Playing for Keeps Read online

  “Quentin, I think we missed the mark on this one,” Malik said. His dashiki and Birkenstocks certainly did not fit in. At least Quentin fared better in his pullover sweater and trousers.

  Sage sighed. “We’re here now. You’re just going to have to work it.” Sage strutted past several onlookers in her wrap dress and knee-high leather boots to grab three flutes of champagne from the waiter. She returned and handed them each a flute. “See how easy that was?”

  “Yes, that was easy for you,” Malik said. “Because look at you.” He glanced sideways at her. “You look like you just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.”

  Quentin laughed. He admired Sage’s confidence and followed her lead by trailing the waiter across the room and taking several hors d’oeuvres off the platter. He popped a few into his mouth.

  “Crashing the party, are we?” Avery asked, leaning against a column nearby. She had seen him and his crew of misfits arrive and by the looks of them, it was clear they weren’t on her invitation list.

  She’d remember if she had invited him. He was tall, dark and handsome. Bald with a sexy goatee and wearing a diamond stud in his ear, he was edgy and certainly not her type, but for some reason she couldn’t turn away. The cable pullover sweater he wore did nothing to hide his athletic physique and broad shoulders from her admiring female gaze. In fact, it emphasized that a rock-hard body lay underneath. Avery felt her body heat rising and nervously moistened her dry lips.

  Hearing the melodic sound of a feminine voice, Quentin turned around. He wasn’t surprised to discover it belonged to a tall, slender beauty with brilliant green eyes. Unfortunately, she was wearing a pantsuit that hid all her God-given assets. Why did women have to dress up like men?

  “Is it that obvious?” Quentin inquired, placing a hand on the column alongside her face.

  Avery stared at his hand. She didn’t like the feeling of being closed in by this man, or feeling his warm breath against her face or the smell of his masculine cologne wafting through her nose, so instead she eyed him up and down. “What do you think?” she replied.

  Quentin couldn’t recall a woman who’d looked at him with such total disdain and it was an instant turnoff. Upon closer inspection, he was able to survey her angular face and scrutinize her slim figure. She was classically beautiful with skin the color of café-au-lait, arresting green eyes and a mass of long hair held in an unflattering bun with bangs, not to mention a narrow waist and petite breasts, which Quentin didn’t care for. He preferred his women curvier and with a lot more meat on their bones. Or maybe he was just peeved by the sarcastic tone in her voice?

  She pointed to Sage and Malik. “Perhaps you and your friends should think twice about your attire the next time you crash a party, as I’m sure this is not your first.” She pushed up from the column, ducked underneath his arm and turned to face him.

  “Ouch.” Quentin feigned being hurt and touched his chest. “Do you always draw blood at first bite?”

  “Only when provoked,” Avery returned cattily, folding her arms across her chest as she tried to resist smiling at his clever comeback.

  Quentin tried a different approach by explaining himself, something he never did. He didn’t know why he was now—perhaps it was the way she scoffed at him? “I’m really not as bad as I appear. I’ve been in London for a while and flew in this morning on the red-eye. I admit I’m a little tired.”

  “And in need of a free meal, I presume?” Avery arched an eyebrow.

  “So, I take it you think I’m some bum off the street, a freeloader?”

  “Aren’t you?” she asked, circling around him. And as she did, she received a tantalizing view of his tight rear end. “Here for the free food and drink, that is? I doubt you even know the first thing about art.”

  “Listen, lady,” Quentin began. He didn’t appreciate being insulted by a virtual stranger who knew nothing about the hardships he’d endured. He hadn’t grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  Avery narrowed her eyes. “And I don’t care to.” She didn’t need to. Con artists like him were a dime a dozen in New York. They were always trying to rob good people out of their money.

  “Is everything all right over here?” Jenna had returned, carrying several cheese puffs and mini quiches. She glanced back and forth at Avery and batted her eyelashes at the tall, dark and handsome man.

  “Everything’s just fine,” Quentin answered, sipping on his champagne. “It appears your friend thinks I’m a lazy freeloader here only for the free food and drink.”

  Jenna chuckled. “Hey, so am I.” She playfully touched his shoulder with her fingertips. “You should try the mini beef Wellingtons. They are to die for.”

  “Thanks for the 411.” Quentin glared at Avery one final time and walked away.

  Avery breathed a sigh of relief once he’d gone. He’d upset her equilibrium when she needed to be calm and cool headed for the evening.

  “What was that all about?” Jenna inquired. “I sensed some sexual tension in the air.”

  “There was nothing sexual between me and that man,” Avery replied haughtily as she watched Quentin underneath hooded eyes.

  “If you say so,” Jenna said. “But if you ask me, there should have been. You did happen to notice how fine he was.”

  “I wasn’t looking,” Avery lied again. She hadn’t missed that twinkle in his eyes when he’d spoken or those luscious lips or the way her stomach had curled at the silken sound of his sexy baritone voice.

  “Hmmph,” was all Jenna could mutter. She didn’t buy for one minute that Avery wasn’t the least bit attracted.

  From across the room, Quentin took the other woman’s advice and munched on some mini beef Wellingtons. She was much more his type. Beautiful face, large bosom, curvy bottom and completely feminine, just the way he liked his women.

  “So, my boss tells me that I need to log more hours,” Sage rattled on. “As if sixty-hour work weeks aren’t already enough. Can you believe that?”

  “Then, I suggest you chop, chop,” Malik said.

  As Sage discussed her no-win situation, Quentin stood beside them fuming at the audacity of that ice queen. She hadn’t tried to hide her obvious contempt for him and his friends crashing her party.

  “What do you think, Q?” Sage inquired, turning sideways.

  “What was that?” Quentin asked distractedly.

  “I was telling Malik that my job was in jeopardy.”

  “At least you have one,” Malik said.

  “What do you mean?” Quentin asked. “I thought you were director of the community center.”

  “I am but the King Corporation is buying up property on my block all in an effort to build some new entertainment complex and a slew of condos in the neighborhood. If Richard King wins, the Children’s Aid Network that owns the property will be forced to sell and I’ll be out of a job.”

  “Didn’t he buy up another low-income neighborhood a couple of years ago?” Sage asked. She remembered reading something in the New York Times.

  “Yes,” Malik answered, “which is why I need your help, Quentin.” Malik poked him to get his attention since he was staring across the room again at some woman.

  “What do you need?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’re the photographer. I thought you could come by the center, take a few photos. You know, showcase what a benefit the center is to the community.”

  “And if these photos were to end up on the front page of a newspaper or some high-profile magazine, then all the better, right?” Quentin asked. Malik wasn’t slick. He probably figured with Quentin’s connections, a high-profile story might squash the deal.

  Malik shrugged matter-of-factly.

  “Of course I’ll help.” Quentin patted Malik’s back. “After everything that center did for us, how could I not? If it weren’t for Andrew Webster putting a camera in my hand and showing me how to use it, I would not be where I am today. How is th
e old man anyway?” Andrew had been a wonderful mentor to Quentin.

  “Thanks.” Malik bumped his shoulder against Quentin’s. “Mr. Webster’s getting old and has passed the torch to me, but there may not be a legacy for me to continue.”

  “I understand.” Quentin nodded. “Consider it done. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He had some pressing business to attend to.

  Avery noticed the stranger had joined Nora Stark, a prominent art buyer. She was sure he couldn’t hold his own in a conversation with such a heavyweight and was on her way toward him when Hunter stopped her.

  “Avery, how are we doing?” Hunter inquired.

  “We’ve sold five paintings thus far.”

  “That’s it? Perhaps you ought to be circulating instead of talking to your girlfriend and that party crasher.” So he, too, had noticed they had uninvited guests.

  “I could throw them out,” Avery suggested. “I thought you might not want any negative press tonight, but if I was wrong, please let me know.”

  Hunter rolled his eyes. “No, no. I agree with you. Better we allow them a little free food than make a public display.”

  “Excellent idea,” Avery said. “If you’ll excuse me.” She stalked toward Nora Stark and the stranger, whom she was determined to bring down a peg or two.

  “Nora.” She kissed either cheek of the older Caucasian woman holding center stage. “How lovely to see you.” She had noticed the stranger’s eyes narrow when she’d approached.

  Nora pulled back and admired Avery’s ensemble. “Avery, darling, you’re looking splendid as always. How is your mother, dear?”

  “Oh, just fine. I’m sure she’s eager to get started on that charity auction the two of you are heading.” Take that, mystery man!

  “Quentin, have you met Avery?” Nora asked.

  Quentin smiled ruefully. “No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Allow me to introduce you,” Nora said, facing the duo. “Avery Roberts, meet Quentin Davis. I’m sure you’ve heard of Quentin. He’s a world-renowned photographer.”

  If she could have snapped her fingers and made herself disappear, Avery would have. Quentin Davis. The Quentin Davis. She loved his work. His pictures on 9/11 and the war in Iraq were moving. Avery was so embarrassed. How could she have been so far off the mark? She’d totally misjudged him.

  When Quentin extended his hand, Avery reluctantly accepted. His fingers were cool and smooth as they grazed hers and Avery’s skin felt electrified. What was it about this man that caused the hairs on the back of her arm to stand up at attention?

  When Quentin locked gazes with the green-eyed ice princess, she was the first to look away. Was that nervousness he saw in her expression? Surely he couldn’t make her uneasy. He doubted that was even possible.

  “I think the two of you should talk while I go peruse my next purchase,” Nora said over her shoulder as she departed. “I think you have a lot in common.”

  “Little does she know,” Quentin muttered underneath his breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, nothing,” he chuckled to himself.

  “So, you…you’re a photographer,” Avery stuttered. Did she look as dumb as she sounded? “Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”

  “Because you were determined to think I was a bum who couldn’t afford his next meal. I was leaving you in blissful ignorance.”

  “Did you just call me ignorant?” Avery asked. Perhaps you were, an inner voice said back. Even so, embarrassment quickly turned to annoyance.

  “If the shoe fits,” Quentin said, shrugging.

  “You, you arrogant son of a…”

  “Now, now,” Quentin leaned down so only Avery could hear him. “I’m sure a lady of your social standing wasn’t about to use foul language, were you?”

  “You know nothing about my social standing,” Avery huffed, taking a step back from Quentin. Why did the softness of his voice whispering in her ear feel like a lover’s tender stroke against her skin?

  “Oh, please,” Quentin replied. “Don’t act like that whole kiss-kiss with Mrs. Stark wasn’t all about putting me in my place. I may not have grown up wealthy, but I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, either.” She was condescending, judgmental and wound as tight as a spring.

  Avery’s face burned with fury. She couldn’t stand that he saw right through her. Or that his nearness was playing havoc with her body. “I’m sorry if I offended you, but you have to admit you did give me a reason to judge you.”

  “To be a snob?” Quentin queried. “For some reason, I think that comes naturally.”

  “Well, since I disgust you so much, why don’t you stay out of my way for the duration of the evening?”

  “Gladly.” Quentin stormed away, leaving an upset Avery staring at his retreating form. She wanted to yell at him to get back here so she could be the one to walk away, but he was already back with his friends.

  “Who ruffled your feathers?” Sage asked when Quentin returned with a scowl on his face. Malik had abandoned her in favor of hitting on a fellow dreaded woman. “I’ll have a cosmo,” Sage said to the bartender.

  “That ice princess over there.” Quentin nodded toward Avery, who was giving him the evil eye.

  “You mean the one in the Chanel suit and wearing a fabulous pair of Jimmy Choo shoes?” Sage accepted the drink from the bartender and took a generous sip.

  “Yes, the very one.”

  “Sounds to me like she voiced an opinion that many of the airheads you typically date don’t have,” Sage commented. “Don’t take offense, Q, I just call it as I see it.”

  “I’m not offended. Because you’re right. I like my women docile and pliant,” Quentin said. He didn’t want some opinionated, repressed, upper-crust broad who wouldn’t know passion if it bit her in the butt. He intended to stay as far out of Avery Roberts’s path as humanly possible.

  Chapter 2

  Avery rang the doorbell of her parents’ four-bedroom townhome on Park Avenue on Saturday because she’d left her keys at home. Their housekeeper answered.

  “Louisa!” Avery exclaimed.

  Louisa had been the Roberts family housekeeper for over thirty years. She could have long since retired, but Avery suspected she stayed more for the company than the paycheck.

  “Avery, how’s my favorite girl?” Louisa enveloped her in a deliciously big hug.

  “Oh, I’m just fine. Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s in the kitchen,” Louisa replied, taking her hand. “C’mon in and have a cup of tea and some of my homemade oatmeal-raisin cookies. They are hot out of the oven.”

  “Oh, that sounds delicious, but I’ll only have one.” Although she could indulge in what she wanted and never gain a pound, Avery tried to eat right.

  She found her mother seated in the large kitchen drinking a cup of Earl Grey tea. Casually dressed in Ralph Lauren capris and a tank top, with her hair in a loose chignon, her mother looked as if she were off for a day in The Hamptons as opposed to an afternoon of spring cleaning. Her mother was determined to rid her attic of clutter. Unwanted art would go to her favorite museum and several local galleries.

  “Mom.” Avery leaned down, gave her mother a gentle squeeze and took the seat opposite her. Her mother looked beautiful as always, even without makeup. The only way you could tell her age was by the few fine lines around her eyes.

  “Have a cup of tea,” her mother ordered.

  Avery did as she suggested and on cue, Louisa appeared with a teakettle and a packet of English Breakfast tea, Avery’s favorite. She let it steep for several minutes before adding milk and sugar. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Oh, he’s playing racquetball at the club with one of his buddies,” her mother replied, “and it’s for the best anyway, because he’d be trying to keep junk instead of throwing it out.”

  Her mother was right. Her father was something of a pack rat. “I spoke with Nora and she told me you did quite well at your showing.”
<
br />   Did her mother have spies? “Yes, we sold eight paintings of Gabriel’s work,” Avery said. “I’m really pleased with the outcome because he was my find, you know.”

  “That’s wonderful, dear,” her mother said, even though Avery knew what she wasn’t saying. And that was, had Avery invited her, she would have done a lot better. Veronica would have been sure to invite all her friends, and Gabriel’s show would have sold out. “And to show my support, I purchased two as well.”

  “Mom, you didn’t have to do that.” Avery was annoyed that her mother had to meddle. She just couldn’t stay out of her affairs.

  “What’s the harm? I am your mother after all and I only want what’s best for you.”

  “Yes, but you know I wanted to do this on my own.”

  “You don’t have to be alone, Avery. I have connections. This could all have run much smoother if you’d just let me help. Why must you be so stubborn?” her mother said exasperatedly. “You shouldn’t even have to work.”

  “Mother, you know I enjoy what I do.”

  “True, but you are too ambitious for your own good. If you just found yourself a nice husband and settled down, life would be much easier.”

  “I don’t want to settle down and I most definitely don’t need you questioning my judgment, Mother. I get enough of that at work,” Avery replied.

  “And who’s doing that?”

  “Hunter Garrett.”

  “Oh,” her mother chuckled. “I’ve dealt with him before. He’s a pussycat. Don’t worry about him.”

  “There you go again, dismissing my feelings as if they don’t count. I don’t know why I even bother,” Avery said, rising from the table and grabbing her purse.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Someplace where I can feel appreciated,” Avery returned, walking out of the kitchen. She was tired of her mother’s constant criticism that she was too ambitious and too driven. She was quite capable of looking after herself. Avery didn’t need to marry some rich guy and be his showpiece. “Tell Daddy I said hello,” Avery said over her shoulder as she left.