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Fire and ice...
Real estate mogul Ike Drake Jr. likes women the way he likes his cars—polished, sophisticated and reliable. Quinn Taylor, meanwhile, is as fiery and unpredictable as the red Corvette she drives. From the moment she roars into Paradise Cove, music blasting, they’re like oil and water. And when a judge rules that Quinn must work off the damages in Ike’s office after she broadsides his sedan, the tension between them escalates...before exploding into raw desire.
Quinn’s unconventional ways are ruffling feathers in this picturesque town. Yet there’s something compelling about the place—and about powerfully strong, steady Ike. Simple chemistry won’t be enough to bridge the gap between them, especially with a determined ex-girlfriend waiting in the wings. It’ll take the kind of trust that requires putting your heart on the line to secure a glittering, priceless future...
“What are you doing?” Quinn asked, the merest hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
Ike said nothing. His expression remained somber, his body taut, exuding power and raw masculinity. Suddenly she whirled around, heading for the door. A firm grasp of her arm stayed her progress. It wasn’t a move Ike had intended. Every move he made was measured and calculated, always controlled.
Yet less than five minutes alone with this fiery hellion and he was losing his cool. He began growing hotter not only under the collar, but in places farther down.
“Let go of my arm!”
He could feel her body shaking ever so slightly. Since her eyes were glaring daggers he assumed it was with rage. She surprised him by leaning forward, her lips precariously close to his. Dangerously close, even. “Let. Me. Go.”
Their eyes locked. The room faded away. Time seemed to stop, too. She blinked. He followed the movement of her long lashes, felt his heart skip a beat. An inch, maybe less, and he could satisfy his curiosity on whether or not her lips were as soft as they appeared, or tasted as sweet. Like cotton candy, he imagined. One inch and...
Dear Reader,
There’s something extra special about a person who succeeds against the odds. That’s why it will be easy to cheer for Quinn, the heroine in this book. In hindsight, she reminds me of my mom, who after five children and twenty years as a psychiatric aide, decided to finish her degree and realize her dream of becoming a nurse (interrupted by marriage and the unexpected arrival of my oldest brother). In her fifties and sixties, she received a master’s in social work and a BSN in nursing. She retired from mental health after thirty-five years, then spent another fifteen as a highly sought after and respected registered nurse.
The fact that she achieved her dreams showed me that I could, too. Hopefully this novel will inspire you. If Quinn can do it, you can do it.
One love...
Zuri
Sapphire Attraction
Zuri Day
ZURI DAY sneaked her first Harlequin romance at the age of twelve from her older sister’s off-limits collection and was hooked from page one. Knights in shining armor and happily-ever-afters filled her teen years and spurred a lifelong love of reading. That she now creates these stories as a full-time, award-winning author is a dream come true! Splitting her time between the stunning Caribbean islands and Southern California, she’s always busy writing her next novel. Zuri makes time to connect with readers and meet with book clubs. Contact her via Facebook (haveazuriday) or at zuri@zuriday.com.
Sometimes, when we try to control our feelings,
We meet someone who sends our heart and mind reeling.
Life becomes dimmer, no true satisfaction,
Until we give in to the fire-hot attraction.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Dear Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Copyright
Chapter 1
The smooth sounds of classic jazz filled the four-door luxury sedan. Ike Drake Jr. had had a stressful weekend, and he appreciated the way Wes Montgomery’s fluid guitar licks poured over his soul like water, washing the frenzy away.
In his preteen years, Ike had temporarily eschewed the music his grandfather loved in favor of the pop and hip-hop stars who then provided the soundtrack of his life. That didn’t last long. By tenth grade, during summers spent on Walter Drake’s farm, he regained an appreciation for his elder’s favorite musicians: Miles, Ramsey, Dizzy, Charlie and Wes. He also shared Walter’s passion for fishing, golf and classic cars like the meticulously restored 1961 Ferrari Spider he now drove. His grandmother Claire had labeled him an old soul since childhood, and even way back then had affectionately called him Mr. Ike.
Ike tapped a beat on his steering wheel, focused on the music and tried to forget about why his jaws were tight and his muscles were in knots. Days of Paradise, an annual event celebrating the incorporation of Paradise Cove and held during Labor Day weekend, was always a hectic time. The Drakes were among the town’s founding families, along with one of the wealthiest and most well-known. Their company, Drake Realty Plus, had built and/or sold many of the homes and apartments in which citizens resided. Ike’s brother Niko was mayor of the city. The Drake family participation was high profile and taxing. In addition to serving as the grand marshal for this year’s parade, he was on the Days of Paradise board and had helped oversee a three-day carnival and annual charity ball. These extracurricular activities on top of being immersed in the closing of a deal costing more than a hundred million dollars brought enough anxiety to raise his blood pressure. No one would fault him for being stressed and on edge. But if he was honest with himself, he’d admit that all of these very important issues weren’t the real reason for his discomfort.
The real reason was a woman named Quinn.
She’d burst into his world on Saturday night at the fund-raiser ball. Like a tornado, she’d bowled over everyone in her path and left hearts and emotions strewn around the room. Ike’s were among them.
The soothing sound of Wes’s “Bumping on Sunset” gave way to the memories of Saturday night. Without realizing it, his relaxed shoulders tensed. He gripped the wheel.
* * *
“Who’s that?”
Ike and two of his brothers, Warren and Niko, stood near the main bar in the Paradise Cove Country Club’s ballroom. Their position afforded an unobstructed view of the room’s entrance, through which a sexy siren who had elicited Niko Drake’s question had just entered.
“I don’t know,” Warren responded, his eyes glued to the room’s sudden star attraction as he sipped a neat bourbon. “But I guarantee she won’t remain anonymous for long.”
Ike could only stare. The stranger was stunning. Tall, he imagined around five-seven, but appearing statuesque because of strappy stiletto sandals and a high ponytail that exposed dainty drop earrings and an elegant long neck. Her dress was ultraclassic—a sleeveless black gown with a gently scooped neckline that hugged her slender body to the knee before flaring out into a dramatic train. Ike subconsciously nodded his approval as she came farther into the room, looking neither left nor right but either straight ahead or down at the petite satin-clad woman beside her. Classy, conservative, elegant...a perfect fit in this country-club crowd. Her mannerisms were understated, and while he was sure she was aware of her beauty and the subtle murmur of voices that followed in her wake, she seemed admirably unaffected.
After a long on-again, off-again relationship with a woman who, like him, had grown up in PC, Ike was single. Were he looking for a wife, she could potentially be a candidate. She was someone he decided to meet before the night was over. His eyes followed her as she passed the brothers, several feet away but partially hidden. His interest grew as he took in her regal bearing. He smiled as she passed them. But when he saw the back of her gown, his expression changed. He became as annoyed as he was attracted.
WTH?
The back of her Chai original was as risqué as the front was moderate. It plunged from her shoulders to just above her backside, exposing an expanse of creamy, smooth skin that made him think of vanilla ice cream covered with cashews and warm caramel. The back of the dress was made of lace, with carefully placed flowers in the fabric the only thing that allowed the enchantress to maintain any modesty at all. It was way too revealing, Ike noted. He now clearly understood why her entrance had caused the crowd to murmur, women to narrow their eyes and men to get poked in the side for staring. The woman was practically nude.
“Careful, darling. Scowling too hard for too long may cause permanent wrinkles.”
Ike had been so intent on watching—some would say judging—the room’s star attraction that he hadn’t even seen his date approach. “Did you see that? What a spectacle!” When the woman disappeared amid the throng crowding the bar, Ike finally managed to tear his eyes away. “The way she’s dressed is disrespectful. I can’t believe Mrs. Newman didn’t insist she change before bringing her here.”
Audrey Ross knew Ike well and quietly noted his strong reaction to the new girl in town. She had been his on-again, off-again girlfriend for the past ten years. They were no longer dating but remained good friends.
Niko had walked away but Warren remained. He turned to Audrey. “Is she related to her?”
“Maggie Newman?”
“Yeah.”
Audrey nodded. “Her granddaughter, Quinn Taylor.”
“I don’t remember seeing her before,” Ike said. “And the way she grabbed everyone’s attention, most folks in this town haven’t, either.”
Quinn emerged from the bar area with two glasses of champagne and carried them over to where Maggie Newman sat. Ike forced himself to quit looking, but Warren continued to enjoy the show. Almost every eligible bachelor seemed to vie for her attention as she calmly held court at one of the room’s center tables, the one next to the table occupied by the Drakes.
Once again, Audrey was a fountain of information. “She grew up on the East Coast and attended an elite boarding school in Switzerland before returning to America to get her college degree. At some point she got engaged to a prince, then broke things off mere weeks before the wedding. That happened recently—just a few months ago. It caused a minor scandal, as you can imagine. One of many she’s created since her teen years. Glen finally had enough.”
Ike’s head snapped around. “Glen Taylor? The judge?” Audrey nodded. “What could he possibly have to do with her?”
“Believe it or not, he’s her dad.”
“The conservative Republican? I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true.”
“Where’s her mother?”
“That’s a mystery,” Audrey mused. “No one knows about her, what happened to their marriage or why Quinn was raised by her dad.”
“I’m surprised anything about her got by you, Audrey,” Warren said. “How do you know so much?”
“Mom and Mrs. Newman are sorors, and good friends. I happened to be there during their afternoon-tea chat, shortly after Quinn came to town. At any rate, the judge arrived on the West Coast as a single father and from what I hear, never mentioned Quinn’s mother or any other woman from his past. The closest she had to a mother figure was her grandmother and a nanny, who was obviously long on patience and short on discipline. The result was a spoiled brat who grew into a troublemaking teen. Shortly after his marriage to San Francisco socialite Viviana Lange, Quinn was shipped overseas. Knowing the Langes and their obsession with image, that doesn’t surprise me. The story from there is public knowledge, as it’s been largely played out in the society pages of the Chronicle.” She took a sip from her wineglass, watching Quinn’s deft handling of her admirers. “From the look of things,” Audrey finished, “she’s still a troublemaker.”
“I wonder what she’s doing here,” Ike muttered, thinking out loud.
Audrey waved at an associate, talking over her shoulder as she walked away. “If the past continues to repeat itself, we’ll no doubt find out.”
The scowl returned as Ike pondered what Andrey had shared. Glen Taylor was a successful and well-respected judge. Both avid golfers, they’d run into each other on a course or two, the first time at the country club where they were now. Ike liked Glen and respected Mrs. Newman. He doubted either feeling would apply to the woman named Quinn.
Later on, this thought gained traction. When Quinn was introduced to his family, Ike didn’t like that she addressed his mother by her first name, or her flirty nature when meeting him and his brothers. More than once during the formal dinner, the quiet was interrupted by her raucous laughter as she sat at a table surrounded by men. When he saw her leave with one of the town’s notorious playboys instead of Mrs. Newman, with whom she’d come, that bothered him, too. He told himself it didn’t. But it did.
* * *
A roaring engine mixed with a pounding bass brought Ike out of his reverie. He looked to his left, saw a driver speeding like a bat out of Hades and had just enough time to accelerate and sharply turn the steering wheel in an effort to avoid the car as it crossed the center line. The head-on collision was prevented but a crash was not. Metal crunched against metal. Ike’s car jumped the curb and struck a mailbox. The force introduced his forehead to the steering wheel, a meeting that rendered him senseless. He smelled burned rubber and shook his head to clear the cloudiness. Wrong move. Instead of clearing, his head began pounding, even as he heard voices and someone yelling to call 9-1-1. He looked over to see the car that had hit him, a fiery red Corvette with loud music still blasting. The driver’s head rested against the seat. Blood dripped from a nasty cut. It was the troublemaker Quinn Taylor, wreaking havoc again.
Chapter 2
“Are you okay?”
When he went against the advice of the bystanders—one of whom was an off-duty EMT—and got out of his car to confront Quinn, that was not the question Ike had intended to ask. “Are you crazy?”, “What in the heck were you doing?” or “Why did you swerve into my lane?” was more like what he had in mind. But when he reached the driver’s side door, looked into frightened hazel-brown eyes partially hidden by naturally long lashes and took in the quivering lips sporting pale pink gloss, Quinn’s well-being suddenly became important than a verbal confrontation.
“I’m sorry. The dog. Did you see him? Jumped right in front of my car...” Quiet replaced chaos as she killed the engine and with it the blaring music. The movement caused blood to drip from the cut on the side of her head onto her arm. “Oh, my God, I’m bleeding!” She snatched the rearview mirror toward her and glimpsed an ugly gash on her temple just as an ambulance siren announced its approach.
“You were driving like a...” Ike managed before becoming distracted by the same tempting flesh that had stayed on his mind long after the charity ball was over, which meant far longer than he should have allowed. He assumed Quinn wore shorts, but from his position couldn’t quite tell. All he could see were bare legs that seemed to go on forever and hardened, pert nipples pressed against a ripped tee. “Way too fast,” he finished, almost as an afterthought.
“I was driving just fine,” she retorted with a pout. “It was the dog. Did you see...” She looked around, then back into Ike’s accusing gaze. “I swear, a dog ran in front of my car!”
“Blaming this on a dog, huh?” He looked around, becoming more irritated by the second. His smashed-up pride and joy being only one of several reasons. “Where is it now?”
“Good God, man! Are you all right?”
Ike turned toward the familiar voice behind him. His focus went from the look of horror on Warren’s face to where his eyes traveled after asking the question. Ike had only glanced at the Ferrari’s front end. He wasn’t ready to see the side that had taken the brunt of the collision. Didn’t want to confirm what he already knew to be true, that rare and expensive car parts had been damaged. Didn’t want to believe that his prized 250, one of only thirty-six such models ever made, driven in public fewer than two or three times a year, had crossed paths with a Corvette-driving Andretti wannabe using a street in the town square as her racetrack.
“Don’t even say it,” he warned Warren, a hand up as if to ward off the painful truth. “It’s bad, I know.”
“What happened?”
“Reckless driving,” he answered with a nod toward Quinn.
“I was not driving recklessly. I tried to dodge an animal.”
“A phantom dog,” Ike added, a heavy dose of sarcasm served on the side.
Quinn’s comeback was interrupted by EMTs rushing to her car. “Excuse me, guys,” the woman said, her tone businesslike but not unfriendly. “We need to get to her.”
The men stepped back. Ike turned toward his car. The quick movement made him dizzy. He stumbled.
“Whoa, watch out, brother.” Warren jumped to his side. “You probably shouldn’t be standing. Let me get one of those guys over here.”
Ike waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine.”
“You think you are, but there may be internal injuries.”
“There are definitely external ones,” he said through gritted teeth as he crossed back over to his wrecked car.
Steeling himself, he walked around it. The meticulous paint job that had taken months to complete now covered a misaligned and bent hood, caved-in side door and hanging fender. His jaw clenched in anger. Accidents happened, a fact of life. But this one could easily have been avoided. Even if a dog had crossed the street—an excuse that he found suspect, since he saw no dog in sight—there would have been more control and time to act if she hadn’t been speeding. Her actions were reckless, her reaction less than responsible or contrite. Of all the Drake brothers, Ike was normally the calmest, most calculating and even-keeled. But with the exhausting weekend, the pressure of closing the San Francisco deal and now a senseless accident in his prized Ferrari, Ike was ready to explode.
Warren walked over and stood next to his brother. “I’m sorry, man. I know how long it took to get it in mint condition.”
“Interesting how you’re apologizing while all she talked about was a dog in the street.”
“It could have been worse.”
“Yeah, she could have been driving a tank. I just don’t—” Ike stopped short, his expression incredulous. “Did you hear that BS?” Instead of waiting for an answer, Ike walked over to where a police officer had joined the EMT team checking out Quinn’s injuries.
“...I think he was, but I’m not sure,” Quinn finished, her voice weak and body sagging as the medical personnel attended to her cuts and bruises. “I feel woozy. I can’t...”
One of the EMTs spoke up. “Officer, we need to get her to the hospital.”
“Not before I clear up her fuzzy uncertainty,” Ike butted in, bristling at an act he thought might win Quinn an Academy Award but no sympathy from him. “The accident was her fault, one hundred percent.”
Ike had addressed the officer, but his eyes stayed glued on Quinn. They’d wrapped bandages around her head and were treating the ugly gash near her temple. A medic shone a penlight into her eyes as they wheeled her away.
“What happened?”
“She said a dog jumped in front of her, but she was going too fast—slammed into me before I could react.”
The officer looked around. “Did you see it?”
“Nope.”
“All right, sir. Wait here so I can take your statement. I need to get her information before they take off.”
Warren came over. “Ike, I know you’re upset. But remember what Audrey said the other night about the judge being her father. I’m sure they’ve got the type of insurance to handle this, and if not, the judge has the cash.”
“It’s definitely going to get handled. She is going to pay for the restoration and any other charges that are incurred as a result of her recklessness.”
Warren looked over as the ambulance drove away. “Both of your cars are damaged. But it looks like the two of you are lucky to come out of this with only minor injuries.”
Even angry, Ike’s heart hitched at the sight of her being wheeled into the back of the van. “Yes, I’m grateful for that. And even though she’s a hellion, I hope Quinn is okay.”
Warren’s brow raised at the unexpected tenderness he heard in his brother’s voice. “What about you, man? How are you?”
It was the first time Ike had given any thought to his own body and possible injuries. He flexed his shoulders, raised and lowered his arms, and moved his head from side to side. “Other than being sore as all get-out tomorrow, I guess I’ll live.”
Just then, one of the medics who’d been working on Quinn walked over to where Warren and Ike stood. He looked at Ike. “Were you the one in the accident, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Mind if we check you out?”
“No need for that. I’m fine.”
“You may feel fine now, but later, after the adrenaline stops and the shock wears off, the pain might come.”
“If that happens, I’ll call my doctor.” The medic nodded and left. The police officer rejoined Ike, with Warren beside them. “Okay, sir. I need your driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance.”
Ike retrieved the items and handed them over.
The officer recorded the information and returned the papers. “Want to tell me your side of how this accident occurred?”
“I was driving down the street, no problems, no traffic. Reached the corner, stopped and began driving through the intersection. Next thing I know I’m swerving to avoid a speeding car suddenly in my lane. Barely had time to react before she’d crashed into me.”
“Did she acknowledge that she was speeding?”
“Are you kidding? She didn’t even acknowledge she ran into me and not vice versa. Blamed it on a dog that’s conveniently disappeared, and even if it had been present, it wouldn’t have posed the same kind of problem for someone driving the speed limit.”
Ike watched the officer jot down notes. “What did she say?”
The officer spoke without looking up. “She said speed had nothing to do with the accident. As you just stated, she mentioned the dog.”
“Doesn’t surprise me that she’d try and skirt responsibility for this. But you ticketed her, right?”
“Didn’t get the chance. The medics feared a concussion and wanted to get her to the hospital as soon as possible. That’s necessary so that a more serious injury can be ruled out.”
“But she is going to receive a citation, correct? I don’t want her getting away with this, and I definitely want her held accountable for all repair costs.”