Like a Hurricane Page 5

  He’d seen it—and the owner—about as close and personal as he could get. Quinn stole a look at her and she caught his gaze. A silent, secret message ricocheted between them and for some reason that actually hurt. Damn. They could have been so good together.

  “You have to tour the property,” Northcott insisted. “We’ll pull together the documents you asked for. All except for the ad campaign business. That was all Nicole’s idea. That’s her baby.”

  The words punched Quinn right in his already-weakened gut. Why? Why would she spend the time, money and energy to make him look like an idiot?

  Nicole slammed her hands on her desk with about the same force he’d used to close the file. “Wait a second, Tom. I can’t believe that he can march in here and demand to see my mortgage papers and—”

  “They are public record,” Quinn said, interrupting her. “I can just march into City Hall and request the documents or you can make it easy for me. That way,” he added quietly, “you can have me out of your hair quicker and then you can take your money. And run.”

  She whipped her head around to him, fire igniting her eyes. “You don’t know me at all.”

  He knew all he wanted to know. “I don’t need to know you to conduct a business arrangement, Miss Whitaker.”

  Northcott stood and cleared his throat. “But you do need to know the property, Quinn, and that’s where Nicole comes in. She’s familiar with every inch of it.” He flashed a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “She’ll take you up on the roof, hanging off balconies—anywhere you want to go.”

  It was too easy. “How about that elevator?”

  Northcott laughed. “Oh, she’s been known to climb up and try to fix those cables herself. Isn’t that right, Nic?”

  She sighed so softly he almost didn’t hear it. “Only when I’m desperate.”

  When Tom turned to leave, she started to protest, but the banker held up his hand. “Trust me, Nic. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  Quinn registered the implication in the comment. The bank had its best interests in mind, first, foremost and before those of its customers. He knew that much about the world of finance. Just how close were these two?

  “Tom, please.” She gave him an imploring look. Quinn knew he wouldn’t have been able to say no to those pleading eyes. “Reservations are up already. The ad is working. This may all be a moot point.”

  At the reminder of the ad that ridiculed him, Quinn stood. “It is not a moot point, Miss Whitaker. I’ll take that tour right now.”

  As he turned, he caught Northcott’s final look of secret encouragement to his customer. Nope. Something was not right about this.

  When Northcott closed the door behind him, Nicole immediately started gathering papers he knew she didn’t need.

  “Okay, Mr. McGrath,” she said, a liberal dose of venom dripping from her voice. “Let’s tour.” She lifted her gaze from the desk and stared at him. “But I prefer to skip the elevator.”

  Slowly, he raked her openly with his gaze, letting his attention fall directly on her chest and then down to her luscious hips. It didn’t matter that she’d chosen a shapeless outfit. He knew what was under it.

  “But I don’t want to miss a thing, Miss Whitaker. Especially since your famous elevator is the subject of such a successful ad campaign.”

  She ran a shaky hand over her skirt. “Then I’ll have to change into more appropriate clothes.”

  For one maddening instant, he wondered what she meant. Was it a come-on? Back to the blue underwear? His heart constricted, but he just gave her a cool, questioning look.

  “I have jeans with me today,” she said. “You might want to change, too. It can get dirty in there.”

  “I bet it can.” He reached to her desk and picked up his folder, then looked back up into her eyes. The light was gone. The glimmer of what might have been extinguished to a guarded, unfriendly stare.

  Who was going to say it first? How long would they play out this charade?

  “Quinn—”

  “Nicole—”

  They spoke at exactly the same time.

  She held up her hand to stop him. “Meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes. Let’s get this over with so you can get out of here.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  Nicole took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but the hint of aftershave and that uniquely masculine scent Mac left behind did anything but calm her.

  Mac. Her Mac. Well, hardly.

  Quinn McGrath.

  She turned to look out her window at the Gulf, but all she could see was the scene of her surprise brush with romance just a few hours earlier.

  Sudden, unexpected tears burned her eyes and a lump the size of a tennis ball grew in her throat. She just wasn’t destined for anything like that kind of happiness—not even a single evening of it. A sob escaped and she grabbed a tissue to wipe her face.

  “Nicole!”

  She hadn’t even heard Sally come in.

  “Oh, honey, don’t cry!” Sally was around the desk in a flash, cooing and folding Nicole in her arms. “We’ll figure something out. You won’t lose this place.”

  “It’s not—” She couldn’t tell Sally. How could she explain what happened? It was better to let Sally think that her only problem was losing Mar Brisas. Not losing her dignity, self-respect and the only shot at a fairy tale she ever remembered having.

  “Oh!” She slammed her flat palm against the wall in disgust. He was no fairy tale. He was a liar. Every time she thought differently, he proved her wrong. She’d told him she worked here. So, why didn’t he admit he was the potential buyer? Had he purposely deceived her?

  What you see is what you get.

  Sure, Romeo. Anger and embarrassment stabbed at her, only to be washed away by sheer disappointment. What she’d seen was a hard-edged capitalist with his file folder and offers and demands. “Son of a—”

  Sally snagged her hand before she hit the wall again. “Calm down, Nic. Tom told me on the way out that he was buying some time. Bluffing. He has the documents in his briefcase. But if you can convince McGrath that there’s enough here to keep, rather than demolish, his company will pay more for the property. Enough to cover your loan. If not, you’re really in trouble.”

  Nicole nodded. She’d figured that much out already and didn’t even want to think of the financial and emotional implications.

  “Come on, Nic. You can show this place off better than anyone. Hit the high points and in the meantime, Tom’ll stall for as long as possible. You’ve got to figure out a way to get the higher offer.”

  Nicole focused on Sally’s green eyes as she recalled the strange nuances of the meeting. Other than the fact that she’d been kissing her adversary on the beach that morning.

  “Tom was acting really weird about the insurance. Why wouldn’t he let me be honest? McGrath thinks I have the insurance money and I’m not using it.”

  “I don’t know, but Tom’s on our side. Do what he asked. Just show the guy around.”

  “And what am I supposed to show him, Sally?”

  “Be creative.” She jabbed Nicole with her elbow. “We know you are. We’ve got three more reservations! All couples. One on their honeymoon who wanted a villa! But, 16 and 1701 are booked.”

  Nicole felt an excited little rush. “I’ll move out of 1801 for a week.” She didn’t want to tell Sally that she knew the MacDougalls would be gone soon. Maybe they could fill all three villas with paying guests. Paying guests she wanted to have around. “When are the newlyweds arriving?”

  “In a few days. I could put you in the main building. Would it be a huge inconvenience?”

  “Are you kidding? For that kind of revenue? Anyway, most of my stuff is at Aunt Freddie’s house on the mainland. I can pack up my clothes and a couple of personal things in an hour or two.”

  Sally smiled ruefully. “For a girl who cares so deeply about the history of this place, you sure don’t put down roots too deep, do y
ou?”

  Nicole took a deep breath and looked at her friend. “I learned as a little girl that roots can get ripped up fast.”

  “That’s kind of sad.”

  “No,” Nicole said, shaking her head, “what’s sad is that I have to spend the morning with that…that…”

  “Thoughtless, rude, arrogant bonehead of a tycoon?”

  “Yes. Him. Quinn McGrath.” She made a face and stuck out her tongue. “Yuck.”

  “Yeah.” Sally nodded thoughtfully. “Yuck is right. Just about six feet two inches of yucky muscles, yucky brown eyes, yucky smile and a real yucky backside.”

  Nicole stared at her.

  “He took off his jacket on his way out,” Sally admitted with a shrug. “I saw it.” She stuck her tongue out playfully. “Yuck.”

  Nicole smiled at Sally, but it didn’t take the hurt away. “Well, let me tell you, yucky is in the eye of the beholder.”

  Nicole turned the corner at the elevator, half expecting him to have ditched her altogether. But no. He stood there in all his yucky glory, worn blue jeans fitted perfectly over narrow hips, a navy blue T-shirt stretched comfortably over his wide shoulders. His attire was relaxed, but his expression was far from it.

  Without a word, he hit the call button and Nicole’s stomach seized into a knot. “Let’s start outside,” she offered.

  He jabbed the button again. “Let’s do this first.”

  “I need fresh air,” she insisted, panic growing inside her. He wouldn’t make her get back in there, would he?

  The bell rang overhead. “But our ride’s here.” He stared at her in challenge as the ancient doors rolled open, then held one side open and swept his hand. “After you.”

  Her mouth went dry as he stepped in behind her. The doors, suddenly transformed into the picture of efficiency, closed immediately behind them.

  She refused to turn around to face him.

  “You know,” he said softly, “It’s customary to look forward in an elevator.”

  “It’s customary to know someone’s name before you ruin their lives.”

  She heard him snort. “It’s customary to identify yourself when they save your sweet little rear end when it’s stuck in an elevator. Literally.”

  She spun around. “I wasn’t stuck in an elevator. I was stuck in the shaft.”

  He was so close she could feel the heat emanating from him. She froze and stared at the white insignia over his heart, silently filing away information to be savored at some later, lonely date. He liked the Yankees.

  She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to know that about him. She didn’t want to know anything about him. Deliberately avoiding contact, she reached around him and jammed the Three button. He crossed his arms and took a step back as they waited for movement.

  Impatiently, she lifted her arm to hit the button again, but he intercepted her wrist.

  “Why did you do that?”

  The question threw her. “We have to take the third floor to get to the roof.”

  He smirked at her as if she had to know what he meant. “Why did you use me?”

  “Use you?”

  “For the ad.”

  She averted her eyes. She wouldn’t admit that he’d inspired her. That a deceiving con man with a big checkbook and a bulldozer kissed and pawed her into a state of creative euphoria.

  “It was easy,” she said with a shrug, looking at the lighted panel above his head. They hadn’t moved from the lobby level.

  “Excuse me? Did you say it was easy?”

  “I had to come up with something for the billboard, fast, and I’ve heard that ‘sex sells’ so I naturally thought of you.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Well, I…I met you and then the next day I found out about this free billboard space and—”

  “And you only cared about your needs so what difference did it make if you ridiculed some thoughtless, arrogant bonehead for the sake of your good idea?”

  Nicole’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t know you were that arrogant bonehead.” Realizing how it sounded, she held up an apologetic hand. “I mean, I didn’t know you were Quinn McGrath from Jorgensen Development. I cancelled the meeting. What were you doing in here anyway?”

  “Would it have changed things?”

  “Are you kidding? You’ve never heard of sleeping with the enemy?”

  A shadow of doubt crossed his eyes. “Why am I the enemy, Nicole? I come bearing your ticket out of this dump, your free ride to—”

  She flicked his arm with her fingertips. “It’s not a dump! Will you quit calling it that?”

  “It’s a run-down, ramshackle, storm-damaged, outdated pile of wood that apparently isn’t worthy of the insurance money you and your buddy Tom are squirreling away for better use.”

  Her blood temperature skyrocketed and not, for once, due to his magnetic sexuality. Clenching her jaw, she took a step closer to him and pointed a finger. “I reiterate, Mr. McGrath. You don’t know me at all.”

  She stabbed at the granite of his chest to make her point. “Mar Brisas is my home. It is part of my past and all of my future. It may be a mess, but that’s not my fault.” Damn Tom Northcott and his warnings. This man had to know the truth. “I didn’t get insurance money, Mac. If I had, I would have a new roof. I would have upgraded the suites, installed wind-resistant glass. I would have stairs and railings that aren’t a safety hazard. And I sure as hell would fix the freaking elevator.” She sucked in a shallow breath and cursed the crack in her voice. “And I would kiss the devil himself before I would sell it to some brash New Yorker who wants to turn it into another Pink Palace with no personality and no history.”

  He stood stone still and stared at her. “Nicole,” he said quietly. “The elevator’s not moving.”

  She frowned at the panel, the first droplet of panic seeping into her stomach. He started pressing buttons, to no avail.

  “Oh, God. Not again,” she mumbled. With a skeptical look, she asked, “Do you have a phone?”

  “I left it in my room.”

  She narrowed her eyes in disbelief and he patted his pockets as proof they were empty. “Once that meeting was over, I started vacation and I don’t—”

  “Vacation?”

  “Technically, yes.” He crossed his arms. Oh, God, please not the tilt. Yes. The tilt. Nicole tried to look away from the charming angle of his head and the way it made his eyes hooded and sexy. “I scheduled a week’s vacation. But don’t worry. I’ll go somewhere else.”

  She swallowed her disappointment. Lost revenue. Lost opportunities. All those tilts. Gone.

  “So?” he asked, tapping the door. “Shall we bang?”

  She coughed to hide her unexpected laugh. “We could, or you could lift me up there,” she said, pointing to the panel in the ceiling. “I can usually get it going again.”

  His gaze slid down over her jeans, a hungry look in his eyes. “Fully dressed? That’s not like you.”

  Her stomach dipped and a rush of desire pulled at her insides like Turkish Taffy.

  She cursed her body for betraying her. She hated him. He was Quinn McGrath of the offers and folders and threats. Worse, even, than she’d expected him to be. Why couldn’t she forget how it felt to have all his male hardness backing her into the elevator door? Or how his hot, skilled tongue had tasted and teased her?

  She stuck her hands in her jeans pocket before he could see that they shook. “Could you please give me the dignity of forgetting that incident and get us out of this one?”

  “I will.” His expression darkened and grew serious. “When you take down the ad.”

  “What?”

  “Take down that ad, Nicole.”

  She shook her head, determined to defy him and oddly happy to have something over him. “No.”

  “No?”

  “When I say no, I mean it. I will not take it down.”

  “Take it down. I hate it.” He was not fooling around. She could read that much in his smoky gaze.
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  “You hate it because it’s working and if I get revenue into this place, you can’t buy it.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the long strands on top and making her want to reach out and fix them. “I hate it because it makes a mockery of what happened.”

  A mockery? Could he be serious? An entirely unfamiliar sensation shot through her veins and she didn’t pause to analyze it. “I would think that it would stroke your male ego and cause you to strut with the pride of a highly desired peacock.”

  “Then we’re even.”

  Something in his tone scared her. It was resigned, even a little sad. “What do you mean, even?”

  “It seems you don’t know me at all.”

  Her legs weakened and she touched the wall for support. Oh, God. Here comes Mr. Smooth, moving in for the emotional kill so she’d throw caution and clothes to the wind for elevator sex.

  She cleared her throat and looked down at her feet. In one swift movement, she flicked at the heels of her flat sandals and kicked them off.

  She heard him suck in a breath. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking off my shoes so I don’t hurt your hands when I stand on them to get up there.” She laced her fingers into a cradle and held them in front of her. “Do this with your hands.”

  He did. She put both hands on his shoulders, resisted a closer examination of his corded muscles and lifted her leg into his hands. “Now, push!” With a grunt, she hoisted herself up and grabbed the handle to the panel. His arms wobbled and she shrieked, tumbling a little against him.

  He caught her at the thighs, her hips directly at eye level. “I got you,” he said.

  Oh, he certainly did. His mouth was an inch away from her jeans. Nicole reached up and jerked the panel door, reached into the opening and took a breath. She glanced down at him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted and, though it was difficult to tell from her angle, she could have sworn she saw the tip of his tongue.

  “Sweetheart, you better get up there.” His voice was raspy and low. “Before I have to show you my teeth-and-zipper trick.”

  With a whimper, she hoisted herself into the open ceiling panel, balancing precariously on the edge of one hip.