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  "There, that's better," he stated with hard satisfaction. "Now, leave it that way." To Althea's utter astonishment, he calmly walked back around the desk and sat down.

  Indignation swelled in her chest until she thought she would surely burst. She was quivering with outrage and longed to tell him exactly what she thought of his high-handed tactics, but the look in his eyes warned her that she would lose if she pressed the issue. Teeth clamped tightly together, she stared at him in cold silence.

  Unperturbed, Ward returned the look for several strained moments. She aroused in him a curious mixture of anger, desire and uncertainty. He was absolutely furious with her for deceiving him, and yet he could not help but admire her spunk. And there was no denying that he found her ravishing and utterly fascinating.

  "Suppose you start by telling me exactly why you felt it necessary to hide behind that hideous disguise?" he demanded gruffly, angered by the trend of his thoughts. "I was told that, in the office at least, you didn't care for attractive women," Althea replied as steadily as she could manage. One of his dark brows lifted, telling her he had caught the little dig, and she felt an instant flick of satisfaction. "Mrs. Fisher?"

  "Yes." There was no point in lying. It was obvious where she'd gotten her information.

  "So you deliberately made yourself as unattractive as you could?"

  "Yes. It was my understanding that if I didn't, I'd never get past the preliminary interview." She gave him a challenging look, one delicate brow arching upward. "That is true, isn't it?"

  "Perhaps," he hedged. "But don't you think your solution was a bit drastic?"

  "I needed the job."

  Ward plowed his hand through his hair and glared at her, his mouth thinned in annoyance. "For pity's sake! How long did you think you could get by with this masquerade?" His gaze raked over her beautiful face and curvaceous figure. "How could you even stand going around looking like that?"

  "If I hadn't given in to a foolish whim last Friday, you would never have known," Althea stated haughtily, tilting her chin and daring him to contradict her. "And I told you, I need this job," she added, with soft emphasis on the word "need."

  "So you can continue to coddle your brother?"

  "I do not coddle Greg, I . . ." Althea clamped her mouth shut, cutting off the angry retort. She forced herself to settle back in the chair and release her grip on the arms. She was furious, absolutely enraged by the unfair question, but she couldn't afford to lose her temper. "I need the job to support myself and pay for Greg's education," she replied through stiff lips.

  Interesting. Ward's deceptively lazy gaze ran over her rigid face. She has a temper, all right, but for some reason she keeps a tight rein on it. Why? Is she that afraid of being fired? Possibly, but I don't think that's it. At least, not completely. It's almost as though she's afraid to let go.

  He had never been so intrigued by a woman in his life. And it wasn't just because she'd suddenly turned from an ugly duckling into a swan right before his eyes. Lately, more and more, Althea Winters had occupied his thoughts. Many times—while working, when he was alone in his apartment, even when he was out with other women—he would find himself thinking of her, wondering what she was doing, who she was with . . . and it had scared hell out of him. Never before in his life had he been attracted to a plain woman.

  At the Masons' party, when he had discovered that his coolly efficient, spinsterish assistant was actually a breathtakingly lovely woman, his reaction had been a confusing mixture of pure joy and sheer outrage. For months he'd squirmed, like live bait on a hook. How dare she pull the wool over his eyes!

  Yet, he was fiercely glad that she had, because she was right; looking as she did now, she would never have gotten past that old dragon Mrs. Perkins. Then he would never have met her. The very thought caused a queer little pain in his gut, and Ward frowned, not at all sure he liked the strange new sensations that seemed to be attacking him at every turn.

  If you had any sense, Kingman, you'd tell her to hit the road and stay the hell away from you. You don't need this kind of complication in your life. His jaw clenched as his gaze ran over Althea's beautiful face and the slender curves outlined so lovingly by the soft silk dress. Absently he noted that she had terrific legs—long, lightly tanned and shapely, with delicate, trim ankles. Oh hell! Who are you kidding? You're not about to send her away.

  So what the devil am I supposed to do with her? I sure as hell won't get much work done with her in the same office. He remembered how the dark blue gown she'd worn to the Masons' party had molded itself to her cute little rear, and groaned silently. He'd be an idiot to keep her around. Yet firing her was out of the question. There was no way he was going to let her walk out of his life. Not now. Besides, she was the best damned assistant he'd ever had. Ward propped an elbow on the arm of his chair, rested his chin on his fist and regarded her intently.

  "Are you going to dismiss me, Mr. Kingman?" Althea asked suddenly, and Ward's gaze sharpened when he caught the tiny catch in her voice. Her face was composed, her blue-eyed gaze calm, but he noted the almost imperceptible tilt of her chin and smiled slowly as he recognized the small sign of rebellion. Oh yes. There was definitely a lot of fire beneath that cool exterior.

  "Do you think I should?"

  "It isn't against the law to dress unattractively. Or to minimize your looks," she asserted bravely.

  "In this case it sure as hell should be!" he snapped back, his sardonic smile giving way to a fierce scowl.

  Slowly, as he studied the apprehension in her face, which she was trying so hard to hide, he relented and sighed. "Don't look so worried, Miss Winters. While my reasons for wanting a less physically attractive woman for this job are still valid, I'm not fool enough to fire you. You're too good at your job. What I have in mind is a transfer. George Freeman needs a good assistant."

  Two floors down, she won't be such a distraction, Ward told himself happily, yet he could still keep an eye on her. And an added advantage to the plan was that George was sixty and had been happily married for over twenty-five years.

  "A demotion?" Althea said, with the barest quiver in her voice.

  Damn! Look at that hair. It shines like spun gold. "No, not a demotion. Your duties will be essentially the same, only on a smaller scale. And of course, your salary will remain the same."

  "I ... I see. But . . ."

  Before she could finish, the door to Ward's office opened.

  "Darling, there was no one in the outer office so I thought I'd brave the lion in his den and walk right in. I came to ..." At the sight of Althea, staring at her in astonishment, Deborah Lang stopped abruptly, her eyes growing first wide, then narrow and stormy. "What is she doing here?"

  Ward's thick brows lifted at her imperious tone. "Althea works here."

  "Works here? You surely aren't going to keep her on the payroll now?" Deborah demanded. Not giving Ward a chance to reply, she added rashly, "Well, I won't stand for it, do you hear! I insist that you discharge this woman at once!"

  "You insist?" Ward questioned, the quiet menace in his voice sending an icy finger of fear down Althea's spine. Her wide-eyed gaze went back and forth between the two furiously angry people. Ward had risen to his feet, his big body taut and dangerous, his face implacable. Anyone who truly knew him would have retreated before that chilling glare, but evidently Deborah was too caught up in her jealous rage to know that she had pushed him too far. "What gave you the idea that you have the right to insist on anything, in either my personal or my business life?"

  The words were spoken slowly, precisely, their meaning hitting Deborah like a slap, and her face paled. Her mouth worked convulsively for a moment, but before she could force her vocal cords to respond, Ward added with hard finality, "Althea is my assistant, and she will remain my assistant until such time as I decide otherwise. The only person leaving is you."

  Chapter 5

  Althea emerged from Ward's office and closed the door behind her. Flexing her cramped fing
ers, she crossed to her desk and sank down onto her chair, her shoulders slumping with weariness. In the six weeks since Deborah Lang had inadvertently pushed Ward into keeping her as his assistant, nothing had changed, Althea reflected. He was still abrupt, demanding, impatient and thoroughly exasperating. He still expected her to work all the hours that God sent, and he still rapped out orders like a field general and shouted at her when something went wrong. The only difference was that now he shouted "Althea" instead of "Miss Winters."

  No. No, that wasn't quite true, she admitted reluctantly. There had been subtle changes in their relationship, changes she didn't want to acknowledge or think about, because they made her uneasy. Like the fact that he watched her constantly in a strangely brooding way, or that he always managed to touch her whenever she came near—his fingertips grazing hers when she handed him something, a casual hand resting on her shoulder when he bent over her desk, his arm "accidentally" brushing against hers whenever they walked together.

  At first she hadn't noticed the changes; she had been so elated over keeping her job. Althea had never particularly liked Deborah Lang, but when Ward dug in his heels at the woman's ultimatum, she could cheerfully have hugged her. Strangely, especially in view of the fact that she would not have had to take a cut in pay, Althea had hated the idea of working for someone else.

  But gradually, as the days passed, she had become aware of his silent perusal and of the strange electrical charge that seemed to crackle between them. It was unnerving. There were times when she wanted to shout at him to stop watching her every move, to leave her alone, but she always managed to stifle the impulse. Half the time, she even managed to convince herself that she was imagining the whole thing.

  But Althea knew she wasn't imagining the strange looks she received from her fellow employees, nor the giggled whispers, nor the way conversation suddenly stopped whenever she appeared. As she had feared, she had become the main target for all the office gossips.

  With a sigh, Althea rolled a sheet of bond paper into her typewriter and began to transcribe the squiggles on her steno pad. It will all blow over soon, she assured herself as her fingers flew over the keys. Before long someone else will catch their interest. Just as someone else was bound to catch Ward Kingman's.

  When the letter was finished she took it in to Ward's office and quietly laid it on his desk. He cast her a scowling glance, then, noting the letter, affixed his signature and shoved it back toward her.

  "Get me the file on the Litchfield merger, Althea," he commanded when she picked it up and started for the door.

  "Yes, sir."

  Dropping the letter on top of her desk as she went by, Althea headed straight for the row of file cabinets. She located the proper drawer and her fingers began a walking search over the file tabs.

  "Also pull out that physical inventory on Litchfield's, too."

  "Oh!"

  The sound of Ward's deep voice directly behind her made Althea jump and whirl around. Her hair swung out like a rippling golden curtain, and to her consternation, a long, silken curl caught in the slight growth of beard on Ward's face and clung.

  Their eyes met and locked, hers wide and startled, his growing steadily darker as flames of desire kindled in their depths.

  Althea's heart was drumming in her throat. She hadn't realized that he had followed her. Or that he was so close. At this range she could see each individual, incredibly long lash, the way they curled upward from his eyelids. In the dark glimmer of his eyes she could see her own reflection.

  To her complete and utter astonishment, Althea watched dazedly as Ward lifted his hand and gently stroked the golden lock that adhered to his cheek. Holding Althea's stunned gaze, he lifted it and very slowly, very deliberately drew it over his parted lips, letting the tip of his tongue taste the silken strands. The act was so provocative, so overtly sensual, that Althea could not stifle the tiny gasp that escaped her throat.

  She could feel the cold metal of the file cabinet pressing against her back, and the warmth emanating from Ward's big body searing across her front. Her heart was beating so hard it was almost suffocating her. She was sure that Ward could hear its frantic thudding. Mesmerized, Althea watched in mingled horror and excitement as his head tilted and lowered toward hers.

  A delicious tingle rippled all the way down to her toes the moment his lips touched hers. Ward's hands settled on her shoulders, then slid around her back to bring her closer, and still Althea offered no resistance. She stood docilely, her arms limp at her sides, her head tilted back under the gently insistent persuasion of his kiss. She was quivering, weak, her body and mind quiescent before a stronger, more urgent force.

  Her lack of resistance fueled Ward's ardor and the kiss became more passionate, more demanding. Boldly he forced her lips apart and thrust his tongue into the sweet warmth of her mouth. His arms tightened around her, flattening her breasts against his massive chest. Althea felt as though her bones were melting.

  Incapable of rational thought, Althea could only respond to the sensual impact of the embrace. Slowly, as though with a will of their own, her arms lifted, her hands clutching his arms convulsively before sliding up over his shoulders to twine in the thick, springy hair at his nape. The clean, masculine scent of him enveloped her senses. His hands, his mouth made her weak with desire. Her awareness of him was so complete, so overwhelming that at that moment nothing else existed.

  Caught up in the blaze of mindless passion, neither heard the door open. Martin's voice broke over them like a splash of cold water. "Althea, is Ward free? I . . ." His words halted abruptly at the sight of them locked together, his expression reflecting pure astonishment.

  Althea's face blanched, then flooded with color, but before she could tear herself out of Ward's arms he released her and turned toward Martin. As calmly and casually as though this sort of thing occurred daily, he strolled across to his office and motioned for Martin to follow.

  "Come on in. I've got a few minutes free. What's on your mind?"

  Struggling to recover his customary poise, Martin cast a quick glance at Althea, swallowed hard, and trailed after him.

  As Ward was about to close the door behind them, he looked back at Althea and said, "When you find that Litchfield file, bring it in."

  Althea sagged weakly against the file cabinet and stared at the closed door, her eyes huge and disbelieving. That's it? That's all he had to say? One minute he's kissing me senseless and the next he's all business? Althea shook her head as though to clear it. How could he just turn his emotions on and off like that? And dear heaven! What was Martin thinking?

  Shaking like a leaf, Althea somehow managed to find the file, but instead of taking it in to Ward, she groped her way back to her desk and sank down onto her chair. No way was she going to set foot in that office until she calmed down.

  Gingerly the tip of her tongue slid over her lips. They were tender and slightly swollen, and Althea shivered as she realized that the taste of him still clung to her skin. Bewildered, she stared at the closed door. What had made him do it? Boredom? Impulse? Simple curiosity? Or, perish the thought, had he, for some reason, decided to add her to his long list of lady friends? A shiver rippled through Althea at the very idea, but her chin lifted belligerently and her narrowed, baleful glare lasered into the thick door. Oh, no. Not me, Althea vowed frantically. Not for anything in the world would she get involved with a man like Ward Kingman, no matter how attractive or irresistible he was, though no doubt the idiotic way she had responded to him had probably convinced him otherwise. Groaning, Althea dropped her head into her hands. What on earth was wrong with her? Why did she go all weak and warm when the man so much as touched her? Why, he's probably sitting in there right now laughing over what a pushover I was!

  Damn! That was a stupid stunt to pull, grabbing her like that. Face it, Kingman, you blew it. Leaning back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Martin, Ward pretended to listen to his attorney report on a piece of property he was considering pur
chasing, while mentally berating himself.

  Instinct had warned him not to rush her, and for weeks, though it went against the grain, he had carefully played a waiting game. Despite that cool facade, Althea was as skittish as a wild filly. It was there in her eyes, every time he got near her. She didn't want him in her life, that much was painfully obvious, and he hadn't the slightest idea what to do about it, except to be patient.

  But dammit all! Patience didn't come easy to him. A tiny smile of self-mockery twitched at one corner of Ward's mouth. His mother could certainly attest to that. God knows, she'd done her best, over the years, to try to correct that flaw in his character. But then, where women were concerned, patience was a virtue he'd never had to exercise before.

  Admittedly, years of having his choice of many beautiful and sophisticated women had spoiled him. But while he had taken full advantage of that happy circumstance, Ward knew that it was neither his masculine appeal nor his charm that had drawn them. At least, not completely. While fighting his way to the top of the business world he had learned that the combination of money and power was a strong aphrodisiac for most women. Ward's jaw clenched and a muscle worked in his cheek. Why did Althea have to be the exception?

  Irritated, he forced himself to concentrate on what Martin was saying, and gradually he became aware of the other man's strange behavior. He'd never known Martin to be at a loss for words before, but he was squirming in his seat and stammering like a schoolboy. When the disjointed narrative finally came to an end, Ward cocked one brow. "Something bothering you?"

  Martin slid him an uneasy glance, then looked away. Chewing his lower lip, he studied the toe of his shoe. Then, finally, he drew a deep breath and met Ward's eyes again, his expression a mixture of wariness and determination. "Well, yes. You see . . . Althea ..."

  Ward's face became hard, his eyes narrowing. "What about Althea?"

  "Well . . . it's just that she's different from the women you usually get involved with. Softer. More . . . vulnerable." Martin gestured weakly with his hand. "She's sensitive and ..."