Ruthless Boss, Dream Baby

by Susan Stephens

  Tamping down the rush of heat inside her, she called the meeting to order. ‘Can we get back to work, please? There’s very little time to do this and we have the campaign to work on during the day—which, by the way, is more important. We’re going to give those men a real run for their money when we submit our final ideas to Quinn.’

  ‘And we’re going to have the best Christmas party ever,’ Nancy added.

  Magenta smiled back. ‘This is one party that is definitely going down in history.’

  How she missed the computer! She never thought she’d say that, Magenta realised, checking the mock-up of the party invitation she had designed. But finally the invitation was ready to go to the printer’s and the Back To The Future party was on its way.

  ‘Still here?’ Quinn commented, peering round the door.

  I could say the same about you, Magenta thought. They were both workaholics.

  As Quinn came into the room, her skin began to tingle with anticipation. It was no use pretending she could somehow make herself immune to Quinn. There was a connection between them and she wasn’t prepared to let go of it yet. The air had changed—she had changed. She was like an animal scenting her mate. Every breath she took was drenched in Quinn’s energy and his clean, distinctive scent. All the more reason to get out of here, her inner alarm advised her. ‘I was just leaving, actually.’

  ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  Was he joking? ‘It’s been a long day.’ She kept her back turned so Quinn couldn’t see her cheeks flushing with the memory of humiliation. His idea of free love wasn’t hers. She was better off without him.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m quite sure, thank you.’

  She hadn’t realised Quinn was right behind her and bumped into him when she turned around. He showed no sign of moving. She could only get past him by brushing up against him—something which no doubt would give Quinn great amusement. ‘Excuse me, please…’

  She didn’t want this; she didn’t want to feel Quinn’s heat warming her, or the power in his body reminding her of what they’d shared. She certainly didn’t want him towering over her, or his hard, muscular frame awakening memories better left undisturbed.

  She exhaled with relief when Quinn stood back. ‘I would prefer it if we could keep everything between us on a professional level,’ she said, staring into eyes that were nowhere near convinced.

  ‘Suits me.’ A faint smile played around the corner of Quinn’s mouth.

  ‘We’ll have the presentation ready for you very soon. My girls are ready.’

  ‘And you, Magenta?’

  ‘I’m ready too,’ she assured him.

  The crease in Quinn’s cheek deepened. ‘Any chance you might have lightened up by the time the party comes around?’

  ‘I’ll be on the cocktail bar,’ she said. ‘And I’ll mix you anything you like.’

  Quinn hummed. ‘I take it you have something appropriate to wear?’

  ‘An apron?’

  ‘I was thinking of something a touch more glamorous than that.’

  ‘Something you’d approve of?’

  ‘Pleasing me would be a first.’

  Short memory, she thought. ‘I won’t be trying to please anyone—I’ll be wearing one of the products your team is eager to push in the campaign.’

  ‘Now you’ve got me worried. Are you going to give me a clue?’

  ‘Paper?’ She kept her face admirably straight.

  ‘Paper?’ Quinn frowned, but then his eyes began to dance with laughter. ‘You’re going to wear a paper dress?’

  ‘Apparently they’re going to be the next big thing.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Quinn said. He even held the door for her, and was still smiling when she left the room.

  The day of the presentation dawned bright and clear. Quinn kept everything close to his chest. He hadn’t been in the previous day, and Magenta had missed the electricity between them as well as Quinn’s ironic glances and challenging stares. The office had ticked over while Quinn had been away, but had lacked some essential spark. Now he was back.

  Magenta’s heart rate soared when Quinn strode into the office, and she wasn’t the only one to be affected. He had changed the mood in an instant from diligent to enthused—and no wonder; Quinn looked like a film star with his tan, his build and bearing.

  Magenta was pleased she had gone the extra mile with her appearance for the all-important meeting. Jackie Kennedy had set the pace for the elegant woman of the sixties, with the clean lines of her Oleg Cassini fashions, and this morning Magenta was wearing a copy of one of the beautifully tailored suits the girls were keen to feature in the ad campaign. A better bet than paper, Magenta thought wryly. The men didn’t stand a chance if they were pushing things like that. She had made sure the girls had the first choice from the rail of stylish garments which the photographer had left in the staff room, but she couldn’t have been more delighted with the soft red suit Nancy had kept to one side for her.

  ‘Nice,’ Quinn said briefly, looking Magenta up and down. ‘Call everyone in, will you?’

  Would he ever change?

  Never, Magenta concluded.

  Would he ever pause to take breath? Rarely, she thought, remembering the non-stop action in his bed—which was the only encouragement her cheeks needed to fire up to the same shade as her jacket.

  Oh yes, it was a triumph, Magenta agreed with the other girls later. Quinn had chosen their ideas hands down. ‘But no crowing,’ she insisted. ‘Especially not if there’s someone in the office you like. Remember, no man likes to be put down.’

  ‘Like we’ve been for years?’ Nancy countered, still glowing from her promotion to assistant account-executive.

  ‘Men are more fragile,’ Magenta said thoughtfully. ‘We have to protect their egos if we want the best out of them.’

  ‘Just as they have to treat us as equals if they want the best out of us,’ Nancy put in.

  ‘You’re right,’ Magenta agreed. ‘Respect has to be earned on both sides.’

  ‘And you have to lighten up.’

  Magenta huffed wryly at Nancy’s comment. ‘Someone else said that.’

  ‘Let me guess…’ Nancy murmured, sucking her cheek.

  ‘Never mind who said it. We’re fighting for equality, and that’s a serious business.’

  ‘So is partying,’ Nancy insisted. ‘So we’re going to put our concerns about the men’s ability to contribute anything remotely useful to an ad campaign to one side for now and give them chance to schmooze us. But if we’re going to party you have to, too. And you have to be nice to Quinn, Magenta. He’s given us this chance, so now you have to give him a chance.’

  Now everyone started teasing her. ‘All right, I give in!’ she exclaimed. ‘I will give him a chance—a tiny, miniscule chance.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Nancy said to a chorus of disbelieving jeers.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE night of the party turned out better than Magenta had dared to expect. Her colleagues forgot their differences and started to mingle and get to know each other. Friendships were forged across the sexes, which was exactly what she had hoped would happen—and some of those friendships were heating up, which couldn’t hurt. But when Quinn called her into his office she soon realised that not everything was going to plan.

  She should have thought this through, she realised as Quinn gave her outfit a scorching review. ‘That dress is shapeless.’

  And thin. And she was only wearing paper knickers beneath her paper dress, while Quinn—alarmingly, surprisingly, incredibly—was dressed exactly as she would expect a sexy guy to dress for an evening out in the twenty-first century. He wore a crisp, white shirt with the sleeves rolled back to reveal his muscular, hair-shaded forearms, sharp jeans with an understated belt and the cleanest black shoes Magenta had ever seen. This, together with the craziest-coloured socks, she noticed now as he crossed his legs at the desk to lean back and stare at her—red, fuchsia-pink and
black stripes—quirky, sexy, different. ‘Let me explain.’

  ‘Please do,’ Quinn invited dryly.

  ‘It’s a paper dress,’ she explained, running her hands down the offending garment. ‘So you can’t expect it to be cut in a sharp design. It’s meant to represent practicality.’

  ‘Well, I doubt it will ever take off in a big way, other than into a niche market. Something as ugly as that doesn’t deserve to last in the realms of fashion.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. It’s one of the products your team was keen to promote, by the way.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’

  Quinn’s eyes had lit—was that humour?

  ‘Personally, I agree with you. I don’t think paper fashion will fly for long, however fiercely we promote it.’ But, eerily, Quinn was correct; disposable paper-garments would have a niche market in clinics, beauty salons and other places where a single wear was all that was required. Of course, she had the benefit of knowing this for sure while he could only be using his intuition. She dismissed the shiver down her spine. Quinn couldn’t be aware of the future. ‘At least I’m there with the theme,’ she said, eager to distract herself from questions with no answers as she looked him up and down.

  ‘As am I,’ Quinn said, standing up. ‘I’m guessing this is exactly what I’d be wearing if we were living in the twenty-first century.’

  Magenta paled. The shiver was back again. Why had he chosen the twenty-first century in particular?

  ‘You’ve done well,’ he observed, lifting the slats of the blind covering his window. ‘Everyone appears to be enjoying themselves.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re pleased.’

  Quinn’s appreciative glance sent heat dancing through her.

  ‘You look hot, Magenta.’

  ‘Do I?’ Magenta’s hand flew to her brow. ‘Perhaps a glass of water…’

  ‘Or a jug full?’

  She shrieked with shock as Quinn slowly poured the jug of water on his desk slowly down the front of her dress.

  ‘I can’t believe you did that!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ve—’

  ‘Ruined your dress?’ Quinn hummed. ‘You know, I think you’re right; this will never catch on.’ Taking hold of the front of it, he peeled it off her.

  She was shivering with a combination of shock, anger and arousal as Quinn continued his unrelenting survey. ‘Stop that,’ she said. ‘You can’t just—’

  ‘Trial a product?’ he suggested.

  ‘I am not a product.’

  ‘If you were, I’d buy you.’

  ‘Like you’d get the chance,’ she huffed, but fighting off images of Quinn in his role of sexual master of the universe with a shopping list in hand wasn’t quite so easy. ‘And what am I supposed to do now?’ Crossing her hands and arms over her sodden paper-bra and pants, she glowered at him. ‘Should I staple a few sheets of A4 together and go as a galleon?’

  ‘Lucky for you, I bought a dress.’

  ‘You bought a dress?’ she queried. ‘Good for you. I’m sure you’ll look very nice in it.’

  ‘For you, idiot.’

  And now she was shocked. ‘What type of dress?’ she demanded suspiciously. ‘I’d better warn you now, I don’t do caftans.’

  ‘Or micro-minis, apparently.’ Quinn stared at her legs, where to Magenta’s horror she realised her hold-up stockings were slowly slipping down and wrinkling unattractively around her ankles.

  ‘Shame about the underwear,’ he murmured, drawing Magenta’s attention back to his sexy mouth. ‘I guess that’s gone south too.’

  She tipped her chin in the air and refused to look at him. Quinn had probably bought her a prim little school-ma’am dress, complete with a coy little Peter Pan collar, long sleeves, full skirt, and a nipped-in waist—and she’d hate it. Or not.

  She stared in surprise as Quinn produced the dress.

  Now she was thrown into total confusion, because this was a dress that perfectly complemented Quinn’s twenty-first-century clothes. It was a figure-flattering navy-blue column of silk cut just above the knee—but the finishing touch really floored her. ‘Where on earth did you get these?’ she gasped as Quinn handed her a pair of sexy black suede shoes with tell-tale red soles.

  ‘Not only am I well prepared,’ he said dryly, ‘I am also way ahead of my time.’

  A feeling of light-headedness passed over her. She could hear the music playing outside Quinn’s office. A selection of Beatles hits was just coming to an end, and the following track was some raunchy Rolling Stones.

  ‘You seem bewildered, Magenta,’ Quinn murmured as he ran the palm of one warm hand very lightly down her naked arm. ‘Why is that?’

  Because she wanted Quinn, with his dangerous smile and sexy eyes, in spite of the fact that he had treated her no better than a novelty product to be tested, trialled and put aside when he grew tired of it. And because there was no longer any place for reasoned thinking.

  He lifted his hand away, breaking the spell. ‘I’ll turn my back while you get changed, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, you do that,’ she told him.

  Magenta was willing to bet she had never thrown clothes on so quickly in her life. ‘It sounds noisy out there,’ she said as she made the final adjustment to the tights Quinn had also thoughtfully provided, along with some underwear that proved that he had both good taste and the ability to judge her size down to the nearest millimetre. ‘I think I should go and check.’ She didn’t wait for Quinn to answer; she knew how fast he moved.

  When she returned to the main office, she saw the party had really livened up. All the desks had been pushed to one side to create a dance floor, and if dirty dancing hadn’t been invented yet there were certainly some hot contenders for stealing the crown. The boys and girls in the office were definitely getting to know each other a whole lot better….

  ‘You look like you’re missing out, Magenta.’

  She tensed as Quinn’s shadow fell over her. ‘If I were looking for a partner, you might be right.’

  ‘I am right,’ he said.

  Did the music have to change that very moment from heated to cool? And did Quinn have to pull her into his arms? ‘Did I say I wanted to dance?’

  ‘You didn’t say no.’

  The psychedelic classic A Whiter Shade of Pale was hardly conducive to tension, but she held herself aloof.

  ‘Oh good—you’ve relaxed,’ Quinn murmured against her hair.

  She knew he was teasing her; she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Do you seriously expect me to relax after everything that’s happened?’

  ‘I know a way.’

  They both knew a way, but whether she was ready to play with fire again was another matter.

  ‘Do you want to go home with me? Or would you rather live dangerously in my office?’

  Quinn always got right to the point. She should say no; she should do a lot of things. But the heat rising inside her was making sensible decisions impossible. And what did she have to lose? This was a dream, wasn’t it? Any self-respect she might lose in the short term would be restored the moment she shook herself awake.

  She wanted more than this…

  But sometimes in dreams, as in life, you had to settle for what you had, Magenta concluded as Quinn led her by the hand through the press of people. The promise implicit in his grip had quickly reduced her to liquid fire, and she could only be relieved that no one turned to look at them, though the party had reached that stage where they could have walked through it naked and no one would have noticed.

  ‘It’s a huge success,’ Quinn observed, shutting his office door and leaning back against it. ‘And that’s all down to you.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘What have I told you about underplaying your skills, Magenta? If you don’t believe in yourself, why should I? Stop with all this negative and give me something positive.’

  ‘Will this do?’ Going for broke, she wound her arms around Quinn’s neck.

  ‘It’s a
start.’

  She heard the door lock.

  Quinn’s hands quickly ignited an inferno. The memory of pleasure mixed with the anticipation of more was an explosive recipe. It made her reckless, made her want to hurry things along.

  ‘Hey,’ Quinn murmured, taking hold of her hands when she tugged at his belt. ‘Not so fast—haven’t I taught you anything?’

  Who was backing who towards the desk?

  ‘Same underwear as the dress?’ Quinn demanded, thrusting one hard thigh between her legs.

  ‘If you mean that paper stuff that disintegrates at a touch, then yes.’

  ‘Excellent. Let me know if this is going too fast for you.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You’re on the pill?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ She blushed. Strange to think she’d been so intimate with Quinn and yet could feel so awkward and exposed when he asked her a perfectly reasonable, if unexpected, question.

  ‘I only ask because I heard some clinics in this country will only prescribe the pill to married women.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous.’ And quite possibly true. This was the sixties, after all. And, though almost a week had passed in dream time, she was methodical about taking her pill each morning in the real world—even though there wasn’t the slightest chance she would ever put it to the test.

  Needless to say, she hadn’t brought her pill with her on this crazy time-slip adventure, but that hardly mattered when she had probably only been asleep a couple of hours.

  And that was her last rational thought before Quinn sank deep inside her. She had forgotten how good he was, and now she discovered that his desk was at the perfect height. He helped her up; she drew her knees back and he moved in close. Testing her, he found her more than ready. She climaxed immediately. But she hadn’t finished with him yet. ‘Fill me,’ she commanded hoarsely. Nursing him, she worked her muscles. ‘I want all of you.’