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?I guess it’s going to be a long evening.’
‘Longer than you think,’ Quinn said with a sigh. ‘If you think the music’s a bore, wait until you meet good old Jack.’ He smiled as he led her into the Hall. ‘But I guess I can put up with him for one night. Let’s hope he plans on placing the biggest order the company’s ever had.’
What ‘good old Jack’ planned on, Paige thought grimly later that evening, was making a quick move on her. When she and Quinn took their seats, protocol placed Quinn beside Mrs Ward and Paige beside the woman’s husband. There had been some swift introductions—Ward himself was a tall man with a handsome face and a shock of thick, fair hair. His wife had a sweet expression and sad eyes. It was all there was time to notice before the music began again.
At first, Paige thought it was her imagination when Jack Ward’s hand brushed her thigh. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Of course it had been her imagination. His face, set in rapt concentration, was turned to the orchestra. Five minutes later, his programme fell to the floor. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered as he reached for it. This time, his hand brushed Paige’s breast. ‘Sorry,’ he said again.
By the time the concert ended, there were half a dozen more ‘sorries’, and Paige hadn’t believed one of them. No one could have that many ‘accidents’. Ward’s foot touched hers, his leg brushed hers, and when they piled into a taxi on their way to a supper club, his thigh rubbed her thigh.
And there was nothing she could do about it. His actions were too swift and subtle. She’d met men like Ward before, and she knew how the game worked. If she said something, told him to keep his hands to himself, he’d deny having done anything. The only loser would be Quinn. Ward would certainly never do business with his company after she’d made a scene.
Mrs Ward wouldn’t gain anything, either. Paige’s heart went out to the woman. No wonder she had such sad eyes—she knew exactly what her husband was doing; she’d probably lived through this kind of embarrassment before. She kept casting apologetic looks at Paige, as if to tell her she was sorry. Calling Jack in on his nasty little game would only heap further humiliation on the poor woman’s head.
She wondered what Quinn would do if he knew what was happening. Flatten Ward’s nose, perhaps. The thought gave her a certain amount of satisfaction. When they were alone later, she’d tell Quinn that Ward wasn’t only a bore, he was a boor. Perhaps she’d offer to make some tea when they got back to the house. Better yet, Quinn might suggest a brandy as he had last night. ‘Yes,’ she’d say, and let the magic of All Hallows’ Eve reclaim them.
She looked up. Quinn was watching her; she could feel the heat of his gaze. Beneath the table, Ward was moving his foot against hers in a steady rhythm, but she was unaware of it. She was conscious only of Quinn. His eyes were hooded, unreadable. Her cheeks flamed. What was he thinking? What was behind that dark intensity?
‘… tell your fortune.’
She blinked. ‘What? Did you say something, Mr Ward?’
The man smiled wetly. ‘It’s Jack, sweetie. I said, if you give me your hand, I’ll tell your fortune. An old gypsy taught me.’
‘No, thank you very much, Mr Ward, I…’
Ward grasped her hand and drew it towards him. ‘Come on, don’t be such a stick. Let’s take a look at your love line.’
Paige looked up again. Ward was still talking, but she had tuned him out. Quinn was listening to Mrs Ward, his head bent attentively towards hers. Why had she ever thought his mouth hard? she wondered. It wasn’t hard at all, it was sensual. And his eyes—there was nothing cold about them. They were the colour of the sea, yes, but it was the southern sea, where the water sometimes felt as warm as blood.
Quinn’s head turned slowly towards her. His eyes settled on her face, on her mouth. She felt the heat of his gaze, and she touched her tongue slowly to her lips in an unconscious acknowledgment of desire. A terrible look stole over Quinn’s face. Was he angry? No, he couldn’t be.
She blinked again. ‘For heaven’s sake, Mr Ward,’ she said irritably, pulling her hand free. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Do what?’ Ward asked innocently.
Paige shuddered and wiped her hand against a napkin. She’d been concentrating so hard on Quinn that it had taken her a while to realise that Ward was running his index finger along her palm. Some day, she wanted the pleasure of telling him that it wasn’t a sexy gesture when he did it; she felt as if a snail had crawled across her flesh and left a slimy trail behind. But not tonight. Tonight, she was too busy with the flood of discoveries she was making about Quinn. About her husband.
‘Come on, sweetie. Let’s show these two what dancing’s all about.’
Ward pulled her chair from the table and, before Paige could protest, she was locked in his arms and they were moving across the dance floor.
‘I don’t really feel like dancing,’ she said, trying to hold her body away from his. ‘Please, Mr Ward…’
‘Jack,’ he said again. ‘Why are you so stiff, lovey? Didn’t anybody ever teach you to dance?’
‘I’m not stiff,’ she said grimly. ‘I just don’t like to be held so closely.’
But she forgot about Ward when she saw Quinn over his shoulder. He had led Mrs Ward out to the middle of the dance floor. She watched as his arms went around the woman and they began to move to the music. Quinn held her at a polite distance, but Paige felt a tight knot of jealousy balloon beneath her breast. He hadn’t danced with her at all. This was her third dance with ‘good old Jack’, and Quinn’s second with Mrs Ward, but…
Jack’s embrace tightened, and Paige pushed against him. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said irritably.
‘Come on, dearie. You can be nicer than that.’
‘I said, don’t do that,’ she repeated. Ward smelled of sweat and cigars, and he was holding her much too closely. What a fool she’d been, she thought suddenly. Quinn would never have wanted her to let Ward paw her, not for any number of orders. He was too decent, too good, too caring…
Ward pulled her against him. ‘Stop it,’ she snapped, and, as she put her hands on his chest and tried pushing him from her, his feet tangled with hers. Paige stumbled, clinging to Ward’s neck to keep from falling.
‘That’s the girl,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.
