One Night with Her Brooding Boss
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‘What is it?’ Magenta said as Quinn handed her the glass.
‘Single malt.’
She laughed and lightened up. ‘You remembered. Do you know many women who drink whisky, Quinn? ‘
‘Does it matter? ‘
‘Not at all—I just wondered if you liked non-conformists.’
‘You’re not a non-conformist, Magenta.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘Because non-conformists all look the same.’
‘Like hippies?’
‘Exactly.’
Now they were laughing together, and against the odds she was beginning to relax in Quinn’s company. She really liked him—too much. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down and expect to survive the experience unscathed.
‘Shall we get down to business? ‘ she suggested, putting her glass on the table.
Quinn’s lips pressed down with amusement as he put his glass next to hers. ‘I’m ready if you are.’
This was business?
Quinn dragged her into his arms and his kisses were a brushing, teasing, honeyed reminder. ‘I shouldn’t…’
‘You should. You must.’
Quinn’s dark eyes glinted with humour and then he deepened the kiss. The chance to experience everything she had ever dreamed about with Quinn—a man who exuded power, raw and unrepentant—was now a very real possibility. She had always been awkward with men before, concerned she’d get it wrong, but the way Quinn was kissing her, binding every part of her to him, left very little to chance.
Best of all, Magenta reasoned, nothing could go wrong in a dream—there were no consequences. She was free of inhibition and embarrassment. Her twenty-first-century world of metro-males and smooth-cheeked mummy’s boys had never seemed further away as Quinn persuaded her this was one sixties experience she shouldn’t miss out on.
Now his tongue was teasing her lips apart, leaving her in no doubt as he plundered her mouth what he would like to do to her and how very good he’d be at doing it.
She exclaimed with shock when he pulled away.
‘Do I frighten you? ‘
‘You frighten me? ‘ The awkward laugh was back again; she was more frightened of her own feelings than Quinn.
Quinn hummed. ‘You play it tough,’ he said. ‘But I’m not so sure.’
‘You mentioned supper?’ She was out of her depth and sinking fast. Quinn was compelling, and had drawn her to him like a magnet, but his insight had left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. For all she knew, Quinn had caveman morals wrapped in an Ivy League veneer. He certainly promised pleasure with no price to pay, but life was always more complicated than that. Was it possible dreams were more straightforward?
‘Omelette good for you? ‘
Quinn had changed into jeans and a shirt, which made him look dangerously user-friendly as he led the way into his kitchen. ‘Yes. Perfect, thank you.’
She found it bizarre that they were talking about food while she was still shimmering from the effect of Quinn’s kisses.
Quinn appeared unaffected. ‘Cheese? Plain? Herbs? That’s the selection I have on offer tonight.’
She inhaled swiftly when he levelled a keen gaze on her face. ‘Cheese would be good.’ Why must she always feel as if Quinn knew everything she was thinking? Did she need to be so sensitive? Quinn was a hot-blooded man and it was she who was out of sync here. She wasn’t embracing the sixties vibe; free love, free from commitment, was the norm.
‘Would you like your omelette well done, or a little soft and liquid inside?’
She swallowed convulsively. Must that deep, sexy voice make everything sound like an invitation? ‘Moist and not too well-done, please.’
Would she disappoint in the sexual-performance stakes? Quinn was highly sexed, while she wasn’t exactly a well-oiled machine. In fact, she was probably starting out at a lower point than a virgin—she knew what to expect and how badly she could disappoint.
‘Are you frightened of all men or just me, Magenta? ‘
‘I’m not frightened of anyone,’ she protested. ‘If I was frightened of you, I wouldn’t be here.’
‘But you don’t think much of men, do you?’ Quinn observed as he reached inside the cupboard for a bowl and a whisk.
‘That depends on the man in question.’
‘Tell you what we’re going to do.’ He swung around to face her. ‘I’m going to make supper, and while I do that we’ll talk through your plans for the Christmas party and anything else connected to the business. Then I’m going to make love to you. Does that sound reasonable? ‘
Her intake of breath was swift and noisy. ‘You are one arrogant son of a bitch.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ Quinn acknowledged calmly.
‘I’ll eat, we’ll talk business and then I’m going home.’
‘Whatever you like.’
Couldn’t he show a bit more disappointment? She was more mixed up than the egg was about to be, Magenta felt as Quinn reached inside his large and very stylish refrigerator. It must have come over from America with him; this was a time when many people still stored their perishables in a meat safe in the cellar. ‘What? ‘ she said defensively when he started to laugh.
‘You’re as bad as me, Magenta Steele.’
No one was that bad, Magenta mused, taking in the hard-muscled package that was Gray Quinn. ‘Explain.’
‘You do nothing by chance.’ Reaching inside a drawer, he found a pan and tossed it, catching it niftily by the handle. ‘You plan carefully and you do your homework. You’ve proved yourself to be an effective team leader in a short space of time. You know where to locate the rich veins of business and how to mine them. You’re wasted behind a desk, Magenta.’
‘You’ve noticed,’ she said dryly.
‘I notice everything,’ Quinn assured her, breaking eggs in a bowl. ‘I brought you here because I know you’ll be good for the business and I want to talk to you about that.’
She should be pleased. But female vanity, however fragile—and, boy, was hers fragile—demanded more. But Quinn wasn’t going to give her anything more. Sex and business was for him the perfect combination—with an omelette on the side.
‘Your team will sit in on the next board meeting. If there is an untapped resource in-house, I’m going to use it.’
She struck while the iron was hot. ‘So you’re going to take down the partition? ‘ she enquired. When Quinn gave her a warning glance, she added, ‘As you said yourself, sharing ideas in an ad agency is paramount.’
‘Anything else?’
Magenta listed everything she thought might give the girls an even playing-field at work—including banning sexist comments.
‘You are turning into quite a force to be reckoned with.’
His thoughts on that were unreadable. Would he crush her, or would he give Magenta and her team a chance?
Quinn pushed a bowl of salad towards her with the instruction to add dressing and give it a toss. She did as he asked and then sat down across the polished-steel breakfast bar from him.
Quinn’s gaze remained steady on her face. ‘You sure don’t go for gentle change.’
‘Gentle might not be enough.’
‘You want things fast and now.’
Intensity had drawn their heads closer to the point where she could see the flecks of amber fire in Quinn’s eyes. It was warning enough, and she started to draw back, but Quinn caught hold of her wrist, stopping her. ‘Don’t back off now, Magenta.’ His voice dropped low. ‘You know there’s nothing more you love than a challenge.’
Just when she thought she was safe, Quinn reminded her there was another tension between them, and one that had nothing to do with business. Part of her longed to go along with this, to soften and invite as Quinn expected her to. Fortunately, that part was firmly under control.
‘You’re blushing,’ Quinn observed.
Yes, because he had no inhibitions and she had plenty.
The breath hitched in her throat when Quinn ran one firm fingertip very slowly down her heated cheek until it came to rest on the swell of her bottom lip. ‘Why are you blushing, Magenta?’
‘No reason,’ she said, pulling back. ‘The heat of the kitchen, probably. I’m impressed you can cook,’ she added, moving out of range.
‘The men you know don’t get hungry? ‘
‘I don’t know many men.’
‘I taught myself how to cook.’
‘That’s good.’
‘More like necessity.’
She relaxed a little. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just, you don’t look the type.’
‘To cook? What type of man doesn’t like to eat, Magenta?’
‘Most men have someone to cook for them.’ Yes, even in the twenty-first century, Magenta thought wryly.
‘More fool them. I’d rather trust my own abilities.’
Than those of some woman—was that what Quinn had left unsaid? How much leeway would he give her, or any woman in his business? ‘I’m sure you have all the skills required,’ she said recklessly.
How was she supposed to concentrate on her concerns at work now when Quinn’s eyes had darkened to smoky black?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHE was operating on two levels, Magenta realised as she watched Quinn’s skilful hands at play on the second omelette. Whether the cautious part of her approved or not, she was violently aroused. And this was the best chance she was ever going to get to discuss business with Quinn, that sensible side reminded her.
‘Sit. Eat,’ he said, putting a perfectly prepared golden omelette on the table in front of her.
The aroma alone was enough to make her salivate. ‘This is delicious,’ she said, forking up a feather-light morsel of buttery, golden egg.
Quinn joined her at the table and dumped some salad on both their plates. ‘Tell me more about your ideas.’
He never wasted a moment; she liked that about him. It encouraged her to confide more. Quinn was an attentive listener. He asked her about the Christmas party. She took him through her plans as far as she’d got. ‘I’m pleased you trust me to take care of it.’
‘If I can’t trust you on any level, Magenta, you’d better let me know now.’
And there it was again—the change in Quinn from charming host to uncompromising employer in the blink of an eye. She would have to be more circumspect in future, Magenta warned herself.
‘I just make these stipulations for the party,’ Quinn continued ‘No clichés. No glitz. No threadbare traditions. And, of course, no unnecessary expense. And I love surprises,’ he added, having wiped out most of her plan in a matter of seconds. ‘Eat,’ he insisted.
No one had said this was going to be easy.
‘That was delicious,’ Magenta told Quinn as she helped him to clear up.
He nodded briefly. ‘Let’s get on to your talents, your ideas.’
‘I work in a team.’
‘But it’s your brain I want to mine. Whoever came up with those ideas, it was your drive and initiative that brought them to my attention.’
‘I can’t claim all the credit.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because that’s just not the way we do things.’
‘Do things where?’
Ah. That was a little harder to answer.
Quinn shook his head. ‘If you want to get ahead you’ll have to toughen up, Magenta—unless you want to be stuck outside my door for ever.’
‘I don’t want to be there any more than the girls want to be stuck in the typing pool.’
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t push me, Magenta.’
‘You make me sound like the most exasperating woman you ever met.’
‘By far.’
Now they were both smiling.
Feeling Quinn’s heat shimmering on her senses, she glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I’m not sure it’s sensible for me to be alone with you here late at night.’
‘You think you’re in danger? ‘
‘I think you could charm the pants off anyone.’
‘What colour are they?’
‘What?’
‘Your pants. If I’m going to charm them off you, it would be useful to know what colour they are.’ Quinn’s lips curved wickedly.
Magenta’s cheeks fired red, remembering her flimsy, flesh-coloured almost-pants. They wouldn’t take much thinking away—one tug and they’d be off.
‘Why, Magenta Steele, I do believe you’re blushing again,’ Quinn murmured as he brushed a strand of hair back from her brow.
‘It’s hot in this kitchen,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Oh no,’ Quinn disagreed. ‘I don’t think it’s that.’
His mouth was just a whisper away. ‘Coffee?’ she suggested weakly. Pressing her hands on the surface in front of her, she forced herself to push away from him. Glancing round the kitchen, she hurried to collect cups, coffee and spoons.
‘Here, let me make it before you scald yourself.’ Quinn covered her trembling hands with his.
‘Are you trying to persuade me to stay? ‘
‘I don’t need to go to those lengths.’
‘You’re very sure of yourself.’
‘Yes, I am,’ Quinn agreed.
The breath caught in her throat as he drew her close. Her back was to the table and Quinn’s firm thigh was between her legs. She was so aroused, his lightest touch was all it took to make her tremble with awareness. ‘I should go.’
‘No, lady, you should come.’
As Quinn moved against her, she groaned deep down in her throat. What was the use of pretending she didn’t want this? Quinn’s touch was firm and sure, and he gave her the kisses she was aching for, stoking the hunger inside her until she was moving urgently against him in the hunt for more contact, more pressure, more sensation. The aching need grew inside her until it dominated her thoughts and occupied her womb where she longed for Quinn to fill her. He had woken a slumbering appetite and it was clamouring to be fed.
‘I want you,’ she gasped, winding her fingers through his hair so she could pin him to her. Thrusting her body into his, she relished the sensation of his steel against her silk, his muscle against her softly yielding flesh. She was greedy for his lips and rubbed her cheek against his, loving the rasp of his cruel black stubble against her tender skin.
‘Not here. Not now,’ he said huskily, lifting her.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Though she was sure she knew. Not in the kitchen, not the first time. The first time was far too special for that.
When Quinn dipped his head and kissed her again, the question became redundant. He took her mouth with a breath-stealing lack of urgency as if he had all night to tease and arouse her. ‘Do you remember what I promised you?’ he murmured.
That he would make love to her? She would hardly forget a thing like that. She might have had her hang-ups back in the real world, but here in the sixties her body ached for Quinn all the more, knowing his plan. ‘Just promise me one thing.’
‘I promise to pleasure you until you fall asleep exhausted in my arms.’
One final thud of anxiety beat in her heart at the thought of disappointing him, but she pushed it aside. ‘I want something else.’
‘Greedy.’ Running the palm of his hand lightly over her hair, he continued stroking her, from cheek to neck, before brushing the swell of her breast and the imperative thrust of her nipple with a tantalisingly light touch.
‘Whatever happens between us,’ Magenta whispered, trying to catch her breath, ‘you won’t let it interfere with your plans for the business—the chance you’ve given the girls? ‘
‘They mean a lot to you, don’t they? ‘ Quinn murmured against her hair.
‘Loyalty means everything to me.’
‘Aren’t you concerned about your own position in the company?’
‘Of course I am, and if I fall short in any way I would expect you to ask me to leave. But not because of this—not because of us.’
‘Us?’
Quinn’s lips curved. Who knew what he was thinking? The only thing she could be sure about was the way she felt about Quinn.
He gave a dry laugh. ‘Do you really think I’m going to mark you out of ten and take that score forward from the bedroom to the office? Your job’s safe, Magenta; the company needs you. And, whatever happens between us, I’d be a fool not to consider what your colleagues have to offer. Reassured?’ Quinn demanded. ‘You should relax more and worry less.’
That might be possible if she had any useful experience in the bedroom department. ‘I won’t be any good.’
‘You’re going to be very good,’ Quinn argued. ‘I’m going to make sure of it.’
Quinn’s lips were firm and tempting and the expression in his eyes reassured her. She wanted everything he had to give her, starting with tenderness, Magenta decided as Quinn nuzzled her neck. No—starting with fun, she amended when he pulled back to smile his sexy, curving smile. No. That was wrong too. She wanted to feel safe like this, to feel the strength of a man as he lifted her in his arms.
Oh, to hell with it—she wanted sex with a man who knew what he was doing, Magenta conceded as Quinn carried her up the stairs.
Quinn’s bedroom was huge, warm and cosy, and was both neat and scrupulously clean. The scent of sandalwood hung in the air and the decor was tasteful—shades of cream, honey and chocolate—the perfect frame for Quinn, who kissed her firmly, skilfully, deeply. He lowered her onto linen sheets without pausing one instant. ‘Where did you learn to kiss like that?’ she demanded, smiling as she marvelled at his strength combined with such subtlety.
‘They produce some great self-help manuals these days.’
This was some dream, Magenta thought, laughing with him; she was going to enjoy every minute if it. Reaching up, she started on Quinn’s buttons. Pushing the shirt from his shoulders, she paused a moment to drink him in and wonder what she had done to deserve a dream like this. Quinn’s torso was lightly tanned and heavily muscled. He was magnificent—perfect. If she could bottle this dream and sell it on the open market, she could save her company back in the real world without any help from anyone.
‘You’re so beautiful.’ And she was so greedy for him. She tugged Quinn’s shirt from his waistband to feast her eyes on his belly, banded with muscle. All men should be like this, and if women ruled the world they would be.
Kicking off his shoes, Quinn joined her on the bed. Stretching out his length against her, he ran his fingers lightly down her arms.
Could anything else feel this good? But when Quinn dipped his head to kiss her she pressed her hands against his chest and made him wait. ‘Not yet. I want to look at you; I want to touch you—explore you.’ She was finding strength she’d never known she had and, luckily for her, Quinn was willing to indulge her.
She smiled as he tucked his arms behind his head. Inhibitions? Quinn had none. And if Magenta was ever to lose her own hang-ups it was here with this man, and it was now.
She knelt over him, brushing his naked chest with her hair. ‘Stay where you are,’ she commanded softly when he made to move. Trailing her fingers across his chest, and down over that hard band of muscle to the waistband of his jeans, she teased Quinn as he had teased her. Hearing his shuddering breaths aroused her even more.
‘And now it’s my turn.’
She gasped as Quinn swung her beneath him.
‘Trust me,’ he said, seeing her apprehension.
The bond between them was growing, Magenta realised, and she did trust him. She groaned as Quinn caressed her. He was so intuitive; his hands knew everything about her body and sensation was already throbbing between her thighs.
‘Is this your first time?’
She turned her face away from him. ‘No.’
‘Convince me,’ Quinn demanded.
‘I am worried.’
‘About what?’ he said. Cupping her chin, he made her look at him.
‘I might have healed up…’
He laughed; they both laughed.
‘You’re frightened I might hurt you?’
I’m more frightened of the way you make me feel, Magenta thought. ‘Not that—but I am frightened of losing control. I’m frightened of the sensation that builds inside me each time you touch me. I’m frightened of falling over the edge and never coming back. I’m frightened of experiencing something I can’t begin to cope with.’
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘This is going to sound so stupid to you.’
‘Try me,’ Quinn suggested wryly.
‘I have never—’ She swallowed and started again in a firmer voice. ‘I have never…’
‘Had an orgasm? ‘ Quinn supplied, making her blush.
Her face was on fire. She couldn’t speak.
‘And you want me to show you?’
‘I’m not sure I do,’ Magenta admitted.
‘Only because you don’t know what to expect. When you do, you won’t want to stop.’
Her body responded with outrageous enthusiasm to Quinn’s proposition.
He took his time undressing her, smoothing his hands down her body while she responded eagerly to his touch. Her desire was reflected in Quinn’s eyes. She wanted everything he had to give—more sensation, more caresses—but she suspected Quinn would make her wait now he knew her secret. He would draw this out, allowing her time to think about the magnitude of the pleasure to come—pleasure he would bring her.
He proved this theory now. The more she tried to hurry him, the more his lazy smile assured her that he would set the pace.
‘Why?’ she demanded finally on a shaking breath. ‘Why are you making me wait like this?’
‘Because it will be worth waiting for.’
‘I’ve waited long enough.’
Quinn’s words and his stern expression, the note of command in his voice, all drove her to the pinnacle of lust—which he knew only too well. Quinn understood everything about her needs. He knew how to make her hungry for him and was shameless about using that power. Cupping her breast, he chafed her nipple through the flimsy fabric of her bra while his hot mouth attended to her other nipple. Her new lacy underwear concealed nothing; she could see that her nipples were no longer modestly pink, but were livid and erect. Her cobweb-fine briefs did even less to conceal the brazen swelling of a body that had to know Quinn’s touch—and soon.
He had slipped a pillow beneath her buttocks and now she realised why. He wanted her to see the pleasure he was bringing her—he wanted her to have clear sight of all her erotic zones responding to him as he coaxed them into pleasure.
‘I think you like that,’ he observed when she sucked in a noisy breath.
‘I don’t like you teasing me,’ she complained, writhing beneath him as she tried in vain to capture some elusive pressure from his hands. ‘How can you do this? How can you wait like this?’ She arced towards him, but Quinn was too fast for her, and had already moved his hands away.
‘I can’t bear it!’
‘Well, I can—and you are going to learn the benefit of delay.’
She reached for his belt.
‘I refuse to rush.’
‘You must—you have to help me,’ she insisted. It was then that Quinn pressed his lips to her ear.
‘When you’re swollen and ready to the point where you can’t hold on, then I’ll help you.’ Lifting her, he deftly removed her bra and tossed it aside. She moved to cover herself, but Quinn wouldn’t let her. ‘It’s my turn to look at you,’ he said.
She loved the note of command in his voice and, resting back on the pillow, she raised her arms above her head, displaying her body for his approval. Her breasts were full; Quinn approved, she gathered, as he caressed them. When he had suckled to his heart’s content, he buried his face in them. ‘You were made to be loved, Magenta Steele.’
By you. Only by you. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re very good at this?’ she said, easing her head on the pillow to look down at him.
‘How would you like me to answer that?’ Quinn demanded softly, staring at her with amusement.
‘With the truth?’
But Quinn just laughed and moved farther down the bed.
She cried out softly, feeling his hot breath on her thighs. ‘Oh please,’ she begged as his strong, white teeth teased and tormented, sharp against her hot flesh. Arcing her body, she made it easier for him to remove the scrap of lace, which was all that was left between them, and then whimpered when he pressed her to him flesh to flesh. She should feel embarrassed—awkward, apprehensive—but instead she was lifting her hips for him. She was ready, more than ready, for the pleasure Quinn had promised her.