A Lover's Dream (18 page)

Quest leaned close and pressed his forehead to hers. “Then that's something we definitely have in common because that's exactly the way I feel about you.”

Mick searched his beautiful eyes.
I love you
, she wanted to tell him. Still, she feared the beauty and everything else the word implied would fade if she spoke it.

On cue, the oven timer sounded in the distance and she was more than grateful for the interruption.

 

The weather was warm enough that Saturday for Mick to enjoy the delightful pool in the backyard. She sat on the edge, trailing her toes across the water.

Quest studied her from afar, loving the daring bikini she sported, but hating the faraway look on her face. Her life had been filled with pain and all he wanted now was for her to know happiness and security. After
a lifetime of protecting those he was linked to by blood, he wanted nothing more than to keep this woman sheltered from the demons of her past and any that sought to threaten her future.

Mick smiled and cuddled back into Quest's warm embrace when he moved close behind her. His legs were on either side of her, his feet disappearing into the pool.

“You okay?” he asked against her hair.

Mick nodded. “Mmm-hmm, I'm fine,” she said, speaking honestly.

“So tell me about your dancing,” Quest asked, hoping to bring her out of her doldrums.

It worked, Mick's cloudy expression cleared at once. “I literally stepped into it. I was on campus during homecoming one year and found myself in the music hall. By mistake I interrupted their practice. If you could call it that.” She laughed, wiggling her toes in the water as she recalled the day.

Quest was laughing as well. “Quay would die if he knew he missed out on that performance I had the pleasure of enjoying.”

Mick turned a little in his arms. “And just how much of it did you enjoy?” she asked.

“All of it. All of
you
.”

Mick threw back her head and laughed. “Please! With all those younger, firmer girls bouncing around before you?”

Quest's sleek brows rose as he considered her words. “Younger, yes. Firmer than you? Not a chance,” he declared.

Mick arched up to meet his kiss when he lowered his head. She cupped the back of his neck, her fingers stroking the soft close-cut hair that curled there. A delicious scene ensued in the warm sunlight and concluded in the sparkling coolness of the pool.

Michaela's moan of disappointment echoed in the otherwise silent bedroom. She tried to push Quest's head back beneath the covers as he emerged. She'd awakened that morning amidst sensational waves of another incredible orgasm courtesy of Quest Ramsey. Her dreams had been filled with erotic images of his potent lovemaking. Waking to find those dreams a reality made her pleasure that much more intense.

“I can top that,” Quest promised with a grin, when Mick tried to silently urge him to continue the sensational massage.

Mick's eyes widened just as he kissed her and her delight returned as she suckled the taste of her body from his tongue.

Quest was settling himself, his hands curving around Mick's thighs, when the doorbell rang. Slowly, he turned his head in the direction of the bedroom door. “Damn thing's just for show,” he grumbled in reference to the bell. “It'll go away,” he predicted.

Mick squealed when he began to nibble at her breasts. “You have to get it. It could be an emergency,” she cautioned.

The bell rang again and Quest uttered a savage
curse before leaving the bed. Michaela giggled, watching him jerk into a pair of gray sweats. He whipped open the door before turning toward her.

“Stay,” he ordered, his deep-set gaze desire filled.

Mick snuggled back into bed, feeling more content than she could ever remember being. Quest hadn't been gone five seconds when a tiny ring tone pierced the silence. She recognized the chiming of her cell phone and leaned over the side of the bed and pulled a black leather tote from beneath.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Ms. Sellars? This is Harriet Forman. The Forman Hotel?”

“Oh yes,” Mick breathed, propping herself up on her elbow.

“I'm sorry to be calling you so early—”

“No, please, it's fine. I assume this is about the investigation?”

“I remembered something about that night. I can't believe I'd forgotten it,” she said, sounding as though she were speaking to herself. “When I started looking through the file, it hit me.”

“I'm listening,” Mick said, already perched on the edge of the bed.

“On the night of the party, I was working the front desk at my parents' hotel. I took a break, and my curiosity led me to the eleventh floor where the party was being held. I remember feeling disappointed because things seemed so quiet and it looked like the party was over. So when I saw this guy going into the room, I was interested.”

“What guy?” Mick asked.

“This guy from the news photo. I've scanned the picture and I'll e-mail it to you. You could probably see him on your copy of the article, but I don't want there to be any mistakes about who I'm referring to.”

“I appreciate that, Harriet. I haven't been near a computer in almost a week, but I'll call you as soon as I see it.”

“I circled his face and drew an arrow around it also,” Harriet said.

“You sound sure about this. Do you think he had something to do with what happened?”

“I don't know, Michaela,” Harriet said, heaviness weighing on her voice. “When he opened the door, a girl was giggling and I heard him call Sera by name.”

“Did you recognize him?”

“I tried to place him, but I can't. I just can't seem to remember who he is.”

Mick nodded. “Harriet, you've done a good job and I'm very thankful. I promise to call when I view the e-mail.”

“Thanks, Michaela.”

“You take care. Good-bye.”

When the connection ended, Mick tossed the phone to the bed. She clapped her hands to celebrate the break in the case and jumped up to tell Quest what she'd learned.

 

Quest's handsome dark face harbored a glare as he watched his uncle down a second round of scotch.

“How'd you find me?” Quest asked, turning to prepare his own drink.

Marcus Ramsey chuckled. “When you're a member of a family like the Ramseys, escaping reality isn't only for vacation, it's to maintain your sanity,” he shared, his dark eyes gleaming with smug delight. “The specific details on how I found you are my little secrets.”

“Well, are you going to at least tell me what you're
doin' here?” Quest asked, not bothering to prevent agitation from clouding his voice.

“Why don't you tell me about this lovely young thing you've gone crazy over?”

Quest's suspicion increased tenfold. He set the glass on the mahogany bar with such force that remnants of scotch sloshed over the edges. “Get to it, Marc,” he urged, his voice taking on a deeper, more gravely under-tone.

“She's a writer,” Marc replied without hesitation. “If I understood correctly, her genre revolves around powerful black families,” he added, folding his arms across the crisp blue shirt he wore. “From what I hear, she's quite a lady and I'd have no problem with your seeing her if our family were more
normal
.”

“The book is dead, Marc.”

“But the investigation isn't.”

Quest turned away, his jaw muscle working fiercely beneath his skin.

“This investigation has to come to an end,” Marc was saying as he followed his nephew across the room.

Quest turned. “Do you realize there may be a chance that we're not even responsible for Sera's death?”

“Fool,” Marc hissed, his brow furrowed to the point that Quest couldn't tell where his brow ended and his bald head began. “This is about more than the death of some little fast-assed girl who was sniffin' around you and Quay! Your little girlfriend's poking around could uncover a great many things. She'd be too interested not to poke further.”

“Things,” Quest repeated, the misty gray of his eyes now darkened to pitch-black. “A great many things, you say,” he added, stroking the line of his cheek as he circled Marcus. “I hope you're not leaving out your own dealings. Dealings I'm sure my father knows nothing
about. You always stay true to form, Marc. Always lookin' out for number one.”

Marcus managed a smile. “Know this,” he said, sneering and stepping closer to his nephew, “aside from my foolish brother, Houston, no one in this family wants a book, an investigation, or any knowledge of what happened at that damned party. Get rid of her, Quest…or forget us.”

Quest winced. “What?”

“You heard me. No way will this family tolerate some snoop hoping for her next big story to break.” Marc rested a hand on Quest's shoulder. “I don't care how good a lay she is.”

A gargled sound filled the room then. Marc had barely finished his last statement when Quest's hand rose to practically smother his neck in an iron grip. Marc's eyes widened in obvious shock over Quest's uncharacteristic loss of temper. His fingers pried against Quest's hand in hopes of loosening the grip.

Quest maintained his hold, until he'd escorted his uncle across the living room. He whipped open the door. “Michaela is my family, Marc,” he said, pulling the man close. “The fact that you're my uncle will not stop me from half killing your ass.” Quest released his hold. “Forget this address,” he advised, before slamming the door in Marc's face.

Mick had listened to the angry exchange from her spot on the first-floor landing. With a quiet sigh, she turned and headed back upstairs.

 

Lunch that afternoon was enjoyed beneath the gazebo near the river. The incredible spread of roast chicken and beef sandwiches was barely touched by the diners, however. After a while, Mick tired of pretending and set her plate aside.

“I talked to Harriet Forman this morning. The Forman Hotel?” she added for clarification.

Quest recognized the name and grimaced. “Michaela, I'm not interested in that right now,” he told her in his softest voice.

Mick took no offense. She wasn't interested in the subject either. “Then let's discuss the real issue at hand,” she decided, her heart lurching in dread of what she was about to say—what
had
to be said.

“This has all been lovely and I'd do anything to relive it, but I think we both know it can never happen again.”

Quest looked up then, his eyes filled with unspoken questions.

“I heard you talking with your uncle this morning.”

Anger returned full-fold and Quest's face tightened into a sinister mask. He pushed his plate away. “Jackass,” he muttered while leaving the table.

“He was right, Quest.”

“Mich—”

“Your family would never accept me,” she acknowledged, pulling the napkin from her jean-clad thighs and slapping it to the table. “If all the things you've told me are true, they'd always be on guard around me. And you'd always be on edge with them because of the way you feel it's affecting me. I can't have you lose touch with your family and that closeness because of me.”

Quest fixed her with a suddenly helpless look. “I love you,” he whispered as though it were the only thing he was certain of.

Michaela's heart melted. “I love you too,” she said, tears pooling her eyes when he appeared shocked that she'd returned the words.

A moment later, Quest was pulling her into a crushing embrace. His mouth melded with hers in a searing kiss.

“You made me see that love is real,” she said when he pulled back. “Not just some word that may or may not have power. Love is action. Physical, yes, but also the act of sharing, sharing
all
your fears and truly being concerned about mine. You've shown me all that and more and I love you for it.”

Quest's eyes narrowed as he brushed the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand.

“But while you're ready to turn your back on your flesh and blood for that love,” she said, squeezing his hand in hers, “I'm not ready to let you do that. Family is too important.”

“You're my family.”

“They're your blood. They've
always
been there.
Always
cared for you,” she said, shaking her head as she spoke. “I've never had that, and while you may take it for granted, I
can't
, and I can't be with you knowing what you're sacrificing by being with me.”

Quest leaned closer, peering directly into her eyes. “Are you suggesting I let you go?” he whispered in disbelief.

“You have to.”

“That's not an option.”

“Quest—”

“No.”

“Listen to me,” she whispered, making him sit along the gazebo's vine-covered ledge. “My third book was about a family out of Oklahoma. The Cowans.”

Quest rolled his eyes. “Michaela—”

“Please listen,” she urged, pounding her fists lightly against his denim shirt. “Let me say this, all right?” she whispered and waited for him to nod. “For me, the most emotional part of the story involved the patriarch and matriarch of the family—Blue and Esther Cowan. They'd overcome so many struggles to be together, raising seven children, being black during
the Depression.” Mick shook her head. “They had all the odds against them, but they knew they wanted a life together,” she said, taking a seat next to Quest along the railing. “She was fourteen and he was fifteen when they married. Her parents weren't as much against their youth as they were against Blue himself. Esther said they hated him passionately—he had no family, no money, no prospects, but she loved him. They were both in their mideighties when Esther told me this story. She'd loved Blue all her life, in spite of the struggles. But even with all that love, there was still a place in her heart that was filled with hatred. It was a tiny place, but a place just the same. She said she didn't hate her husband, but it was because of him that she had to choose against ever having her parents in her life.”

Quest pulled a windblown curl away from Mick's cheek. “Baby, what the hell does this have to do with anything?”

Mick caught his hand. “Quest, don't you see? I can't live knowing a place like that could exist in your heart for me. That's a choice no one should have to make, especially when their family loves them the way yours loves you.”

Quest muttered a curse. “That's foolish reasoning, Michaela. Besides, a family with that sort of love wouldn't allow there to be a choice to begin with,” he said, his gray eyes slanting Mick a probing look as he watched her shake her head. He knew that he wouldn't convince her. She'd been through too much, years of disappointment and hurt—longing for family and love. What she couldn't understand was that unconditional love wasn't always an option in family. Because of that, it made one wonder if family was worth all the headache.

“I'm going to pack,” she said softly, already easing off the railing.

Quest caught her wrist before she got too far. He said nothing, simply held on to her wrist, his thumb stroking the pulse point hidden beneath the extra-long sleeve of the lavender knit top she wore. When he released her at last, Mick all but ran from the gazebo. Alone, Quest walked over to the table they'd shared. With one swift move of his arm, he swiped everything from the surface.