The Secret Baby Revenge. Emma Darcy

FIVE

      NICOLE tried to relax as the train carried her into the city centre for her rendezvous with Quin. The day had been loaded with stress—many phone-calls checking if the money had come through, confirming that all debts had been paid on time. Also, it had been impossible to avoid telling her mother how the miracle had come about since the two nights out a week had to be explained, especially since tonight was the first one. She needed her mother to look after Zoe.

      The relief of having been saved from bankruptcy had quickly disintegrated into hand-wringing guilt over the deal Nicole had made with Quin Sola. “You would never have gone back to him but for me,” her mother had wailed.

      “It’s only three months, Mum,” Nicole had argued. “It won’t kill me. In fact, it’s much more acceptable than having to lose this home and the dancing school.”

      Which would have totally devastated her mother.

      Nicole knew that her own qualifications, persistence and presentation would have eventually won a job somewhere in the finance world—a job with a big enough salary to support them. This would not have been the end for her. But these losses, on top of the loss of her beloved second husband, would have tipped her mother into a deeper depression, possibly paralysing her will to do anything. Perhaps now, some sense of responsibility for getting into this mess might pull her into plotting some positive course for her future with the dancing school.

      The train arrived at Circular Quay and Nicole promptly disembarked. Quin’s e-mail had instructed her to meet him at a restaurant called Pier Twenty-One, situated on Benelong Point near the Opera House. She glanced at her watch as she started the walk past the ferry terminal. It was a few minutes short of eight o’clock, the nominated time.

      She walked fast, not wanting to be late. Quin had kept his word. Keeping hers was essential. It was not only a matter of integrity, but pride, as well. She would not give Quin any cause to criticise her over the delivery of her side of the deal. He had paid out a phenomenal amount of money for his twenty-six nights.

      Nevertheless, she had baulked at dressing up as though for a dinner date. There was no romance in this arrangement and she didn’t want Quin to think there could be in her mind. If he chose to spend his time with her eating in a restaurant—fine!—she would eat with him. No doubt they would eventually end up in bed together, which was what tonight was really about.

      She’d decided to wear jeans, flat walking sandals and one of the filmy floral tops that were currently fashionable for teaming with jeans—day or night. She would wear the same things when she left him tomorrow morning. Her small overnight bag only held some toiletry articles and a change of underwear. As long as her mind was set on conducting this specifically limited affair on a completely practical basis, she should not get into an emotional tangle over it.

      Quin’s table had a front row view of the passing parade of people; commuters catching a ferry home, tourists taking in the sights of arguably the most spectacular harbour in the world, theatre-goers heading for their choice of entertainment; concert, ballet, play, opera. The outdoors dining section of the restaurant extended out beyond the great marble colonnade that sheltered the many boutiques, bars and restaurants along the way to the huge Opera House forecourt. It was a fine summer evening, a fantastic setting, but Quin’s entire focus was fixed on watching for Nicole.

      He had no doubt she would turn up at the appointed time and place, probably arriving at the quay early to ensure punctuality, and loitering somewhere nearby so as not to give him more of herself than she had to. Quin had no illusions about what had driven her to this deal—extreme duress over a financial situation, linked to a highly personal sense of payback for how he had conducted their previous relationship. It was the latter motivation that exercised his mind now. The money side of it was done.

      He wanted sex with her and he would certainly have it, but his prime directive tonight was to challenge where she was coming from, sabotage her game-plan, make her play to his rules. She’d put a fire in his belly last night. The fight was on to get everything he wanted from Nicole Ashton and with twenty-six nights up his sleeve, Quin was confident of carrying out a siege that would eventually smash her defences and make her surrender all she was to him.

      He’d had that once from her.

      He wanted it again, free of the demons that had driven much of his life.

      There she was!

      Nothing hesitant about her approach.

      She was striding out, unhampered by any tight sexy skirt or high heels. Her long legs were clad in blue denim and the flat sandals on her feet signalled casual comfort had priority over any female urge to excite desire in him. Clearly she didn’t care what he thought or felt. It was unimportant to her. Her head was bent in private thought, a look of determined purpose on her face. She wasn’t looking for him. She was simply making her way to the meeting place.

      He noted the overnight bag she was carrying—only big enough to hold a few essentials—definitely no frills on Nicole’s agenda tonight. Her long curly hair was loose, no tantalising pins to remove. The top she wore was more feminine than the unisex jeans, but not a look at me garment. Quin smiled to himself. If she thought her presentation would put him off the merchandise, she could think again.

      As though she suddenly sensed his scrutiny, her head lifted, gaze swinging sharply towards where he sat, connecting with his, flashing a wry acknowledgment of game on. Her feet halted as she watched him rise from the table, ready to greet her. Quin felt his body zinging with anticipation. A strong blast of intuition told him she was eyeing the enemy before engaging with him. Retreat was not in the air. Let the battle begin, Quin thought, holding out an open hand to draw her in.