But he had not woken to Nicole’s voice.
Had she talked to him?
If so, what had she said?
He looked at the blue butterfly—his gift returned to him.
Or was it at the heart of a circle linking Nicole and Zoe and himself for the rest of their lives?
He wouldn’t know until Nicole came to see him…if she did.
Nicole stood outside the private room Quin had been moved to this morning and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the host of fluttering butterflies that had invaded her stomach. Evita Gallardo had assured her Quin was fine, completely himself again, and his first concern on waking from the coma had been to ask about her. So that had to mean he cared about her, didn’t it? Cared deeply?
Or maybe he’d just remembered the accident and wanted to know if she’d survived it. After all, there was Zoe to consider. She was the mother of his child and it wouldn’t be good for their daughter to be motherless.
Not good to be fatherless, either.
Zoe talked of little else but her daddy, her innocent little heart completely captivated by Quin. She’d been dancing around the house all morning unable to contain her joy and excitement at hearing he was better, sure in her own mind that the Ulysses butterfly had worked its magic on him.
Nicole knew she’d kept her own heart tightly guarded from the moment Quin had appeared in her life again, determined on hauling her back into his. She’d kept reminding herself of how it had been before, refusing to believe it could be any different this time around.
People didn’t change.
But circumstances did.
Quin was now ready for the commitment of marriage and fatherhood. It was what she had once wanted from him. And the past few days of dreadful uncertainty had made her face the fact there was only ever going to be one man for her and he was lying behind this door, alive and well enough to make a future with her.
She didn’t have to lay her heart open to him.
She just had to go in and say she’d decided to marry him.
Quin would take it from there.
All that would be required of her was to keep saying, yes, give him his own way and let it happen, ignore any pain and take the pleasure.
Her heart was pounding.
She took another deep breath and opened the door.
Waiting for Nicole to come had sharpened all Quin’s senses. The click of the door opening was like a clash of cymbals in his ears. He felt his heart kick into overdrive as she stepped into his room, the instant impact of her unique beauty hitting him straight in the eye—a vision of such intense pleasure, all the magic moments she had ever given him streamed through his mind.
In one way it was like the very first time he’d seen her in the bank where they had both been employed seven years ago—the stunning sensuality of her long dark curly hair, swishing silkily around her lovely face; the thickly lashed green eyes, lit with a sharp intelligence that invariably challenged the man he was; the perfectly curved full-lipped mouth that promised so much sensual passion; the marvellous femininity of her entire body calling to everything male in him.
His woman…
He’d known it then. He knew it now. He’d let her go five years ago but he’d never succeeded in blocking her out of his memory, never succeeded in supplanting her with another woman, never felt so brilliantly alive with anyone else. He wanted her. He needed her. He had to have her.
A flush brightened her cheeks. Was he discomforting her with his staring? Did she feel the strength of the desire pouring from him? “Hi!” he said, trying to sound normal, flashing a warm smile to welcome her into his life again.
“Hi!” she echoed, returning a curiously shy little smile as though she felt awkward with the situation. “I’m glad you’re back with us, Quin,” she added, her eyes eloquently expressing relief at his recovery.
With us. Not with me.
But she hadn’t wished him dead, hadn’t wished him completely out of her life. And she wasn’t wearing jeans today, either. In place of her usual uniform for carrying out her deal with him, she wore a clingy green top outlining her lovely full breasts and a swinging frilled skirt in green and orange and brown—strappy orange sandals on her feet. Did this mean she felt differently about their relationship?
“I’m glad to see you looking so…so well,” he replied, his mind quickly skipping any words she might not want to hear from him. It was important not to make her feel pressured, he remembered, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Please…will you sit with me for a while, Nicole?”
“I want to talk to you,” she said with an air of resolution, moving forward to take the chair beside his bed.
Perfume wafted into his nostrils. Quin breathed in the wonderfully exotic scent—the sweet smell of hope. Surely no woman wore perfume for a man she wasn’t interested in, but he warned himself not to assume too much. Casting around for a safe topic, he smiled whimsically and said, “The blue butterfly has been keeping me company. Please thank Zoe for it.”
The green eyes met his directly. “I promised to bring her in to visit you this afternoon, so you can thank her yourself, Quin. She’d like that. I needed to speak to you first, get things straight between us.”
Tension streaked through him. His mind pulsed with the certainty she was about to recant the title of his fiancée. Everything within him moved to battle-readiness and it took an enormous effort of will to remain still and silent and simply wait for her to lay out her position.
Her lashes swept down. She took a deep breath, clearly gathering herself to speak. Then her gaze lifted and locked onto his and the windows to her soul reflected a desperate need to make everything right.
“I was wrong to be so mean-hearted towards you, Quin,” she rushed out. “Using your…your desire for me to make you pay debts that had nothing to do with you.”
“I hurt you with my obsessive pursuit of the money my father took,” he said quietly. “Do you think I don’t understand that, Nicole?”
“You had good reason to do what you did,” she argued.
“I sacrificed us to a boyhood trauma.”
“Your mother held you to it, Quin.”
“No it was me, too. My pride. Worth too little in the end,” he said with a rueful grimace. “I don’t know if you can forgive me that, Nicole…”
“Yes, I can. I will,” she asserted emphatically, then hesitated, her expression flicking to eloquent appeal. “If you can forgive me for keeping Zoe to myself.”