A Lover's Dream (22 page)

Quest's sleek brows tugged close above his deep-set eyes. He appeared thoroughly confused. “I thought I had gotten to the point.”

“Quest!” Mick cried.

He laughed then, raising his hands defensively. “All
right,” he said, setting his knife and fork alongside his plate. “There are things we never discussed when we talked about my uncle's visit here.”

“Oh, we discussed it,” Mick argued, her expression souring. “I hated every minute of it, but we discussed it.”

“But there was still something left unsaid.”

“Such as?”

“The people who attended that opening mixer are the best of my family. They always arrive several weeks early for the reunion.”

Mick's eyes narrowed. “So? What's wrong with that?” she asked.

“What I'm trying to tell you is that you haven't met the worst people. My uncle Marc was just the tip of the iceberg,” he shared, his easy expression growing darker with agitation. “No one can accuse the Ramseys of biting their tongues. We all speak our minds regardless of who it hurts. I can almost guarantee you'll have a nasty scene with another member of my family be it over your job or some other aspect of your background.” He shook his head and settled back wearily against his chair. “I'll do my best to protect you from it, but even my best won't stop it from happening,” he warned.

Michaela watched Quest closely as he spoke. She'd never heard the man ramble before, and it was fascinating. He looked so much like a little boy trying to get out all of an explanation in one breath. Slowly, she left her chair and deposited herself in his lap. Quest was still talking and, aside from bringing his hands up to cup her waist, he barely seemed to register her being there. In one smooth move, Mick cupped his jaw and kissed him.

Quest silenced instantly, becoming an eager participant in the kiss that ranged from sweet to bold to sultry. Mick emitted tiny, soft moans as she thrust her
tongue feverishly over and under his. In no time, Quest had positioned her so that she was straddling his lap. He arched his neck and tilted his head to capture every nuance and angle of the kiss. The soft, helpless moans he uttered filled Mick with a sense of possessive power. When she broke the kiss, he grunted his disapproval.

“Are you afraid we won't make it?” she asked against his mouth. “That someone might come between us?” she added.

“It happened before,” he countered, brushing his thumb against her full lower lip in an absent gesture. “I wish I could shield you from that, but—”

“Shh…” she soothed, brushing her lips across his jaw. “Nothing and no one could ever do that again. I'm never letting you go. I'm just as much your family as they are and if I have to, I'll fight for you. No matter what.”

Quest closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. The muscle in his jaw performed a wicked dance as he seemed to meditate on what she'd just said. His hands roamed her thighs, left bare by the hem of the sunflower nightshirt she wore. After a while, he started to move his forehead against hers.

“I don't know what I'll do if you walk away from me again, Michaela. I don't think I could handle it.”

“Hey,” she called, leaning down a little to peer into his eyes when he bowed his head. “Sweetie, I'm not goin' anywhere, there's nowhere else I want to be. Please, please believe that. Don't upset yourself with this, not now.”

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asked, massaging the nape of her neck before threading his fingers through her thick curls. “I've always wanted what my parents had and I was afraid I'd never find it. Having many women has it benefits. Hollow, worthless benefits that never last.”

Michaela situated herself more snuggly against Quest and cupped his face in her hands. “Baby, we're not hollow and we
will
last. As long as we don't lose sight of what's in front of us by focusing too much on the big picture. One day at a time,” she advised, kissing the tip of his nose, “one day of love at a time.”

Suddenly, a grin broke on Quest's dark face. “I thought you were as cynical as I was,” he noted, kissing the corner of her eye.

“I
was
,” Mick admitted, her lashes fluttering at the breathtaking length of him outlined beneath the loose jeans, “but then I met this incredible man.”

“Me?” he guessed.

“Uh-huh.” She giggled, gasping when his tongue thrust past her lips. Her fingers curled beneath the neckline of his white T-shirt when he stood from the table.

“Dinner later. Bed now,” he decided.

 

The Ramseys, known for being reserved and aloof, pulled out all the stops for the gathering easily crowned the event of the year. All of Seattle society turned out for the wedding of Quest Fenton Ramsey and Michaela Dionee Sellars. The bride walked down the aisle preceded by twenty bridesmaids—the dancers of Wiley State University and one very proud maid of honor, Contessa Warren.

After an unforgettable rendition of Anita Baker's “Angel,” the bride met the groom at the altar where they became husband and wife.

 

In spite of his earlier attempts to interfere, Marcus made a point of attending the wedding with his wife, Josephine. Michaela had to beg her husband and brother-in-law not to make a scene in asking the man
to leave. She knew the twins would do more than
ask
. Thankfully, Marc did nothing to cast a foul element over the lovely day.

The same held true for Houston who arrived with Daphne in their usually elegant style of dress. Accompanying them were their daughter, Dena, and son, Taurus, who quickly had a lion's share of the women all vying for his attention.

All seemed well, but Mick couldn't help but think of Johnelle Black, who declined to attend for obvious reasons. Johnelle would never have the chance to attend her daughter's wedding. Though it would change nothing, knowing that it was Wake Robinson who had robbed Johnelle of such an experience filled Mick with a sense of accomplishment. The only thing that would please her more would be to learn that he was behind bars.

Later Quaysar fulfilled one of his duties as best man. He took his new sister-in-law for a twirl around the gleaming hardwood dance floor in the ballroom of Damon and Catrina Ramsey's splendid country estate.

“You've made my brother a very happy man,” Quay said, glancing across the room at his twin, who was being teased by two of their great-uncles. “I don't think I've ever seen him look so alive.” He smiled down at her, his pitch-black gaze soft and lingering. “Q's a lucky man and I can't think of anyone who's more deserving.”

Mick frowned a bit and patted his cheek. “You deserve the same, you know?” she told him, smiling when doubt clouded his gorgeous molasses-toned face.

“Too many fish in the sea,” he said, his teasing persona coming to life.

“I don't know.” Mick sighed while shaking her head. “I have a feeling one day soon you'll be hit by some sort of thunderbolt.”

“Hmph,” Quay replied with an indignant huff.

“So have you talked to your friend yet?” Mick asked, toying with the salt-and-pepper bow tie of his tuxedo.

“What friend?” Quay asked.

“That's right,” Mick breathed, closing her eyes as she recalled that they never got around to the particulars of what she'd discovered. “Harriet Forman was the one who remembered seeing the man headed into the suite with Sera that night. She indentified him as Wake Robinson.”

Quay's brows connected in a fierce frown. “Wake? That's not possible.”

Mick shrugged. “She recognized him from some old news photos I asked her to take a look at. She seems certain it was him.”

“Jesus,” Quay whispered, thinking there had to be some mistake. He was horrified that it might not be. “What do you think?” he asked.

Mick wanted very much to soothe the worries clouding Quay's face. She couldn't.

“You think he did it?” Quay said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Mick squeezed his hands. “A part of me isn't ready to believe he's completely responsible. But I can't help but remember the way he looked when I said that there was someone who could identify the man going into the hotel room with Sera. He looked like he could've dropped through the floor, Quay. He acted as though
he
was that man. I guess my next question would be, has he left town yet?”

Quay shook his head. “I've know him half my life.”

“And that counts for a whole lot, but I'm coming into this with fresh eyes, sweetie. Maybe I see what you won't allow yourself to,” Mick noted, knowing her words were difficult for him to hear.

Quay cleared his throat, squaring his broad shoulders as he did so. “That still doesn't mean he did it, Mick.”

“I know, honey.”

“His involvement here could be totally innocent.”

“You're right, you're right,” she whispered, smoothing her palm across his cheek.

“Just promise me you won't stop until you know for sure that he's guilty. Until you have no doubts.”

“Come here,” Mick urged, pulling him into a hug.

Quay couldn't stop the sick feeling that wretched through him. Various details he'd allowed himself to forget regarding his old friend were slowly forging to the surface of his memory.

“Hey, hey, break it up!” Quest ordered, having just approached his wife and brother. “You're holdin' her too close,” he teased.

“Mmm-hmm, and I'm about to do more than that,” Quay warned, regaining a bit of his light mood. “As the best man I get to be the first one to kiss the bride,” he announced smugly.

Quest eased both hands into the pockets of his white tuxedo trousers. “Keep it clean. No tongues,” he ordered, peering close to see that he was obeyed.

“Hell, he took all the fun out of it,” Quay complained to Mick, and then decided to simply bestow a gentlemanly kiss to her hand. “I wish you all the good things. Both of you,” he told his brother and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“He all right?” Quest asked, watching as Quay left the ballroom.

Mick smiled. “He's gonna be,” she promised.

 

Two hours later, the reception only showed signs of gaining momentum. Mick found herself growing as restless as her husband. She was a bundle of nerves in anticipation of her honeymoon. She and Quest would be spending part of their trip in Hawaii before traveling off to Tahiti for the duration. The couple had decided to stop in Malibu beforehand. Mick was
especially excited about the visit to the teen center. The place was consistently making local and national news. Its headlines accumulated praise for the teens it housed and also presented a challenge to city and state officials to do more to reach out to its youth.

In spite of her anxiousness, Mick had been doing her best to appear the gracious, sociable bride. Of course this was especially difficult as she tried to thwart her husband's overtly erotic advances.

“How long before we can leave this thing?” Quest spoke close to her ear as he stood behind her.

“We have couple stuff to do,” she said, trying to remain focused, “such as cutting this huge cake they're wheeling toward us.”

“Do you know how long it's been since I've had you?” Quest complained, spanning his hands across her hips and tummy, which were neatly encased within the exquisite embroidery lining the classic white gown with its chiffon sleeves and full hoop skirt.

Mick giggled. “I do,” she replied, shivering when she heard a low sound rumble within his chest.

“Just something to tide me over until later?” he bartered, his lips fastening to her earlobe.

Mick's lashes fluttered against the warm sensation stemming from the feel of his nipping and suckling the soft flesh. “Down, Quest,” she ordered, gasping when he responded by settling her back against his groin. “
All
the way down,” she advised.

 

Quay had left the reception determined to find answers. He returned feeling worse than before he left. His worst fears were realized when Mick told him what she'd discovered. He knew it was folly, but a part of him prayed Wake would be at his condo when he went to confront him. According to the security desk, he
was gone—completely moved out with no warning and no mention of a forwarding address.

“Can't be,” he chanted, his attention barely on the winding road leading back to the estate. “It couldn't have been Wake,” he continued, “it couldn't have been him all those times before—”

A blaring horn interrupted his thoughts. Quay slammed on his brakes just as another SUV moved in direct line with his own mammoth sport utility.

A dark, statuesque beauty bolted from the driver's side of the white Navigator. “Are you blind?” she chastised. “You had to see me going for that park,” she went on, fire in her eyes as she prepared to deliver more choice words for the driver behind the tinted windows of the fierce-looking black Hummer.

Quaysar's thoughts of Wake Robinson and everything else disappeared at the sight in the line of his gaze. When he stepped outside his truck, the lovely woman's doe-shaped eyes narrowed in recognition.

“Quaysar Ramsey,” she greeted, propping both hands on her hips while tapping one cream pump on the brick driveway. “I see you still can't drive worth a damn.”

Quay tilted his head just slightly. “You know my name?” he asked, watching as the breeze disarrayed the black tresses that fell past her shoulders.

“I know you,” she admitted, closing a small bit of the distance between them. “And I assume from your question that you have no idea who I am?”

“I'd like to,” Quay admitted at once. His words were genuine. His dark eyes raked her in a helpless manner as though he couldn't get enough of looking at her.

Tykira Lowery rolled her eyes in the direction of the scooped bodice of the elegant rose-colored dress. “Still playing Casanova,” she accused softly, her seductive gaze becoming humor-filled. “I shouldn't be
surprised. I suppose it
is
easy to forget a woman you held captive for a week,” she said, her voice softening to almost a whisper. “Park my truck,” she requested, tossing him her keys before she walked off, leaving Quay to stare after her in total confusion.