Calculated Risk (11 page)

His eyes radiated the same tenderness
as his voice. “You had a terrible night.”

“I certainly did,” Stevie concurred,
her mouth puckered as if to cry. “There must have been a million
kids swarming in the gymnasium. Quint, do you know what a million
sweaty kids smell like!” She shuddered again. “They screamed when
their team had the ball; the screamed when the other team had the
ball. The cheerleaders screamed all the time. Some idiot kept
blowing ‘charge!’ on his trumpet.

“At half-time the band was loud and
off-key. My hot dog was cold and the bun dotted with green mold.
I’ve got soda and mustard on my sweater and bubble gum stuck on my
–“ Her weary barrage was abruptly terminated by Quintin’s mouth.
Firm yet gentle, provocative yet soothing, his lips made a much
more pleasant finish. As if loathe to break contact entirely, he
rested his forehead against hers. “You weren’t supposed to be the
one getting the short end of the deal.”

“Speaking of ends, mine is awfully
cold.”

Quintin laughed. “Okay, okay, that
should be long enough.” He tossed what was left of the ice cube
into the sink. “Have I told you how much I missed not seeing you
these past three days?”

Stevie twisted around to watch him
rummage in the cutlery drawer. The red plain flannel shirt
emphasized his muscular physique, the navy cords his slim hips. She
had heard many times that silly line about a heart turning over but
never understood what it meant until right now. And until right
now, she had never wanted to see a man naked as much as she wanted
to see him. “How much did you miss me?” Her voice was low and
seductive.

His expression was serious; his eyes
focused steadily on her. “Even more than I thought now that I’m
near you.” Quintin scrutinized her features; the softly flushed
cheeks could not hide the dullness in her hazel eyes. “You are
working too damn hard.” He brandished the butter knife in a warning
gesture.

“It’s been a long week and for me it’s
still not over.” She could feel the dull blade scrape her pants.
“I’ve got three prospective clients doing demos tomorrow, and I’m
having a Sunday brunch meeting with those LA people I told you
about.”

The gum-coated knife was tossed on the
counter. “Your end is as good as new,” Quintin announced, giving
her derriere a pat. He moved behind her; his arms wrapped around
her waist; his body molded itself across her still-bent form. “Can
you possibly fit me into your busy schedule…” His warm breath
tickled her ear. “…say, lunch on Monday.”

“As long as you don’t take me anyplace
that serves health food or cold hot dogs or has noisy video
games.”

“Soft music, candle lanterns, and
Chinese,” came his husky promise. “A lunch for mature audiences
only.” He rubbed his cheek against the red-gold wealth of her hair;
the mysterious nuance of her perfume again held him
captive.

“Hmmm. That sounds heavenly. “I’ll be
ready at twelve-thirty.” When Stevie attempted to turn more fully
into his arms, a sharp cramp stabbed into her back. “Ohhh, Quint,
if you pick me up in a small car, I’ll cheerfully kill
you.”

Competent masculine hands moved over
her shoulder blades and down her spine, massaging and kneading the
tight muscles. His mouth made gentle contact with hers, rubbing and
lifting and nibbling the berry-stained softness. But he found his
efforts totally one-sided. “Are you trying to tell me that my
inherent charm is failing to alleviate your pain and
suffering?”

“Yes.” Stevie’s forehead fell against
his shoulder. “I am too pooped to pucker.” She smiled at the rumble
of laughter that reverberated in his chest.

“Go soak in a hot tub,” came his soft
directive. “I’ll recork the wine for another night and lock the
door on my way out.”

She pressed a kiss into the hollow of
his throat. “Quintin Ward, you are a wonderfully understanding
man.”

He lifted her chin, his eyes darkening
under tempered emotions. “That’s because you, Stephanie Brandt, are
such a rare find.”

Chapter 6

Quintin decided to prolong the moment.
He lagged farther and farther behind Stevie and the white-jacketed
waiter who was leading them to a private corner booth. Once her
coat had been checked, he was able to savor the soft architecture
of sapphire-blue silk that flowed and defined her womanly
contours.

Morning, noon and especially at night,
he found his imagination captured by her. Just thinking about
Stevie enlivened an otherwise dull day. He discovered how easy it
was for his mind to recall visual souvenirs of their evenings
together.

His ears rang with the echo of her
smoky voice and low, vibrant laugh; his eyes quickly imaged the
rich molten fire that was her hair; his nose remembered the potent
scent of her perfume that had, from their first meeting, seared his
senses. His tongue suddenly circled dry lips, but he found it was
her he tasted. He had given up trying to control his hardening
response to her.

Stephanie Brandt reminded him of a
diamond: her many facets attracted and tantalized. Quintin quickly
realized that he wanted full possession of this woman. In so short
a time, she had succeeded in filling a void in his life that he had
thought would always remain empty. He had been involved with a few
women over the years and they had been wonderful. But nothing had
been for the long term. But long term is what he wanted
now.

“What a charming place!” Stevie smiled
at Quintin, sliding across the red leather banquette seat. “How did
you ever find it?”

“I did the remodeling,” he explained.
“While it was a restaurant in its previous life, it needed to be
gutted and totally rebuilt, especially to the new
codes.”

“Well, it’s fabulous.” Her gaze toured
the Ming Terrace. The restaurant’s black grass-cloth walls were
decorated with delicate silk fabric paintings, brass object d’art,
and rice paper fans. Tables were strategically arranged for cozy
tete-a-tetes, and booths like theirs were cloaked in red-curtained
intimacy. The atmosphere was mysterious, secretive, and decidedly
erotic. Stevie felt unfamiliar warmth steal over her face and
quickly shielded her blushing features behind the monstrous
menu.

Dithering
. Her subconscious fairly
screamed the accusation
If you were here
with a client, you would be grumbling at the lack of adequate
lighting and the overdone décor. But you’ve been a nervous,
indecisive creature since you rolled out of bed.

Column A merged with Column B and
blurred into Column C. Stevie furiously tried to blink more than
the menu into focus. She was president of a company, for heaven’s
sake, a brisk, bright, down-to-earth overachiever. She had never
dithered over anything or anyone in her thirty years – not even
Paul, the man she was once engaged to marry.

She took a quick peek around the menu
and breathed a sigh of relief upon noting that her companion was
diligently perusing three pages of delectable Chinese entrees.
Quintin Ward. He was the man causing all the silliness.

Wasn’t she going home tonight to a bed
covered by seventy-five percent of her closet? That morning she had
tried on every suit, skirt and blouse combination and every dress
she owned just to find something that was just…just…just so. Her
fingers fluffed out the full sleeves that were anchored at her
elbows with wide buttoned cuffs before moving to straighten the
braided strands of silver and lapis chains that highlighted the
dress’s bateau neckline.

She frowned at her fingernails, still
not liking the bisque-colored polish. Of course, she’d only painted
them six different times last night. Her cuticles would never be
the same1

Crossing her long legs, Stevie
fleetingly wondered what Quintin thought about her final choices.
She had drifted out of her house on a heavier cloud of perfume than
usual because he had mentioned it registered on his personal
Richter scale. And her dress – wasn’t blue supposed to be a man’s
favorite color? Maybe her eye shadow was too soft and her lipstick
too bright. Were the matching earrings too much with the
necklace?

Stevie choked down a semi-hysterical
laugh. Clothes, makeup, jewelry, perfume – these items had never
concerned her to such a degree before. She had always been
self-conscious about her height and her figure, which despite
regular exercise tended to be more ample than the fashion pages
dictated.

And yet, since knowing him, she felt
more confident of her femininity, more comfortable with her body
and more relaxed with herself. How different a person she had
become. Her tawny brows puckered in thought. But had she really
changed?

Her level of competence at the office
was not affected. As, a matter of fact, her energy level seemed at
an all-time high. She felt revitalized and stimulated; decisions
came more easily and quickly. She was still saying yes and no; she
was still forceful and assertive.

In thinking about her appearance,
Stevie realized that she had selected that particular dress because
that shade of blue was her favorite color and the style suited her.
She had worn the same perfume for the last ten years and her
jewelry wasn’t new. Manicured or not, her hands still operated the
self-service gas pump, took out the garbage and shoveled
snow.

Still, Stevie acknowledged that a
metamorphosis had occurred in those intangible areas that made up
her feminine fiber. An elusive magic revived feelings that she had
thought dead. And the sorcerer who made the magic was Quintin
Ward.

The waiter cleared his throat three
times before either of them noticed. “Stevie?” Quintin’s knee
nudged hers beneath the table. “Have you decided?”

She smiled at both men. “What is your
chef’s specialty?” Stevie inquired, and sat blinking in
bewilderment as a singsong list was issued.

“We’ll have the luncheon for two.”
Quintin took command and plucked the menu out of her hand to give
to the waiter. “Tea, now, please.” His head bowed the diminutive
man away.

“What is it you’ve ordered?” Her voice
was a whisper, but the closed curtain that cocooned their booth
seemed to demand low tones.

“I haven’t the vaguest idea. But as
long as it’s cooked and doesn’t have sprouts, I figure we’ll both
be happy.”

She made an elaborate display of
shaking out the white linen napkin. “I trust you.”

“Do you?”

Hazel eyes never faltered in their
direct gaze. “Yes.”

His hand sought hers; the tips of his
fingers delineated each slender, polished digit. “Is your work
schedule any easier this week?”

“No.” Auburn tresses swished against
her neck. “But so far this weekend is clear. Next Saturday I take
the ten a.m. flight to Los Angeles for the music award
ceremonies.”

“Do you mind all the traveling?” His
thumb continued to stroke her wrist. Beneath the table, his knee
once again sought contact with hers. Quintin found himself cursing
the navy suit material that imprisoned his legs when he so craved
the sensual smoothness only her sleek limbs could offer.

Stevie wondered if he could feel how
rapidly her pulse was beating. The prickliest sensations were
dancing up her arm, swirling warmly around her breasts, and snaking
ever so hotly lower. “I’m…I’m like a little kid on an airplane,”
she confessed, her voice an octave below normal. “I watch the
movies, listen to the radio channel, always get the window seat and
I even like the pretzels and food,” she said and laughed. “But
Nashville is hosting more award shows, so sometimes I only travel
as far as the Opry.”

“Tell me more about what you do.” He
wanted to educated himself on every facet of her life – it was
essential for his own well-being.

Her expression registered both surprise
and pleasure at his demand. “Well, the music industry could be
compared to the stock market,” she explained. “Sometimes bullish,
sometimes bearish. Right now, it’s hurting financially. Recording
companies are axing artists and employees by the dozen, and the
pirating problem has plundered sales. We always seem to have
industry meetings about it but --.

“Consumers have tightened their purse
strings, and impulse buying is less frequent despite instant
downloads. Even video game sales that had given us a boost are
stagnant. I’ve been aggressively exploiting music videos for my
clients and, of course, radio and concert tours.”

Stevie warmed to her subject with
natural enthusiasm. “It’s quite a challenge, Quint, to develop an
artist and work on his performance image. We book as many TV
appearances as we can, set up the tours, create promotional videos
and make sure the artists, especially the younger ones, know what
to say and when to say it.”

His eyes held even more respect. “You
certainly have more than the usual business responsibilities. How
do you manage?”

“In the beginning, I felt totally
disoriented and terrified,” came her ready admission. “When my
father retired and I took over, the obstacles – both personal and
professional – kept mounting. But I was determined not to give up,
so I kept swinging.” Her lips curved in an easy smile. “Slowly the
outlook began to improve. Clients and employees began to trust my
judgment and decisions. Those who couldn’t or wouldn’t were
replaced by those who could. And now Brandt Associates is sailing
on calmer waters and –“