She thought about that on the way out. “Did he have an unusually deep voice, you mean?” she asked with dawning curiosity.
“Deeper than normal,” he replied absently. He paused to pay the check. “That company has been nothing but a headache to me since the day my father died. There are times when I wish...” He shrugged. “Never mind. Maybe it’s fate. An albatross around my neck to curse me.” He smiled down at her. “And maybe a beautiful fairy can break the spell.”
She smiled back as she followed him out to his car. All the way home she thought about that strange phone call. She didn’t mention her suspicions to James, but she had a sneaking hunch that he wasn’t going to find any trouble at his plant at all.
James pulled up at the steps behind the elegant Rolls-Royce.
“How about tomorrow night? Oh, damn, no, I’ve got a business meeting with a client in Atlanta. Thursday, for dinner?” he asked with flattering eagerness.
“I’d like that,” she agreed.
“Sorry about this,” he murmured, leaning toward her. But a second before he could kiss her, the front porch light blazed on and James drew back abruptly.
He cleared his throat. “Well, good night,” he said reluctantly.
“Good night,” Keena replied, forcing herself not to explode with the rage she was feeling. When she got inside that house, she was going to shoot Nicholas Coleman!
“Is he staying more than a day?” James added, nodding toward the Rolls with a distasteful look.
“No,” she said firmly. She got out of the car and waved him off. When she turned toward the house, there was fury in every slender line of her body.
She took the steps two at a time and blazed through the front door, her dark hair curling softly around her face like a halo, her green eyes glittering with anger.
Mandy turned from the door into her own quarters at the foot of the staircase, her eyebrows risen. “Home so early?” she asked.
Keena glared at her. “Did Nicholas make any phone calls tonight?”
“He always makes a lot of phone calls,” Mandy replied smoothly, “I’m sorry about the porch light,” she added sheepishly. “I thought I heard a car, and it didn’t occur to me that it would be you so soon...”
Keena waved the apology off. “Where’s Nicholas?”
“Upstairs, I guess. I heard water running a minute or so ago.”
“Getting ready for bed, no doubt,” Keena growled, tossing her coat and purse onto a chair in the hall before she stalked up the staircase. “He is not getting away with this. I will not have my life controlled by that...that tyrant!”
Mandy only grinned as she went into her room.
Keena marched up the steps to the room Nicholas had commandeered and, without thinking, threw open the door and walked in.
The first thing that caught her eye was Nicholas. He was standing in front of his chest of drawers combing his dark, still-damp hair into place. The second thing that caught her eye was the fact that he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on his powerful, dark, hair-covered body.
KEENA FROZE JUST inside the door she’d slammed behind her, gaping at him involuntarily.
He lifted a dark eyebrow, as unconscious of his nudity as a stag in the forest. “Do come in,” he murmured with a half smile. He laid down the comb and picked up his electric razor. “That bathroom stays fogged up forever,” he commented. He lifted the humming razor to his chin. “I have to do this twice a day or I wouldn’t be able to get it off with sandpaper. Sit down and tell me about your date.”
“Uh...” she began, her breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t totally innocent. But the looks of a man had never quite affected her this way, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Nicholas. It had never occurred to her that a man could be called beautiful, but he was, his big, muscular body, perfectly sculpted, without a single curve or angle in excess.
He glanced at her, patient amusement on his face. “If I’m not embarrassed, why should you be?” he asked. “Sit down. You’re perfectly safe.”
She moved numbly to a chair against the wall and eased down into it. “I...just wanted to ask you a question,” she stammered.
He shifted, raising one cheek toward the mirror as he drew the shaver over it. “What?”
“Did...did you call the restaurant and tell James there was a problem at his company?” she asked point-blank.
The shaver hummed in midair as he turned and stared at her. “What restaurant did you go to?” he asked politely.
She fought a losing battle to keep her eyes on his face, and he laughed softly at the color that blazed in her softly rouged cheeks.
“You blush delightfully, did you know? Surely, you must have guessed at some point in our relationship that I was a man.”
She nodded. “But...I...that is...”
“My God, you’re repressed,” he sighed. “I really will have to take you to a blue movie.”
She let a smile peek from her lips. “I don’t need to go anymore,” she murmured.
He chuckled, turning back to the mirror. He drew the razor across his square jaw and under his chin. “You should be properly flattered that I haven’t grabbed for a robe,” he said with a mischievous glance as he finished and turned off the razor, running a hand over the newly shaven areas to check for missed spots. “At my age, I’m damned particular about being seen like this.”
“Even by women?” she blurted out.
He looked across the room at her, a long, intense look that made her pulse race. “It depends on the woman,” he replied.
“You...don’t mind me,” she murmured, confused.
“No.”
Involuntarily, her eyes roved over his body, lingering curiously, memorizing, trembling inwardly at the sheer sensuality of it, the blatant power in those bronze, hair-covered muscles.
“So, do you approve?” he asked very quietly.
She averted her eyes suddenly, embarrassed by her fascination with the sight of him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“And I’ve already told you, I don’t mind.” He moved toward her, a slow movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. Uncharacteristically, she jumped and rose from the chair with a start, tension in the soft lines of her body.
He stopped, froze in place, and she’d never seen that particular look on a man’s face before—desire shadowed with smothered anger.
“If it’s that much of a damned trauma, go to bed,” he said harshly, turning back to the chest of drawers. He took a short terry-cloth robe from a drawer and shouldered into its thick brown softness, jerking the sash together with sharp, deft movements.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wary of his gunpowder temper. “Nicholas, I didn’t mean to do that. I...well, I...damn it, what did you expect? This isn’t exactly our usual style of conversing.”
“Forget it.” He picked up the comb and ran it through his hair, his face still dark and taut.
She stood there, helpless, her hands twisting the elegant velvet of her long skirt. “Nick...” she murmured