Page 64 of Quinn, By Design

“Why didn’t you tellme you were going to refuse the bequest?” Lucy asked when Niall opened his workshop door a few hours later.

“Henry rang you.” His stance changed, bracing for attack, which was fine by her.

“Did you swear him to secrecy?” Lucy strode past him. “Of course he rang me.” Unease propelled her toward the side table where they’d shared so many meals and confidences. She halted, disgusted by the lie those memories represented, and spun back to face him. “You didn’t give him a plausible reason. Did you plan to explain your duplicity to me? Or just slink away without a word?”

“I never said I’d accept the mentorship.” His mouth set in stubborn lines. “Quinns pay their way.”

She dragged a hand through her hair and tugged hard. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t swear.” He looked stricken, and he damn well should, while Aretha sang low in the background,“Chain, chain, chain. Chain of fools.”

“I try not to swear for Gran, but your bastardry inspires me.” Lucy wanted him to know he’d hurt her in ways she couldn’t yet begin to count.

“I’ve refused the bequest. That’s between me and Cam. Nothing to do with you.” He was throwing a cover over his decision like he’d thrown covers to hide his furniture.

“Like hell it’s got nothing to do with me. Why now?” The memory of jumping him as if any male would do was dangerous flotsam in her jumbled emotions.

“Cam didn’t know he was robbing you by setting me up in the foundation. He’d never have put your financial security at risk.” He held his hands wide in a plea for understanding or forgiveness, and she snapped.

“My financial security isn’t at risk.” Knowing she’d beaten her debt phobia pumped fresh fire into her blood, despite the aching fear she was too late. “I don’t have a cash flow problem. I went into a funk after losing Grandpa. I became my ten-year-old self, terrified where my next meal was coming from.”

“Right now, you’ve still got the loan.” Niall sounded remote.

He wasn’t hearing what Lucy needed him to understand.

“I planned to explain last night. Tell you about that frightened little girl. But I had too much to drink, and this morning ...You know what happened this morning.” She walked closer and poked her finger into his chest. “Because you went straight from our bed to your brother, Liam, to sever our business connection.”

“That’s not why.” He threw his head back, the muscles in his throat tight cords of tension.

“But refusing the bequest means you don’t have to have anything to do with me?” Had the sex repulsed him?

He lowered his head. “I’m trying to separate us from Cam’s bequest and money.” His gaze was steady while she tried to untangle his reasoning.

“What’s us?” She poked him harder in the chest.

Aretha bellowed, “I'm just a link in your chain.”

“I’m not sure.” Niall rubbed a hand where she’d stabbed him in the heart.

“‘Not sure?’” She stamped a foot, the jarring from her court shoe slamming into concrete a different pain. “I’ll help you. You don’t want to screw me anymore.”

“Please don’t use that word.” He grimaced and stretched a hand toward her.

“Why not? Do you have a better one?” She crossed her arms, rejecting his overture, the adrenalin draining from her system when she spotted the empty spaces behind him. “Where are the new artworks?” She’d been so caught up with the gala she hadn’t seen the slides for the new batch.

“I finished the contract.” He stared at the empty space with her.

“You’ve paid Liam.” She clutched her stomach, the news a punch to her gut. He was clearingallhis debts. “Quinns may pay their way, but that doesn’t make you honourable.” Aretha sang while Lucy’s heart stalled. “Why didn’t you tell me about the exhibition?”

* * *

Niall closed his eyes. She looked more fragile and lost than the day he’d met her. “How did you find out?”

“I went looking for a towel this morning and found Anna’s sample webpage printouts filed under face washers.” She retraced her steps to stand beside the table under the window.

His limbs ached with the weight of his decision.

“At first it wasn’t relevant. We were strangers. Your passion is antiques. Mine is crafting the new.” Niall studied his hands, then pushed them into his pockets. “Then I agreed to help you restore a few pieces.”

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