by Jaide Fox
"I’ve been waiting for you to drop something all night, so that I may come to your service, Miss St. James."
That voice! Quinlan shivered, stopping mid-stride. Of all places, this is not where she thought to see Nick again. Turning around to look at him, she affected an air of confusion.
"I’m sorry?" she asked, cocking her head to the side as she met his steady dark eyes. "I believe you have me confused with someone else."
Quinlan had to focus to keep her eyes from traveling over his deliciously formed body. He was handsome in his dashing black tuxedo. A dark red rose, a perfect match to her dress, was pinned on his lapel. All too well did she remember the press of him to her body--especially into her thighs.
"Quinlan," said Henry, eager to come to her assistance. He’d been hovering over her like a mother hen all night. It was driving her to distraction. "May I introduce you to Dr. Nikandros Grant?"
"Nikandros?" Quinlan asked, a memory pulling at the side of her brain. Her brows furrowed in confusion. She slowly began to nod. "You look like your father."
It was Nikandros’ turn to be surprised. "My father?"
"Yes," Quinlan said. "He used to come around when I was a very young girl--maybe six. I remember him because he always arrived at the oddest hours and he was so mysterious...."
Nikandros barely remembered her as the young, ratty-haired girl that would sneak into her father’s laboratory to play with the butterflies and caterpillars. He was surprised that she would remember him at all--er, his father at all.
Now looking at her, in the stunningly sleek gown of blood red silk, he couldn’t see the annoying youngster she had been at all. He’d almost lost himself when he first found her from across the room. The strong lines of her bared back were showcased in a dipping sweep of material that teased the male eyes with a full view of her muscular lower back. A band dipped around the nape of her neck and crossed over the base of her throat to hold the front of the gown around her breasts. The material again swept to tease. Licking his lips, Nikandros would bet his life she wore nothing beneath the alluring silk.
"I believe my father mentioned you to me," he said gallantly. Henry eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t like the possessive way the man stood too close to Quinlan. "He only had nice things to say."
"Hum, maybe I am thinking of the wrong man." Quinlan laughed. "The Nikandros Grant I’m thinking about use to call me a spoiled brat. I don’t think he cared for me at all--or the fact that I gave all my father’s butterflies names."
Henry laughed, trying to draw her attention. Quinlan felt the man take up her arm. He was trying to lead her away from the breathtakingly handsome gentleman she was flirting with.
Was she flirting with him? Quinlan inwardly grimaced.
"So, Dr. G--," she began.
"Please," Nikandros murmured in a voice that sent chills over her flesh. "Call me Nick."
"All right, Nick," she smiled up at him. Henry’s sweaty hand began to rub. "What is this about me dropping something for you?"
"Ah, you don’t remember?" he asked, affecting a properly injured disposition. "Your wallet? In the park a few days ago?"
"Oh, how silly of me to forget," she affected. Henry began to pull. From the corner of her eye she saw his mouth open as if he would speak. Rushing, she said to Nikandros, "I believe I said I owed you a dance for the favor."
Nikandros saw the pleading in her gaze and instantly smiled. He reached for her. Quinlan gladly lifted her arm away from Henry, who was trying to think of a way to protest. She placed her fingers in Nikandros’ offered hand. His fingers were warmth to her flesh, very unlike the sweaty grip of the museum coordinator. Gracefully, he placed her hand on his forearm.
Watching his eyes for a sign of change, she smiled at him and sighed prettily. His eyes stayed the same dark brown, solid and spine-tinglingly handsome. If she hadn’t seen the shift to red for herself, she would have never believed it. She wondered if he knew who she was. Her heart beat a little faster, thoroughly enjoying the dangerous game.
"Thank you," she murmured coyly when he had taken her out of earshot. "If I had to stand around with those stuffy scientists and doctors any longer, I was going to start screaming."
Nikandros smiled down at her, not letting her see any of his thoughts. He had overheard her comments about her father’s later work. It was good she didn’t have it for public display, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t fishing for buyers.
When Quinlan tried to pull away from him, his arm tightened on her hand.
"What about my dance?" he said in a low tone that neared upon a growl. Nikandros knew that seducing her would be the sweetest assignment he’d ever had and possibly the most disastrous for both of them. It didn’t stop him as he drew her around into his arms. Her mouth opened in surprise, as her body came near his. She could smell the strong lure of his cologne. "I would hate to make you a liar."
Quinlan watched him carefully, intrigued. His smile was all charm--very uncharacteristic of the man who had broken into Dr. Nathaniel’s laboratory to borrow a microscope, and then proceeded to jump over cliffs and onto buses with barely a scratch to show for it. She didn’t trust him. But, she was intrigued and most assuredly aroused.
His hand dropped down over her lower back as he drew her closer. His eyes dared her to pull away as his fingers settled boldly on her naked flesh--almost caressing in their possessive hold against her skin. Gradually, he brought her closer to his chest. He drew his fingers over her shoulder. A trail of fire ignited on her arm as his touch dipped to cup her hand into his. The corner of his lips lifted, unwittingly tempting her to taste him. The musicians started a new piece and Nikandros took a step back and then another, automatically joining the other couples on the floor.
"You have a beautiful home," he said lightly, easily leading her further onto the floor.
Quinlan just smiled, not answering. Her gaze moved over his shoulder and she saw the portrait of her father staring down at her. Nikandros felt her tense. He knew where her eyes went.
"Tango?" he asked.
Quinlan blinked, drawing her wide gray-green gaze back to him. Nikandros was surprised to see pain there. She quickly hid the emotion.
"Do you tango?" he inquired softly, drawing his head down near her ear. She felt the brush of his breath against her cheek.
Instead of answering, she took an aggressive move toward him, making him back up as she stalked him. He grabbed her arm, a wide smile on his face, as he swirled her around on the floor. A path cleared and couples stopped to watch. Quinlan was captured in the spell of him and didn’t notice. It was as if they were the only two in the room.
They danced. Their movements were more like a battle of wills than a seduction. But the battle was seducing, heating their blood, impassioning their bodies. Quinlan felt his hands brushing over her back, her waist, barely stroking the silk along the side of her breast. When he touched her, she felt as if he undressed her.
Nikandros’ body was firm beneath her palms. She felt the hard press of his arms and chest beneath the tuxedo he wore. In what seemed like only a second, the dance ended. The gathered crowd began to clap. Nikandros pulled her up to face him, setting her tight along his body. The silk was no match to his heat.
Quinlan blinked. Her father’s portrait was looking at them, watching, smiling down from above. Her head moved to the crowd. Henry was there, his face red with jealousy. She swallowed, artfully dipping away from her handsome dance partner. As the musicians started anew, she turned to walk away without a sound.
Nikandros started to go after her, wondering at the sudden chill he’d felt in her toward him. Surely a woman, who danced as confidently as she, did not embarrass easily at the attention of the crowd. He reminded himself that she was a recluse. Maybe she didn’t like crowds.
"Dr. Grant," said Henry, blocking his way. Nikandros watched Quinlan work through the throng, smiling politely at those she passed but not lingering. She slipped up the side stairwell. "I had no idea you were
coming tonight. The invitation was for your father."
"My father is dead," Nikandros said easily. He eyed the little man, wanting nothing more than to push past him and go after the red covered goddess. She might not beckon him with words, but her body screamed her attraction loud and clear. "We buried him a few years back. I came to pay my respects to Dr. St. James’ daughter. My father always spoke highly of the good doctor."
"I know what you’ve come for," said Henry in a low growl. Nikandros finally turned his attention away from the stairwell to study Henry fully, thinking he meant to possessively mark Quinlan as his own. To his surprise, the man said, "You’ll not get her father’s notes. They belong to the museum."
"What do you know about it?" he asked, keeping his smile light, though his eyes bore down to intimidate the little man.
"I know plenty," said Henry, not backing down. A snarl formed on his lips and he didn’t seem so much the simple little man Nikandros had easily dismissed him as. "I know that Quinlan won’t give them to you--no matter how much you try and seduce her with your charm. She is a smart woman. She won’t be swayed by charm. She might humor you, but she will not be swayed. Besides, the collection is already donated."
"Then what about money?" Nikandros asked, gauging the man. "I take it you’re her...broker?"
Henry smiled. "What I am to her, you don’t need to know."
Nikandros frowned at the obvious implication the man tried to get across. He didn’t buy for a moment that Henry Thompson was Quinlan’s lover. He’d sensed more than saw her repulsion when the man had touched her arm. Her eyes had begged him to get her away from him.
"Look around you, dear boy," said Henry, very condescending. "She doesn’t need your money. Anything she does will be done out of loyalty."
Nikandros didn’t move. His blood slowed in his veins, leaving him cold.
Henry sniffed, looking him up and down. "You will never be able to have her loyalty."
Henry turned away as someone vied for his attention, a wide grin of victory on his lips. Nikandros silently watched him, before walking out one of the side doors leading to the garden. It was worse than he thought. If Quinlan was selling the formula, then he could have easily come up with the money to buy it from her, if she wouldn’t hand it over to him willingly.
However, loyalty was something else altogether. Henry was right. She was a billionaire. Her loyalty would not be easily purchased. Besides, he sensed a great amount of pride in her. Even if she weren’t rich, she wouldn’t be easily turned from a cause she believed in.
* * * *
Quinlan’s body was on fire. The thin red silk was no match for Nikandros’ hands on her body. If anything, it had made his touch all the more erotic. She swallowed, knowing he was a distraction to her. She had a duty to her father to find out who killed him. She had a duty to herself to put an end to the whole formula mess once and for all. No one would be getting the formula. No one. Not even a handsome stranger with the body of a God and the dance moves to match.
It didn’t take Quinlan long to realize Nikandros seduced her for her father’s formula. Everyone at the party had hinted at its existence in one subtle way or another. Finding the murderer was proving harder than she first imagined. She’d just have to wait for that one person who would threaten her. She’d dangle hints of it all around until whoever burned badly enough with greed would come forward.
Nikandros would have been too young when her father died to be a big part of the conspiracy, but what of his father? Did he come to fulfill a family legacy? She would have to be very cautious of him.
The blood in her veins was still heavy with desire and the persistent throb in her stomach that only grew each passing moment until she thought she might explode. Quinlan knew she would also have to be very cautious of herself. She wanted Nikandros like she had never wanted anyone--much more than she had wanted that fumbling idiot who’d taken her virginity after her father died. She’d been on a self-destructive path of self-loathing at the time, hating her father and herself for what she had become.
But that was then, before she had discovered the true depths of her gift and her curse. Her father’s formula had made it one and the same. She was cursed to be alone, blessed to be a heroine. She’d done a lot of good in the last ten years. She’d saved lives, helped the helpless. And not once did anyone discover their helper. Her life was a complicated secret and she preferred to keep it that way.
Crossing over to her bedroom fireplace, she pushed a brick. A small door slid open and she ducked into the secret passage. Ignoring Silk’s bodysuit hanging on the wall of the small den, she walked quickly past it into a narrow hall that led out into the garden. When she emerged, she was behind a rose bush. She closed her eyes, listening, taking quick stock of her surroundings with her sensitive hearing. The closest person she could detect was fifty yards to her right.
Quinlan straightened, walking out into the moonlit garden as if she had been there all along.
"That was an interesting trick. You’ll have to show me how you did that."
She shivered. A smile came unbidden to her excited, panting lips at the sound of his voice. Turning, she watched Nikandros alight from the shadows. She hadn’t sensed him there.
Cocking her head to the side, she shot him a sultry smile and asked, "Are you stalking me, Dr. Grant?"
Chapter Four
Nikandros watched the blue moonlight play across Quinlan’s lovely features. He’d sensed more than saw her coming from the side of the home. Unable to help himself, he went to her. He tried to tell himself that it was his duty to go to her. But as he felt the burning desire in his loins, he knew that it was something else altogether that spurred him on.
"I should have you thrown out for this," Quinlan said after a long moment of impassioned silence. Sparks flew between them and they each knew it.
Instead of answering, he smiled.
"I have a feeling you are a dangerous man, Nick Grant," Quinlan said. They were hidden by the shadows of a tree from the rest of the guests. The feel of him dancing with her had not lessened and she wanted to go eagerly back into his arms.
Nikandros took the low, sultry words as an invitation to go forward.
"And you, my dear, are a mystery," he returned. His hand lifted to her cheek. Her eyes dreamily closed at his touch. There was no point denying the desire between them. It blazed on the night like stars shooting across the heavens.
"So we’re agreed?" she sighed, letting him feel her. She was too weak to protest. He had taken up too many of her thought as of late. "We don’t trust each other."
Her lips parted, begging him to taste her.
"Not in the slightest," he whispered back, leaning to claim her mouth with his. His fingers glided to her slender neck, holding her steady and light, as he felt the pulse racing beneath her flesh.
Quinlan moaned to feel him. The contact felt odd after being alone and untouched for so long. His lips were tender, persuasive, teasing. When his tongue edged forward, tasting the champagne on her lips, she gasped in excitement.
Nikandros nearly groaned to hear the soft, feminine plea. In that moment, she almost sounded helpless, vulnerable. He drew back to study her face. Her eyes were closed to him, her lips still parted.
Quinlan felt as if she was in a cloud. She wanted him to keep touching her. She wanted him to kiss her, to make love to her. His hand was so gentle against her body. His lips were so firm and commanding, yet giving. She’d felt his kiss all the way to her curling toes. Her body burned. She felt ... she felt a vibrating at her throat?
"Quinlan?" Nikandros said when she didn’t move.
"The lab," she whispered, blinking to awareness. Her hand went to her throat. Beneath the crossing of silk, the silent alarm vibrated against her skin. Someone was breaking into her father’s laboratory. Jolting into action, she began to run to a servant’s entrance to the house.
Nikandros had heard her soft whisper and moved to follow behind her as she darted away.
Quinlan ignored him, intent on finding out who was trying to steal her father’s formula.
She tore through the servant hall and through the kitchen, ignored by the robotic staff as she whipped past them. They continued working, loading trays full of champagne and wine, caviar and toast points.
With a push of a button, a stone wall moved and shifted, creating an entrance into a separate hall. Nikandros grabbed her arm as she tried to rush forward. The door shut, sealing them in the passageway. Dim red lights switched on to part the darkness.
"Quinlan, wait," he commanded. His gaze easily detected her in the darkened light. Her skin glowed eerie in the red and her gown looked as if it bled from her body. "You don’t know who--"
"I can take care of myself," she growled, jerking her arm away. With a few narrow turns, she opened the secret entrance into the laboratory.
The room was dusty, almost exactly like her father had left it all those years ago--aside from what she had moved out for the museum display. Stiffening, she stopped and listened. She felt Nikandros take up her elbow, as if he would push her behind his back to protect her. She would have laughed at the chivalry, if the situation weren’t so serious.
Quinlan knitted her brow in concentration, hearing a noise on the far side where her father’s thinking couch still sat. William had spent many hours lying on the old piece of worn furniture as he figured out scientific equations.
Suddenly, a giggling rose and a woman’s voice said, "Oh, but you’re programmed to be a quiet one, aren’t you?"
Quinlan frowned, glancing over at Nikandros. He too studied the couch.
"Now, where’s your control panel?" the woman murmured. "I know you’ve got to have one here some...oh, here it is. Let’s see...yellow and red make erection."