Gray Quinn's Baby

‘I didn’t think it bothered you what people thought.’

‘It does if it impacts on the business.’

For a moment she had a flashback, and that flashback included a baby…

‘Magenta?’ Seeing the wistfulness in her face, Quinn drew her with him to a chair and sat her down on his knee. ‘What’s happened?’ he murmured, drawing her close. ‘Never mind all your questions, don’t you think it’s time you came clean with me?’

She rested still for a moment, knowing she had to tell him. She had to.

‘How bad can it be?’ Quinn prompted.

The dream? Apart from the baby—if it were possible to leave that aside, which it wasn’t—the dream was not bad at all, especially with some careful editing.

So she told him, leaving nothing out—other than the fact that Quinn had told her that he loved her. She concentrated more on the fascinating detail of the sixties, including Quinn’s appalling behaviour at the start.

‘But you won me round in the end, apparently,’ he said wryly.

‘I tamed you and trained you.’

‘Proves it was a dream.’

‘You’re impossible.’

‘You’re repeating yourself.’

Now she was smiling. Quinn’s humour did it for her every time. Plus, he was intuitive and compassionate—not forgetting hot. She still shook her head at him as if he were an impossible case, before going on to recount all the incredible events from the dream. But when she came to the part about the baby she couldn’t go on.

‘There’s no need to put yourself through this, Magenta. You want a baby—that’s not so unusual.’

‘But it felt so real.’ She dashed tears from her eyes. ‘And now I feel like I’ve lost it.’

‘That’s an anxiety dream,’ Quinn told her, bringing her close to drop a kiss on the top of her head. ‘You haven’t lost your baby, because you haven’t been pregnant—not yet.’

‘Not yet?’ Magenta shook her head at Quinn. ‘You are definitely impossible.’

Quinn’s answer was to throw her a sexy smile. ‘Who knows what the future holds?’

She tried to pull away. The pang of loss and longing was still too strong to make a joke of it.

‘Don’t stop me getting close,’ Quinn said, pulling her back onto his knee again. ‘Don’t shut everyone out so the only way you have to experience the things you wish for is in your dreams. Don’t do that, Magenta, you’ll miss out on so much—too much.’

‘Says the expert.’

‘My hopes and dreams have all been centred around the business—who knows what I dream about at night? I can only hope it isn’t balance sheets.’ He grinned.

‘How do you explain my dream?’

‘Maybe you worry you can’t have children—or maybe you think you won’t meet someone you’d like to have a baby with.’ Quinn’s beautiful eyes narrowed consideringly. ‘Whatever. It’s common knowledge you have the best imagination in the business, Magenta Steele—so am I surprised you have colourful dreams?’ Quinn’s lips pressed down. ‘What do you think?’

Magenta wrapped her arms around her waist and remained silent.

‘I’m going to tell you what I think,’ he said, making her look at him. ‘I think we should get to know each other outside the bedroom.’ That caught her attention. ‘Starting tomorrow night with a proper date.’

And, when for once she didn’t argue, he added, ‘I know this really cool jazz club…’

Life could be even better than a dream you could manipulate, Magenta had discovered, thanks to Quinn. She had no time for daydreaming in the weeks and months that followed; he took up all her time. Winter juddered reluctantly into spring, and then another year passed. With the first warm days of that new year the bulbs began to flower, carpeting the London parks with drifts of sunny, yellow daffodils and spikes of vivid purple, white and yellow crocuses. They took time off from work—lunch hours, coffee breaks—whenever the weather permitted. Muffled up in scarves and heavy jackets, they walked hand in hand, fingers intertwined as they talked business and pleasure, finishing each other’s sentences and sparking ideas off each other—whether those ideas related to some new advertising campaign, or to the colour of the sitting room in their new apartment. Magenta always won when it came to colour schemes, though she had to fight Quinn tooth and nail over business—just the way she liked it.

But today was a special day. Today was a day for skimming pebbles across a pool.

‘I have something to tell you,’ she said, drawing to a halt in front of a familiar bench.