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  "When you've finished typing up that agreement, just leave it on the table, Miss Winters. I'll check it over when we get back." He didn't seem to expect a reply and Althea didn't give one. Turning to Martin, he said, "If you're ready, let's get going, shall we?" A slow grin tilted Ward's hard mouth and a look of purely masculine communication passed between the two men. "I certainly don't want to keep Miss Norton waiting."

  Althea's wistful gaze followed their progress to the door. When they reached it, Martin paused and looked back at her, his expression concerned and slightly apologetic. "Will you be all right here alone, Althea?" he asked in a worried tone that earned him a sharp look from Ward. "I mean, if you need any help, I'll be happy to stay."

  The considerate offer brought a sudden sting of tears to Althea's eyes, and she blinked to hold them in check. Smiling wanly, she shook her head. "Thank you, Martin, but I'll be fine. Don't worry."

  "Well, if you're sure . . ."

  "I am. Good night. And have a nice evening."

  With a shrug, Martin stepped through the door, but Ward didn't move. Those deceptively sleepy brown eyes ran over her in quick assessment, from the top of her dull, skinned-back hair to the tips of her clumpy shoes. Althea stiffened as she realized that, for the first time since the day of her interview, she was being subjected to a thorough masculine appraisal. Sheer panic made her catch her breath. Surely, after all this time, he wasn't about to see through her disguise! Just the thought of it made her heart pound in alarm. Darn! Why did Martin have to have that sudden attack of conscience? With a boldness she did not feel, Althea lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on. "Was there something else, Mr. Kingman?"

  A puzzled frown creased Ward's forehead, but finally he shook his head. "No. Nothing. Good night, Miss Winters. I'll see you in the morning."

  Althea stared at the door a long time after it had clicked shut behind him. Her fear had begun to slowly fade, but in its place came a feeling of desolation.

  Unable to return to work just yet, she rose and wandered aimlessly around the elegant sitting room. It was so quiet. So lonely. She walked to the balcony doors and stared past her reflection to the lights of Los Angeles far below, and sighed. Actually, she would have loved to go to a party. It was just what she needed. Since coming to work for Kingman Enterprises her social life had all but ceased to exist. The long hours plus the unpredictability of her free time had discouraged most of the men she dated. Suddenly she realized how one-dimensional and empty her life had become. And it was a sure bet it wasn't going to get any better in the foreseeable future.

  The depressing thought produced another long, deep sigh. "Now you know how Cinderella felt before her fairy godmother arrived," she whispered. Then, as Althea's eyes refocused on her reflection, her mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace. "But you look more like one of the ugly stepsisters." She yanked off the useless glasses and tossed them aside, and as her gaze traced over her colorless features, the unbecoming hairstyle, the dowdy clothes, her disgust deepened. How she hated looking like a frump. No wonder Ward treated her like a piece of office machinery.

  Swinging away from the doors, Althea returned to the middle of the room and began to pace. What had brought on this sudden discontent? It was true that Ward Kingman was a demanding employer, but he paid her quite well. Just the bonus he had given her last month at the completion of the McQuirter deal would pay Greg's fall tuition, with some left over. And she had learned more about business and finance in the past four months than she had learned in her entire four years at Barlow's. As much as it pained her to admit it, her respect for her employer's business acumen had skyrocketed. If only he would treat her like a woman . . .

  Althea sucked in her breath as she realized the direction her thoughts had taken. How ridiculous! She certainly didn't want to attract his attention in that way! She deplored his type. Granted, the man was keenly intelligent and dynamic and exciting to work for, but he possessed a rugged, sensual appeal that drew women like flies to honey, a situation which he enjoyed to the fullest. And Althea had no desire to become one of a crowd.

  Not that you'd get the chance, she reminded herself severely. If he ever finds out about your disguise, he'll probably fire you on the spot, and don't you forget it, my girl.

  Firmly subduing her turbulent emotions, Althea marched back to the desk. It was after midnight before she finished typing the agreement. She was stiff and tired and longed for a hot soak, but settled for a quick shower instead, and crawled wearily into bed. Ward and Martin still had not returned.

  By the next morning the temporary bout of self-pity had passed and Althea once more had herself in hand. She had an excellent job that would provide both herself and Greg with a secure future, she told herself sternly. If holding on to it meant her social life had to suffer a bit, so be it.

  As expected, Stanley Norton's legal advisers balked at some of the conditions of the agreement, and the entire day was spent in endless meetings as they hashed out a compromise acceptable to both sides. That evening when Ward left to keep another date with Victoria Norton, both Althea and Martin were still slaving away over the revisions. Too tired to feel either envy or resentment, Althea could only marvel at the man's stamina.

  When they boarded the company jet the next day for their return to Houston, Althea fully expected to spend the entire trip working, but after dictating only three intercorporate memos, Ward gave her a keen look and said, "That will be all for now. You may as well catch forty winks on the sofa. You look as though you need it."

  The thoughtful suggestion came as a complete surprise, but Althea didn't question it. Hurriedly, before he could change his mind, she kicked off her shoes and curled up on the burnt-orange sofa, sighing as her tired body sank into the soft cushions. Just before her eyelids fluttered shut she caught Ward staring at her, a puzzled frown etched between his brows, but she was too exhausted to wonder why. Within seconds she was asleep.

  She awoke slowly. Warm, snuggled deep into the soft cushions, Althea felt saturated with a delicious languor, every muscle in her body slack. She didn't bother to move or open her eyes; she was content just to lie there savoring the feeling. Slowly she realized that someone had covered her with a blanket. Martin, most likely, she told herself. She couldn't imagine Ward doing anything so thoughtful.

  Gradually the low-voiced conversation of the plane's other two passengers impinged on Althea's consciousness. Martin and Ward were sitting in the armchairs just in front of the sofa, and though they were making an effort to keep their voices down, she couldn't help but hear what they were saying.

  "Come on, Ward. Give me a break," Martin groaned. "You know how I hate those affairs Estelle and Sam give."

  Ward chuckled softly. "You'll suffer through it, I'm sure."

  "Why do I have to go? Why can't you just take Deborah?"

  "Because I promised her that we'd go out to dinner, just the two of us, as soon as I returned. She's been giving me hell lately because I haven't been spending any time with her," he said with irritation. Althea smiled and snuggled deeper under the blanket.

  Martin groaned again, and Ward added, "Look, you don't have to stay long. Just mingle a bit, put out a few feelers. I need to know whether or not Harrison is going to exercise that stock option."

  "But the party is tonight, and I don't have a date. And you know how Estelle feels about stag males. Her parties all resemble Noah's Ark; everyone comes in pairs."

  "So? Get a date."

  "This late? You've got to be kidding! You may get by with calling at the eleventh hour, but it never works for me."

  Althea could hear the seat in front of her creak as Ward shifted and stretched out his long legs. "Well, don't worry," he soothed in an amused tone. "If you strike out you can always take Miss Winters."

  Althea's eyes popped open, her body stiffening in outrage. The nerve of that man! Did he think that she was such a hopeless case she couldn't possibly have a date? That she was so ... so lonely and pathetic she'd jump at
the chance to go out with Martin ... or any man?

  "Aw, come on, Ward. Have a heart! You can't actually expect me to take Miss Winters, for God's sake!"

  "Why not? She's single and available." He laughed softly. "She may not be much to look at, but the woman's got a mind like a steel trap."

  Martin moaned again and slumped down in his chair, and Ward changed the subject.

  Althea feigned sleep the rest of the way to Houston. She was so angry she was sure she would hit them both if she didn't. When they touched down in Houston, she stalked off the plane without a word, too furious to speak.

  At the office she took her anger out on her typewriter, pounding away at the keys as though she were driving nails with her fingertips. The two men had disappeared inside Ward's office, leaving the door ajar, and to her further annoyance she could hear Martin frantically dialing the phone, calling one woman after another. With every call Althea's temper rose higher and higher. By the time Martin strolled out into her office and perched on the corner of her desk, two hours later, she had built up a full head of steam.

  She glanced up from the letter she was proofreading and found him looking at her like a man who was about to meet a fate worse than death. Eyeing him coldly, she snapped, "Yes? Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Phillips?" They had been on a first-name basis for months, but Althea was too incensed to be anything but coldly polite.

  Martin cleared his throat noisily. "Well, uh . . . I was wondering. That is . . ." He paused to take a deep breath, then said all in a rush, "Would you like to go to a party with me tonight?"

  Althea looked at him narrowly, not saying anything for a moment. Then; slowly, a very feline smile curved her mouth, and behind the tinted lenses her sapphire eyes glinted dangerously. "Why, thank you, Martin," she said in a voice filled with fluttery surprise. "I'd like that very much."

  Chapter 3

  Althea gave her hair one last flick with the brush and stepped back to inspect her reflection in the mirror, a slow, self-satisfied smile curving her mouth. It had taken four shampoos to strip away the dulling rinse, but her hair now billowed around her face and shoulders like a cloud of spun gold. Darkened, impossibly long lashes framed sparkling sapphire eyes whose lids were subtly shadowed with a silvery blue. A light but artful application of makeup gave her skin a luminescent glow, while a touch of blusher emphasized the sculptured perfection of high cheekbones. A clear red lipstick glistened wetly on her lips, drawing attention to their luscious curves. The midnight-blue silk gown faithfully molded each curve and hollow of her supple body. Its crisscross bodice plunged low in the front, and even lower in the back, leaving her arms and shoulders bare, while the long side-slit skirt clung enticingly to her rounded hips, then fell in a straight line to her ankles. Her only jewelry was a dainty diamond-and-sapphire pendant that had been her mother's, which nestled provocatively in the cleft between her breasts.

  Staring at her image, Althea felt an incredible sense of release, of freedom. Impulsively she spread her arms wide, closed her eyes, and whirled around and around in the middle of the floor. It felt so marvelous to be herself again!

  She was behaving recklessly, she knew, but at that moment she didn't care. Ward's remarks had set the match to this rebellion, and it had smoldered all afternoon. When Martin extended that reluctant invitation it had flared into life. She was tired of looking like a shapeless, faceless lump. She was tired of working and sleeping, and working and eating, and working and working and working. And most of all, she was tired of being looked at as though she were an inanimate piece of rather dull-looking machinery. She was young and alive and, for tonight at least, she was going to kick up her heels and enjoy herself. And the devil take Ward Kingman!

  You're taking a foolish chance, a tiny voice in the back of her mind warned, as it had been doing ever since she had decided to discard her disguise, but Althea stubbornly refused to listen. Martin was a nice man. He would understand why she was masquerading, once she explained, and she was sure he would keep her secret. And she was perfectly safe. After all, it was just for this one night. Ward would never know.

  The doorbell rang just as Althea was misting herself with her favorite perfume. Anticipation quivering through her, she hurried to the door and looked through the peephole. A devilish smile lit her face at the sight of Martin, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, looking as though he'd braced himself to swallow a nasty dose of medicine.

  Composing her features, Althea fluffed her hair, smoothed her gown over her hips, then opened the door.

  "Hello, Althea, I . . . Oh, I beg your pardon. I must have the . . . wrong . . . apart . . . ment. ..." The faltering words trailed away to nothing and Martin's face went slack with stunned recognition as he watched the welcoming, slightly taunting smile grow on Althea's face.

  "Hello, Martin. Won't you come in?"

  Martin moved through the door with the stiff, distracted movements of a man in a daze, his widened hazel eyes locked on her face. "Althea? Is that really you?" he choked in a barely audible whisper, as though hardly daring to ask the question aloud.

  "Yes," she confirmed, and had to stifle a laugh when Martin's mouth dropped open and remained that way. Smiling indulgently, Althea grasped him by the elbow and led him from the tiny entrance hall into the living room. She gestured toward the yellow damask sofa, but Martin merely stood and gaped at her. Slowly his head moved from side to side, his expression a study in incredulity. "I can't believe it," he whispered. "How . . . what ... I mean, why would you . . . ?"

  "Hide my light under a bushel?" Althea finished for him. "I'll tell you, but first you'd better sit down. It's a long story."

  As a dazed Martin lowered himself onto the sofa, Althea took one of the yellow-and-blue-print chairs across from him. Holding his stupefied gaze, she began, telling him everything, slowly and clearly, and gradually his expression changed to one of admiration, tinged with embarrassment.

  "And so you see, when I awoke and overheard you and Ward discussing me as though I were some . . . some pathetic creature who ought to be grateful for whatever crumbs of attention were thrown her way, it was the last straw. I knew if I didn't break loose, at least for a while, I was going to give myself away by blowing up in his face one day."

  Martin grinned knowingly. "And you figured making a fool out of me was the next-best thing to making a fool out of Ward, and a whole lot safer."

  "Something like that. You're not angry, are you?"

  "No, of course not. Look, Althea," he began hesitantly, "I'm sorry you overheard that conversation. I assure you, we meant no harm."

  "I know. At least, I know you didn't."

  Martin gave her a shrewd look through narrowed eyes. "Neither did Ward. Oh, I know he's inclined to be impatient and blunt at times, but he doesn't mean anything by it. That's just his way. Believe me, he would never intentionally hurt anyone."

  "If you say so," Althea conceded with studied indifference. "But it really doesn't matter. Mr. Kingman can think whatever he pleases about me, just as long as I can keep my job."

  "I can understand your plight, Althea, and I appreciate that it took guts to pull off this charade, but I gotta tell you, if Ward ever finds out you've tricked him, he'll have your hide," Martin warned gently. "He's not a man to trifle with, as you should know by now."

  "But there's no reason for him ever to know," Althea stressed quickly, then added with less certainty, "unless you tell him. Tonight he's going to be busy with Deborah Lang, and I doubt that any of the people at the party will connect me with Ward Kingman's dowdy assistant. I just want to have this one night of fun, to let down my guard for a little while. Tomorrow morning, plain, dull little Miss Winters will be back. I promise." Althea leaned forward and smiled coaxingly at him, and watched in satisfaction as a familiar look of pure male appreciation entered Martin's eyes. "Say you won't give me away, Martin," she pleaded softly. "Please."

  Althea knew very well she wasn't playing fair. Using feminine wiles on
Martin was like putting a gun to his head. The man had an inbred streak of chivalry in him a mile wide. But Althea ignored the twinge of guilt that niggled at her and gave him a look guaranteed to melt stone. In desperate situations one used any weapon available, and this was definitely a desperate situation.

  It was obvious from Martin's look of pained indecision that he was torn in two directions. He wanted to help her, she could see that, but his loyalty to Ward was pulling at him. Restlessly his gaze roamed over her, the glint of masculine appreciation growing warmer in his eyes as they inspected her body, her face, her hair, over and over, as though unable to believe what he was seeing. Finally Martin took a deep breath and released it on a long resigned sigh, his shoulders slumping. "All right, you win. I'll keep your secret," he promised, ruefully shaking his head.

  "Oh, thank you, Martin. I knew I could count on you." Althea beamed at him happily as she rose and started for the bedroom. "Just let me get my shawl and we'll be on our way. I hope you're in a party mood, because I warn you, I intend to enjoy myself tonight."

  Feeling like a, prisoner set free, Althea did just that. Estelle and Sam Mason's sprawling home, located on the fashionable northwest side of Houston, was overflowing with guests when they arrived, and Althea flitted happily from one group to another with Martin in tow, laughing and talking and sipping the delicious champagne that flowed so freely. Several of the guests she had met or seen before in Ward's office, but as she had suspected, no one connected Martin's friend Althea with the prim-and-proper Miss Winters.

  Martin, Althea discovered, was a marvelous companion. He was pleasant, thoughtful and charmingly witty in his own understated way. He seemed fascinated by her transformation from staid nonentity to brightly colored butterfly and was docilely agreeable to her every suggestion. When she dragged him out to the huge brick patio, where a space had been cleared for dancing, he cheerfully followed her and abandoned himself to the pulsating sounds the band was producing.