Cathy Williams: One Night with Her Brooding Boss

One Night with Her Brooding Boss

Ruthless Boss, Dream Baby

Susan Stephens

Her Impossible Boss

Cathy Williams

The Secretary’s Bossman Bargain

Red Garnier

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

Title Page One Night with Her Brooding Boss Ruthless Boss, Dream Baby Susan Stephens Her Impossible Boss Cathy Williams The Secretary’s Bossman Bargain Red Garnier www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ruthless Boss, Dream Baby

Excerpt ‘Shall we get down to business?’ she suggested, putting her glass down. Quinn’s lips pressed down with amusement as he put his own glass down next to hers. ‘I’m ready if you are.’ This was business? Quinn had dragged her into his arms, and his kisses were a brushing, teasing, honeyed reminder. ‘I shouldn’t…’ ‘You should. You must.’ Quinn’s dark eyes glinted with humour, and then he deepened the kiss. The chance to experience everything she had ever dreamed about with Quinn—a man who exuded power, raw and unrepentant—was now a very real possibility. She had always been awkward with men before—concerned she’d get it wrong—but the way Quinn was kissing her, binding every part of her to him, left very little to chance. Best of all, Magenta reasoned, nothing could go wrong in a dream—there were no consequences. She was free of inhibition and of embarrassment. Her twenty-first-century world of metro-males and smooth-cheeked mummy’s boys had never seemed further away as Quinn persuaded her this was one experience she shouldn’t miss out on.

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Her Impossible Boss

Excerpt

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

The Secretary’s Bossman Bargain

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Epilogue

Copyright

Susan Stephens

‘Shall we get down to business?’ she suggested, putting her glass down.

Quinn’s lips pressed down with amusement as he put his own glass down next to hers. ‘I’m ready if you are.’

This was business?

Quinn had dragged her into his arms, and his kisses were a brushing, teasing, honeyed reminder. ‘I shouldn’t…’

‘You should. You must.’

Quinn’s dark eyes glinted with humour, and then he deepened the kiss. The chance to experience everything she had ever dreamed about with Quinn—a man who exuded power, raw and unrepentant—was now a very real possibility. She had always been awkward with men before—concerned she’d get it wrong—but the way Quinn was kissing her, binding every part of her to him, left very little to chance.

Best of all, Magenta reasoned, nothing could go wrong in a dream—there were no consequences. She was free of inhibition and of embarrassment. Her twenty-first-century world of metro-males and smooth-cheeked mummy’s boys had never seemed further away as Quinn persuaded her this was one experience she shouldn’t miss out on.

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Arrogant and proud, unashamedly male!

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SUSAN STEPHENSwas a professional singer before meeting her husband on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Modern™ Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday, and were married three months after that. Almost thirty years and three children later, they are still in love. (Susan does not advise her children to return home one day with a similar story, as she may not take the news with the same fortitude as her own mother!)

Susan had written several non-fiction books when fate took a hand. At a charity costume ball there was an after-dinner auction. One of the lots, ‘Spend a Day with an Author’, had been donated by Mills & Boon® author Penny Jordan. Susan’s husband bought this lot, and Penny was to become not just a great friend but a wonderful mentor, who encouraged Susan to write romance.

Susan loves her family, her pets, her friends, and her writing. She enjoys entertaining, travel, and going to the theatre. She reads, cooks, and plays the piano to relax, and can occasionally be found throwing herself off mountains on a pair of skis or galloping through the countryside. Visit Susan’s website: www.susanstephens.net—she loves to hear from her readers all around the world!

MAGENTA yelped with alarm as a scuffed biker’s boot slammed onto the ground within inches of her feet. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? ‘ she exploded, frantically clutching the armful of documents threatening to spill from her arms.

Taking off his helmet, the man shook out a mop of inky-black hair. He was exactly the type of man you didn’t want to see when you’d had the day from hell and looked like you’d been dragged through a hedge backwards: gorgeous, cool, and commanding. He had ‘danger’ flashing round him like neon lights.

‘Well?’ Magenta demanded furiously. ‘Do you always ride a motorcycle like a maniac? ‘

‘Always,’ he drawled.

‘I should report you.’

Eyes the colour of a storm-tossed ocean laughed back at her.

And she would report him, Magenta determined, just as soon as she sorted out the flat on her car, along with a million and one other things.

Such as her father deciding to retire and sell his shares to some stranger without a word to her. Such as saving her colleagues’ jobs from this unknown predator. Such as wanting to get back to her team and their fast-moving, retro ad campaign set in Magenta’s favourite era, the sixties.

‘Do you mind?’ she said, trying to skirt around the man’s monstrous, throbbing machine. ‘Some of us have work to do.’

‘Is that why you’re leaving the office early?’

‘Since when are my working hours your concern?’

The biker shrugged.

Magenta’s glance swept the car park. Where was the security guard when you needed him? She had been loading up the car with things she intended to finish over the weekend in her own time—not that she was about to explain that to this guy, who looked like he spent his weekends in bed. And not alone.