A Mighty Quinn Seduction (The Mighty Quinns) (5 page)

“I’m not.”

“If you don’t think I should go, I can go back to your flat.”

“I want you there,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Don’t you remember? I asked you to come with me.”

“I’m a little nervous,” Claire said. “I usually don’t make a very good first impression. I have a habit of sticking my foot into my mouth, so I think we need to work out some kind of sign. In case I start talking about something inappropriate?” She glanced over at him and gave him a weak smile. “Maybe you could...tug on your ear or clear your throat?”

“I’ll do both,” he said. “Not that I expect you’ll need it. Just be yourself, Claire. That’s the person I love and everyone else will love you, too.”

They fell silent again and Ian groaned inwardly. Had he just told her that he loved her? Or was he just being kind to soothe her nerves? The words had come out of his mouth but he’d assumed that when he finally admitted his love, the occasion would have warranted more attention. It seemed to just slip by unnoticed.

“You really do look lovely,” Ian said, trying to cover the uncomfortable silence with another compliment.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “You look very dashing as well.”

Ian cursed beneath his breath. You didn’t get a second chance at history. Once it happened, it was over. And the very first time he admitted that he loved a woman would always be remembered as an offhand comment and not a reflection of the depth of his feelings.

Oh, bollocks, Ian thought. Who said he couldn’t rewrite history? He could sure as hell try. He’d make this weekend in London the most romantic weekend of her life, a weekend she’d never forget.

5

“S
HE
HATES
ME
.
Don’t bother to deny it, she hates me.”

Claire paced nervously back and forth on the thick Oriental carpet, her fingers twisted together into a knot of nerves. Ian watched her silently and she spun to face him.

The Stephens’ anniversary party was being held at a posh London hotel. The reception rooms they’d booked overlooked the Thames and were furnished with elegant Queen

Anne and Chippendale reproductions. All the guests were sipping champagne and nibbling on tiny hors d’oeuvres and asking her the same questions over and over again.

“You promised you’d tell me the truth,” Claire said. “I’m right, aren’t I?

“It doesn’t make any difference, Claire. I don’t care what my mother thinks of you. Or my father for that matter. Though he seems to like you.”

She froze, then pointed her finger at him. “There. You just admitted it. She doesn’t like me. What did she say? You can tell me. I won’t get angry.”

“But it will upset you,” Ian said.

“Maybe we should go back inside. I can do better. I know the whole conversation about blaming the English for the potato famine might not have been the best approach, but it was just a joke about those little potatoes that they were serving for hors d’oeuvres. Who puts caviar in a potato? I didn’t mean to make a political statement.”

“I think it would probably be best if we just called it a night,” he suggested.

Claire took a ragged breath, then allowed the sense of defeat to sink in. Did she really expect that a woman like Ian’s mother, would just welcome her with open arms? Harriet Stephens was brilliant and sophisticated and not afraid to show her displeasure at her son’s choices.

The fact that Claire was the child of two actors was more than enough to discount her as a potential mate for Ian. But then there was Claire’s hair—too spiky—and her dress—too tight—and her profession—too common. The closest Mrs. Stephens came to a compliment was her admission that Claire had a healthy appetite. But now that Claire had had time to reconsider the statement, she realized that it had probably be meant as an insult.

“Maybe we should go,” Claire murmured.

“Yes,” Ian said. “I’ll just go get your coat.”

Claire watched him leave the room, then sank down into a leather wing chair. She closed her eyes and tried to control the tears that threatened. Why was she getting so upset? She’d never cared what anyone thought of her. Why had that all changed?

The truth was, Ian’s mother was haughty, condescending witch. But Claire cared about Ian and she wanted his mother to see her as something more than just the crazy girl with the funny haircut and odd clothes. For once, she just wanted people to see her as...ordinary.

“Hello. I thought I’d find Ian in here.”

Claire opened her eyes and sat up. Harriet Stephens stood in the doorway of the elegant room, dressed in her Chanel suit, her hair perfectly coiffed. “He just left to get my coat,” Claire said.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes. We had a long trip today and I’m pretty knackered...tired. Exhausted. I’m exhausted.”

“Ian can’t possibly leave,” Harriet said. “We have guests. He has his place here.”

“Of course,” Claire said, getting to her feet. “I’m just going to leave now and when you see Ian, you can let him know that I’ll meet him back at his flat.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure that would be best.”

Claire picked up her clutch, then walked over to Harriet and held out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Stephens. I hope you have a lovely evening. And congratulations on your anniversary. Forty years is quite an accomplishment.”

Harriet gave Claire’s hand a dismissive shake then turned her gaze away in a silent dismissal. Claire hurried to the door, but then stopped and turned back to Ian’s mother. “Just so you know, I don’t care if you don’t like me. All that really matters is that Ian does.”

With that, Claire hurried through the hallway to the elevator. She punched the button and waited for the doors to open, hoping she could make her escape before Ian noticed she was gone. But a few seconds later, he came bounding out into the lobby, her coat thrown over his arm.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?”

She took her coat. “I have a headache so I’m going to go back to your flat and go to bed, but I think you should stay here and enjoy the party with your parents.”

“No. I’ll go home with you.”

“But I don’t want you to,” Claire said, trying to keep her emotions in check. “You need to be there for them.”

“I don’t care about his party. And I don’t what my mother thinks of you. I love you and that’s all that matters.”

She looked at him and then shook her head. “No, you don’t,” Claire murmured. “You do not love me.”

“I do,” Ian said.

He reached for her hand but Claire evaded his grasp. “I don’t want you to love me. In fact, I don’t want this at all. Just go back into the party, Ian. That’s where you belong.”

The elevator door opened and Claire quickly stepped inside but when Ian made to follow her, she held out her hand. “Just let me go. I’ll be fine.”

The door closed in front of her and she watched his expression turn from confusion to frustration. She brushed an errant tear from her check and watched as the lights for each floor flashed above the door. When she stepped off, she headed directly for the front doors, then asked a uniformed doorman to get her a cab.

A few moments later a black cab pulled up to the curb and the doorman opened the door for her. She crawled inside, shivering against the damp wind that blew off the Thames. Claire gave the driver Ian’s address and then sank back into the seat. Now, alone with her thoughts, the tears began to flow. A sob tore from her throat and she covered her face with her hands.

She would not give in to this. He wasn’t worth it. And she didn’t want him to love her. This had always been a casual relationship and though she’d had her silly fantasies about the future, she’d always held something back, knowing this day would come. She’d survive quite handily and in another few months, her affair with Ian would be nothing more than a pleasant memory.

“Are you all right, Miss?” the driver asked, peering into the rearview mirror.

“Oh, I’ll be just grand,” Claire said.

* * *

H
IS
FLAT
WAS
dark when Ian arrived home a few hours later. He knew Claire well enough to allow her time to reflect on her behavior and he suspected she’d be apologetic and ready to put the disagreement behind them.

“Claire?” he called, tossing his keys on the table. He wandered into the bedroom and found her, still dressed and curled up asleep on the bed. The light on the bedside table cast a soft glow over her pretty features and he drew a deep breath, relieved that she’d decided to stay.

Ian shrugged out of his jacket and kicked off his shoes, then laid down beside her, gathering her into his arms. Claire opened her eyes and looked at him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know,” Ian replied. He reached up and smoothed the hair out of her eyes.

“How do you know?” Claire asked.

“I just know,” he said. “I know you. I know that you sometimes get scared of what’s happening between us and your first instinct is to run away. I suspect you think I’m going to be another Simon.”

“No, I—”

“Be assured, if you run away, I’m always going to come after you.”

“Always?”

Ian nodded. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. In fact, you’re not going to get rid of me at all. I’m here for the future and beyond.”

“Nothing I do is going to chase you off?”

“No. I’m sure you’ll try, Claire, but it won’t work.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just be who you are and everything will fall into place.” He bent near and pressed a kiss to her lips. He wasn’t going to tell her that he loved her. If she wasn’t aware of his feelings by now, then saying it out loud wasn’t going to help matters.

Claire rolled over him and climbed off the bed, then pulled him to his feet. Slowly, she undressed him, removing each piece of his clothing—his tie, his shirt, his belt, item by item they dropped to the floor until he stood in front of her, naked.

He stood silently as she traced a line of kisses across his chest. The feel of her soft lips on his skin sent a wave of pleasure coursing through her body and he reached out and slipped his fingers through her silken hair.

When she moved lower, Ian held his breath, and as she took his hard shaft into the warmth of her mouth, he wondered if he’d be able to remain upright.

She done this to him before, but the intensity of his response this time was almost too much to bear. The deeper the emotions ran between them, the more sex seemed to take on a different feeling. It wasn’t just about pleasure and release. It had become a way for them to communicate, to reassure each other that no matter what happened between them in the real world, they would always come back to this—the pure and simple passion between them.

She brought him close several times and when they finally fell back into his bed together, Ian was aching for release. But he took his own time removing her clothes and when she lay naked, he returned the favor, seducing her with his tongue and his lips. She writhed beneath the assault, tugging at his hair, pushing him away then drawing him close again. And when she was finally gasping and ready, Ian settled himself between her thighs and slowly entered her.

There was nothing in the world that matched the sensation of burying himself in the warmth of her body. Every time it happened it was like a revelation. This was what he’d been searching for his whole life, without even knowing it. It was a perfect connection, a mix of desire and emotion that made it impossible to ever get enough. She’d captured his heart and soul and Ian didn’t care. He was happy to exist as her prisoner for the rest of his life.

He moved inside her, his lips searching out hers until they lost themselves in a desperate kiss. They had both been taken to the limits of their control and the moment her felt her body spasm, Ian let go, joining her in a mutual orgasm that was stunningly powerful.

It lasted much longer than usual and when they were both spent, he pressed his face into the curve of her neck, gasping to regain his breath. Everything he’d ever wanted in life was here in this bed and he’d do anything necessary to keep it.

“Now, I know,” he murmured.

“What?”

“I never could understand how Henry could risk his kingdom for Anne Boleyn. Or why Edward gave it all up for Wallis Simpson. It was for this.”

“A naked woman in bed?” she asked.

“This feeling of utter contentment. As if nothing in the world can defeat me. It’s like a drug I can’t do without.”

“So if I ask you to go out and battle the Huns and the Vikings and the Spartans to get me something to eat, you’ll do it?”

Ian looked down at her and smiled. “What is your wish, my queen? How can I be of service?”

* * *

T
HEY
SPENT
THE
next week immersed in work for the film. Claire understood how fiercely protective Ian was toward his employer. She was the sweetest and kindest woman Claire had ever met and when Claire had told her of her dreams of becoming a novelist, Aileen had given her all sorts of encouragement.

Ian had broached the subject of the orphanage with Aileen, but she had brushed him off, quickly changing the subject. From what Claire understood, Marlie had taken the same position as Ian had—that if Aileen had wanted to talk about that part of her youth, she would have mentioned it in her biography.

Claire stared down at the photos she’d spread over the floor of her flat. She’d spent hours gathering visuals that might never appear in the film, but then, not all had been lost. It had given her more time with Ian...not that they really needed the excuse to spend time together anymore.

They were in a relationship, that much was clear to them both. Though they hadn’t made a formal commitment to each other, it was assumed they were exclusive and not open to dating others. But the thought of actually calling it a relationship frightened her.

“I don’t do relationships,” she muttered, reaching for a photo. “Or I don’t do them well.”

A knock sounded on the door of her flat and she glanced over and watched as Ian let himself in with the key she’d provided. They’d fallen into a routine of sorts. He’d spend the day with Aileen and then meet her back at her flat after her work day was done. They’d have dinner and spend the rest of the evening together.

Sometimes they went out, but usually they passed their evening curled up naked in each other’s arms, making love and talking and making love again until they both fell asleep. In the morning, he’d head off for his work with Aileen and she’d leave for school. In the late afternoon, it would begin again.

“I found some more photos of the Good Shepherd Orphanage,” Claire said as he closed the door behind him.

“Where?”

“In an online archive. We’re going to need to go to Cork and see if they have anymore that aren’t posted online, but I think these should be good.”

He tossed his things on the table and walked over to her, sitting down on the sofa behind her and peering over her shoulder. “Have you shown them to Dex yet?”

“I’m going to give them to him tomorrow. I know you and Marlie are against this, but from everything I’ve seen, Aileen is a very strong woman. If she doesn’t want to talk about the orphanage, she’ll come right out and say it.”

“She mentioned something about it today. I get the feeling that she realizes we know.” He held out a photo. “This is a good one.”

“It is.”

He tossed the photo back on the floor and leaned back into the sofa, covering his face with his hands. Claire twisted around to face him. Something was wrong. He usually came in so happy to see her, so anxious to have the rest of the day to spent together.

She crawled up on the sofa and tucked her feet beneath her. “Hard day?”