Sweet, bold, sexy Maggie. He wanted her just as much now as when she’d been his mystery woman. Maggie who never asked him for anything for himself. Maggie who kept his chaotic life sane. Maggie who was the best lover he’d ever had.
“I’m sliding my panties over my hips.”
He could say her name and end their games, but he wasn’t crazy. Why should he stop when every nerve in him screamed to drive into her heat? When his every cell craved her touch? When his soul begged for more?
He still couldn’t quite believe that his secretary’s clever fingers were unrolling a condom over him. When she finally straddled him, captured him in her heat, and rode him, taking him higher and higher, he could barely think of anything but the pleasure.
Pleasure from Maggie.
It was Maggie’s tight little nipples grazing his chest. Maggie’s lips on his. Maggie sheathing him, riding him. Urging him on with soft little moans in the back of her throat until the blood roared in his ears and his body gave himself up to her. And just when he was about to orgasm, it was Maggie who pulled away. Maggie who left him reeling. Maggie who pressed her fingers to the base of his erection to stop him from coming.
“Not yet,” she told him, her jasmine scent driving him as wild as her sweet little nips to his ear and her bold grip on his sex. “I’m going to cool you down and then heat you up all over again.”
Leaving his mind reeling and his flesh slick with sweat, she walked to his office bar. He heard her open the fridge, then close the door. A moment later she returned and there was the sound of a cap being twisted off. Then she was trickling drops of cool water all over him, then lapping it off his hot skin with her neat and ingenious tongue.
His body cooled and surged back twice as hard. His fingers were back to clenching the chair’s arms. Her teeth were nipping his neck. Her fingers tweaking his nipples. And then she straddled him, once again taking him inside her sweet heat.
He tried to hold back, wait. But all too soon he was tensing and about to come. When she pulled away this time, and again stopped his orgasm from erupting, he had to bite back a shout.
“You can wait just a little longer, can’t you, babe?”
“Yeah.” But he couldn’t have. Not without her little trick of applying pressure to the base of his sex. She had taken total control of him, even dictating the moment when he’d orgasm. And he’d never felt sexier. Never felt more in need of a woman.
“I’m going to cool you off with an ice cube. Think you can take it like a man?”
She didn’t wait for him to answer. The cold on his balls as she moved the cube over him created a fiery sensation. He didn’t understand how cold could feel hot. He didn’t understand why he was having sex with his secretary. And he didn’t understand why he felt as though the top of his head was about to blow off. he only knew that if he didn’t get release soon, he would be reduced to begging.
The ice cube was melting way too slowly. He gritted his teeth, determined not to say a word.
And then she took him inside her again. She rode him and he urged her on with his kiss and his words. “Come with me. Come with me now.”
And she spasmed around him. The heat and the cold drove him wild. Her nipples grazed his chest and with her mouth on his, she had him spiraling, exploding. Careening out of control.
When he could once more think, he realized that his wrists had broken the ribbons and his arms had come around her, cradling her against his chest. He held her tenderly for a long time until their breathing slowed and their blood cooled.
And he didn’t want to think that he was holding dear bold and reckless Maggie. Right now, after the most fantastic sex of his life, he just wanted to revel in how good he felt, not in his strong feelings of happiness. Later would be soon enough to decide what to do.
QUINN LET MAGGIE WALK OUT the door without telling her what he knew. He’d been in business too long to show his cards before he decided whether to hold, call or fold. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had so shaken him and intrigued him. No wonder he couldn’t keep a coherent thought in his head.
Quinn had three-and-a-half hours before he had to meet Dan for drinks. Enough time to drive to Malibu for some father-son advice. Most men would consider talking to good-old dad about women a weakness, but most men didn’t have Jason Scott for a father.
As a producer, when Quinn couldn’t find the right face, he consulted the best casting agent in town. When he couldn’t find the right subplot, he brought in a top-notch writer to help. When he needed terrific special effects, he went to a master. And when he couldn’t figure out a woman, he went to an expert—his father.
Jason knew and understood women better than any man Quinn knew. Hell, he’d had decades of experience. But his father also hated to be pinned down in a serious discussion, so Quinn didn’t call in advance.
The Pacific Ocean was flat this evening, the beach empty. Jason’s contemporary mansion perched precariously on the cliff, a testament to human engineering and man’s obsession with waterfront property. Although Jason had a home in Beverly Hills, a penthouse in New York and a town house in London, the fifteen-thousand-square-foot beach bungalow was his favorite of his father’s properties.
Jason’s butler greeted Quinn, and shortly thereafter he’d joined his father on the terrace. At Quinn’s entrance, Jason shut the magazine he’d been reading, stood and hugged his son. “What brings you out here?”
“A woman.”
Jason’s eyebrows rose. “Who?”
“My secretary.”
“Is she pregnant?”
“No.”
“Cheating on you?”
“No.”
“Selling secrets to the paparazzi?”
“No.” At least he hoped not!
“Well then, what’s the problem?” Jason settled back in his lounge chair, laced his hands behind his head and crossed his feet, creating the picture of relaxation. His handsome face soaked up the sun’s rays, but not one brown spot marred his camera-perfect face. The man had one-in-a-billion genes that had made him a wealthy and popular star whose career had spanned decades and who attracted a myriad of women. If Quinn hadn’t known him well, he would have thought his father wasn’t concerned. But Quinn knew better. Despite the superb act he put on for the world, his father had a very good brain. However, showing his intelligence frightened directors, producers and could hamper his career. More important, audiences expected their stars to be like the boy next-door. A little edgy, but sympathetic. High intellects tended to turn people off. So his father had mastered the role of “movie star.”
“I don’t know what Maggie wants,” Quinn admitted. “She took Laine Lamonde’s place at the masquerade ball. Used a French accent and didn’t take off the mask when we made love.”
“And now she’s holding that against you?”
Odd how his father kept suspecting the worst—just like Quinn. Had he learned that cynicism at Jason’s knee? Or was it simply the way Hollywood worked? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.
“She’s not threatening me or asking for anything.”
“And the problem is?” Jason prodded.
“I can’t figure out her angle.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have one.”
Quinn took a chair beside his father. “You believe that?”
“No. But it does happen. Your mother loved me before I was famous.” Jason sounded sad, but philosophical.
One of the great mysteries of Quinn’s life was the reason for his parents’ divorce. Neither of them would speak of it. Yet there clearly remained a fondness between them. He considered it a measure of their maturity that neither of them had ever spoken badly to him about the other.
When Quinn remained silent, his father actually frowned at him, risking a wrinkle. “I can’t give advice without information. What haven’t you told me?”
“I’m not supposed to know that it was Maggie that I made love with.”
“So why not just go on p
retending that it never happened?”
“I guess I could….” Quinn saw no reason to give his father all the details. If his father wanted to assume they’d made love just once, it was okay by him because it didn’t change his dilemma—what to do next.
Quinn knew he couldn’t go along with his father’s suggestion and pretend their lovemaking hadn’t happened. But he didn’t know why. Obviously Maggie had struck some chord in him. For the past few days, he’d felt as if he could walk on air. He hadn’t slept much and he had twice his usual energy. Maggie had done that for him and he wasn’t about to give her up, not as his secretary, not as his lover and not as the friend she was becoming.
So what if she distracted him? Hell, he’d spent more time thinking about Maggie than he had about signing Laine. Yet, Quinn always put work first, his personal life second. Maggie had turned his priorities upside down, and instead of resenting her, he wanted to kiss her. Damn it.
His father read Quinn’s reluctance to say more with the ease of an actor who studied character for a living. “She was that unforgettable, huh?”
Quinn grunted his assent, worried how their working relationship might change. Maggie was the best assistant he’d ever had. He depended on her nose for business, her instinct for who was friend or foe. He didn’t want to stop working with her any more than he wanted to give up making love to her.
“You could just come out and tell Maggie that you know that she’s the one who took Laine’s place.”
Quinn snapped his fingers and grinned for the first time since he’d made his startling discovery that his feelings for Maggie were stronger than he’d ever suspected. “Or I could do a little one-upmanship.”
“Sounds interesting. Care to elaborate?”
Quinn shook his head. He squeezed his father’s shoulder with affection. “Thanks, Dad, you’ve been a great help.”
MAGGIE CAME TO WORK THE NEXT morning with a light step, pleased that she’d turned her opportunity with Quinn into more than a one-time fling. What they had together, she couldn’t exactly categorize. She certainly hadn’t changed her mind about his suitability as a permanent partner. Quinn might respond to her, to something she saw in him, but he wasn’t capable of love and stability and commitment. And even if he didn’t react to the constant flow of beautiful young women throwing themselves at him, why would she want to deal with them? Maggie was too smart to set herself up for that kind of heartache. However, she could continue their sexual games—especially since Quinn didn’t have a clue about her real identity.
When he called her into his office to dictate a fax, she couldn’t help recalling that only yesterday Quinn had been sitting there naked and blindfolded and tied with her ribbons to his chair. At the memory, a delicious shimmy of heat coursed through her. But she kept her expression neutral and her eyes cast downward.
Maggie took out her pad and pen. “Who’s the fax going to?”
“A…friend. In Vancouver.”
Quinn wasn’t usually hesitant or evasive. Since lots of industry people filmed in Vancouver, Maggie figured that maybe Quinn was simply thinking hard about composing the letter.
“Does this friend have a name?”
“This is personal. I should probably write the letter myself, but I thought it could use your light touch.”
Quinn had a former girlfriend who lived in Vancouver. Her name was Mia. She’d married a boat captain two years ago, and until recently, they’d run a charter business just north of the border. Maggie had heard through the grapevine that Mia was now divorced and looking for work in film again. Maybe Quinn wanted to hire her, but he’d said this was personal. What could he be thinking?
“So how should I address the letter?”
“I’ll take care of that part. Just double-check the Canadian number before you fax it, okay?”
“Sure.”
Maggie waited, pen poised above her pad, for Quinn to begin his letter.
“The last few days have been the best of my life.”
Maggie almost melted in a puddle of warm satisfaction. Perhaps Quinn had been in touch with his ex-girlfriend since her recent divorce, and this letter to her was a final goodbye since he was having such a good time with his new lover.
“The first night was…”
“Yes?” she prodded.
“The first night was hot enough to singe the sheets.”
Sheets? Confusion flooded through Maggie, washing away her previous satisfaction. Was Quinn talking about a date with Mia where he’d made love in a bed? Or was he speaking metaphorically about Maggie and Quinn’s night together?
“And I’d never imagined after speaking to you on the phone that I could dream such erotic dreams.”
Damn him. Why couldn’t he be more specific?
Quinn paused, leaned forward and peered at her notes upside down. “Got all that?”
No. “Yes.”
Quinn often made leaps in logic, jumping from subject to subject. Usually she had no trouble following him. However, right now he seemed deliberately obtuse and if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought that he was doing so on purpose—but that made no sense. Perhaps her dual identity was getting in the way.
“I especially enjoyed our little tête-à-tête in my office. The blindfold really turned me on.”
Oh, my God. He was talking about her time with him. Only he thought his ex-girlfriend had been his lover—not her. Heat rose to her face and in order to have an explanation for her reaction, Maggie dropped her pen. She bent over to retrieve it, pleased it had rolled under his desk. She took her time searching the floor, hoping Quinn would attribute the red flush she couldn’t control to her mad scramble.
Quinn came around the desk and helped her to her feet, amusement in his eyes. From his pocket, he gallantly handed her another pen.
“Thanks.” She accepted the pen, careful not to let their fingers touch. Being close enough to him to breathe in his male fragrance brought back all-too-vivid memories of being skin to skin with him. Her body immediately responded, her heart rate accelerated, her breasts swelled and dampness seeped between her thighs.
And he’d attributed their lovemaking to another woman. He thought he’d been with Mia.
Maggie’s throat closed up in panic. She had no idea what to do. Or say. Damn, what a mess.
She’d been so careful to mislead him from her true identity that he now believed his lover was someone else. Maggie wanted to fall through the floor. Disappear. Crawl into a hole and never come out.
Instead she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smoothed her skirt, then resettled in her chair. “Sorry.”
“Read the last line back to me, please.”
“The blindfold really turned me on,” she read back. Perhaps he’d think her red face was due to the nature of his dictation. “So, you’ve finally figured out who your mystery woman is, huh?”
“I believe so.”
“Well, who is she?” Maggie demanded, her voice shaky, suspecting for a moment that he was playing with her, that he knew it had not been Mia, but Maggie who he’d made love to.
“I’d rather not say until I ask her first.”
Oh my God. She was still safe. He didn’t think she was his lover.
Quinn suddenly speared her with a fierce stare. “Have you ever made love blindfolded?”
Maggie’s pulse raced. Quinn never asked his secretary personal questions, and for a moment she thought that he might be teasing her. Or on a fishing expedition to see if she would confess.
But when she shook her head, Quinn shot her a sheepish grin. “You might want to try it with a friend sometime.”
Quinn spoke as matter-of-factly as if he were recommending a restaurant. He probably was thinking just how uncomfortable he’d made his conservative secretary and had tried to put her at ease. What he didn’t know, couldn’t guess, was that the idea turned her on so much that she had to press her thighs together tightly, afraid the dampness between her legs might go through her sk
irt.
Maggie regrouped quickly. Since Quinn seemed so open to discussing his love life with his secretary, she would take advantage of the situation. “Let me get this straight. A woman let you blindfold her?”
Quinn’s brows raised. “Actually, she asked me to wear a blindfold.”
“Oh.”
“And now I want to reciprocate the favor.”
“Hmm.”
“So I have to fly to Vancouver. You do understand?”
What was to misunderstand? He wanted to make love to the woman who had turned him on. Only he thought that woman lived in Vancouver.
Way to go, Maggie. Way to screw up big time.
She supposed this was the moment she should confess, before Quinn tried to blindfold some poor woman who would have no idea what kind of game he was playing. Yet, Quinn would show Mia a very good time, and Maggie could barely contain her envy and resentment.
“Can you pack and be ready to leave by five o’clock?”
“You want me to go with you? I don’t understand.” That had to be the understatement of the century. She was almost back to thinking that he knew she was his lover, but then he dashed that idea into pieces.
“I’m taking the company jet. We can work on the way up and the way back.”
Could this get any worse? He wanted her to go. So he could take the company jet and combine work and play. Executives did this all the time.
“Quinn, I’m just getting over my cold. It might hurt my ears to fly. Why don’t you bring Kimberly?”
“She’s too nosey. And too clumsy. Take a decongestant and you’ll be fine. I promise, you’ll be able to sleep late in the mornings because I want time alone with my woman.”
“But—”
“Come on, Maggie.” He pulled the blindfold out of his pocket and ran it over his palm. “I’m eager to tie this over her eyes. You don’t want me to be disappointed, do you?”
9
Bordering on Obsession Page 11