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?
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.
‘Sit. Eat,’ he said, putting a perfectly prepared golden omelette on the table in front of her.
The aroma alone was enough to make her salivate. ‘This is delicious,’ she said, forking up a feather-light morsel of buttery, golden egg.
Quinn joined her at the table and dumped some salad on both their plates. ‘Tell me more about your ideas.’
He never wasted a moment; she liked that about him. It encouraged her to confide more. Quinn was an attentive listener. He asked her about the Christmas party. She took him through her plans as far as she’d got. ‘I’m pleased you trust me to take care of it.’
‘If I can’t trust you on any level, Magenta, you’d better let me know now.’
And there it was again—the change in Quinn from charming host to uncompromising employer in the blink of an eye. She would have to be more circumspect in future, Magenta warned herself.
‘I just make these stipulations for the party,’ Quinn continued ‘No clichés. No glitz. No threadbare traditions. And, of course, no unnecessary expense. And I love surprises,’ he added, having wiped out most of her plan in a matter of seconds. ‘Eat,’ he insisted.
No one had said this was going to be easy.
‘That was delicious,’ Magenta told Quinn as she helped him to clear up.
He nodded briefly. ‘Let’s get on to your talents, your ideas.’
‘I work in a team.’
‘But it’s your brain I want to mine. Whoever came up with those ideas, it was your drive and initiative that brought them to my attention.’
‘I can’t claim all the credit.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because that’s just not the way we do things.’
‘Do things where?’
Ah. That was a little harder to answer.
Quinn shook his head. ‘If you want to get ahead you’ll have to toughen up, Magenta—unless you want to be stuck outside my door for ever.’
‘I don’t want to be there any more than the girls want to be stuck in the typing pool.’
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t push me, Magenta.’
‘You make me sound like the most exasperating woman you ever met.’
‘By far.’
Now they were both smiling.
Feeling Quinn’s heat shimmering on her senses, she glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I’m not sure it’s sensible for me to be alone with you here late at night.’
‘You think you’re in danger? ‘
‘I think you could charm the pants off anyone.’
‘What colour are they?’
‘What?’
‘Your pants. If I’m going to charm them off you, it would be useful to know what colour they are.’ Quinn’s lips curved wickedly.
Magenta’s cheeks fired red, remembering her flimsy, flesh-coloured almost-pants. They wouldn’t take much thinking away—one tug and they’d be off.
‘Why, Magenta Steele, I do believe you’re blushing again,’ Quinn murmured as he brushed a strand of hair back from her brow.
‘It’s hot in this kitchen,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Oh no,’ Quinn disagreed. ‘I don’t think it’s that.’
His mouth was just a whisper away. ‘Coffee?’ she suggested weakly. Pressing her hands on the surface in front of her, she forced herself to push away from him. Glancing round the kitchen, she hurried to collect cups, coffee and spoons.
‘Here, let me make it before you scald yourself.’ Quinn covered her trembling hands with his.
‘Are you trying to persuade me to stay? ‘
‘I don’t need to go to those lengths.’
‘You’re very sure of yourself.’
‘Yes, I am,’ Quinn agreed.
The breath caught in her throat as he drew her close. Her back was to the table and Quinn’s firm thigh was between her legs. She was so aroused, his lightest touch was all it took to make her tremble with awareness. ‘I should go.’
‘No, lady, you should come.’
As Quinn moved against her, she groaned deep down in her throat. What was the use of pretending she didn’t want this? Quinn’s touch was firm and sure, and he gave her the kisses she was aching for, stoking the hunger inside her until she was moving urgently against him in the hunt for more contact, more pressure, more sensation. The aching need grew inside her until it dominated her thoughts and occupied her womb where she longed for Quinn to fill her. He had woken a slumbering appetite and it was clamouring to be fed.
‘I want you,’ she gasped, winding her fingers through his hair so she could pin him to her. Thrusting her body into his, she relished the sensation of his steel against her silk, his muscle against her softly yielding flesh. She was greedy for his lips and rubbed her cheek against his, loving the rasp of his cruel black stubble against her tender skin.
‘Not here. Not now,’ he said huskily, lifting her.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Though she was sure she knew. Not in the kitchen, not the first time. The first time was far too special for that.
When Quinn dipped his head and kissed her again, the question became redundant. He took her mouth with a breath-stealing lack of urgency as if he had all night to tease and arouse her. ‘Do you remember what I promised you?’ he murmured.
That he would make love to her? She would hardly forget
