ALISSA'S MIRACLE Read online

  She had told her friends that to him she was nothing more than a piece of office equipment. For some reason, that stung. If he was guilty of the charge, it was her own fault, because that was how she conducted herself.

  However, honesty forced him to admit that most of what she had told her friends had been right on target. What he said to her in the garage had been a bold-faced lie. Until today, if he ever gave her a thought at all, it had been merely as Henry's secretary.

  Dirk left the terrace doors and settled on the sofa, slumping down on it with his head resting against the back and his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. Balancing the glass of soda on his flat abdomen, he stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace.

  At least he had been able to dredge up her first name. Although, since Henry always called her Mrs. Kirkpatrick, that was how he had always thought of her. Until now.

  "Alissa." He rolled the name over his tongue, testing it. It suited her, he decided. Soft and feminine and unique.

  And beautiful.

  And she was beautiful, in a soft, almost ethereal sort of way. He wondered why he'd never noticed that before.

  No. No, that wasn't quite true. He did have a vague memory of meeting her for the first time, all those years ago, and thinking that she was a lovely woman. Then he'd discovered she was married and he'd dismissed her from his thoughts. He had an ironclad rule about married women: They were strictly off-limits.

  She had been widowed for over a year now, though. So why had he been oblivious to her lately? Was it habit?

  Dirk took a swallow of the soft drink and narrowed his eyes at the fire. More likely it was because everything about Alissa was so subtle and understated—her pale coloring, her dainty build, the tasteful but conservative way she dressed, her quiet manner. You had to really look to even notice how delicate and perfect her features were.

  Now that he had, he realized something else about her. There was a tranquil warmth to Alissa's beauty that was incredibly appealing. If marriage was an option for him, she would be exactly the sort of woman he would choose.

  Which was precisely why he had always avoided dating her kind. The women he saw socially were sophisticated females, usually hard-driving career women or socialites with no interest in domesticity or motherhood. None of them were the kind of woman with whom he would choose to spend the rest of his life.

  Dirk snorted. How ironic it was that on an emotional level the traits he found most desirable in a woman were the very ones that prevented him from marrying her. He could never be seriously attracted to a woman who did not want children, yet fatherhood was not something he would ever consider. Not with his background.

  Which was probably why, subconsciously, he had blocked Alissa Kirkpatrick out of his mind. And why he was going to continue to do so.

  By Monday morning, Alissa had decided that she had overreacted. She doubted that Dirk would make any more references to that humiliating conversation. That sort of flirtatious teasing was not really his style. Friday evening's episode she chalked up to the lateness of the hour and fatigue.

  Besides, Dirk probably didn't care one way or the other what the women in the office thought of him. Most likely, by now he had forgotten the whole thing.

  When he didn't come into her office all morning, she became more convinced that she was right. Whatever strange whim had prompted him to bait her had evidently passed.

  It wasn't until late that afternoon that Alissa discovered that Dirk wasn't even in the office. He had flown to San Francisco that morning to meet with the manager of their West Coast branch, and was expected to be gone for several days.

  Five or six times during the week, Dirk called the office to speak to Henry. All the calls were routed through Alissa, but each time she spoke to him, his tone was brusque and impersonal, and he was always in a hurry to speak to Henry. Nothing could have reassured her more that everything was back to normal. After the first few calls, the last of her apprehensions disappeared.

  Without Dirk's disturbing presence, Alissa was more relaxed than she had been in a long time. She spent a good part of each day helping Francine Battle put the finishing touches on the company's annual holiday dinner-dance, which was being held in the ballroom of a Galeria-area hotel the following Saturday evening. The party was always held immediately after Thanksgiving so that those who took their vacations at Christmas could attend.

  In the past, Alissa had always enjoyed the gala event, but this year she wasn't looking forward to it. This would be the first time she would attend without her husband.

  The year before, because she had recently been widowed, no one had thought anything of it when she skipped the party, but this year she had no excuse. The formal affair meant a lot to Mr. Battle. It and the company picnic in midsummer were the two social events that he hosted for his employees every year. He expected all of his people to attend, particularly her. Not merely because she was his secretary, but because she always helped his wife organize the events.

  In the hope of getting into the spirit of things, Alissa bought herself a new dress for the occasion. The midnight-blue ankle-length sheath had long fitted sleeves and a softly draped neckline that dipped to a modest level in the front and almost to her waist in the back. The entire bodice of the gown was sprinkled with tiny rhinestones that twinkled with the slightest movement. The cut flattered her slim figure, and the color went well with her fair skin and honey-colored hair, which she opted to wear loose about her shoulders and pulled back on one side with a rhinestone clip.

  Her friends were already there when she arrived, and as she approached the table Brian Mimms spotted her and gave a low wolf whistle.

  Margo twisted around in her chair and eyed her from head to toe. "Well, well, well. Look at you."

  "Oh, Alissa. You look absolutely gorgeous," Annie gushed, wide-eyed. "What I wouldn't give to have your style."

  "Style, my eye. I want that face and body," Dorothy groaned. "It's not fair. If I tried to wear something like that, I'd look like a fat blue sausage. And our little Alissa looks like a million bucks."

  "More like five million, at today's prices," Jolene quipped. "If you don't believe me, just look around. Some of those guys' tongues are hanging to the floor."

  "One thing is certain, if you're planning to cut some poor unsuspecting single guy from the herd tonight, you sure wore the right dress for it."

  "Very funny, Margo. So I bought myself a new dress. So what? I was simply trying to cheer myself up. I'm not trying to seduce anyone."

  "Trust me, Alissa, in that dress you don't have to try."

  The dry comment, coming from Brian, made everyone laugh, including Alissa.

  When she sat down at the table, Margo introduced her date, a young man named Cody Larson. He was at least fifteen years Margo's junior and looked like a male model. Neither Jolene nor Dorothy had brought a date, which made Alissa feel slightly less awkward. Even so, she planned to leave as soon after dinner as politeness allowed.

  Mr. Battle was not one to skimp when throwing a party. The dinner was delicious, and the conversation during the meal lively and fun. For a while, Alissa relaxed and even enjoyed herself. Afterward, during the coffee-and-dessert stage, the band struck up a song and couples started heading for the dance floor.

  Alissa had just begun debating whether or not she could leave when Dorothy gasped and stared at something or someone over Alissa's shoulder. "Oh, my word, would you look who's coming this way?"

  "Sweet heaven," Jolene groaned. "Have you ever seen any other man who looked that good in a tuxedo?"

  Annie sighed. "No, never."

  "Hey! What am I, chopped liver?" Brian protested, shooting her an indignant glare.

  As Annie soothed her husband's ruffled feathers, Alissa took a sip of her coffee. She didn't turn around to see who they were talking about; she didn't have to. Already that familiar prickle was rippling over her scalp.

  She hadn't known that Dirk had returned from Ca
lifornia. He hadn't as of Friday evening, when she left the office, and Mr. Battle had had some concern that he wouldn't finish up his work at the California branch office and get back in time to make the party.

  Alissa knew that Dirk was simply making the rounds to say hello to all the staff and wish them a happy holiday. Mr. Battle expected as much of his executives. Nevertheless, her pulse fluttered when Dirk stopped beside her chair.

  She looked up, prepared to return a traditional Christmas greeting, and received a little jolt when she found that intense silvery gaze fixed on her.

  "Good evening, Mr. Matheson," Margo said in her best seductive drawl. "This is a great party."

  "Oh, yes, really great."

  "Terrific."

  "Couldn't be better," the others chimed in.

  "I'm glad you're enjoying it," he said, but his gaze never wavered from Alissa.

  "Dance with me, Alissa." His voice was pitched low, the gravelly tones imbued with a warmth and intimacy that sent a shiver feathering down her spine.

  "Wh-what?" She gaped at him. She heard Annie's little gasp and felt the shock and unabashed interest of everyone at the table. Dear Lord, she couldn't believe he was doing this.

  "I said, dance with me."

  "I…I…"

  He gave her no choice. Still holding her gaze, he leaned down and grasped her hand, and when he tugged she allowed him to pull her from the chair without so much as a token resistance.

  Her heart boomed, and her chest tightened to the point that she could barely breathe. Every eye within a thirty-foot radius was fixed on them with an avidity that made her want to cringe, but she was helpless to change the situation. Docile as a lamb, she allowed Dirk to lead her away from her gaping friends and onto the dance floor.

  There, in a move as smooth as silk, he turned her into his arms and pulled her close.

  Too close, Alissa realized as they began to move with the music. Mere inches separated them. Her breasts brushed his chest, and now and then the ruffles on his tuxedo shirt tickled her nose.

  Worse, Alissa was acutely aware of his hand against the bare skin of her back. That broad palm and those long fingers were incredibly warm and seemed to sear her flesh like a brand.

  As they moved to the slow music, she stared at the perfect knot in his silk bow tie, conscious of the brush of his legs against hers, the combined scents of woodsy cologne, starched linen and expensive wool worsted. And man.

  As always, Dirk was impeccably attired. His tuxedo was custom-made and superbly tailored to his tall, elegant body. The material felt pleasantly scratchy beneath her hand, which rested on his shoulder. Against her other hand, his palm was dry and warm, his long fingers encircling hers in a firm grip. It was the first time in her memory that he had ever held her hand, that she had ever been so close to him.

  Alissa danced in silence and struggled against the tension that made her insides quiver like a plucked wire. She was certain that Dirk could feel her trembling, but she could not stop.

  As unobtrusively as possible, she tried to ease back a step and put some space between them, but in response, he tightened his hold, drawing her even closer—close enough to rest his jaw against her temple.

  "M-Mr. Matheson, what are you doing?"

  "Dancing." He leaned back and smiled down at her. "I should think that was obvious."

  "No, I mean … you're holding me too close. People are beginning to stare."

  "So? Let them."

  "But…"

  "We're just dancing, Alissa. Where's the harm in that? This is a party, after all."

  "Yes, but … well … you've never asked me to dance at these affairs before. Or any of the other women with the company, for that matter. Everyone is going to get the wrong idea."

  "I doubt that," he murmured, and deftly guided them around another couple.

  "But … you know how gossip spreads in the office."

  "I don't pay any attention to gossip."

  Fine for you, she thought. He wouldn't be the one on the receiving end of sly looks and teasing comments. Who in their right mind would kid a vice president with Dirk's reputation and clout about dancing cheek-to-cheek with a secretary? All the guys would probably think he was some sort of hero. Before you knew it, rumors would be circulating that they were sleeping together.

  Alissa closed her eyes. She would never live it down.

  "By the way, I didn't dance with you before because you were married then and here with your husband."

  "What difference does that make? You dance with other married women."

  "You mean Mrs. Battle and the other execs' wives? Those are duty dances. Had I danced with you, it would have been purely for pleasure, I assure you. Somehow, I don't think your husband would have liked that." He leaned back, and those intense silvery eyes looked into hers. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. "I know I wouldn't if you were my wife."

  Thoroughly rattled, Alissa could only stare at him. He was flirting with her. Dirk Matheson was actually flirting with her! Either that, or he was making fun. Alissa wasn't sure which she preferred.

  Given their history, she decided it had to be the latter. Obviously she didn't know him at all, particularly the private man. She had thought he was too serious and intense to tease, but apparently she'd been wrong.

  "Look, Mr. Matheson—"

  "Dirk."

  Alissa blinked. "Pardon me?"

  "Call me Dirk."

  "What? I can't do that!"

  "Sure you can." He smiled, and the hand on her bare back flexed, giving her a little nudge. "Come on. I want to hear you say my name."

  "Mr. Mathe—"

  "Ah-ah-ah."

  She grimaced. "All right, then, Dir— Ah … Dirk. If this is your way of getting back at me for what you overheard that day in the restaurant—"

  "Is that what you think I'm doing? Getting even?"

  "Yes, of course. I embarrassed and annoyed you, so I suppose you feel you have a right to do the same to me. And I guess maybe you do."

  "Why would I be embarrassed or angry because a beautiful woman said she was attracted to me?"

  Her color deepened painfully. "Oh, but … y-you don't understand. That was all a joke. My friends were j-just teasing me, and I, uh … I pretended to play along. That's all. We weren't serious. It … it was just silly girl talk. I assure you, we didn't mean anything by it."

  "I see. So … you're not attracted to me? Is that what you're saying?" He cocked one eyebrow and waited with a solemn expression, but she didn't trust the twinkle in his eyes.

  "Yes. No! I mean … that is … you're a nice-looking man, and of course I, uh … have an appreciation for that."

  "Well, that's something, at least."

  "But I wouldn't presume… That is, I know that you and I…"

  "Yes? You and I … what?"

  He wasn't helping a bit. In fact, her floundering seemed to amuse him. She could hear the laughter in his voice, could see it dancing in his eyes.

  "We aren't suited," she declared. Lifting her chin, she stared over his shoulder, but his reaction instantly snapped her gaze back to his face.

  She gaped at him, her embarrassment and pique all but forgotten. Dirk's head was thrown back, and deep, rumbling laughter rolled from his throat—warm, rich masculine guffaws of pure delight that rose above the music and the din.

  Never had she expected to hear such a happy, carefree sound come from this man, and she found herself wondering why he didn't laugh more often.

  All around the ballroom, people were staring and whispering. Alissa's heart sank. By Monday morning, rumors about her and Dirk would be burning up the office grapevine.

  Dirk's mirth finally subsided, and he gave her a teasing look. She had never imagined that those pale eyes could sparkle with so much good humor or that his austere face could look so sunny.

  "Ah, Alissa, you are priceless. And whether you know it are not, we're more suited than you think.

  "But let me give you some advice. Don'
t ever play poker. That face would give you away every time."

  "I … I don't know what you mean—"

  "I mean, you can't lie worth a damn. You see, I don't believe you. Not for a minute."

  "No, you're wrong, I—"

  "Ssh… Don't worry about it. Just relax and enjoy the music." He pulled her closer and rested his jaw against her temple again.

  Relax? How did he expect her to do that, when he was holding her so close? When almost every person in the room was staring at them? When her own body was tingling with arousal and her nerves were humming like a struck tuning fork?

  From knees to chest, their bodies were molded together. Her breasts were flattened against his chest. His arm clamped her to him like a shackle, and against the small of her back she felt his hand against her bare skin, felt the tips of his fingers slip beneath the edge of her dress.

  His touch burned into her flesh. Alissa wouldn't have been at all surprised to discover that her back bore a brand in the shape of that hand.

  How had she landed herself in this predicament? she wondered desperately. Harmless fantasies were one thing, but in reality she wasn't equipped to deal with someone like Dirk. She was a simple, ordinary person, a homebody at heart, and ridiculously inexperienced for her thirty-six years. In her entire life, she had only dated one man seriously, and she had married him. Dirk Matheson was the most potently masculine, overwhelming male she had ever encountered. He was far out of her league.

  Mercifully, the song came to an end. She breathed a sigh and tried to pull out of Dirk's embrace, but his arm tightened around her waist. "No, don't," he murmured.

  "But the music stopped—"

  Before she could complete her protest, the band started another song, and he swept her into another dance.

  They had barely begun when Jack Hennesey tapped Dirk on the shoulder. He scowled, but Jack returned the look with a devilish grin. "May I cut in?"

  "No."

  The curt one-syllable reply stunned Alissa. She stiffened, but he pulled her closer and maneuvered them away, around another couple, leaving Jack standing in the middle of the floor, staring after them with his eyebrows arched and a speculative expression on his face.