signals like these and they’ll pick them up in the Shetlands, girl!
‘How are you feeling?’ With raised brows Quinn took in her aggressive frown. ‘Other than grouchy.’
‘I’m not grouchy.’
Was she particularly shallow? Or was it normal to fret stupidly about trivial matters like the fact your hair was sticking up and your eyeshadow had probably run when you were on a mission that should, and did, take precedence over everything else? How was there room in her head, given her anxiety levels over Gran, to take on board the fact that Quinn looked overpoweringly virile and as vital and energetic as she felt jaded and weary?
‘And I feel perfectly fine.’ It occurred to her that she ought to be displaying more gratitude than she was, considering what he had done for her. ‘Thank you,’ she added awkwardly.
There was no polite way of putting it—she had fallen apart! It was still kind of shocking to accept that this had happened—maybe if Quinn hadn’t been there she would have pulled herself together and done what needed to be done…. Perhaps it was the security of having someone she trusted to take care of her and the situation that had enabled her to temporarily relinquish her iron control.
Her blue eyes fluttered wide with amazement; she did trust Quinn—utterly! When, she wondered, had that happened? Aware of his questioning regard, she lowered her eyes abruptly and began to fold the discarded blanket, her slim fingers trembling slightly as she fussed, lining the corners up with meticulous precision.
It was herself she didn’t trust! If she allowed sexual attraction to dictate her actions, Rowena knew she wouldn’t be doing either of them any favours. Quinn deserved a woman who could give him the things he probably didn’t even know he wanted yet. Things like a home—not just four walls and a roof, but a real home. There would be babies, of course—babies!
Talk about catch-22, she thought, resisting the impulse to place her hands protectively over her belly. Is this really me feeling wistful over a dewy-eyed version of domestic bliss…? She shook her head—this had to stop before she started listening to that voice in her head that kept saying a child needed two parents.
You couldn’t make a decision on the basis of physical attraction. If she did that she might even, in a moment of weakness and self-delusion, convince herself she could provide what Quinn wanted. The result would be disaster—she’d end up resenting him from stopping her doing what she wanted to do in her career, and in turn he’d resent her because she wouldn’t be able to put him first. Quinn was a man who needed to be put first.
‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep.’
His eyes skimmed her delicately flushed face. ‘No problem,’ he responded easily.
‘I’m not used to drinking brandy in the middle of the day.’ Actually she wasn’t used to drinking it at any time, which was why the tiny amount she’d had had gone straight to her head. The stuff Quinn had discovered in her kitchen cupboard had been for culinary purposes only up to that afternoon.
‘I’d say you’re not used to drinking much any time,’ Quinn mused with his usual perception. ‘But you make a fairly amiable drunk.’
Maybe she was being paranoid, but it seemed to Rowena that his expression hinted at some private joke. She just hoped she hadn’t said or done anything too awful or disastrously revealing when she was being amiable.
‘I’m sorry about the fuss with Security…’ Fuss was a pretty mild way of putting it. It was ironic, really—normally she would have applauded their stubborn attempts to detach her from Quinn.
It had actually taken Rowena some time to convince the suspicious employees anxious to do their duty that a kidnap was not in progress. She closed her eyes, mortified to even think about that terrible scene when they’d attempted to leave the magazine offices.
Give it twenty-four hours and the already juicy tale would have been embellished beyond recognition.
‘Bernice is a bit overprotective.’
‘So I gathered,’ Quinn responded drily.
‘You did have…’ Rowena felt her colour rise but doggedly she continued ‘…your arm around me.’ She saw no reason to remind him or herself how hard she had been clinging to it!
‘Kidnapping seems a pretty drastic leap to make.’
‘Well, she did see us arguing,’ she reminded him in Bernice’s defence. ‘And I’m not normally the sort of person who goes around leaning on…anyone.’
‘I’m touched you made an exception in my case.’
Rowena hardly noticed his wry interjection. ‘I can’t believe I just walked out like that.’
‘You were in shock.’
Rowena’s expression made it clear that shock was a poor excuse in her eyes for deserting her post.
‘What will people think?’
‘Do you care?’
‘Of course I care, this is my professional reputation we’re talking about.’ Somehow she doubted if Quinn would be quite so laid back if it were his job they were discussing. ‘And in my business,’ she told him grimly, ‘there’s always someone willing to stab you in the back.’
‘Perhaps we should ask them to turn the plane around.’
‘Don’t patronise me, Quinn!’ she flared. ‘I want to go to see Gran, of course I do. I just wish I’d been thinking straight. I should at least have had the common courtesy to explain to Bernice, she would have cancelled my appointments…’ She frowned, trying to recall her busy schedule for the next few days.
‘Well, it’s not too late, is it?’ he pointed out practically. ‘And if you’re fretting about working I did pack your laptop.’
Rowena could have done without this reminder that, not only had Quinn arranged a private flight, treating the whole procedure as though it were no different from hiring a car, when he’d discovered that there were no seats available on the scheduled departures, but he had also packed her clothes too.
Anaesthetised by the small glass of brandy he had forced between her bloodless lips, she had watched him from her cross-legged position on her bed, occasionally shouting instructions in what she seemed to recall had been a loud and stroppy tone.
‘Not those pants, decorative but far too uncomfortable!’ she’d explained as he’d pulled out a racy-looking thong from her knicker drawer to add to the clothes crammed in her case.
The memory made her groan and clutch her head.
‘Could you do with a coffee?’ her attentive escort asked.
Escort…hell! Quinn on escort duty meant hours and hours of contact, and far too much opportunity for her to let things slip…It was nothing short of miraculous that she hadn’t so far!
The last shreds of muddled sleepiness left her as, galvanised into action, she shot upright, and, discovering there was nowhere much to go, sat down again with a bump.
‘You can’t come to Scotland!’ she exclaimed in an anguished tone. She really must have been out of it earlier to have let him get on the plane with her!
‘Short of parachuting I’ve not much option at this point.’
‘Obviously you’ll be flying straight back.’
Quinn looked down into her worried face and smiled—but it wasn’t a comforting sort of smile.
‘I promised Niall—’
Rowena’s expression hardened. What was this, some male conspiracy. ‘Niall had no right to ask you anything. I don’t need a minder!’
A lick of flame appeared in his eyes as they stilled on her angry face. ‘No, you need a lover of the live-in variety!’ Then he smiled benignly and patted her