Heart of Hurricane (7 page)

Althea emerged from Ward's office and closed the door behind her. Flexing her cramped fingers, 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 purchasing, 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 ..."

"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.