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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.
