Gray Quinn's Baby(16)

To the sex-starved it was. She moved a sensible distance away from him.

Shrugging off his overcoat, Quinn left her for a moment and when he  returned it was with two glasses of amber liquid that glowed seductively  in the cleverly designed lighting.

'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.