“What’s not to like?” He shrugged innocently.
“You’re depraved. And you’re wanted at the party, so gather up your latest sweet young thing and come on.” Sandra sauntered off, giving Quinn a look of pretend exasperation she undoubtedly meant to be flirty.
Blech.
“Well, then, let’s go.” Quinn grinned as if he and Cathy were sharing an unspoken joke and flipped the pen back onto her desk. “This’ll be my first Secret Santa event. Usually I’m out of town.”
“Oh, right. You are. Usually.” She sighed. Could she sound any stupider? “It’s pretty fun.”
Great, Cathy, fun again. This was fun and that was fun and, whee, she was coming across as soooo sophisticated. Not that it mattered, really, except for her own self-esteem. But you’d think since he’d come over to her desk fairly regularly over the past two weeks that she’d be able to react with a few more of her brain cells functional.
“So, Cathy, tell me.” He leaned in closer, tousled sandy hair falling forward, dark blue eyes making her want to gasp and move back. “Are you my Secret Santa?”
She shook her head and let out a nervous burst of laughter.
“Darn.” He sat up straight again and winked. “I was hoping you’d buy me something sexy and outrageous.”
“Oh.” Okay. Blush. Big-time. She couldn’t help it. Why he was flirting with her, she hadn’t a clue. Maybe he was bored. The past two weeks must have been pretty dull for him. He was used to travel and adventure and hot babes all over him. She just wasn’t sure why, in a building bursting with tall, skinny, elegant women, he’d bother landing on her desk. She wasn’t tall, skinny or elegant, though she did manage to be a woman. “Well…I…”
“Sorry.” He slid off her desk. “Didn’t mean to embarrass you. Let’s head over.”
“No. It’s fine.” Aw, hell. She got up and walked with him toward the central area where the tree stood. She had to salvage this before he thought she was a complete loser prude. “I was just picturing what I could get you.”
“Oh?” He turned, that sexy amused look on his face again. “What?”
Good question. But she was not going to freeze up and act the idiot again.
“How about…” Inspiration struck. “One of those thongs with the strategically placed elephant head. Where it’s your job to provide the trunk.”
There. Now please don’t let him be horrified.
He wasn’t. He threw back his head and laughed so loudly other members of the staff gathering for the party stopped talking and looked over.
“What’s the joke?” This from Ron, tall and reed-thin with out-of-control hair dyed black, easily the nosiest person on the planet.
“None of your business.” Quinn winked at Cathy, still chuckling. “But I’m starting to think this woman has a side she doesn’t show at work.”
“Naturally.” Cathy attempted an air of mystery and escaped to join the party. She chose a chair at one end of the tight semicircle around the tree and tried to control her disappointment when nosy Ron sat next to her, and Quinn took a seat opposite. Oh, how mature. She was all whupped up hoping to bump shoulders with him. What a dorky crush. She’d just agreed to go out with Jake this morning and here she was drooling over someone else. What was wrong with this picture?
The last employee—workaholic Bill—showed up and chose a seat, and the present opening started. Big laughs over the practically soft-porn Working Men calendar for openly gay Dan. Big oohs and aahs over the CD of famous arias for music-loving Glenda. Appreciative mmms for the coffee selection Cathy bought Bill. And then it was her turn. A flat box shoved into her lap, a half circle of attentive faces.
She slid the ribbon off, started to carefully loosen the tape, then gave in when the staff protested and ripped the paper off. Up came the top of the box, and she rummaged in the tissue to find—
Oh, jeez. A bright red lingerie set made of lace and…more lace, trimmed with white marabou, like something Mrs. Claus would wear to get down and dirty with Santa. Very tiny. Very sexy. And embroidered in white across the panties: Seduce me.
Ron caught sight immediately and let out a lewd yell.
“Hold it up!” Dan shouted.
Face burning—what a surprise—she held it up, and the room erupted into howls and teasing.
“Look!” Ron snatched a red envelope out of the box that had Private written in big block letters and ripped it open, yanking out a card with a giant bouquet of red roses on the front. “Ooh. Let’s see who it’s from.”
“Ron.” She grabbed the card back and sat on it. No more mortification. Whoever had given her this totally personal and fairly inappropriate gift wanted the card read when she was alone. No way was she letting anyone else see.
Whoever had given her this…
A gift. Today. As her horoscope predicted her true love would, even though, of course, she didn’t believe in that stuff.
Who?
She perused the circle of boisterous faces and came to a sudden stop when she locked eyes with Quinlan…Jussstin…Alexaaander. Who wasn’t laughing or making rude remarks but sitting quietly, watching her with that amused half smile that made her a little crazy.
And before her stunned brain could even begin to formulate another thought concerning the circumstances…
He winked.
2
CATHY EXITED THE revolving door of the Jackman Butler Building and stepped out into the darkening neon-lit chaos of Times Square. The temperature had dropped sharply during the day and a biting breeze sent pedestrians scurrying for warmer destinations.
Bring it on. She was still so overheated and flustered and dazed and whatever else she was that a little icy edge might cool her off and bring her back to reality.As soon as the furor in the office had calmed, teasing stopped and partying started, she’d slipped away to the bathroom, the only place she could be sure to read the card accompanying her gift in private.
Surprised to get this at the office? You shouldn’t be. Necessity is the mother of invention, and I need to get to know you a lot better—you’ve probably figured that out by the signals I’ve been sending lately. Come over tonight, eight o’clock—I don’t have to tell you the address. Whether you wear the lace or not, whether you want to talk or do a whole lot more, I’ll be waiting. Guess Who.
That same card was now in the bottom of her practical black bag, along with the, er, unpractical gift. She’d read the note probably twenty times. Surprised? Um, yeah. Signals? Well, Quinn had been coming by fairly frequently and, yes, flirting. But she never imagined he’d been doing anything more than killing time. In fact, she’d assumed he was rotating among several single women in several offices and chatting them all up. His address? No, he didn’t have to tell her that; she was in charge of all their photographers’ files and had easily found out where he lived in Tribeca.Now the million-dollar question. Would she go? And if she did go, did she want to talk or “do a whole lot more”?
Gulp.
She laughed suddenly, and a guy exiting the subway shot her a “What have you been smoking?” look. This was so unreal! Quinn wanted her? She laughed again and started down the steps, the stale underground warmth competing with the chill above, blowing up dust and bits of paper that made her squint.
All the way to Brooklyn she sat rigid, cheeks hot, eyes bright, fighting bubbling energy urging her to get up and dance. Either she was over-the-moon excited or she was coming down with a high fever that would probably prove fatal.
Cathy and Quinn. It still didn’t seem possible, no matter how many times she tried it out in her imagination. Thank goodness Melinda would be at work tonight, because Cathy wasn’t even going to think about the silly horoscope. Quinn had issued an invitation to a one-night stand. Hers to accept or decline. Period.
On the one hand, what did she have to lose? She could go, model the underwear, spend the night with him as countless women no doubt had done, then say good-night and thanks for the memories. He’d be off to England
for an entire year, and she’d be free to start a relationship with Jake.
On the other, she could stay safely at home and not feel like a sleazeball tramp in polyester lace with tacky marabou, and not risk being a major disappointment to him and not face any embarrassment or destruction of the fantasy. Then he’d be off to England for an entire year, and she’d be free to start a relationship with Jake.
And spend the rest of her life wondering what Quinn Alexander would have been like to…uh, be with.
The train reached her stop, and she trudged through the crowded car and station with the other exiting bodies, past a scary-looking musician butchering “Silent Night” on his saxophone. Day in and out she worked this routine. How often did a chance for something daring and different come her way? How often had she gotten to play the seductress? Tim, her only serious boyfriend since she graduated from Northwestern five years ago, had treated sex as a sacred act, so she’d never felt comfortable trying anything playful. And seducing Quinn would be a sure thing—the invitation lay in her bag. It wasn’t as if she’d be showing up unannounced, way out of her league and risking rejection.
She climbed the steps out onto Fourth Avenue and sucked in a lungful of frigid air.
So did this mean she was going to do it? Put on sexy underwear, go to his apartment tonight and…do it?
Why not?
She practically ran home, and not because her toes had started to turn numb after half a block. She was going to do this. She, CathyAnnJohnson, was going to seduce Quinlan…Jussstin…Alexaaander.
An hour later she stood in front of her mirror, staring at her body in the red lace lingerie.
No way was she going to do this.
The lingerie was her size—Quinn undoubtedly had plenty of practice measuring women with his eyes—but while this kind of underwear always looked so alluring resting gracefully on the nonhips of catalog models, on her…well, the bright scarlet of the material made her skin look even whiter than it was. Her tummy wasn’t exactly flat and toned, and the tiny elastic band on the panties dug in and made unappetizing bulges over and under. Her boobs might be happy and uplifted, but her arms looked soft since she still had a week and a half until her annual New Year’s resolution to get in shape, which would last for two or three months of a gym membership until she got bored or busy and stopped going.
Aw, hell.
She took the lingerie off and tossed it disgustedly onto her bed. Forget it. Time spent with Quinn between the sheets would have to remain in her fantasies. Undoubtedly a much better place for it.
She pulled on plain white panties and a pair of gray sweats. Melinda was working, so no company there tonight. And though Jake had politely said he hoped to see Cathy before tomorrow, it would be overeager overkill to knock on his door tonight when they had a date in the morning.
Whoopee. Instead of making wild, passionate love with the sexiest man alive, she’d spend the evening in an all too usual fashion—knitting, watching TV, wearing sweats.
Cathy crossed her arms over her breasts and gazed at the lingerie, scarlet and wanton, lying on her sweet flowery bedspread. She felt guilty for lusting after Quinn while she should be thinking about Jake in those terms. But a night with Quinn represented her chance to leave sweet and flowery behind, to try out scarlet and wanton just for tonight. Maybe the only chance she’d ever get.
If she and Jake became lovers, they’d do it the sensible way, which was her preference when starting a relationship. Dating a few times, becoming closer, eventually kissing—with all the trimmings—then finally, when each felt ready to make the commitment to an exclusive relationship, finding their way into the sack.
A night with Quinn could be fabulously unsensible. Forget eventually, forget finally. Now, tonight, immediately, what they both wanted. The kind of spontaneous go-for-it move Cathy never gave herself permission to make—with good reason. There lay the way to misunderstanding, heartbreak and possible serial killers.
But Quinn was leaving the country, so whatever happened tonight would soon be erased. She wouldn’t have to face him in the office, worry about what would happen next, fret when he didn’t call….
She screwed up her face, sucked in a long breath, then started tearing off the sweats and cotton.
Okay, Cathy Ann Johnson. This is it. Your big chance to be somebody you’ll never be in real life.
Two hours later, standing in front of Quinn’s building on North Moore Street in Tribeca, staring up at the third floor, shivering like crazy, Cathy Ann Johnson was starting to think trying to be someone else was a really stupid idea. She’d taken off the lingerie and put it back on twice more before she’d made it this far. She did have it on now but had worn a pink sweater and black stretch jeans over it, so if she lost her nerve, it would stay hidden.
After fifteen minutes waffling in the street, she was sure her nose and ears were as pink as the sweater…and what a sexy look that wasn’t. Her choice had become going in, possibly embarrassing herself in front of someone she wouldn’t see again for at least a year…or losing fingers or toes to frostbite.
Hmm.
She rolled her eyes and walked to his front door for the fifth try. This time she actually pressed the buzzer. Then, as adrenaline surged and took her shivering to a new and ridiculous level, she wished to God she hadn’t. Could she run away? Or pretend to be a pizza delivery gone wild?
“Yeah?” His voice was deep and sexy, even distorted by the intercom system.
“Hi, Quinn. It’s…Cathy. Johnson.” Nearly an hour late.
“Cathy.” He sounded surprised but pleasantly. He must have thought by now she’d decided not to come. “Wow, hey, come on up. Third floor.”
“Thanks.” The buzzer sounded. She pushed the heavy wood-and-glass door open and stepped into the lobby, small but immaculate, done in cream and olive-green, with about a dozen strategically placed pots of poinsettias and a huge wreath on the wall opposite, decorated with gold pine cones and a red velvet ribbon.
Most importantly it was blissfully warm. She waited a minute or two for her nose and fingers to regain full feeling, but her shivering barely subsided. How seductive was a quivering mess of a person?
She didn’t want to answer that. Instead she forced herself into the tiny elevator, pressed three, then leaned against the back of the car. A small mirror hung to her left. She launched herself forward and peered into the glass.
Oh, thank goodness. She looked really nice. Her nose wasn’t that pink, but her cheeks were, and her eyes were big and full of sparkling energy he didn’t need to know was terror.
Maybe this would work.
The doors opened. She stepped off the elevator into a narrow hallway, and there he was, leaning against the jamb of his open door in jeans and a white T-shirt with a loose blue shirt open over it.
Oh, baby.
She sauntered toward him, managing what she hoped was a sultry smile. So help her God if she started stuttering and being Cathylike, she’d never forgive herself. This was it. Her shot. To prove she was worth red marabou-trimmed lace that begged, Seduce me.
The door on the left side of the hall burst open, and a white-haired woman in a bright red bathrobe emerged, holding a tiny plastic bag.
“Oh, hello, dear.” She was undoubtedly speaking to Quinn, but she was eyeing Cathy speculatively, then glancing at Quinn, then giving Cathy another once-over, making Cathy completely flustered. For a change. “I’m just taking my trash out.”
She held up the bag, which couldn’t contain more than a couple of tissues.
Beside her, Cathy heard Quinn exhale in exasperation. “Hi, Mrs. Hoffman.”
“Introduce me to your…friend?”
Quinn made the introductions, looking as if he’d rather tell her to go away permanently.
“Well.” Mrs. Hoffman clapped her hands together, making the plastic bag swish loudly, and winked. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful evening.”
Not only did she say wonderful evening as if sh
e meant kinky sex, but then she stood there as if expecting she’d be invited in to watch.
Quinn thanked her, took Cathy’s hand, propelled her through his door and closed it on Mrs. Hoffman, still standing hopefully outside.
“Busybody.” He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head.
“Yeah, there’s one in every building.” Was there? She had no idea. It just sounded like the thing to say.
“True.” He stood looking almost as expectant as Mrs. Hoffman had. “So…hi.”
“Hi. Well. I’m…” She raised her arms out to the side. “Here.”
“So you are.” He spoke in that way he did, looking right into her eyes, and her heart gave a wild leap, then took off in an erratic rhythm that would probably break an EKG machine. “Come on in.”
He gestured her into his living room, which looked exactly as she’d expected. Tasteful, not cluttered but hardly minimalist. Sophisticated, a few antiquey-looking pieces mixed with more modern. Photographs on the walls, some undoubtedly his own, some reproductions of the greats: Ansel Adams, Alfred Stieglitz, Man Ray…And on his coffee table, a tiny tree strung with small white lights, blue-and-red balls and tinsel.
“Nice place. Do you own or rent?” She turned her back on him, stomach sinking, pretending to examine a carved stone box on top of a small bookcase. Good job, Cathy. Keep the hot sex talk coming.
“I own it.”
“Ah.” She put the box down, slightly panicked. They both knew what she was here for, and she chose to discuss real estate? How did one casually segue into Do me now, you hot love stud? “And…so…are you renting when you leave for England?”
“My parents and brothers will use the place when they’re in the city.” He approached and stopped close behind her. She turned and smiled, so nervous her lip did a stupid quivery thing. Was she ever going to be able to look at him without falling apart?
“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, thank you.” She nearly gasped out her relief. Alcohol was a must to take the edge off this fear.
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