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  "Just exactly what are you trying to say?"

  Ward's harsh tone seemed to stiffen Martin's backbone, and he looked up, his mouth firming. "I just don't want to see her hurt."

  Was Martin in love with Althea? It was the first time that possibility had occurred to Ward, and he found that he didn't care for the idea at all. Nor did he care for the violent emotions it aroused. He had never known jealousy before, but the thought of Martin, or any other man, so much as touching Althea made him want to commit mayhem. And Martin's protective attitude wasn't helping matters.

  "I have no intention of hurting her. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ." Sitting forward, Ward opened a file that lay on his desk and began to flip through it. The discussion was closed.

  "But . . ."

  Ward's head snapped up, his piercing gaze silencing the other man instantly. "Drop it, Martin. Now."

  Indecision held Martin still for a moment; then, with a sigh, he nodded his acquiescence and quietly left the room.

  Tiredly Ward rubbed his hand over his face. Great. Just great. Not only did he have Althea running scared, now Martin was on his case.

  What the devil was he supposed to do now? Hell, he knew the answer to that. The wisest thing would be to retreat and try to recoup the ground he'd lost. He didn't believe for a minute that Althea was immune to him, not after the way she had melted in his arms so sweetly. But there was something bothering her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Until he knew exactly what he was fighting, he should take it slow and easy. He knew that.

  Leaning back in his chair, Ward linked his fingers across his lean middle and stared at the ceiling. One look at her wide, startled eyes when she had swung around to face him, and all his good intentions had flown out the window. The smell of her silken hair, the feel of it against his skin, her very nearness, had been too much for him to resist. Lord, but she had felt so good in his arms!

  A whimsical smile softened the hard planes of Ward's face. He knew exactly what his parents would advise. His father, in his usual crusty way, would say, "Slap your brand on her, son, if she's the one you want, and worry about breaking her to your hand later." His mother would urge patience. Evelyn Kingman, bless her, had spent the greater part of her life trying in vain to smooth a few of the rough edges off her menfolk.

  Ward's smile gave way to a deep chuckle as he thought of his parents. Never were two people more opposite, more unsuited ... or more crazily in love. Joe Kingman was a diamond in the rough, a rugged individualist who believed in meeting life head-on and wresting what he wanted from it. He was plain-spoken to the point of bluntness, honest to a fault, and totally lacking in sophistication and pretense. When he was angry he let fly, and when he was happy he was just as likely to let out a whoop and swing his wife around in an exuberant dance.

  When Joe had first met Evelyn Durant she had been a graduate student at the University of Texas, working on a master's degree in mathematics, and he had been riding the rodeo circuit, "bustin' his bones" to save enough to buy a small spread he'd had his eye on. Evelyn was beautiful, poised, educated, and possessed an IQ that would have intimidated most men, but Joe had taken one look at her and decided she was the one for him.

  Evelyn had resisted at first, but within a month she had succumbed to Joe's rough, persistent charm and they were married. Despite dire predictions to the contrary, their marriage was a huge success, much to Ward's everlasting gratitude. He knew perfectly well that it was the combination of his mother's brains and his father's character and personality that had enabled him to succeed in the cutthroat world of big business.

  All of his life Ward had heard the story of his parents' meeting and stormy courtship, and for a time he had assumed that love would find him in the same way. But as the years went by, and as the women, none of whom had even remotely touched his heart, came and went, he had accepted that it just wasn't meant to be . . . that is, until now.

  Straightening abruptly, Ward struck the desktop with his balled fist, lifting papers and making the phone dance. Dammit! He'd had enough of this infernal waiting!

  His finger jabbed the talk button on the intercom. "Althea, come in here," he barked, then immediately winced at his gruff tone. Kingman, you idiot! How do you expect to win her over if you're constantly biting her head off? After a moment's hesitation, Ward lowered his voice several notches and added very very softly, "Please."

  ❧

  Althea stared at the intercom as though it had suddenly turned into a coiled snake about to strike her. Her first, perfectly normal reaction when that curt command had boomed through the speaker had been to jump with fright, but it was that softly purred "please" that had set her heart to racing.

  "Althea? Are you there?"

  Althea's eyes widened. There it was again. That same velvety tone. It flowed over her like a caress, raising gooseflesh on her skin and filling her with a curious mixture of wariness and anticipation. She swallowed hard. She hadn't even known that Ward was capable of producing such a soft, soothing sound. "Y-yes, I'm here. I'll, uh, I'll be right there."

  Shakily Althea gathered up the file Ward had requested earlier, drew a deep breath, and walked to the door. She eyed it apprehensively for a moment, then turned the knob and stepped inside.

  For the merest instant Althea met Ward's intent gaze, then quickly averted her eyes, but she was aware that he watched her every step of the way as she reluctantly approached his desk. "Here's the file you wanted, including the physical inventory that was taken last week," she said stiffly, placing the folder on the corner of his desk.

  Ward made no move to take it. Instead he nodded toward the chair in front of the desk. "Sit down, Althea."

  Fighting the urge to turn and run, Althea complied, keeping her expression as coolly remote as possible.

  Unconsciously her chin tilted just the tiniest bit when she looked up and found that he was still studying her.

  "Are we going to discuss it, or are you going to pretend it didn't happen?"

  The blunt question stole Althea's breath away and she blinked at him, stunned. She couldn't even pretend ignorance; they both knew exactly what he was referring to. The memory of that kiss sizzled between them, charging the air with electrical currents of awareness. Remotely Althea marveled that he knew her so well. Deep down, at some subconscious level, that was exactly what she had been hoping they could do—just let the matter slide, pretend it had never happened. She should have known better.

  "I see no need to discuss it," she finally managed. "It was ..." She paused and shrugged dismissively. "... just one of those things. An impulse. It meant nothing."

  "Wrong." The softly spoken word made Althea jump as though she'd been touched by a hot iron, and she stared at him, her eyes wide. "I kissed you because I wanted to," Ward continued relentlessly. "I've wanted to for a long time. That and more."

  He waited, as though expecting her to reply, but Althea was incapable of speech. Her heart was booming in her chest and she could barely breathe. She couldn't believe this was happening. Why was he doing this? Did he actually think he could talk her into having an affair? Well, he could think again! True, she was attracted to him, more than she had ever been attracted to any other man in her life, but it was also true that he could make her more angry more quickly than anyone else she'd ever met. There were times when it was all she could do not to yell right back at him. If she were to give in to the emotions he aroused in her, she would not only lose her heart to this overwhelming man, they would probably come to blows before the week was out. For just an instant, in her mind's eye, there flickered a picture of her aunt and uncle, standing toe to toe, yelling at one another, their faces contorted with rage, and an icy feeling gripped Althea, sending a shudder through her all the way to her toes.

  As she gazed back at him in confusion and panic, Ward's eyes narrowed and his face grew hard, taking on that determined look she knew so well. Even so, she wasn't prepared for his next question.

  "Will you have
dinner with me tonight?"

  Althea stared at him as though he'd gone mad. "Certainly not."

  "Why? Are you seeing someone else?" He scowled, as though the thought had only just occurred to him and he found it exceedingly unpleasant.

  "I date occasionally, though no one in particular. But that's not the point."

  "Then what is the point? Why won't you go out with me?"

  "I don't think it's wise, that's all. After all, you are my employer."

  "Dammit all, Althea ..." Ward began angrily, only to halt when he noticed her face tighten. She seemed to retreat without moving.

  His hands clenched into tight fists, and with obvious effort he started again in a milder tone. "Look, just because we work together doesn't mean we can't have a personal relationship too." When she didn't reply, he tried a different tack. "What am I going to have to do to get you to go out with me?" he asked with a teasing grin. "Fire you?"

  Althea sucked in her breath. "You wouldn't!"

  "No, of course not," Ward snapped irritably, his grin quickly changing to a scowl. "It was a joke, for Pete's sake!"

  "Oh, I see." Feeling like a fool, Althea stared at him, half-relieved and half-angry. How was she supposed to know? She'd worked for him for almost five months and he'd never bothered to joke with her before. Would she ever understand this man?

  "I take it then that there's nothing I can say to make you change your mind?" Ward asked grimly.

  "No, I'm afraid not." The words caused a sick sensation in the pit of Althea's stomach but she ignored it and met his steady gaze unflinchingly, bracing herself for his next argument.

  It never came. Confounding her thoroughly, Ward shrugged and picked up the Litchfield file. "Very well, Althea. If that's your final word." In a clear dismissal, he flipped the folder open and began to read.

  Dazed, Althea stood and headed for the door. She had almost reached it when his voice stopped her. "By the way. Make reservations for us for tomorrow night in Dallas. I want to get this deal rolling."

  "Yes, sir. Will that be all?"

  Ward looked up and smiled. "For now," he said in a soft voice that sent a tiny frisson up Althea's spine.

  ❧

  "Aren't you going to wait for Martin?" Althea asked, startled when Ward began to close the plane's passenger door.

  "Martin isn't coming."

  The short reply sent panic streaking through her, and she stared wide-eyed at his broad back as he pulled the door shut and secured it. With maddening ease he walked back to his chair, across the aisle from hers, fastened his seat belt and extracted some papers from his briefcase.

  "Wh-why isn't he coming?"

  "Because he's not needed this trip. This is just a preliminary meeting. We won't get down to the legal nitty-gritty until later.'' Ward looked up and cocked an inquiring brow. "What's the matter? You're not uneasy over being alone with me, are you?" The question was asked smoothly—too smoothly for Althea's peace of mind.

  "No. No, of course not." It was true; she wasn't uneasy. She was petrified. Of course, she had gone on several business trips alone with Ward, but that was before the "unveiling," as she liked to think of it, before he had earmarked her as his next conquest. Althea's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she studied his bent head. Had he planned this deliberately?

  From all outward appearances, Ward seemed to have put yesterday's little episode out of his mind. As if he had flipped a switch, he had reverted to his usual preoccupied, taciturn behavior, not referring to that kiss, or the discussion that had followed, by so much as a word or a look, yet Althea could not shake the uneasy feeling that he was up to something. She had seen Ward in action too many times to believe that he'd give up that easily.

  With a sigh, Althea refocused on the interoffice memo she had been writing. Maybe she was just overreacting.

  Lord knows, her nerves had been drawn as tight as a fiddle string for the last day and a half. Maybe she was just letting her imagination run away with her. Althea sighed again. And maybe pigs can fly.

  The meeting with the Litchfield executives went smoothly. For three hours Althea was so busy taking notes she didn't have time to worry about anything else. After the conference broke up, Mr. Litchfield and his son, Roger, insisted on taking them to dinner and showing them a bit of Dallas nightlife. By the time Althea and Ward returned to their suite it was after one in the morning and she was almost asleep on her feet.

  "Good night, Mr. Kingman," she said over a yawn, heading for her room the minute the door clicked shut behind them.

  "Althea."

  The sound of her name, murmured in that soft, evocative voice, jerked Althea instantly to a halt, and all thought of sleep fled her mind. All at once she was acutely aware of the quiet, the lateness of the hour, and the fact that they were all alone. The thick carpet muffled Ward's steps, but the hair prickling on the back of her neck warned her of his approach. She could feel the heat from his body all along her bare arms and back even before his hands settled on her shoulders.

  "Althea." He whispered her name again as he nudged aside her hair with his nose and nibbled hungrily on the tender skin behind her ear. I should stop this, Althea told herself weakly, even as her eyes closed and she drew a shuddering breath in response to the pleasurable warmth that was flooding her being.

  "Althea, love, don't shut me out. Not tonight." Ward's breath skated over her skin, moist and warm, and

  Althea shivered as his hands slid slowly down her arms to her wrists. When they moved onto her stomach she grasped his arms, fully intending to stop him, but the warm caress of those long sensitive fingers across her abdomen sent liquid fire rushing along her veins and turned her bones to water. Hopelessly Althea's fingers clung to the hard-muscled forearms as they crisscrossed over her midriff, and when his palms cupped her breasts she closed her eyes and moaned. His long fingers alternately squeezed and lifted the firm mounds until Althea thought she would die with need. When his thumbs brushed across the hardened peaks, a small sound, half-pain, half-pleasure, escaped her throat.

  "Darling, don't fight me anymore," Ward crooned as he turned her slowly into his arms, but Althea didn't hear him. She was aware only of the cravings of her body, the sweet sensations his touch evoked. She was filled with love for this man, awash with the need to hold him close and be held by him. Her hands slid up over his chest to lock behind his neck, and, eyes closed, lips parted, she tipped her head back in silent supplication. Ward wasted no time in granting her request.

  His lips closed over hers hungrily, rocking back and forth over their parted softness, his tongue thrusting boldly, intimately into the dark recesses of her mouth. With a groan, Ward pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her, crushing her to him as his hips began a provocative rocking motion.

  Althea made a helpless whimpering sound and Ward tore his mouth from hers. Burying his face against the side of her neck, he groaned, "Ah, sweet heaven, love, I knew it would be like this for us. I knew it! Let me love you, my darling. Let me make you mine completely."

  Slowly, slowly, as Ward's hands sought the zipper on her dress, his words began to register on Althea's brain. His? His? Oh, God! What was she doing? With an anguished cry, she wrenched out of his arms and backed away, her hand pressed over her swollen mouth, eyes wild. When Ward frowned and reached for her, she took another step backward and shook her head violently. "No! No, don't touch me. I won't let you do this to me. I won't, do you hear!"

  "Dammit, woman!" Ward exploded. His face was hard with frustration and rage, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. "You were willing enough just a few minutes ago! You were going crazy in my arms, so don't try to tell me you don't want me just as much as I want you, because I won't buy it!"

  His angry outburst set a spark to Althea's temper and she glared back at him, bristling, her self-control shattered. "I don't deny it, but it makes no difference!" she shouted. "Don't you understand? I don't want to want you! So just leave me alone, Ward Kingman! Leave me alone!"

 
; The strident words hit Ward like a punch in the gut, bringing him to a stunned standstill. Before he could utter a sound, Althea spun on her heel and ran into her room, slamming the door behind her. In the oppressive quiet the click of the lock sounded like a gunshot.

  Chapter 6

  Leaning back against the door, Althea closed her eyes and lifted her hand to her trembling lips. Good grief! What was happening to her? Six months ago, if anyone had even suggested that she might fall for a man like Ward Kingman, she would have laughed in his face. For years she had avoided his type like the plague. Yet there was no denying that his kisses made her weak with longing, that the taste, the scent, the feel of him created a deep need that was both irresistible and frightening. Nor could she deny that in his arms she felt more excitingly alive than she had ever felt in her life.

  But it was stupid and destructive to feel this way, she told herself sternly, forcing her quivering legs to carry her across the room to where her suitcase lay on the luggage stand at the foot of the bed. Automatically Althea pulled a nightgown from the open case and turned toward the bathroom. Her mind a thousand miles away, she began the nightly ritual of preparing for bed. The trouble was, though intellectually she knew that a relationship with Ward was the worst thing that could happen to her, her response to him was on the emotional and physical levels; her mind was telling her one thing, but her heart and her body were screaming another message altogether.

  But there was no room in her life for a man like Ward. Althea craved serenity, stability, a calm, comfortable relationship with a less forceful man. The turbulent extremes of emotion frightened her. She'd had enough of them. Ward might be sexy and exciting, but he wasn't for her.

  Without doubt, the smartest thing to do would be to resign and get as far away from Ward as possible, but she simply couldn't. Not only did she have Greg to think of, but now Bill Holland was pressing her for more money. During the past six weeks he had called her often, always with some vague threat of taking legal action, should she fail to meet his demands.