Gray Quinn's Baby (17 page)

Magenta gasped as some new arrivals, girls she knew, ran
past her straight off the street complaining about
shivering
without their thermal
underwear
.

Was that a coincidence? Was she going to see a twist of fate behind every door?

‘Oh, hi, Quinn.'

‘Hi, yourself,' he said, grinning down at her as he held the door. ‘You look… For once I'm lost for words,' Quinn admitted, scanning Magenta's fancy-dress outfit with a bemused expression on his face.

‘You don't like it?'

‘Is that what you're planning to wear for the party?'

‘Well, these aren't my new work clothes, if that's what you mean.' She could have predicted Quinn's outfit right down to the red, fuchsia-pink and black-striped socks—and rather wished she couldn't. It made her head reel. ‘You don't think this outfit is right, do you?'

‘I think you look cute—but maybe cute is wrong tonight? You just landed the biggest contract in Steele Design's history, so maybe elegant-sexy would be better. You can still be cute,' Quinn added hastily, tongue firmly lodged in his cheek.

‘That's good to know,' Magenta said dryly. ‘I'll go and change.'

‘But first.' Drawing her into the shadows, Quinn teased her lips apart and then he kissed her.

Each time Quinn drew her into his arms and she inhaled, touched, experienced him, it was like the first time all over again—and the first time had been more than magic. ‘Hmm. I don't feel quite so bad now,' Magenta admitted when Quinn finally released her.

‘And you're going to feel even better when you see what I've got for you.'

‘Quinn!' Magenta exclaimed, pressing her hand to her chest in pretended outrage.

‘A small gift.'

‘Small? If it's something small, I can relax.'

‘You can,' Quinn confirmed, drawing her with him into his office. ‘Well? What do you think?' he said, standing back.

Magenta stared at the dress hanging on a padded hanger from a hook. She had to say something. It was expected of her. Good manners demanded she
must
say something. ‘Thank you,' she stuttered, wondering if the world and everyone in it had gone mad.

‘There's a pair of shoes I thought you might like too—and some opaque-black tights to finish off the outfit.'

She was the one who was about to be finished off, as her heart banged wildly in her chest. Did she believe in second sight? No. Could dreams predict the future? No again. So, how to explain the figure-flattering dress in navy-blue silk and the pair of red-soled shoes? ‘Quinn, these are fabulous—and exactly what I would have chosen myself.'
Given a huge hike in salary
, Magenta thought, giving herself a moment to salivate over the fabulous shoes. ‘How did you know what I'd like?'

‘An informed guess,' he explained, thumbing his stubble.

But there was something else, something she couldn't read behind Quinn's steady gaze. ‘And you're sure you don't dream at night?' she said.

T
HEY
were both lost in their own thoughts on the drive home from the office. The party had been a huge success, with no time for further revelations from Quinn or opportunity for Magenta to dig for clues.

Which was probably just as well, Magenta reflected as she stroked the delicate panels of her new silk dress. Tonight belonged to their colleagues, and their cheers still rang in her ears. She would never have been able to join in the celebrations if she and Quinn had got any deeper into a discussion about dreams. But there was nothing to stop her doing a little probing now. ‘What made you buy the dress for me?'

He glanced across. ‘Intuition told me it might come in useful.'

And, as his lips curved in a grin, she pressed, ‘Intuition? Do you often get presentiments about the future?'

‘I get hunches,' he admitted. ‘Am I psychic? I wouldn't have taken so long to get where I am today if I were.'

‘Thirty-two
is
rather ancient,' Magenta agreed wryly.

‘Your place or mine?'

A bolt of arousal hit her. Quinn as always had come right to the point. Reluctantly, she put her sensible head on. ‘Wherever we can talk.' Quinn wasn't getting off the hook so easily this time.

‘Mine's closer.'

‘Sounds good to me.'

This time when they went inside she made the coffee and laid her cards out on the table right away. ‘Quinn—discussion first.'

‘Hmm, this sounds serious.' He reached past her for the mugs and, while her guard was down, he swung his arm around her waist. ‘I'll issue any timetables we have around here.' Quinn stared her in the eyes, leaving Magenta in no doubt as to his agenda.

The click of the coffee machine was Quinn's cue to release her. ‘Boy, do I need this,' he said, pouring them both a generous slug.

While he was distracted she led the way into his orangerie where they could see the stars as they talked. She trembled with awareness when Quinn came up behind her. She put her hands over his and rested back against his chest as she gazed up at the waxing moon. ‘So, Quinn, do you dream?'

Quinn took the coffee mug out of her hands and put it on a small glass-topped table. ‘Maybe,' he admitted. ‘I'm usually asleep, so I can't be sure.'

‘Quinn.' She turned to face him. ‘I'm being serious.'

‘Oh, really?' His faint smile was softly mocking. ‘How can that be, when all you want is for me to admit that we meet up in our dreams? Crazy woman,' he murmured, drawing her close.

Quinn's eyes were warm and amused and his lips were close. It would be the easiest thing in the world to sink into his embrace and to forget about everything, but she was determined to discover the truth. ‘I'm not asking you to believe in magic—and, I can assure you, I'm not crazy.'

Quinn held his gaze. ‘What do you want me to say, Magenta?'

‘I just want you to admit that there's more to life than what we can see and touch, hear and feel.'

Now he was grinning. ‘Do you want me to lose my hard-ass reputation altogether?'

‘I didn't think it bothered you what people thought.'

‘It does if it impacts on the business.'

For a moment she had a flashback, and that flashback included a baby…

‘Magenta?' Seeing the wistfulness in her face, Quinn drew her with him to a chair and sat her down on his knee. ‘What's happened?' he murmured, drawing her close. ‘Never mind all your questions, don't you think it's time you came clean with me?'

She rested still for a moment, knowing she had to tell him. She
had
to.

‘How bad can it be?' Quinn prompted.

The dream? Apart from the baby—if it were possible to leave that aside, which it wasn't—the dream was not bad at all, especially with some careful editing.

So she told him, leaving nothing out—other than the fact that Quinn had told her that he loved her. She concentrated more on the fascinating detail of the sixties, including Quinn's appalling behaviour at the start.

‘But you won me round in the end, apparently,' he said wryly.

‘I tamed you and trained you.'

‘Proves it was a dream.'

‘You're impossible.'

‘You're repeating yourself.'

Now
she
was smiling. Quinn's humour did it for her every time. Plus, he was intuitive and compassionate—not forgetting hot. She still shook her head at him as if he were an impossible case, before going on to recount all the incredible events from the dream. But when she came to the part about the baby she couldn't go on.

‘There's no need to put yourself through this, Magenta. You want a baby—that's not so unusual.'

‘But it felt so real.' She dashed tears from her eyes. ‘And now I feel like I've lost it.'

‘That's an anxiety dream,' Quinn told her, bringing her close to drop a kiss on the top of her head. ‘You haven't lost your baby, because you haven't been pregnant—not yet.'

‘Not yet?' Magenta shook her head at Quinn. ‘You are definitely impossible.'

Quinn's answer was to throw her a sexy smile. ‘Who knows what the future holds?'

She tried to pull away. The pang of loss and longing was still too strong to make a joke of it.

‘Don't stop me getting close,' Quinn said, pulling her back onto his knee again. ‘Don't shut everyone out so the only way you have to experience the things you wish for is in your dreams. Don't do that, Magenta, you'll miss out on so much—too much.'

‘Says the expert.'

‘My hopes and dreams have all been centred around the business—who knows what I dream about at night? I can only hope it isn't balance sheets.' He grinned.

‘How do you explain my dream?'

‘Maybe you worry you can't have children—or maybe you think you won't meet someone you'd like to have a baby with.' Quinn's beautiful eyes narrowed consideringly. ‘Whatever. It's common knowledge you have the best imagination in the business, Magenta Steele—so am I surprised you have colourful dreams?' Quinn's lips pressed down. ‘What do you think?'

Magenta wrapped her arms around her waist and remained silent.

‘I'm going to tell you what I think,' he said, making her look at him. ‘I think we should get to know each other outside the bedroom.' That caught her attention. ‘Starting tomorrow night with a proper date.'

And, when for once she didn't argue, he added, ‘I know this really cool jazz club…'

 

Life could be even better than a dream you could manipulate, Magenta had discovered, thanks to Quinn. She had no time for daydreaming in the weeks and months that followed; he took up all her time. Winter juddered reluctantly into spring, and then another year passed. With the first warm days of that new year the bulbs began to flower, carpeting the London parks with drifts of sunny, yellow daffodils and spikes of vivid purple, white and yellow crocuses. They took time off from work—lunch hours, coffee breaks—whenever the weather permitted. Muffled up in scarves and heavy jackets, they walked hand in hand, fingers intertwined as they talked business and pleasure, finishing each other's sentences and sparking ideas off each other—whether those ideas related to some new advertising campaign, or to the colour of the sitting room in their new apartment. Magenta always won when it came to colour schemes, though she had to fight Quinn tooth and nail over business—just the way she liked it.

But today was a special day. Today was a day for skimming pebbles across a pool.

‘I have something to tell you,' she said, drawing to a halt in front of a familiar bench.

Quinn grimaced. ‘Just so long as it has nothing to do with a dream.'

‘No, this is real enough.' Picking up the flattest stone she could find, she angled her wrist and sent it skimming across the water.

‘One…two…three…four!' Quinn was behind her with his arms looped loosely around her waist, counting the times the stone flipped up in the air as it travelled over the surface of the water. His breath warmed the top of her head.

‘Does that mean we're expecting quadruplets?'

‘Quinn?' Magenta swung round to face him.

‘How did I guess? I can't live with you every day and fill my eyes with you without noticing those secret smiles you've been smiling, and the excitement you've been trying so hard
to hide. Also, since we're pretty close,' he added wryly, ‘I've noticed that you're late. So, Magenta Steele, I believe you have something to tell me?'

‘Gray Quinn, you're a spoiler.' Pressing her hands against his chest, she threatened to push him in the water. Quinn didn't move an inch.

‘This isn't what you want?'

‘Of course it is!' Magenta exclaimed as Quinn swung her round in the air. ‘And you?'

‘I thought loving you made my life complete—you just proved me wrong.'

‘So I'm second best now?' she teased him, snuggling her head into Quinn's hard chest.

‘I think my heart's big enough to hold you and a whole football team of children safe inside it. You should know by now that you're the only woman I'll ever love, Magenta. And now you're the mother of my child,' Quinn murmured, staring straight into her eyes.

‘I love you, Gray Quinn.'

‘I love you too—and you just reminded me why.'

‘What did you say?'

‘What I've been saying to you for months now: I love you.'

Grabbing hold of the edges of Quinn's jacket, she shook them imperatively. ‘No, not that—I'm talking about the actual words you said, about me being the mother of your child.'

With an indulgent groan, Quinn shook his head. ‘Not that dream again.'

‘There are some things you can't explain,' Magenta said stubbornly.

‘Such as?'

‘Words I heard in the dream that you just repeated—explain that away,' she said with a dramatic flourish.

Holding her in front of him, Quinn stared down into her eyes. ‘Let's put this to bed once and for all, shall we? Everyone
accepts that the subconscious plays on and on while we're sleeping—all those things we can't bring ourselves to think about during the day or don't have time for. We fall asleep and they all come flooding back—whether we want them in our heads or not. And then we embroider them to suit our deepest desires—like you desiring me, for instance.'

‘What?'
Balling her hands into fists, Magenta pummelled Quinn's unyielding chest. ‘The world doesn't revolve around you, Gray Quinn.'

‘Your world does, apparently.' He had to dodge out of the way this time.

‘Okay,' said Magenta, setting her jaw. ‘So what about the little things—the coincidences like the dress and shoes you bought me, also in the dream? And the hot-dog stand?' she said excitedly, growing in conviction.

‘If they were all in the dream, then that was exactly as you say—coincidence. The dress and shoes I gave you aren't such a mystery. The girls leave their magazines lying about all over the office and, contrary to popular opinion, men do glance at them. I guessed the featured outfit of the month would be pretty high on your wish-list.'

‘And the hot-dog stand?'

‘We pass it on the way to your old place.' There was a smile in Quinn's voice. ‘I don't think you can read too much into that, Magenta. You were hungry, I bought you a hot dog—whoo-hoo.'

Magenta sighed. Didn't everyone want a little magic in their life? But she had Quinn. She should be satisfied, she told herself, feeling warmth consume her as she stared into his face.

‘I'm sorry if I burst your bubble, baby.'

‘It's not that.'

‘Yes, it is. However sceptical people think they are, everyone hopes that a little magic will touch their life. There
wouldn't be a game of chance or a dating site in existence otherwise—and that's only the tip of the iceberg.'

‘My dream was just that, in your opinion—a projection of my deepest hopes and fears onto my sleeping mind.'

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘Then I think you're an unromantic killjoy, Gray Quinn.'

‘Really?' Quinn murmured, not even slightly ruffled by this opinion. ‘So, what do you make of this?'

‘What is it?' Magenta asked, staring at the small velvet box.

‘Why don't you open it and find out?'

She did as Quinn said, only to feel every bit of blood drain from her face. ‘It's fabulous,' she whispered. And it truly was.

‘It's no more than you deserve,' Quinn told her, removing the flawless blue-white diamond and placing it on Magenta's wedding finger. ‘Think of it as a bonus for landing the magazine account. I saw it in the jeweller's window and couldn't walk past it. For some reason, it called to me.'

‘And that's all it is—a bonus for my work?'

‘What do you think?' Catching Magenta into his arms, Quinn held her close. ‘Do you want the full-on kneeling-in-the-mud routine, or can I ask you standing up?'

‘On your knees,' she commanded.

‘Heartless woman.'

Heart full
, she thought.

‘Magenta Steele, will you make me the happiest man in the world by consenting to be my wife? What am I talking about?' Quinn said, breaking off to shake his head. ‘I'm already the happiest man in the world.'

‘We don't need to get married?'

‘To bring up a baby in a household full of love together? No, I don't think we do.' Catching hold of Magenta's hands, Quinn held them to his warm lips for a few intense moments,
and when he looked up again his eyes were dancing with the humour she loved. ‘But if you want the ring…'

‘Stop teasing me, Quinn,' she warned him. And, instead of telling him to get up, she knelt down too. ‘I'll take you with or without the ring, as you well know.'