Cathy Williams - One Night with Her Brooding Boss

‘Take all the time you need. More than a minute and I’m out of here. What’s this? ‘ Quinn demanded when Magenta returned at the head of her team.

‘A shaving chair I borrowed from the local barber.’

Quinn shook his head in cynical surprise, but insisted on lifting it out of her hands all the same. ‘Where would you like it?’

‘In the centre of the room, please.’ The men weren’t smirking any longer, Magenta noticed. ‘All we need now is a volunteer. What, no one? Won’t anyone help us with our trial?’

Someone sniggered.

‘I will.’

All eyes were on Quinn, who was already loosening his tie.

‘THANK you, Quinn.’ She only had to hold his gaze to realise it contained all sorts of messages that made her yearn inside, most of which were, thankfully, indecipherable to anyone else in the room.

Everyone held a collective breath as Magenta helped Quinn take off his jacket. She could feel his warmth through the cool of his cotton shirt and an array of muscles flexing beneath her fingers. The spread of his shoulders was a challenge in itself, and though she wasn’t small she had to stand on tiptoes to slide his jacket off them. She gave it to one of the girls to hang up.

‘Would you like me to take my shirt off too?’ Quinn suggested.

‘That won’t be necessary, thank you.’ He really knew how to make her heart thunder. ‘If you would care to sit down…?’

Quinn arranged himself on the leather seat, and before she lowered it she secured a protective cover around his neck. Then, tipping him back so she could reach the sink, she stood over him. Their stares connected. Lying flat on his back, Quinn’s was amused, while hers could only have shown how much she was enjoying this moment of domination. To have Quinn’s strong, tanned face beneath her fingers and his gaze, laced with irony, daring her to do her worst was the best challenge she could have dreamed of. ‘Would you be more comfortable with your shoes off?’

‘I’ll keep them on, thank you—I might want to make a quick getaway.’

Quinn’s comment lifted the atmosphere at a stroke and even Magenta laughed.

‘Get on with it,’ he warned. ‘Remember, I want all those reports on my desk before lunchtime today. In fact, everyone,’ he said swivelling round in the chair, ‘you can go now. There’s no need to hang around while Magenta conducts her trial. I’ll file my own report.’

And if that didn’t cause comment in the office, nothing ever would.

‘Would you have preferred an audience?’ Quinn demanded as their colleagues filed out.

‘It doesn’t matter to me either way.’ She would carry through with this whatever happened, though a few-dozen chaperones would have been nice. And safer.

‘So? Where do we begin?’ Quinn demanded.

‘With a warm towel to soften your bristles before I shave you.’

‘You’ll be using a safety razor, I presume?’

‘Would you prefer I used a cutthroat? ‘

Quinn laughed. Magenta doubted anything qualified as ‘safe’ if Quinn had anything to do with it. The thought of touching him, let alone massaging him with her inexperienced fingers, was a mountain she had to climb without a safety rope in sight. ‘There’s just one thing.’

‘Which is?’

‘You won’t—’

‘I won’t what? ‘ Quinn demanded.

‘You won’t try to kiss me? ‘ Magenta blurted awkwardly.

‘You don’t want me to? ‘

‘I don’t want any surprises—I don’t want my hand to shake, or I might cut you.’

‘You really know how to charm a man, don’t you?’

No. That was one thing that was completely outside her area of expertise.

‘I don’t plan to surprise you, Magenta.’

‘Good.’

‘I don’t plan to kiss you either.’

Bad.

‘Are you ready? ‘ Quinn demanded. ‘I don’t have all day.’

The damp towel had been warmed in the prescribed manner and she took the greatest pleasure in winding it tightly around Quinn’s face.

‘It helps if I can breathe! ‘ he exclaimed, rearranging it.

‘Sorry.’ And now she had a dilemma, Magenta realised as she rummaged through the products. Should she choose the Head Man toiletries, for the man who was a man’s man from nine to five and a lady’s man after six? Well, Quinn was hardly a nine-to-five man, and so far there had been no sign of any ladies.

So, how about men who wore English Leather or nothing at all?

Magenta’s appreciative gaze swept down Quinn’s muscular form. She mustn’t even think that way.

How about something called Inferno? The shout line was enough to put her off: if she doesn’t give it to you, get it for yourself. Cologne seemed a poor substitute for the type of gift that ad was hinting at.

‘Well, have you chosen a product range to trial on me yet?’ Quinn demanded impatiently.

‘Yes, I have, actually. Something called Forbidden Fruit.’

‘Sounds reasonable.’

‘“The Lime of Least Resistance”.’

Quinn’s lips tugged and Magenta could hardly keep her face straight. The sixties ad lines were really corny. If she couldn’t come up with something better, it was time to get out of the business—though, of course, her knowledge of the future should give her team a head start.

Was that cheating? Not really; it was just good business sense, Magenta reasoned. ‘Ready? ‘ she asked Quinn.

‘As I’ll ever be,’ he told her dryly.

Soaping Quinn was fun, shaving him less so, but only because he put her on edge and she was genuinely frightened of cutting him. And, far from being softened by the hot towel, his stubble remained just as dense and sharp as it had been when she started the process. Plus, she had to lean in very close, which made her even more aware of him, especially when each time she pulled back it was to find Quinn’s disturbing stare levelled on her face. He had the most beautiful face—strong, clean lines and a healthy complexion. And those lips.

She had never been so intimate with a man before and felt her whole body respond as her hands adopted a new, caressing touch as she positioned Quinn on the padded head-rest. She couldn’t help her breasts brushing his arm as she worked and the feel of Quinn beneath her hands was intoxicating. She had to concentrate very hard indeed on this trial.

‘Not bad,’ he admitted, testing his chin when she’d finished. ‘I might keep you on.’

‘You should be so lucky.’ She laughed nervously, only now realising how tense she had become.

‘Don’t forget the massage—that’s my favourite part,’ Quinn insisted. ‘And I can hardly be expected to give my verdict on the products until I’ve sampled all of them.’

‘Of course.’

‘Warm the cream in your hands first.’

The air stilled between them as she picked up the container and poured a little of the cream onto her hands. She warmed it between her palms as Quinn had suggested, and the sliding sound of cream on skin was yet another reminder that she was batting well out of her league.

‘Don’t be shy,’ Quinn advised her dryly.

‘I’m not shy.’ She started tentatively at first and then grew bolder. She closed her eyes, allowing her fingers to map the shape of Quinn’s face. She wanted to imprint every detail on her mind so she could remember this moment whatever happened next. Quinn’s brow, his ears, his neck, his lips—nothing was forbidden to her and she indulged herself to the full.

It was Quinn who brought the session to an end. Operating the lever at the side of his chair, he sat up. ‘I always suspected you were a dark horse.’

‘Did I do something wrong?’

‘On the contrary, that was the most sensuous massage I have ever experienced.’