Gray Quinn's Baby (16 page)

It didn't.

Picking up a pebble, she stood up and skimmed it across the surface of the lake. Ripples spread outwards, unstoppable ripples. There was nothing she could do to change the direction of those ripples any more than she could change the direction of her life to match the dream.

There was no baby.

Wrapping her arms around her empty belly, she mourned the dream-child in wistful silence until a spike of cold wind reminded her she should be getting back. She turned reluctantly. Dreams, Magenta reflected as she hurried back to the office—who knew what secret lives people lived in their dreams?

Sometimes dreams weren't just longings, they were premonitions.

And that was crazy thinking. She shouldn't be greedy. She should think about all the things she had instead and be grateful. Wasn't that enough for her?

A hollow
no…

 

Magenta had almost walked past the store when she stopped dead and retraced her footsteps. She stood in front of the window staring at the dress in silence. It couldn't be. But it was. It was the same dress—the identical dress. It was the flattering navy-blue shift dress Quinn had bought for her in the dream. She stared at it, hesitating until her heart rate reached danger point, and then she hurried towards the entrance. She had to have it…

They'd sold out of her size.

It wasn't meant to be, Magenta told herself sensibly as the sales assistant tried to persuade her to try on any number of alternatives. ‘They're all lovely,' Magenta agreed politely. ‘But not quite what I'm looking for.'
Not nearly.

But she should make some sort of special effort tonight, make a good impression on Quinn for a change. She couldn't go out in the clothes she'd worn all day at the office, so she chose something modest with a twist. Minimal, loosely draped and delicately loose, it was a silk crêpe dress in a shade of ice-blue that brought out the colour of her eyes. Having thanked the woman for helping her choose, she made her way to the exit. She was still short of a costume for the party tomorrow night—and she didn't want to be predictable.

She was tired of predictable, Magenta mused as she hurried along the brightly lit parade of shops. Tess was right, she did take herself too seriously, and the party was everyone's chance to break out. Heading for her favourite vintage shop, she ducked inside.

Well, that was certainly something different, Magenta thought a little later, smiling triumphantly as she hugged the package containing her prize purchase close to her chest. She doubted anyone else would have thought of wearing the outfit she had chosen to a party.

S
HE
arrived at the steak house exactly on time. Quinn did too, it turned out. They walked up to each other at the entrance with a laugh. ‘Shall we skip the meeting?' Magenta suggested.

‘Skip it why?' Quinn said as he held the door for her.

‘I thought the purpose of this meeting was to help us to get to know each other better so we read each other's minds—it seems we already do.' Magenta smiled as the
maître d'
came forward to take her coat.

‘You look beautiful,' Quinn murmured.

She was glad she had gone to the trouble of buying a special dress. ‘And you look…' Was this appropriate chat for a business meeting? But Quinn did look incredible. With his thick, black hair as neatly groomed as it could be, and wearing a crisp white shirt, plain dark trousers with a heavy casual jacket, he looked tanned, vital, dark and amazing. She wasn't the only woman in the restaurant to notice.

He held her arm as he ushered her towards a secluded booth. ‘You've loosened up, Magenta.'

‘Have I?' She raised an eyebrow as Quinn handed her a menu.

‘Your eyes aren't shooting daggers at me.'

‘I haven't done that for some time, surely?'

‘Since I scared you with the motorbike.'

‘You don't scare me—it does.'

‘Lucky for you, I brought the car tonight.'

Something looped inside her like a video playing a scene from a film. ‘The Aston Martin DB5?'

‘You saw me drive up.' Quinn's cheek creased as he grinned at her, and for a moment she was too startled to say a word.

‘That's right,' she managed, telling herself the car was just some ridiculous coincidence. ‘But who said you were taking me home?'

‘Would a gentleman allow a lady to take a cab late at night?'

No.
And if she attempted to go anywhere on her own she guessed Quinn would follow her at a discreet distance until he was sure she was safe. ‘But it's early,' she pointed out, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘Our meeting shouldn't take more than an hour, so I'll be quite safe going home on the bus.'

‘You could,' Quinn agreed mildly, appearing to be intent on the menu. ‘Steak small, medium or large? Well-cooked or bloody? Sauce, no sauce?'

‘Fillet, medium, grilled, with salad, no sauce.'

‘We'll take two of those,' he told the waiter. ‘And some wine, beer?'

‘Water—fizzy.'

‘Done.'

It was all so normal suddenly between them, without a hint of mystery or magic to raise a single awkward question in her mind. She had to stop with the imagination. She wasn't at work now, thinking up some far-fetched ad campaign; she should be concentrating on the here and now and forget about what might have been in a dream.

‘What's this?' Magenta said half way through her delicious, crunchy pudding of lemon-meringue pie and vanilla ice-cream when the wine waiter produced a bottle of champagne and opened it for them.

‘A celebration?' Quinn suggested dryly. ‘My guess is you've been too busy working even to think about celebrating the fact
that Steele Design has a new lease of life—largely thanks to your efforts.'

‘And your money,' she pointed out.

‘I hope I have some skills to bring to bear too.'

‘That's why I went after you.' Magenta blushed as she had a flashback to her dream. She pushed it aside. They were professionals; of course he meant business skills.

‘Are you saying there's a possibility we might make a good team?' Quinn's lips pressed down attractively.

‘Why not?' She held his gaze as the waiter served their champagne.

‘To the future of Steele Design,' Quinn said, raising his glass.

‘I'll drink to that.'

‘I'll handle the business side of things, keep all the aggravation out of your hair, while you handle the ideas.'

‘Sounds like a dream team to me.'

Realising what she had said, Magenta froze. She felt like a computer stalling when it couldn't handle an input overload, but Quinn didn't miss a beat. ‘To the dream team,' he said mildly, chinking glasses with her.

She didn't fight him when Quinn suggested taking her home in his car. It was even colder when they got outside, and there were little flurries of snow in the air. Quinn settled her inside the strangely familiar interior and even helped her to secure her seat belt when he got in. That felt good: twenty-first-century man with old-world manners. It didn't come much better, in fact.

They continued to talk about the business, but there was always something left unsaid between them, Magenta felt, so she said it. ‘Quinn, do you dream?'

‘Doesn't everyone?' He turned right onto the main road, confidently negotiating the steady buzz of traffic.

‘I'm talking about the dreams we have when we're asleep. I know everyone dreams during the day, but you're in control
of that.' Quinn glanced at her and she could see she'd got his attention. ‘You only have to think of something you want, if you want to dream when you're awake, and before you know it you're weaving a whole fantastic drama round it.'

‘Is that right?' Quinn said dryly.

‘You know it is,' she said, feeling a throb of warmth as their eyes met briefly. ‘What I'm talking about are dreams beyond our control, like the ones we have at night. Dreams that creep up on us and take everything in a new direction—a direction we could never have dreamed of.' She laughed. ‘If that makes sense?'

‘It makes perfect sense to me.'

Was Quinn teasing her? It was impossible to tell. ‘Do you have dreams like that, Quinn? Dreams that make a weird kind of sense even though you know they could never happen?'

‘Like a parallel life that seems to be reality?' he suggested, sending a shiver down Magenta's spine. ‘Sometimes.'

He drew up outside her door, leaving no more time for questions—unless she invited him inside. The light was glowing in the window. It looked welcoming, and she was glad she had left it on. Prepared for a knock-back, she decided to risk it. ‘Coffee?'

Just as she expected, Quinn looked at her and shook his head. ‘I only drink Blue Mountain.'

It was as if she had received an electric shock, but she controlled it. ‘Lucky for you, that's the only brand I drink.' Her face relaxed into a smile. Everything warmed up inside her—or at least those parts of her that were already overheated, thanks to the Quinn effect, just heated up some more. ‘Shall we?'

Quinn released her seat belt. His face was very close and his mouth was just a whisper away. How she wanted him. He could just turn and kiss her—brush her lips…

She'd settle for that, Magenta told herself, only to see Quinn curb a grin. ‘You think I'm funny?'

‘I think you mentioned coffee.'

‘I did,' she agreed.

Coming round to her side of the car, Quinn opened the door for her and helped her out.

I could get used to this
, Magenta thought.
This too
, she realised as Quinn put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close to keep her warm.

‘Let me,' he said when she took out her key.

He opened the door, stood back to allow her to precede him and then followed, shutting the door behind them.

This wasn't supposed to happen, Magenta thought as Quinn shucked her coat off in one sweeping move. She wasn't supposed to tear his jacket from his shoulders and rip at his shirt buttons like a loved-crazed hussy. And Quinn wasn't supposed to kiss her as if they'd known each other longer than for ever and had been apart for far too long. They grappled with each other as if no amount of kissing or embracing would ever be enough for them and as if any future parting, however short that parting might be, was unthinkable.

‘Bed,' she managed to gasp, glancing up the stairs.

‘We'll never make it.'

Fighting with Quinn's belt buckle, she was tempted to agree. She'd taken quite a journey in that dream from sexual
ingénue
to sensualist, and she wouldn't be denied now.

Finally, she managed to wrest the belt from Quinn's belt loops and tossed it aside. He kissed her again tenderly, cupping her face in his hands in a way that brought the dreams back full force. She always felt so cherished when Quinn kissed her this way.

But Quinn had never kissed her before—not even close.

So why this heat, this passion? Why was this so familiar?

Then hunger overcame them and she didn't want to work it out. Their clothes lay scattered on the floor, and they found a
new use for the stairs: pressing her down on one step, Quinn moved over her.

Adding to her almost unbearable arousal, she now discovered she could see everything they were doing in the hall mirror. Quinn, muscular, male and completely naked without a single imperfection—and Magenta Steele with plenty, but Quinn didn't seem to notice. He was staring deep into her eyes, showing her things that went back a lot longer than a dream.

But right now it was the present that mattered. She had seen the heat in Quinn's eyes and now his hand had found her.

‘Tell me what you want, Magenta.'

‘All of you.'

‘Like this?'

‘Yes,' she gasped as Quinn sank deep inside her.
Yes and yes again
. Nothing in the dream had been half as good as this. Lying back against the thickly carpeted staircase, she dug her fingers into his buttocks, driving him hard, while Quinn thrust deeply into her to a rhythm that was both exciting and new, yet wholly familiar.

Release was violent and simultaneous. Quinn roared something hoarsely as Magenta cried out his name. Their grip on each other was ferocious as they bucked and moaned in a paroxysm of pleasure, and when Quinn finally loosened his grip on her she lay against his chest, panting helplessly.

‘Was that good for you?' he murmured dryly.

From somewhere she managed to find the strength to ball up one hand into a fist and tap it weakly against his chest.

‘I take it that's a yes?'

Raising her head, Magenta stared into Quinn's eyes. Her own eyes would barely focus, but she managed a single word.

‘More?' Quinn echoed. ‘Bed this time, I think.' Swinging her into his arms, he took the stairs two at a time.

‘Front room—big bed—'

Quinn was inside her before her head touched the pillow. It felt so right, so good; rather than abating, her hunger had grown. ‘The more you make love to me, the more I want you.' This revelation was no more than the truth. Gripping Quinn's shoulders, she urged him on while Quinn worked steadily and confidently towards the inevitable conclusion.

‘My turn,' she told him while she was still gasping for breath.

‘Greedy.'

‘Who made me that way?' Tracing the line of Quinn's sexy mouth with her fingertip, she straddled him and, taking him deep, she rocked while Quinn worked magic with his hands.

They made love through the night, with no time to dream. Quinn had the energy of a Titan, and, starved of love for so long, she matched him every step of the way. They finally fell asleep in a tangle of exhausted limbs.

When dawn woke them, Magenta's first thought was Quinn. She slumped back on the pillow with relief to find him watching her. This was definitely better than a dream.

And things got better still when Quinn was in no hurry to get away—he didn't mention work once.

‘I didn't want to wake you,' he said, stroking her hair. ‘You looked so peaceful. Were you dreaming?'

Their faces were close enough on the pillows for Magenta to see the slightest flicker of thought cross Quinn's eyes. ‘I didn't need to.' Turning her head, she kissed his hand as he caressed her. ‘Did you?'

‘I can't remember sleeping so well for quite some time.'

Now she was in his arms again and any discussion about Quinn's dreams would have to wait.

 

‘You look perky,' Tess commented when Magenta arrived in the office on the day of the party.

So much for trying to hide things from your best friend
,
Magenta thought wryly as Tess narrowed her eyes to scan her face. ‘Good sex? No—don't tell me. I might have to hate you.'

‘We could never hate each other, Tess.'

‘You're definitely pushing it,' Tess warned. ‘Do I take it things are going well for you and the Mighty Quinn?'

‘You know I never discuss my private life.'

‘Only because you don't have one—or didn't used to,' Tess amended, glancing towards the window where they could see Quinn telling the DJ where to set up.

‘Don't you think we should concentrate on getting the right mix for the fruit punch rather than the wrong end of the stick? We don't want everyone falling over after the first drink.'

‘Why not?' Tess demanded. ‘Last man standing's mine.'

 

The sixties-style gym suit, which was the outfit Magenta had chosen to wear for the party, was like a navy-blue shirt and bloomers all in one. There was a neat little collar, a breast pocket, buttons down the front and a coloured belt. Highly flattering, it was not.

What had she been thinking? Magenta wondered, turning to look at her rear view in the rest-room mirror. No need to ask if her bum looked big in this—it did. And, having seen what some of the other girls were wearing, she could only imagine Quinn's reaction when he compared her to the young girls in their tight-fitting hot-pants and micro-minis. But she'd bought the kit and now she'd play the game.

She'd been a little late getting ready, as they'd just learned Steele Design had won a major contract to promote a new colour magazine for a national newspaper, so the party was already underway by the time she was ready to join in. She refused to think of the coveted contract as a coincidence. Had she been asked to promote Shiver Shiver Pink lipstick or
Almost
underwear? No.