One Night with Her Brooding Boss. Cathy Williams
They want to look sharp—they want to be in control.’
‘And they want to do all this while they’re sitting behind a typewriter knocking three bells out of their expensive manicure?’
‘And so the ad has to say to them,’ Magenta drove on determinedly, ‘You’re in charge!’
‘That’s a dangerous line to take.’
‘Are you telling me men are so fragile they can’t survive a challenge from a strong woman?’ She held Quinn’s gaze. Feeling strong whilst pulsating with lust was confusing, to say the least.
‘You’re a strong woman, Magenta.’
‘Yes, I am.’ She knew Quinn was testing her, looking for cracks in her defences. He knew she wanted him to yank her close and devour her with kisses. ‘But I’m only one example of a strong woman,’ she told him coolly. ‘I’m sure there are many others right here in this office.’
‘Some men don’t find strong women attractive.’
And you, Quinn? Magenta longed to ask him, but she already knew the answer. Quinn was highly sexed—hot, feral, dangerous. Her body was ringing proof of that. Of course he liked strong women. Quinn would like the challenge of subduing them.
‘I never discount a woman’s needs.’
‘If you do, it’s your loss.’ She had thought he was talking about business, but as Quinn’s lips curved she realised he was teasing her and that his mind was on anything but business. It was time to sharpen up that sleep-deprived brain of hers and take this battle to the next level.
‘Why don’t you get two glasses and we’ll have a drink?’ Quinn suggested. A sexy grin played around his lips. ‘You should take some down-time occasionally.’
Yes, she could go with that—she could let drink fuzz her mind and make that her excuse for giving the green light to Quinn’s white-hot charm offensive—but she wanted more out of life than fleeting satisfaction. ‘I’m good. I’d like to finish this work so it’s ready for you to see in the morning.’ That was the right thing to do. She should remain strong.
She should do a lot of things, Magenta reflected as her body melted like butter when Quinn closed his hands on her arms. Business was one thing, but this was something very different, and she was tired of keeping up a front. She was tired full-stop, and felt dreamy and reckless… And Quinn was…Quinn.
‘Better?’ he murmured, curving a smile as he dropped a kiss on her mouth.
She sucked in a ragged breath, exclaiming softly somewhere deep in her throat as Quinn deepened the kiss. This was some dream. His hands were lazily coasting down her back while her responses were quickly changing from tentative to hungry and on to greed.
She almost staggered when he stepped back.
He steadied her and then gave her a mocking look.
‘Why?’ she said, feeling hurt and confusion overwhelm her. She never lost control, except for this one time.
‘Because you’re tense.’
She got what she deserved. Magenta passed her hand across her lust-swollen lips and then kept it there as if she could hide her arousal. They both liked to be in control, but Quinn was far better at this than she was. She was hardly a practised siren, and even in a dream her skills hadn’t improved in that direction.
Quinn moved behind her and she tensed as his warm hands found the tender spot on the nape of her neck where all the stress had collected.
‘I told you there was tension,’ he said, proving how skilled he was at clearing her mind of anything but sensation.
She didn’t argue as he began to massage the stiffness away. She doubted anyone could move away from that touch. Quinn’s breath was warm on the back of her neck and his body was only a breath away. She exhaled unsteadily. Quinn was making it impossible to think. Did he know how powerfully he affected her, how her body yearned for him? She wanted him. She hadn’t even thought about her curves before, let alone that they would fit Quinn’s hands so well—if only he would touch her.
‘Why don’t you talk me through your work plan for the rest of the week, Magenta?’
He could switch tracks in an instant, leaving her reeling in his wake. She’d been right to be wary, and now it took several valuable seconds to get her brain in gear. ‘I’ve typed up a work plan which I’ve left in your office. Shall I get it for you?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Quinn liked this game. He liked playing with her. And from what she’d seen of him so far Quinn only ever played to win. ‘I’d like you to see it,’ she said, breaking away. ‘I want you to know I won’t let you down.’
‘You won’t get the chance. There can be no special favours because you’re new to the job, Magenta. I expect the same productivity from you that I expect from the other girls. More, in fact, because I made the decision to put you in charge.’
Which was why she had made sure to be prepared. Going into the office, she retrieved her list and passed it to Quinn, who scanned it briefly before handing it back to her.
‘You’re going?’ She watched Quinn shrug on his overcoat.
‘Did you expect me to stay?’
Anger consumed her. Quinn knew just how to work her. She would have to move a lot faster if she were to avoid becoming his puppet—the woman who could not only knock up an excellent coffee on demand, or a spreadsheet or two, but who could also oblige Quinn in more personal areas of his life. What he needed was a strong woman to take him in hand, Magenta concluded. She had always believed she was strong—but was she strong enough?
Quinn’s laughing eyes put that challenge directly to her. ‘We’ll have a lot on tomorrow, Magenta. I’ll expect you in the office first thing, and I will make no allowances for the fact that you’re working late on your own project.’
‘Of course not.’ You unrepentant barbarian, she thought, smiling pleasantly.
‘Sleep well.’
‘I will.’ And I wouldn’t go to bed with you if you were the last man on earth, she thought, holding the smile. Unless you asked me nicely.
She refused to notice how attractively Quinn’s lips pressed down. ‘I almost forgot this,’ he said.
‘What is it?’ she said, gazing at the plain-brown paper bag.
‘A sandwich. In case you get hungry while you’re working.’ One last amused glance, and Quinn stepped inside the lift doors.
He knew she wanted him, Magenta realised. He no doubt also knew she was a complete novice where men were concerned. This was shaping up to be one hell of a fight. Whichever world they inhabited, she always liked a challenge.
Fortunately you could still flag down a cab in the sixties. If anything, the streets were calmer and the traffic far less frantic. Even the pavements were in better repair. And for a sixties buff like Magenta even the smallest detail, like a billboard featuring a youthful Elvis Presley in his latest film, was a source of the utmost fascination. But there were some things she couldn’t get used to: the lack of central heating in her house, the ice on the inside of the bathroom window, a bed that made her feel like the filling in a particularly well-chilled sandwich.
Tucking herself in beneath a cumbersome sheet, and several thin blankets with a ridiculously small eiderdown perched precariously on top, she realised that her passion for the sixties had made her overlook the privations that had existed then. She had taken the best parts—the comfortable and exciting parts—and had romanticised them to fit in with how she thought the sixties should be. But the truth was somewhat different, as she was rapidly finding out. And now she only had a couple of hours in this frigid room to rest her head before getting up for work again.
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