Lost in Love (6 page)

“I’m sure it was. I’m just used to polite euphemisms and veiled innuendos,” she said, trying to diffuse the thickness in the air.

Quinn stared at her like he could see through her. “There’s nothing veiled about me, Meredith. Are you ready to go?”

She shook her spinning head. When had she lost a handle on this conversation? “Go where?”

“To take care of an item on your list.”

“My list?”

“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

She’d hoped he wouldn’t, and she’d hoped he would. She smoothed her hair, wondering which item he was talking about. Surely he didn’t mean—

He couldn’t possibly. It was daytime. She looked at her watch. “It’s—I can’t leave now.”

“You can if I say so.” He stuck his hands in his pocket. “Aren’t you the least bit curious what we’re doing?”

“I’m more than curious.” But she was also scared, because this was Quinn—her boss—and taking such a huge step with him was …

Tempting.

He held his hand out. “Come, Meredith.”

God help her, she wanted to. She put her hand in his and let him help her to her feet.

Meredith looked down at her feet. The Pradas she’d worn to work that morning were replaced with a pair of oversized, green sneakers that matched the clown clothing she’d been given to put on.

“Head up,” the makeup artist said.

She lifted her head and held still. “Sorry.”

The woman applied the last finishing touches on her. “When your man called me to ask if I did clown makeup, I thought he was joking.”

Quinn wasn’t her man, but she had to keep her mouth shut as the woman filled in the red around her lips.

“This city is full of odd blokes. But as long as I get paid, I don’t judge. There.” The woman leaned back and smiled. “Perfect.”

“Almost perfect,” Quinn said, appearing out of nowhere. He walked up to her and lifted her face, careful not to smear her makeup. “You’re missing one thing.”

Because her heart was trapped in her throat, she struggled to say, “What?”

He took a red foam nose out of his pocket and put it on her. “Now you’re perfect. We need to go before we miss our window of opportunity.”

Paying the makeup artist, he hurried Meredith out of the shop as fast as her oversized clown shoes would let her walk to a waiting car. He helped her in and told the driver, “Hyde Park.”

“Hyde Park?” Meredith asked in a low voice. “It’s January.”

“Yes.”

“The middle of winter.”

“You’re good with the seasons,” he replied.

She shook her head. “What are we doing going there dressed like this?”

He took her hand. “You said you trusted me.”

“I do.”

His smile made her all hot and bothered under the layers of clown attire. He squeezed her hand and took an incoming call on his phone.

He ended the call when the driver pulled over and opened the door for them. She got out of the car clumsily, stumbling on the big shoes. No wonder clowns dressed like this—it made being one so natural.

“This way.” Quinn took her hand and led her into the park.

People stared at them, a man in a suit and a clown walking hand in hand. She felt grateful for the anonymity of the makeup. “We must be quite the sight.”

“It’s your shoes,” Quinn replied. “They’re marveling at your fashion sense.”

She laughed, feeling some of the worry and weight lift off her.

Down the path, there was a man waiting with a large bouquet of balloons in his hand.

Meredith glanced at Quinn as it all became clear.

“Well, you couldn’t hand out balloons dressed in Yves Saint Laurent,” he said mildly.

“I guess not,” she murmured, staring at him, unable to believe he’d arranged all this for one silly wish to hand out balloons to kids. She blinked her eyes, trying to hold back the sudden tears that popped into her eyes.

“Go on.” He pushed her toward the man waiting with the mass of balloons. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

She rushed toward the waiting man. He grinned at her and held them out. “I reckon these are for you, love.”

“Thanks.” She bobbed the bunch up and down, testing the buoyancy, before turning back to Quinn.

“Over there.” He pointed to a playground where children were running around. “Have at it.”

“Okay.” She walked over to them. It was crazy, but she felt a little scared. What if they ran screaming? What if they didn’t want her balloons?

This was a silly idea. What had she been thinking, wanting to do this? She should just turn around and go home.

But then she heard a child’s joyous yell. “Balloons!”

Taking one ribbon from the bunch she held it out to him, and then she was mobbed. The balloons were all gone before she was ready to stop, so she hung out and chatted with a couple of the little kids. Every now and then, she’d look up to find Quinn sitting on a park bench, patiently waiting for her.

Sometime later, she stumbled back over to him. “I’m ready to be out of these shoes,” she said. “And I’ll never complain about heels ever again.”

Smiling, Quinn led her back to the car. “Did you have fun?’

“So much. I feel
so alive
.” She threw her arms open, to embrace the world. Then she touched his arm. “Thank you. I can’t believe you set all this up.”

“What made you want to do it?” he asked as they got into the car.

Meredith shrugged as she took the red nose off and tucked it in her pocket. “I wanted to hear their carefree laughter and see their joy in something so small. Kids savor all their moments, even the small ones.”

He watched her closely. “So it was worth it.”

“Yes.” She angled herself toward him. “Thank you. I still can’t believe you remembered I had it on my list.”

“I pay attention.”

“It was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He took her hand.

She felt the touch all over. She wanted him to touch more of her. She wanted him to kiss her.

She leaned toward him, letting him know she was willing.

His gaze fell to her lips. “I’m looking forward to the next item.”

Meredith stilled. “Item?”

“The next item on your list.”

She thought about the order she’d written them in and cursed mentally for not adding “orgasm” to the very top.

“Before I forget”—he took something out of his coat pocket and held it out—”this is for you. A souvenir, so you’ll always remember today.”

She took it. A photo—a new-age sort of Polaroid of her laughing in her clown getup, holding out a balloon to a little girl whose eyes were wide with excitement. She had to clear her throat a couple times before she could ask, “How did you do this?”

“I got a digital Polaroid camera.” He showed her a small black rectangular device hidden in his pocket.

“That’s just—” She shook her head, staring at the photo. It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever given her.

She tucked it into her outfit, next to her heart. “Thank you,” she added simply, taking his hand again. She faced the window, pretending to look outside so he wouldn’t see the tears she was trying to blink back.

Chapter Eight

The first day of school, Portia had been so nervous that she’d made herself sick and had to be sent home. Sitting in the waiting area on her first day of work, she felt the same way.

With her hand over her necklace, she tried to breathe slowly. She’d never been so nervous in her entire life. She was doubly so—because she had so much riding on this job and because of Jackson Waite.

Her belly flopped thinking about him. No one had ever looked at her the way he had, his eyes running up and down her body. He was as affected by her as she was by him, and that was a heady thing. She’d lain in her bed and imagined his hands all over her.

Her face warmed, remembering the night before. She’d never had unladylike thoughts like that. Ever. The men she’d dated in the past were younger clones of her father. They inspired yawns, not sighs of ecstasy.

Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she had more of Catherine Summerhill in her than she’d thought.

A serious clacking of heels caught her attention, and she looked up to see a tall redhead walking toward her. The woman looked like the upper-crust ladies who ran in their social circle: well-groomed and expensive, wearing understated but obviously designer clothing.

But it was the woman’s gaze that confused Portia. It was direct and open, curious without judging, inspecting her just as thoroughly.

Thank goodness she’d dressed to fit the part of a serious antiquarian. She ran a hand over the prim jacket, tugging discreetly on her slim black skirt. As a finishing touch, she’d added the clear glasses again. She thought she looked quite smart.

The woman stopped in front of her. “You do have great legs, of course.”

Not sure what to say, Portia stood and fell back on good manners. “Thank you.”

The redhead broke into a slow, beautiful smile. “Well, that was an unusual greeting. I’m usually not so outspoken in that way. I’m Meredith Daniels. We’ll be working together. It’s nice to meet you.”

Portia wasn’t sure the woman actually meant that, but she didn’t care. She was here, and she was going to do a good job, and she was going home with the tiara. Period.

“I have a meeting in”—Meredith looked at her watch—”fifteen minutes with the man from Parliament Auction House. I figured I might as well take you with me, since you’ll be dealing with him. And then you can also see where everything is being stored.”

“Excellent.” Portia hoped she hid her trepidation behind her smile. Standing, she picked up her overcoat and purse.

“This way. We’ll take a cab.” Meredith walked with a long-legged, but indolent, stride. Portia watched her move, fascinated by how they seemed to cancel each other out so that her gait was normal.

“How’d you meet Jackson?” Meredith asked when they were in a taxi.

The question seemed to come out of the blue, and there was something more to the question than idle curiosity. She wished she knew what, though. “At your office. In the elevator.”

“He’s a nice man.”

“Nice?” The woman obviously didn’t know her boss, because if
she
had to come up with an adjective to describe the man,
nice
wouldn’t have been anywhere on the list.

“He’s very sweet.”

Were they talking about the same man? The one who trapped her in the corner of the elevator and looked at her like he wanted to rip her clothes off? Portia lowered the glasses to look at the woman. Maybe Meredith had been drinking.

Unaware, Meredith leaned forward to talk to the driver through the plastic. “You can let us off on the next corner, please.”

Portia slid out of the car and waited as Meredith sorted through money to pay for the ride. Then the woman slung her handbag onto the crook of her elbow and led the way to the auction house.

A gray-haired man with impressive sideburns and enormous black-framed glasses greeted Meredith warmly when they entered. He had to raise on his tiptoes to kiss both her cheeks. “My dear, so lovely to see you again.”

“Martin, thank you for taking the time to meet us.” Meredith gestured to her. “This is Portia Summerhill. She’s going to go through the remaining pieces with me. Portia, Martin Grey runs the auction house.”

The man turned to her and took her in. She had the feeling he could see past the facade. She shifted her weight, trying to think of something clever to say, but all she could think of was, “Your glasses are quite lovely.”

He chuckled and shook her hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I take it you’re Jacqueline’s daughter?”

She blinked in surprise. “You know Mother?”

“It’s my great pleasure, yes. A lovely lady.” He tipped his chin down and studied her from over the rim of his glasses. “You’re the very image of her.”

“I am?” She frowned, looking down at herself.

“My eyes may be old and going, but some things I can still see.” Martin patted her arm. “Now, let’s take you two to the warehouse where we’ve stored all the lovely things from Suncrest Park.”

“Lead the way,” Meredith said.

Martin waved to some boxes his staff was unpacking. “It’s our day to receive shipments, so there’ll be a fair amount of chaos throughout the building.”

“It looks like Christmas,” Portia said, glancing at two ladies who chattered excitedly over a box.

“Quite. Today especially. Do you know the Stewarts, Portia?” When she nodded, he said, “They just commissioned us to auction some of their family treasures, including the Stone Rose.”

She gripped his arm in shocked delight. “You have the Stone Rose here?”

“Just.” He turned to Meredith. “The Stone Rose is a famous pendant set with a luscious ten-carat pink diamond.”

“It had a tumultuous past,” Portia added. “It was owned by the Black Pirate. He was one of the lesser sons in the Stewart family who took to privateering to make his fortune. He was quite successful, with looting as well as the ladies.”

Meredith shook her head. “How do you know this?”

“Jocelyn Summerhill wrote about it in her diary.” At the woman’s blank look, she explained, “Jocelyn was one of the younger daughters of the third Earl of Amberlin and quite adventurous to the dismay of her family. She had a brief flirtation with the Black Pirate.”

Martin stopped in his tracks. “Are you positive of this?”

“Of course. Like I said, it’s in her diary, and there’s a portrait with her wearing the pendant.” She blinked, noticing the way the little man gaped at her. “It should be in the warehouse with the other things from Suncrest.”

“I will bow at your feet if you find them for me,” Martin said with fervor.

“Some of the items in Suncrest were thrown away rather than stored,” Meredith warned as they continued to the warehouse. “It may not be here.”

“I’ll find it if it is,” Portia said.

“It may be like a needle in a haystack,” Meredith murmured. “There is so much.”

“Here we are.” Martin took a key from his pocket and unlocked deadbolt. He rolled the door up and flipped the light on.

Portia stopped in the entryway and blinked at the rows of piled boxes and furniture covered in white cloths. She swallowed, feeling daunted.