“I’ll still give you four weeks, Miss Madison, but—”
“CHIC will run a monthly feature.” She scrambled from her chair and hurried after him to the door. “Readers will send in their favorite choices for the sexiest whatever of the month. Wine, city, restaurant…and whoever wins will get the particular thing they voted for. A case of vintage wine. A late supper for two. A weekend in Paris.”
“Nice,” Matthew said, trying to concentrate on what she was saying and not on the feel of her hand or the smell of her hair. “But—”
“But where does it lead? What’s its focus?” Susannah swallowed dryly. “To—to February. The Valentine’s Day issue, when we name the Sexiest Man Alive and feature him as our centerfold.”
Oh, damn! There it was, out in the open. And there he was, turning to stone right before her eyes, stepping back on the sidewalk and giving her a look so icy she felt the chill of it in her bones.
“And so we come full circle, Miss Madison,” he said coldly. “Tell me, did you work all this out just so you could remind me of how your name first came to my attention, or did you think that some miraculous whim of fate would have erased it from my memory?”
“Mr. Romano—”
“Goodbye, Miss Madison,” Matthew said, and marched to the curb. Where was a taxi when you needed one?
“Mr. Romano, wait a minute!”
He swung around, eyes glittering. “You believe in living dangerously,” he said softly.
“I believe in honesty. And that’s why I’m telling you this would work.”
Matthew turned away from her. “Taxi?” He stepped off the curb as a yellow cab swerved toward the sidewalk. “La Guardia Airport,” he said, as he climbed in.
Susannah climbed in after him.
“This conversation is finished, Miss Madison.”
“Mr. Romano, please…”
“Go ahead, driver.” Matthew sat back, arms folded, eyes fixed straight ahead as the cab pulled into the road.
“Mr. Romano.” Susannah licked her lips. “Why did you notice that—that item in my note to Claire?”
Matthew didn’t so much as blink.
“I’ll tell you why,” she said quickly. “Because it was about sex. That’s why. And because it was just the opposite of what we’re accustomed to. You know, a woman considering a man as—as…”
“Oh, don’t lose courage now, Miss Madison.” Matthew looked at Susannah. A hard, dangerous smile edged across his mouth. “Man as what?”
“As—as a desirable sexual object.”
“Do you really think a man—any man—would wish to have himself described that way? Featured in a magazine, yet?” He leaned closer, and she shrank back in the seat. “No, a man would not. He’d be offended. Our readers would be offended.”
“Burt Reynolds.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Burt Reynolds. The movie star. He was a centerfold, years and years ago. It did wonders for his career and for the magazine that featured him as their centerfold.”
“I doubt,” Matthew said frigidly, “if Burt Reynolds is interested in posing for CHIC.”
“No. Of course not. But that’s just my point. We’d search for an actor. A model. Men who’re accustomed to being in front of the public. And we’ll check with each one of them before we offer them to our readers as choices.”
“Choices,” Matthew grumbled. “Sounds like you’re talking about a menu. One from this column, one from that…”
It also sounded wacky. Wacky enough, perhaps, to work.
Susannah touched his arm. “I can make it work. I know I can.”
Her hand lay tightly on his arm, yet he could feel the heat of her fingertips burning into his flesh. Ridiculous, he told himself. But his body was already hardening, as if the feel of her, hot and silken in his arms, was embedded in his memory.
“It’s out of the question,” he said brusquely. “Even if there were a chance in a million your plan would work, I’d have to pour money into a dying magazine. There’s no logic in that.”
“Not so much money,” Susannah said quickly “We already have the staff.”
“Do you have the budget for sending your contest winners to Paris, Miss Madison?”
“I can squeeze the money out of something else.”
“Ha.”
“I can! I wouldn’t do a thing without your approval. I’d fax you every day.”
“There’s a three-hour tune difference between L.A. and New York. By the time you faxed me something, you’d already have done it.”
“Put someone in charge, then. A publisher. You already have one, don’t you? I mean, Update is yours, isn’t it?”
“Update publishes pharmaceutical journals. The gentleman in charge is pushing eighty.”
Her face fell. “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” Why did she have to look at him as if he were the only man who could save the world from imminent disaster?
“Your brother,” Susannah said.
“Joe?” Matthew’s brows knotted. “What about him?”
“He said he’s underutilized. Couldn’t you put him in charge?”
“No.”
“Six months. Just give us six months!”
“Forget it. It’s a crazy idea.”
“Three months, then. Well, three issues. December, January, February.”
“Are you deaf, Miss Madison? I said—”
“I read an article about you in Business Daily while I was on my way to your hotel.” Susannah sat on the edge of her seat and turned toward him. “It said you were a man who took risks, that you could see opportunity where others didn’t.”
“Revising your opinion of me?” he asked coolly. “Too bad you didn’t read that article before you took to passing notes like some junior high school kid.”
“Too bad you let personal grudges come between you and a good business decision.”
“I never make anything but rational business decisions.”
“Make this one, then,” Susannah said, her face flushed with determination.
Suddenly, there was a screech of brakes. The cab swerved and jolted to a halt. Susannah slid into Matthew’s arms.
“All right,” he said.
Susannah blinked. “All right? You mean—”
“I’ll give you your three issues, but if CHIC’s not in the black by February, I’ll pull the plug the day after the Valentine’s issue hits the stands.”
A smile spread over her mouth. It was, he thought, a lovely mouth.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Romano.”
“Matthew. All things considered, we might as well be on a first-name basis, don’t you think?”
Susannah laughed. “Yes. Fine. Thank you, Matthew. Thank your brother for me, too.” She laughed again, and Matthew couldn’t help smiling. “Not that he knows he’s been drafted. Not that we can be sure he’ll be happy about his new assignment. Not that—”
“It isn’t his new assignment.”
The smile faded from her face. “But—but you just said…”
“It’s simpler if I take the helm.”
He hadn’t intended to say those words, but now that he had, the idea made sense. He had business in New York that would keep him flying back and forth over the next couple of months, anyway.
All in all it was an excellent idea—and it had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with Susannah, or with the way Joe had looked at her, or with somebody named Sam, or with Peter, whoever in hell he was.
“Do you have a problem with that?” he asked, very calmly.
Susannah looked at him. Her heart gave a fluttery kick. Matthew Romano, underfoot until February? Matthew Romano, taking up residence in her life?
“No,” she said, “No, not at all.”
He nodded. “In that case, there’s just one last thing…”
And, because it would have been easier for the taxi to have sprouted wings than to have prevented what happened next, Matthew pulled Susannah into
his arms and crushed her mouth beneath his.
CHAPTER SIX
WHAT kind of a man kissed a woman he didn’t like with such passion?
A better question was, what kind of woman kissed him back? And she was kissing him. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
Matthew was feasting on her mouth, and she was on fire for him, for his kisses and his touch.
Some still logical part of her fought for sanity.
“No.” she said, against his mouth, “Matthew, we can’t…”
He tunneled his fingers into her hair, tilted her face to his.
“Just kiss me,” he said thickly, “kiss me and stop thinking.”
She did.
He felt her surrender in the sudden thrust of her body against his, in the erotic little sigh that feathered from her lips. He shifted her in his arms, drew her across his lap. He was hungry, starving for her. She was trembling with need. Her arousal had heated her skin, had made her flesh smell of flowers and springtime. And he—he was as close as he’d ever been to losing everything he was in a woman’s arms.
The realization might have stopped him, but then Susannah moved, lifted herself to him, framed his face between her hands, and it was too late.
It was his undoing.