The Heir Dilemma
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Abby Green
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CHAPTER ONE
QUINTANO HOLT SURVEYED the scene before him: a glittering party on the rooftop of one of Manhattan’s most iconic hotels. Flaming lanterns and flickering candles bathed some of the most powerful, influential and beautiful people in New York society in a golden glow. Black-and-white-clad waiters moved fluidly through the crowd, offering a choice of beverages and canapés. A full moon hung low in the clear night sky. The air was balmy. All in all, a very exclusive and idyllic scene.
He savoured this moment he had alone to himself, before anyone noticed his arrival. He allowed the sense of satisfaction to settle in his belly. Tonight was the culmination of years of work. He’d floated his tech company on the stock market earlier that day for an astronomical amount of money. This was a celebration of the indelible proof that he could make it on his own. That he hadn’t needed his family legacy.
A legacy that he’d sensationally walked away from over five years before, after discovering that his father wasn’t his biological parent. Some other nameless man had been his father. Maybe the pool boy. Or his Brazilian mother’s personal trainer.
Not that the man who had brought him up had tried very hard to stop him from walking away. He’d taken the news that Quin didn’t intend to cash in on his inheritance or take up a role in the family business with a shrug of indifference which had pretty much summed up their relationship.
As for his mother... There were only two people in this world whom he despised and she was one of them. Buried deep inside Quin was the wound of her abandonment, something he’d always blamed himself for. He knew rationally that of course a three-year-old couldn’t drive a mother away from her family, but Quin had grown up believing it on a cellular level because of the trauma.
She’d walked out on him and his older brother without a backward glance and she didn’t deserve an atom of Quin’s energy. He certainly wasn’t going to let toxic memories of her infect this moment.
He shut out all unwelcome thoughts and focused on the crowd. He let his gaze wander over the women, each one as stunningly beautiful as the last. Blonde, brunette, jet-black hair, redhead. All poured into dresses that showed off willowy limbs and luscious curves.
All so tempting...and God knew Quin should be tempted. It had been years for him since—
No, not going there. That would be to invite a level of toxicity that went way beyond memories of his mother.
But the problem was that he wasn’t tempted. Not even remotely. He looked at these beautiful women and not one caused even a frisson of interest in his blood or his body. He was flatlining.
A sense of desperation climbed upwards. It couldn’t be the case that she’d ruined him for all women. On top of everything else she’d done. He let his gaze linger on the woman with red hair. She was the one who least resembled her. He willed himself to find her attractive, letting his gaze drop over her perfectly toned curves—no doubt honed in one of Manhattan’s many sleek gyms.
But that only made him think of another body—equally slim and toned, but from surfing and jogging and walking fast. He’d used to tell her she reminded him of an irrepressible imp, full of kinetic energy. But she’d also been soft in all the right places, and plump in even better places. The way her breast had filled his hand, as if made especially for him... The sharp stab of her nipple... He could still recall how it had felt against his tongue, and the way she’d buck against him, spreading her legs, begging him to—
Quin cursed softly. He was finally feeling aroused and it was thanks to a ghost. Damn her to hell. It was time to move on with his life and if he had to fake it until he felt it then he would do whatever it took.
He was about to take a step towards the party when something made him hesitate. The little hairs went up on the back of his neck. A scent tickled his nostrils. Roses and something sharp. Citrus. Very unique. Only one woman had that scent.
Everything in him tensed. No. He would not let her haunt him like this.
Determined to push the past behind him, where it belonged, Quin took a step forward just as a voice said his name from behind him. It was so low that Quin wasn’t sure if he’d even heard it.
He stopped, going against every instinct within him that urged him to keep moving forward. The voice came again, louder this time. Firmer.
‘Quin.’
Slowly, Quin turned around, fully expecting to see nothing behind him because his mind was playing tricks. It had to be. Because it couldn’t possibly be—
His gaze fell on a woman. It was her. The only other person he despised in the world other than his mother. And yet his first instinctive response wasn’t disgust, or even rejection, it was something much closer to relief, and an almost overwhelming need to haul her close, touch her...feel for himself how real she was.
No way.
He hated this woman with a passion. It wasn’t relief he was feeling. It was pure unadulterated rage and disgust.
And yet the maelstrom inside him wasn’t so easily categorised as he took her in...
Slightly above average height. She’d used to love the disparity in their sizes. He was almost a foot taller. She’d run into his arms and wrap her legs around his waist, arms locked around his neck, pressing her mouth to his as if she needed him more than air.
She looked different, though, he vaguely realised through the shock reverberating through his body and brain. Her hair was lighter. Blonde, with reddish streaks. It was down past her shoulders, wavy. Un-styled.
She was pale. Freckles across her cheeks. Aquamarine eyes. Blue and green. Achingly familiar. Long lashes. Straight nose. Wide mouth. Plump lower lip that had made him want to kiss her the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
She wore a plain black evening gown. Strapless. Showing off a delicate collarbone and slender arms. No blinging jewellery. Minimal make-up. Something about that—about her understated appearance—landed like adrenalin in his gut, waking him out of his shocked trance.
And then he realised it wasn’t adrenalin. It was lust.
‘Sadie Ryan...’ Quin breathed, not quite able to believe he was uttering her name out loud, or that she above all women still had the power to bring his libido back to life after four years.
This was the woman who had betrayed him in the worst way possible—by making him trust her. Love her. No, he told himself now. It had never been love. It had been lust. That was all. But the assurance rang hollow, mocking him.
He blinked, hoping that she might disappear. But she didn’t. She was all too real.
He said, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Sadie Ryan looked up at Quin Holt and couldn’t quite believe that she was standing here in front of him. And that she was still breathing—that she hadn’t fallen, overwhelmed, into a mass of emotion at his feet. Blood was pounding through her body, drowning out the strains of music and the muted chatter of people coming from the party.
He looked as amazing as she remembered... More. Short, dark blond hair. Dark eyes. Stubbled jaw. Classically handsome, but with an edge that elevated him to truly gorgeous. Charisma oozed from every pore. As did pure, raw sex appeal.
Past and present seemed to blur into one another as the memory of seeing him for the first time flashed back into her head. He’d been standing against one of the wooden pillars on the porch that had wrapped around the little beach house in Brazil, drinking from a beer bottle. He’d been wearing nothing but long board shorts. Bare-chested. Utterly gorgeous. And then, as if feeling her gaze on him, he’d looked at her, and she’d felt the electric zing from him to her as if they were connected by a wire.
Sadie forced her mind back to the present. She couldn’t get lost in memories now. Her mouth was dry from nerves. She tried to swallow, to lick her lips but her tongue and mouth wouldn’t function. She’d dreamed of this moment for so long that it didn’t feel real.
Emotions churned in her gut and moved upwards, making her chest swell. Finally, finally she would get to see—
‘I said, what the hell are you doing here?’
Quin’s question cut through the emotion. Sadie realised that he looked angry. No. Livid. A muscle was popping at his jaw, reminding her of when she’d been in hospital four years ago, in intense pain, and no one had seemed to be listening to her. His jaw had popped like that when he’d been talking to the staff.
She concentrated on the present moment even as the past threatened to drown her in images and memories.
But instead of the rehearsed speech she’d been practising—I know this must be a shock—she heard herself blurting out emotionally, ‘I’m so happy to see you.’
Quin frowned. Sadie had only barely taken in the dark suit and light blue shirt. The way that his clothes moulded to his tall, powerful body. She’d never seen him so formally dressed. When she’d known him he’d worn a uniform of T-shirts and faded jeans or board shorts, and more often than not he’d spent his time bare-chested. Or naked. Heat flooded her body at that memory.
‘You’re “so happy” to see me?’ Quin’s voice was incredulous. ‘What is this? Some kind of sick joke?’
Sadie shook her head. She cursed her naivety. Of course he wasn’t going to be overjoyed to see her. She’d walked out without any explanation. Vanished into thin air. Left him and—
‘You were not invited to this party. You should leave.’
The hostility radiating from the man in front of her made Sadie shiver. ‘I tried calling you a couple of times recently, but your number must have changed...or maybe you blocked me.’
Quin was silent for a moment, and then he said tautly, ‘I had the same number for a year after you left...when you didn’t use it, I didn’t see any point in keeping it operational. You’re not welcome here.’
She said, ‘I know I wasn’t invited, but I saw in the press that you were due to be here, so I took my chances and they let me in when I said I knew you.’
Quin’s dark gaze swept her up and down, nothing warm in it at all. He looked at her and said, ‘You “knew” me a long time ago.’
Sadie’s heart shrank inside her chest. He was looking at her as if she was a stranger and she knew she couldn’t blame him.
‘Four years isn’t that long,’ she said weakly, but the lie tasted like acid on her tongue.
The last four years had felt like a lifetime. Each hour crawling past torturously. Each day taking a little bit more of her heart and soul and crushing them to pieces. Until the glorious moment only a few weeks ago when she’d got the news that she could start living again.
Quin shook his head. ‘You have some nerve, showing up like this. What do you want?’
‘We need to talk.’ Surely he couldn’t deny her that?
Quin folded his arms across his chest and Sadie hated how aware of his biceps she was, bulging against the expensive fabric.
‘Talk about what? How you disappeared without a trace? Leaving behind only a note with no explanation. How did it go again?’
Quin pretended to think for a second and Sadie wanted to beg him not to say those hateful words that were engraved into her soul. But it was too late, he was biting them out with caustic relish.
‘Oh, yes, that was it: “Please believe me when I say I don’t want to leave but I have to...”’
The fact that he’d omitted part of the note was small comfort. Maybe he didn’t want to remember the bit where she’d said, ‘I love you.’ Or the other part, which was why she was here...
‘Quin.’ She tried to appeal to the side of him that didn’t want to vaporise her on the spot. ‘We need to talk. We need to talk about—’
‘We have nothing to talk about,’ he cut her off brutally. ‘You need to turn around and leave right now, or I’ll have you thrown out.’
Panic clutched at Sadie’s gut. He couldn’t do this. But her limbs were turning to jelly at the thought that he might very well have her unceremoniously thrown out onto the streets, that she might not get to see—
She forced air to her panicking brain. She had to be rational and remember she had rights.
She forced herself to stand tall in the face of his white-hot anger and clear rejection of her presence. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Quin. I’ve come here because I want to see my son. Our son, Quin. I want to see Sol.’
