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

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?’