‘Hmm.’ His eyebrows lifted. ‘You can go off people, you know.’
Borrowing her line, making her arms ache with wanting to fling themselves around his neck. But she couldn’t do that again. Too confusing! She could use one of his own lines back at him though, seeing as he’d started it...
‘But not off me, surely...’ She hugged herself, preening for effect. ‘Because I’m nice.’
He laughed. ‘You’re a menace, that’s what!’
‘But cute with it, right?’
Something moved behind his gaze and her heart tripped.
Oh, no!
She hadn’t meant to flirt. It had just happened. Because of this sweet charge in the air between them, stealing her focus, his too, from the look of it, which was not good—not good at all! If she didn’t sweep this moment clean, and quickly, it was going to get messy.
She licked her lips. ‘So, getting back to your idea...’ She smiled into his eyes, pushing hard. ‘I want to hear it.’
His gaze held her for a loaded beat then it cleared. ‘Right. Well, the carriage was covered in graffiti, if you remember, and the walls up the slope too. I don’t see much in the tagging, but I think some of the graffiti is cool, and it’s everywhere so, you know, it’s part of the Lisbon experience.’
Of course it was. There was street art everywhere here.
She felt a smile coming. ‘You’re right...’
He gave a little smiling shrug. ‘Just a thought.’
‘A really good one. And quite avant-garde!’ Making ideas tingle and rise. ‘Maybe floating panels of graffiti because we wouldn’t want to overwhelm the space, and with a nod to the carriage itself we could incorporate some curved slat detailing to echo the wooden seats—around the bed headboard possibly, or to divide the room—reclaimed wood if we could get it, for its patina... Oh, and some soft metallic touches to invoke the mechanical—grilles or fretwork—and maybe a feature naked bulb...you know the ones with the fancy orange filaments...?’
‘Sounds great!’
‘Take a bow then because it’s your idea.’
‘Er...no...’ shaking his head at her as if she were mad ‘...I said “graffiti”! You’ve just outlined a whole room concept in the space of five seconds. You’re the one who should be taking a bow!’ And then his gaze was softening. ‘You’re amazing.’
Admiration in his eyes and something else too. Something soft... Magnetic... Blue layers shifting, swirling, as if he was imagining...thinking...that she...he...they... Her stomach pulsed. Such a tantalising thought, but she couldn’t let it be more than that. She was supposed to be helping him, working with him, for pity’s sake!
Besides, she wasn’t a prospect, a safe bet. She was a false flame, a dead end, someone men liked for a while then discarded because she didn’t have what it took. And Sadie could tell her she was better than those men till she was blue in the face, but they couldn’t all be wrong, could they? Fact was, she was twenty-nine and still single, not by choice.
Not. Like. Will.
Her heart thumped. Because he was a player, wasn’t he? Anthony had said so, used to complain about it... She felt her insides tightening. Was that what this was all about—this warm intensity in his eyes a prelude to some well-practised move? Was he measuring his chances, wondering if she would be up for a little weekend fling? Her heart thumped again, harder. But no! That didn’t add up, didn’t tally. Will was warm, attentive, kind. He was funny. Sweet. She wasn’t getting ‘player’ vibes. Then again, what did she know about vibes? Reading people was Sadie’s strength. Sadie, who’d got the measure of Liam right away, while she’d still been tripping the light fantastic, high as a kite on the scent of his roses—
‘Hey, are you okay?’ Raking his hair back, half smiling, half frowning. ‘Don’t tell me you get so few compliments that you’re actually stunned to silence when you get one.’
‘No, I mean...’ Come on, Quinn! ‘Sorry. Thank you. It was nice of you.’
‘I wasn’t being nice.’ And then a smile touched his lips, a smile that didn’t look remotely like a player kind of smile. ‘I was being truthful.’
She felt the air softening, her limbs loosening. Of course he was. Truth in his eyes...warmth, kindness. How could she have let herself think he had casual designs on her? Maybe in some other orbit he was that guy, but not in hers.
‘Listen...’ He was stepping back a little, pushing his hands into his pockets. ‘I don’t know what you had in mind for now, but I could actually do with making a few calls before close of business, so maybe I’ll shoot back to the hotel for a bit.’
Because he wanted some space? Or was he trying to give her some because he’d detected her minor freakout and thought she needed it? Or maybe he really did have calls to make. Whatever! A timeout probably couldn’t hurt, although, ironically, suddenly the last thing she wanted was to be apart from him.
‘I didn’t have anything lined up, but I could do with a bit of sketching time, so if you don’t mind me shooting back with you...’
His eyes crinkled. ‘Not at all, although, fair warning, when I said “shoot” I really meant “limp”.’
She felt a smile rising, all the good feelings rising with it. ‘Are you trying to tell me I’ve driven you too hard today?’
He see-sawed his head and then he split a grin. ‘Yep!’
Impossible, irresistible Will...
She felt a smile breaking loose, filling her cheeks. ‘I’ll bear that in mind for tomorrow then, when I’m planning the itinerary.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HE LEANED BACK in his chair. Praça do Comércio was pretty impressive by night. Buildings all lit up, and that statue too—José I and his trusty horse, Gentil. He felt a smile prodding. Quinn had liked the horse’s name but had only just managed not to roll her eyes when he’d told her that the sculptor’s name was Machado de Castro.
Fun times! Good food! And still half a bottle of wine to go...
He picked up his glass. Calling that timeout earlier had been the right move. An hour for business, then an hour in the hotel gym followed by a long cold shower had given him time to reset his dial, remind himself that Quinn was a work colleague. Because somehow he kept forgetting. Too high on whatever magic she was sprinkling.
Back there in Rossio Square he’d felt the joy inside cresting, pulsing out of him in waves bigger than those trippy mosaic ones: the joy of feeling good like he used to; the joy of watching her jump on his graffiti idea and spin it into gold; the joy of simply being with her, feeling every single one of his wires connecting. And maybe he had let it show too much, been too intense, like with Louise all those years ago. Maybe that was why Quinn’s gaze had gone from warm to wary...
He sipped, swallowed. But things were better now. Even keel. Oh, he couldn’t stop himself feeling light as air around her, couldn’t stop himself wanting her, but he could keep it inside better—he must—because she was who she was, and they had serious work to do.
‘Hey...’ She was back, sitting down. ‘Sorry I was so long. Why are there never enough facilities for we girls?’
