Bailey's Irish Dream (3 page)

Quinn stuck a paper umbrella and two maraschino cherries in the glass and set it in front of her.  She looked like a two-cherries kind of woman.  “I should warn you Pete’s wife can be a real hellcat at times.  I know he isn’t much to look at, but Marilyn adores the man.”

Joy bubbled in her laugh and shone in her eyes.  “I can see why.  He’s a sweetheart.  But I’m not interested in Pete posing as my fiancé.”

Leaning his elbows on the bar, he said, “You’re not?”

Shaking her head slightly, she sucked daintily from the straw and swallowed.  Her eyes grew wide and her lips puckered.  She shoved the glass a few inches away and asked, “What’s in there?”

“Three kinds of rum, triple sec, and fruit juice.  Give you a jolt, did it?”

Clearing her throat, she said, “Yes, you could say that.”   

“You want me to make you something else?” he asked, reaching for the glass to take it away.

Staying him with her hand, she said, “No.  It’s good.  Really.”  Holding back a grin, Quinn watched as she pulled the drink toward her and took another taste.  “Mmmm.”  She wasn’t a very good liar, he thought, noticing her eyes water.

“So, if you’re not interested in Pete posing as your fiancé what did you come in here to talk to me about?”

“Well,” she said quietly.  “I’m
not
interested in Pete, but I
am
interested in you.”

Quinn nearly fell backwards.  “Look, lady,” he said, squaring his shoulders.  “I’m not interested in playing any of your games.”

She took another drink, swallowed, and licked her lips provocatively.  “Not even for one hundred thousand dollars?”  Picking up a cherry by the stem, she stuck the fruit in her mouth and gently bit down, making Quinn’s mouth water.  Those coral lips had him thinking naughty thoughts about her.  Dropping his gaze from her mouth to the low-cut bodice of her dress, he eyed her cleavage appreciatively.

  What the hell was he doing?   Now he knew the reason for the seductive dress; she’d worn it deliberately to catch him off guard.  What the hell did she take him for?  Some kind of fool?

Shaking his head in disgust, he said, “You’re right, I think you’re crazy.  Why don’t you finish your drink, and get on your way?  It’s still early.  Maybe you can go hustle some other poor sap before the night’s over.” 

Looking offended by his accusation, she tugged at the skirt of her short dress as if she were trying to hide her legs.  “I’m not trying to hustle you, Mr. Quinn.  But it so happens that I spoke with Gwen a little while ago, and she told me about your . . .  financial problems.”

“My finances are none of your damn business!”  Quinn clenched his hands into fists, feeling angered and humiliated.  Weren’t realtors supposed to live by a code of ethics?  Like doctors and lawyers?  Gwen had no business shooting off her big mouth.

Ignoring his temper, the lady grabbed her purse from the bar.  “As a good faith gesture I brought a check for ten thousand dollars.”  Taking the check from her purse, she slid it in front of him.  “Take it.”

Refusing to look at the check, Quinn narrowed his eyes at her.  Ten thousand dollars wouldn’t make a dent in his mound of bills.  But one hundred thousand dollars--What the hell was he thinking?  He couldn’t take her money.  “Look, this whole idea is ridiculous.  For chrissakes, you’re a grown woman.  Tell your parents to butt out of your business.”

“Do you have a mother?”

“What?”
he asked, feeling confused.  “Of course I have a mother.”
“Would you tell
your
mother to butt out of your business?”

She had a point.  His mother was one tough old bird.  “The point is--”

“The point is,”
she said, interrupting him.  “I can’t tell my mother to butt out.  All my mother has ever wanted is to see my sister and me get married and have babies.  It’s all she’s ever talked about.  And Kaitlyn, my sister, has the most wonderful husband and three beautiful children, and
I
can’t even get a guy to show up at the altar.”  Her eyes filled with moisture as she lowered her head to take another sip from her drink. 

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“You have plenty of time to get married and have babies.  You need to enjoy your single years a while longer.”  Quinn crossed his arms in front of him and rested a hip against the counter.  He was thirty-four, and had no intentions of getting married any time soon. 

Although he’d come close, once.  He’d even gone as far as moving in with Lisa.  But it hadn’t taken him long to realize that the only thing they’d had going for them was great sex.  Especially after Lisa had informed him that she expected him to sign a pre-nup. 

Quinn hadn’t been interested in her money; he’d been more interested in her body.  And that was a sad excuse to marry someone.  That was two years ago.  These days he was more selective about his dates.  Not that he’d had more than a handful since then. 

In fact, until he cleared up his financial nightmare, he had no intention of dating; not that there’d been any decent prospects lately.  He supposed it was one of the reasons he’d hired Sean as the manager.  Running the bar left him very little time for his personal life.   

“Well, I haven’t been enjoying them,” she insisted.  “The pressure of marriage constantly takes the fun out of dating for pleasure.  Let me tell you, it hasn’t been a picnic the last few years.”  Tossing the straw aside, she lifted the glass to her lips and took several swallows. 

“But, what do
you
want, Bailey?” he asked softly, testing her name.  “Do you want marriage and babies?”

“I used to think that’s all I wanted, but maybe what I really wanted was to please my mother.”  Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know anymore.  I’ve thought about a career.”  She frowned.  “My mother doesn’t believe a woman can have a successful marriage
and
a career.”  She drained the rest of her glass, picked up the second cherry and tore it from the stem with her front teeth.  “But I have an idea I’d like to try.”

Quinn scowled.  Bailey’s mother sounded like a brainless control freak.  “Well, I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” she said, her eyes brightening.  “I’ve thought it all through.  All you have to do is come to my place for dinner tomorrow night and act like a complete jerk.  Before the night is over, my parents will be begging me to call off the wedding.” 

She made it sound so simple.  Act like a jerk for a few hours, then walk away with a huge check. 
Quinn, don’t even go there
, he admonished himself.

“Can I have another drink?” she asked, her eyes slightly glazed.  Quinn wasn’t sure she could handle another one, but he made it just the same. 

He set the drink in front of her and watched as she attacked it.  Slurping from the straw, Bailey grinned up at him. 

“You might want to take it easy.  That’s pretty potent stuff.”

“I know.  My legs are already turning numb.”  With her index finger, she poked at her thighs as if to test them. 

“I can call you a cab when you’re finished.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, giggling and waving her arm.  Picking up the paper umbrella, she stuck it behind her ear and grinned again, her straight white teeth flashing brightly.  The lady was drunk. Great.

Quinn continued to watch with interest while she worked on her drink.  With smoldering eyes, she said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Uh, oh.
  “Definitely,” he said.

Looking delighted with his answer, she asked, “Then why is it that my fiancés keep running off?”

Cocking his head, he studied her intently.  He’d told the truth.  She
was
pretty.  And she obviously had more money than she knew what to do with.  “I have no idea,” he said.  “Maybe you should ask them.”

“Oh, who cares what they think.”  She waved a hand and nearly toppled off the stool. 

Quinn’s hand shot out to steady her.  “You okay?”

Bringing a hand to her flushed cheek, she shook her head and said, “I don’t feel so well all of a sudden.” 

“Hang on.”  Quinn came around the other side of the bar.  “Grab on to me,” he said.  Her slim fingers clutched at his upper arm as he helped her from the seat.  “Are you going to be sick?” 

“No, I’m just a little woozy.  Is there somewhere I could lie down for a minute?”

Lifting her into his arms, Quinn said, “I’m afraid not.”  But he’d spoken to deaf ears because the lady had passed out, her head resting against his chest, her slender, willowy limbs draped loosely over his arms.  “Stick a fork in her,” he said.  “She’s done.”

Feeling helpless, he stood frozen in place.  He had three choices.  He could call a cab for her, but he wouldn’t feel right dumping her into the back of a taxi and trusting the driver to get her home safely.  No telling what might happen.

He could drive her home himself, except he had no idea where she lived.  Although her address would be on her driver’s license, he thought, eyeing the little white purse.  Maneuvering her body so he could open the handbag, he searched for her license but didn’t find it.  Just a lipstick and a set of keys.  “It figures.”

Or he could take her upstairs to his apartment and let her sleep it off.  “Great.  Just great,” he mumbled, heading for the back stairway.

* * * * * * * * * *

Bailey pulled the cool cotton sheet up to her chin and rolled over, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on.  She couldn’t believe she’d actually had the nerve to ask Quinn to pose as her fiancé.  She’d behaved so poorly last night in Gwen’s ridiculous too short and too tight dress, the man had actually thought she was trying to hustle him.  And if that weren’t bad enough, she’d gotten plowed too.  How embarrassing.  She couldn’t even remember driving home. 
Uh, oh
, that’s because she hadn’t driven home. 

Her eyes flew open and she jolted upright, thankful she and her dress hadn’t parted ways during the night.  Her shoes and purse sat on a stool in front of the breakfast bar in the sparsely furnished room.  Bright rays of sunshine fought their way between the cracks in the blinds at the single window, the narrow strips of light decorating the hardwood floor.

Quinn lay sprawled in the leather recliner at the foot of the sofa bed, looking extremely uncomfortable.  His head rested on his shoulder while he snored softly.  Regarding him with somber curiosity, Bailey noticed he wore gray sweat pants and nothing more.  Crisp, dark hair covered his broad muscular chest, and the shadow of his beard gave him an even more manly aura.       

The throbbing pain behind Bailey’s eyes served to remind her again of what a fool she’d made of herself last night, but she’d worry about that later.  Right now, she wanted nothing more than to get out of there.  Quietly, she slipped from the bed and tip-toed past Quinn. 

“Going somewhere?” he asked, startling her. 

“Oh, yes,” she said, turning to face him.  “If I could have my check back I’ll get out of your hair.”  His dark, unruly hair stuck out at odd angles, and she had the strangest desire to brush it into place. 

“What if I told you I’d planned to keep it?”  He looked her over slowly, seductively.  She tried to throttle the dizzying current racing through her.  Surely it was the leftover alcohol, and not his gaze that made her feel that way. 

Smoothing her hands over the skirt of her wrinkled dress, she said, “I explained to you last night that the check was an act of good faith.  Since you’re not interested in my offer, I expect you to give it back.”

Pushing himself to a standing position, he loomed over her.  At five-three, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders.  “How’s your head?” he asked.

Tilting her head back, she looked him squarely in the eye.  “It hurts, so if I could just get that check.”

His expression stilled and grew serious.  “I’ll accept your offer.”

She hesitated, blinking with bafflement.  “But I thought--”

“Do you want my help, or not?”

Her voice rose in surprise.  “Yes, of course I do.  I
think
.  I mean--”

“You want coffee?” he asked, cutting her off as he headed toward the small galley kitchen.  His profile was rugged, somber.

“Yes, thank you.”  A ripple of excitement ran through her, making her feel giddy.  “What changed your mind?”

“Hell if I know,” he said, removing the plastic lid from the coffee can.  “Maybe watching you sleep.  You looked so innocent, helpless.”

Bailey swallowed. 
He’d watched her sleep
.  Forcing a smile, she said, “Well, whatever your reason, thank you.”  She licked her dry lips and ran a hand through her tangled hair, almost afraid of what she must look like this morning.  She felt something in the mass of knots and managed to dislodge it with her fingers. 

The paper umbrella.  How embarrassing!  As inconspicuously as possible she stuck the toothpick end of the umbrella in the dirt of a potted plant sitting on the bar.

“You can keep that as a souvenir if you’d like.”

The man didn’t miss a trick, she thought.    

“About the money . . .  Gwen and I were sort of discussing it, and she thinks I’m being way too generous, and frankly, so do I.”

He shrugged carelessly.  “A deal’s a deal.  You can’t renege now.”

“Yes, but I feel you’re taking advantage of me, Mr. Quinn.  One hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money for one night’s work.  And besides, we were only speaking hypothetically.  Remember?”

His features held a strong sensuality as his eyes raked over her.  “Honey, if I’d wanted to take advantage of you, I would have done so last night while you were passed out in my bed.”

Bailey swallowed nervously.  He had a point.  “Yes, but still--”

“Do you have any other prospects?” he asked, challenging her.  “I suppose you could always ask Pete.  He might be willing to lower his standards and take a cut in pay.  But not me.  I’ve got my pride, you know?”  His smile was wide, his teeth strikingly white against his tanned face.

And he was suddenly grating on her nerves.  “Do you have any aspirin?”

Opening a cupboard above the stove, Quinn grabbed a bottle of aspirin and tossed it to her.  “Nice catch,” he said.  He set a quart of tomato juice and a glass on the counter.  “Great stuff for a hangover.” 

Bailey shook two aspirin from the bottle then filled the glass with juice.  “I’m not hung over.  I only had two drinks.”