Gray Quinn's Baby

They had everything to do with the creative work she wanted to do for him. ‘Correct, but—’

‘If the work you do for me suffers…’

‘It won’t suffer.’

Standing up, Quinn propped one hip against the desk, managing to look both formidable and desirable at the same time. ‘It had better not,’ he said.

Half-man, half-beast—all male… The shout line on a sixties massage-cologne rushed into Magenta’s mind. The thought of massaging it into Quinn was quickly stifled. She held her breath as he stared at her thoughtfully.

‘Let me see those ideas when you’re ready.’

Did she have to feel so gratified at his grudging concession?

‘And don’t tire yourself out working on personal projects to the point where you’re no good to me.’

‘I’m only too happy to stay behind and work.’

‘You should have asked the girls to help you.’

The girls had enough to contend with from the men during normal working hours without Magenta asking them to stay behind and do more work for her. ‘I’m fine—honestly. You go.’

‘May I?’ Quinn demanded ironically. ‘That’s very good of you.’

‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—’

‘Goodnight, Miss Steele. Remember to lock the door behind you when you leave.’

Watching Quinn stride towards the exit made her wish that just for once she could be a femme fatale that no man could walk out on.

Dream on, Magenta thought wryly, turning back to her work.

She was stiff from sitting at her mean little work-station for hours on end, working on the final tweaks to the campaign, when the sound of the lift arriving made her tense with alarm. She felt exposed and vulnerable without an office door to lock and sat bolt-upright as the lift doors slid open.

It was almost a relief to see Quinn emerge, but what was he doing here?

Her heart thundered with anticipation. ‘Have you forgotten something?’ She hurried to greet him. However much Quinn infuriated her, there was no doubt he injected life and vitality as well as a sense of security into the empty, silent office—though she still felt uncomfortably like a soldier on parade.

‘Miss Steele.’ Quinn’s eyes were sparkling in a very un-Quinn-like way—which was to say his expression was both warm and amused, leaving her a very confused and shaken-up soldier. ‘Can I get you something?’ she pressed.

‘Coffee?’ Quinn suggested.

‘No problem.’ She could smell the night air on him, cold, clean and fresh. There was snow on his collar, and ice crystals sparkling like diamonds on his thick, black hair. It was a change to see Quinn looking so windswept, a good change that took her back in time—or was that forwards?—to a young biker removing his helmet and shaking out his unruly mop of inky hair.

‘You didn’t expect me to come back tonight,’ Quinn guessed correctly. Shrugging off his overcoat, he tossed it over the back of a chair and walked with her to the kitchen. ‘I saw the lights from the street and took pity on you.’

‘How kind,’ she murmured. ‘Strong and hot?’ she said, pushing the kitchen door open.

Quinn’s laugh was low and sexy. ‘If you say so.’

Were they flirting? ‘I’m talking about coffee.’

‘And so am I,’ he assured her. ‘Put a dash of this in it.’ He produced a bottle of very good whisky. ‘You looked worn out earlier, so I thought I should bring you something to get your blood flowing again. Something told me you might baulk if I offered you fortified wine.’

‘Whisky is my drink of choice, as it happens. You know me well.’

‘I don’t know you at all, Miss Steele, but that is something I intend to put right.’

It was a tiny moment of connection between them, and she wanted to protect and nurture it like a candle flame.

Quinn was way ahead of her.

‘Apologies in advance for contravening one of your feminist by-laws.’

She gasped as his lips brushed hers. In the same instant, he pressed her back against the kitchen counter and, with one powerful thigh nudging her legs apart, he drew her close. ‘Forget the coffee,’ he murmured, teasing and nuzzling her neck and mouth in a way that delivered a powerful charge to every sex-starved part of her. ‘You need this more.’

Oh yes, she did, Magenta realised as she wound her arms around Quinn’s neck. What her sensible side would have to say about it when she woke up in the morning was another matter. But she was dreaming and, according to the law of dreams, anything was possible, even forgetting her inhibitions where sex was concerned. She would just have to put up with Quinn kissing her like a god.