One Night with Her Brooding Boss: Ruthless Boss, Dream Baby / Her Impossible Boss / The Secretary’s Bossman Bargain

‘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.

Quinn’s hair was thick and lush, his body was hard and strong, and she was instantly aroused. Quinn’s heat was iced with night air and the taste of mint was on her tongue. He had splashed on some cologne—musky, spicy, warm and clean—and his stubble was an unaccustomed rasp against her face. He was an expert in the art of seduction who knew just how to tease, stroke and nip, until she was pressing herself against him, writhing, sucking, biting, practically demanding the invasion of his tongue as she showed him in no uncertain terms that she had fully embraced the concept of free love—at least in her dreams.

But somewhere deep inside her a warning bell was ringing, and that bell was determined to spoil everything. It said that she might be on a fast track to pleasure, losing all sense of right and wrong, but Quinn was still firmly in control. She was strong in everything else she did, except this. Free love was one thing but it had to be on her terms. She’d put a price tag on it, Magenta decided, and that price tag might just buy a chance for the team she planned to build.

Using every bit of mental strength she possessed, she pulled back. ‘I’ll make that coffee for you.’ Turning away, she continued to prepare their drinks with hands that shook slightly. ‘Do you think you could spare the time to look at the ideas I’m putting together?’

‘Would I like to see what you’ve been doing when I’m paying you to work for me? I think I should, don’t you? ‘ Propping his hip against the counter, Quinn waited until she had finished and then he led the way back into the office, where he swung her ideas book around. ‘This is good. What gave you the inspiration?’

‘Research.’ She could hardly say, the benefit of living fifty years from now. ‘I’m keen to push the campaign to the next level.’ She had never cheated in her life before, never needed to.

‘Your idea certainly moves things somewhere,’ Quinn agreed dryly. ‘Do I take it you weren’t impressed with the team you saw in action earlier today? ‘

‘You could say that,’ Magenta admitted as Quinn stared at her keenly.

‘Maybe they just need time to settle in.’

‘There is no time to settle in if you want to launch in the New Year.’

‘So you’re suggesting I accept a campaign designed by a woman?’

‘Is that so crazy?’

‘You’ve forgotten the natural order of things, Magenta. Men lead at work so that women can enjoy a certain lifestyle.’

‘Women can do that for themselves, given half a chance.’

‘And I don’t let them—is that what you’re saying?’

‘Maybe men feel threatened—’

‘Not this man.’ Quinn cut across her.

She took her courage in both hands and went for it. ‘Then prove it by allowing women to play a part in your campaign.’

His lips curved; he took it well. ‘How do I know that there’s anyone working for me, other than you, that has this flair?’

‘You’ll never know until you give everyone an equal chance to prove themselves.’

‘If there’s so much latent talent here, why has no one put themselves forward before now?’

‘Because women want to keep their jobs, so they keep their mouths shut. Is there any reason good enough to make you ignore a possible seam of in-house talent? I think we must consider our female audience when we design a campaign.’

‘What do women want?’ Quinn didn’t even pretend to think about it. ‘Who cares when men pay the bills? This is business, Magenta, not some feel-good society for you to float around in. Men earn the money women spend—remember that. So men are our target audience.’

She hated herself for trembling with awareness of Quinn when he was preaching this heresy. But Quinn was a product of his time, Magenta remembered, which made what she had to do while she was a visitor in this dream world all the more important. ‘But you’ve just admitted women do the shopping, so they have control of the finances.’

‘Nonsense. Are you the most argumentative woman I’ve ever met?’ he demanded. ‘Who tells a woman what to buy, Magenta? Her man.’

‘Not this woman.’