The Mighty Quinns: Jamie. Kate Hoffmann
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like you need to use their best assets to their advantage,” she explained. “It’s quite apparent that you have an incredibly hot body. But I’m sure that my grandmother will be immune to such a blatant ploy.”
“A blatant ploy?” he murmured. “What exactly do you think I’m doing here?”
“I assume you’re here to hustle my grandmother out of her life savings. Isn’t that what men like you use your bodies to do?”
A laugh burst from Jamie’s throat as he realized the conclusion she’d jumped to. “You think I’m a gigolo?”
“I suppose you prefer the term con artist?” She cursed softly. “I can assure you, if you appear downstairs in just that towel, you may give her a heart attack.”
Jamie shook his head, then walked to the end of the bed to pick through the clothes he’d brought along. He grabbed a pair of boxers and stepped into them, sliding them up to his waist beneath the towel. Then he pulled the towel off and draped it around his neck. “I’m here because I needed a place to stay and I didn’t want to go to a motel. Your grandmother kindly offered to rent me her guest house and I accepted. Then she invited me to dinner. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Right. Don’t forget about the land you’re trying to swindle. You probably think that she’s an easy mark, living all alone out here, with no one to watch after her. But I’m watching out for her,” Regan said. “And you’re not going to get a finger on one single dollar of her money or one single acre of her land. Do I make myself clear?”
Jamie strolled to the closet and grabbed one of the shirts he found there. Yanking it over his arms, he cursed softly. “The only thing that’s clear is that you are certifiably crazy.”
“I am not!” she cried.
“If you weren’t crazy, you would politely excuse yourself, and let me get dressed on my own.”
Regan opened her mouth to utter a quick reply, but her answer died on her tongue. “We’re not done with this. Not by a long mile.”
“I look forward to discussing this further at a mutually convenient time,” Jamie said.
“There will be plenty of those,” she said, “since I plan to check up on you for as long as you’re here.”
“Fine!” he said.
“Fine!” she shot back. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Jamie watched her storm out of the room, his gaze taking in a delicious view of her backside. This was an interesting development, he mused. In truth, he was glad to have Regan around. If any of the other family members objected, Regan could provide proof that he was dealing fairly with Celia and that he had no intentions of cheating her out of anything.
Though Regan was dead wrong about his intentions, she was right about one thing. Her grandmother did seem to be excited at the prospect of company. And maybe he did use that to his advantage to get a perfect room in a perfect house on a perfect piece of property. But it was an innocent friendship, and he was expert enough at short-term relationships to make sure no one got hurt.
He finished buttoning the shirt, which luckily fit fairly well, then walked over to the mirror and raked his fingers through his still-damp hair.
Now his interest in Regan Macintosh, on the other hand... He couldn’t say his intentions would remain innocent where she was concerned.
He picked up the dinner jacket Celia had given him and shrugged into it, then headed downstairs, preparing himself for a lively evening with two beautiful women.
When he entered the kitchen, Celia turned and clapped her hands. “Don’t you look debonair,” she said, her eyes bright. She reached up and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I guessed right that you’d be about the same size as Kenneth.”
Regan cleared her throat and Celia glanced over her shoulder at her granddaughter. “Didn’t you two introduce yourselves?” she asked, glancing between him and Regan.
Jamie smiled and shrugged, and he watched Regan bristle at the thought of repeating what had happened upstairs.
“I know who he is, Nana. You told me his name.”
“But there are common courtesies that we observe in this house. Regan, darling, this is Mr. James Quinn. He’d like us to call him Jamie. Jamie, this is my favorite granddaughter, Regan Macintosh.”
Jamie reached out and took her fingertips into the palm of his hand. He ignored the rush of heat that raced through his body. It was a natural reaction, he mused. It had been a while since he had been with a woman, and Regan had just seen him half-naked. He drew her hand to his lips and placed a kiss just below her wrist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he murmured.
She watched him intently, her expression one of barely concealed indifference. God, she was a challenge. He felt like a schoolboy, teasing the prettiest girl in class just to get a rise from her.
“Look how good he is at that, Nana,” Regan said. “So smooth. No one does that anymore.” She snatched her hand away. “No one.”
“Regan! Don’t be rude.” Ceci held out her own hand and Jamie dutifully kissed it.
“I’m not being rude. Is it rude to ask Mr. Quinn what his true intentions are here? He seems to have waltzed in and taken over a spot at the table, wearing my grandfather’s dinner jacket. And you seem...bewitched!”
Jamie cleared his throat, more as a warning than an intention to talk. Regan glanced over at her grandmother and noticed the two bright spots of embarrassment on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Of course you did, darling. I can’t blame you. And I won’t lie. I have been lonely, and it’s been nice for an attractive man to wander into my life and provide a bit of excitement.”
“Nana, you don’t have to—”
“Having Mr. Quinn here has been a refreshing change of pace. But he is my guest and I will decide if and when he leaves.” She clapped her hands together and forced a smile. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I do believe dinner is ready.”
* * *
DINNER WAS A lively affair, reminding Regan of the time before her grandfather had died. She hadn’t seen her grandmother smile so much in years, and it made Regan happy that sparkling conversation with a handsome man was all it took to bring the light back into Ceci’s eyes.
Of course, Jamie did his part, with clever compliments, silly stories and endless charm. And it wasn’t just her grandmother who suffered the effects. He turned his considerable charm in Regan’s direction, as well.
But she could sense that his intentions weren’t so innocent with her. He seemed to take delight in irritating her, and she seemed to be unable to control her temper around him. They were waging a silent battle, jockeying for position, trying to read the other’s next move. And though he’d provided a reasonable character reference for himself, she still found herself wary and on edge.
Maybe it was the fact that he could kiss her wrist and her whole body seemed to go weak. Or he could smile at her and her heart felt as if it were about to leap out of her chest. She couldn’t seem to control her reactions to him, and though fascinating, it was also dangerous.
If she couldn’t control herself, how could she possibly control him? Control was an absolute requirement when it came to her relationships with men. It was the only way to protect herself, the only way to maintain a safe distance.
Regan listened distractedly as he talked about his job and explained the project he was working on and the cottage he planned to build. Habikit. She remembered reading something about his company in a recent issue of the newspaper, but she didn’t remember seeing a picture of him. She would’ve remembered that.
By the time dinner was over and dessert had been served, they’d managed