

  Quinn flipped the file closed with a definitive slam, a bluff technique he’d used successfully a million times. “You fix the property and we’ll pay enough to cover your loan. Of course, you can always let the bank foreclose on you.” Her eyebrows knotted in a pained expression, but he pressed on. “Then we can forget this whole thing—all of it—ever happened.”

  “I don’t understand.” Nicole looked at Quinn, then turned to Tom. She couldn’t even look him in the eye, Quinn realized. She was such a sham. “Why would they wa
nt repairs done if they’re going to…” she paused and swallowed again “…demolish it?”

  Before Northcott responded, Quinn shrugged casually. “We want all our options open.” They wanted to show the bank they’d work with them to meet her loan, but the lower Quinn got the price, the happier Dan would be.

  “What about what I want?” The tremor in her voice caught him off guard.

  “And that would be?” Quinn asked.

  “I don’t want to sell Mar Brisas, Mr. McGrath. I don’t want to see it demolished. And I certainly don’t want to lose it to you.” She spat out the last word.

  “Then why haven’t you fixed it?”

  She looked nervously at Northcott without answering his question. Something was not right here, Quinn’s gut told him. It was time to play hardball. And neither of these two were in his league.

  “I want a complete examination of your books, mortgage papers and insurance policies,” he announced.

  Her eyes widened at the demand. “Excuse me?”

  “And the budget and production schedule of that ad campaign you are running.” He didn’t need those, but he certainly didn’t want her to think he’d forgotten that she’d made a mockery out of their brief encounter—and a fool out of him.

  She opened her mouth to a perfect pink circle, the sight stabbing him with a rush of mixed emotions. Aw, man. It made him mad all over again. It made him doubt himself and everything he thought he knew.

  She was the one.

  Oh sure. And pigs could take off and land at LaGuardia.

  “You have absolutely no right to ask for any of that, Mr. McGrath,” she finally said with a haughty lift of her clefted chin. “I will refuse to cooperate.”

  “Well, actually,” Northcott said, adjusting his tortoise-shell glasses and looking at Nicole, “you are technically beyond the time limit for foreclosure, and legally a buyer has the right to see that information.” The banker glanced at Quinn with a frown. “Of course, I don’t have all of that paperwork with me. And I don’t think you’ve had the opportunity to really see the potential of this wonderful property, Quinn, and how truly valuable it is. Why don’t you get a tour and really see it up close and personal?”