The American Earl (11 page)

Matt's features hardened. When he at last turned back to her, she couldn't bear the silent message his eyes sent:
We both knew it wasn't going to last.
Overcome with disappointment, Abby slid out of the car and ran for the door to her apartment house. The chauffeur followed with her luggage and insisted on bringing it up to her apartment.

She barely managed to shut the door behind him before she lost control. Why had she made such a fool of herself? The tender glances, passionate touches, shared laughter and intimate embraces—they
had meant nothing to him. But to her they had been a beautiful promise.

Abby threw herself onto her bed and wept her heart out. She was grateful Dee was out for the night. She couldn't have tolerated anyone seeing her in this condition.

By morning's first light Abby had cried herself out. She sat up in bed, blew her nose, and reviewed her situation with a clear mind.

She had two immediate choices. She could either admit her fragility and resign from the ideal job. Or she must somehow find the strength to face Matt every day as they worked together.

She washed away the salty tear tracks from her cheeks with cool water, brewed herself a tall mug of dark-roasted coffee, did a load of laundry. By the time she was dressed in business clothes, she was ready to go head-to-head with her boss. She wasn't going to let any man destroy her—not a runaway fiancé, not a playboy aristocrat. To hell with them all!

M
att dreaded the next morning. The way he'd treated Abby the night before was inexcusable; but he would have to face her today.

He hadn't meant to hurt her, hadn't stopped to think during those miraculous weeks in Bermuda that it had been more than just having fun to her. He was her first, and that was bound to be special for a woman like Abby. She had cherished her body, saving herself for one special man. He had used her. He
knew
he was unworthy. He just hoped he could make it up to her in some small way.

How he might do that, though, he didn't have a clue. Most of the night he'd lain awake thinking about them. He had never intended to cut off their relationship on leaving the island. It was just that he was preoccupied with Paula's message. Her call had awakened him from a blissful dream drenched in sun
shine and loving embraces. She had forced him to remember the real world. The world of high-stakes business deals, seven-figure contracts and soaring revenues. He had to concentrate on his battle plans for winning back his clients, or his entire empire might come tumbling down.

But what about Abby? How did she fit into these plans?

Until a few hours ago, he hadn't known how to handle her as a lover, outside of their Bermuda paradise. But after a long night's thoughts, he felt he had a tentative grip on the touchy situation. He strode into headquarters with a renewed air of assurance.

Paula looked up from her desk in the reception area. “Good morning, Lord Smythe.”

“Morning,” he returned, driving toward his office with purpose. “Tell Abigail, when she gets in, I want to see her in my office.”

“She's in, sir.”

He stopped in his tracks, looked at his watch. “It's only eight-thirty.”

“Yes, sir. She was here when I arrived, twenty minutes ago.”

He hesitated. “How did she look?”

“Tanned,” Paula answered dryly. She wasn't smiling. He suddenly felt in the dangerous position of being trapped between two angry women. But maybe not…

“Is she, um…, in a good mood?” Her early appearance might mean that she'd forgiven him. That would make things so much easier.

“I'm in a
great
mood!” a chipper voice hit him from behind. “Why shouldn't I be? Twenty-one days
on a tropical island, soaking up sunbeams, swimming with the fishies…”

Matt spun around to stare at a different Abby than the one he'd left in tears the night before. She had bravely pulled herself together and was putting on a great show of perkiness and goodwill. Either that, or she hadn't fallen for him as hard as he'd imagined. Was he that easy to forget?

She wore a smart forest-green suit that set off her red hair. Her eyes were bright and clear—their usual chocolate hue. She'd styled her hair differently, pulling it back from her face and up in a loose, tumbly sort of arrangement that did magical things to the long line of her neck. He could have devoured her on the spot.

All notions of business flew from his mind.

“Oh good. You're here.” He coughed into his hand to clear the annoying roughness from his throat. “Can you spare a few minutes?” He held open his office door for her.

She breezed past him with a carefree, “Thank you,” as if he were the doorman. He closed the door behind them and turned. She was already seated across from his desk, her notepad and pen in ready position.

“Abby, you don't have to—”

She looked up at him innocently, and all he could remember was that same look as he moved his body over hers the first time they'd made love.

“I'm sorry,” he blurted out. “I never meant to hurt you or mislead you. And if you think I'm dumping you, that's not true.”

“It's not? I certainly got that impression last night.”

“I didn't have my head together, hadn't had time to work things out for us.”

“For
us?
” Her tone caught him off guard. “But now you have? You have made decisions about our relationship…for both of us.”

“Ye-e-es,” he said slowly, watching her expression with caution.

She set her pad and pen on the chair beside her and looked up at him, her hands folded easily on her knee. “And?”

He sat on the corner of his desk and concentrated on the speech that had cost him a night's sleep. “I want us to stay together,” he began.

She blinked up at him, but he couldn't tell if she was surprised or just didn't believe him. “Really.”

“Yes, but not at work,” he continued before she could voice the flood of questions he could see rising inside of her. “That wouldn't be comfortable for either of us. Before long, the whole company would have figured out that we were lovers.”

“What about my job?” Abby rose up out of her seat, her eyes darkening to a shade he didn't remember. A dangerous hue. “You promised.”

“I'm going to offer you something better.” He smiled, imagining how pleased she would be once she understood. He reached for her hand and seized it before she could back away. “If you agree to resign from Smythe International, I'll set you up in your own shop here in Chicago. Your severance pay will cover the down payment, and I'll give you a zero-interest loan for the rest, with no obligation to pay it back if you can't. And so we can spend time together without worrying about who knows about us, I'll move you
into a new condo a few blocks from here and cover the rent. What do you think?”

Abby gave him a long, cool look. “What do I think? I'm insulted.”

“Abby—” Panic rushed through him. “You don't understand. I'm handing you your dream. The money to open your own business…a long-term relationship that I've never given another woman.” He couldn't offer her more than that. And surely she shouldn't expect it.

She pulled her hand free of his. “What do you expect me to say, Matt? I want to be an independent woman with a husband and family in my future. You propose to keep me as your mistress.”

He groaned. “It's not like that at all.”

“It
is
like that,
exactly,
” she said, pacing in front of him. “How can you be so self-centered? You want me handy for an intimate night, but not underfoot. You don't want your employees gossiping about their boss's affair with his hostess, even though that's the image you wanted to give your clients because it was convenient and helped your sales pitch.”

“Abby, none of this is the point.”

“What about your point that I was aiming low by limiting my goals to a little coffee shop in Chicago? What about my learning the business and thinking international?”

“You could still do that, if you wanted,” he said quietly, feeling he'd somehow lost control of the negotiations.

“But you'd prefer I stay where you can find me and you want to continue sleeping with me with no strings attached.” She glared at him in challenge. He'd never seen her so vibrant, so quick with thought
and word. She made him furious. He wanted to argue with her some more. He felt hot and excited.

“What man wouldn't want to sleep with you?” He gave her a calculatedly wicked smile.

It didn't work. She chilled him with an icy glare, then her expression mysteriously shifted. “I received a phone call last night, from my former fiancé.”

Matt frowned. “Oh?”

“He's been trying to get in touch with me and left messages on my machine while I was away. He wants to see me.”

“And you will tell him you don't want to, of course.”

She shook her head. “I haven't decided yet.”

“What?” An emotion purely male, hostile, and possessive seized him by the throat. The muscles of his abdomen clenched at the image of Abby in the arms of another man. “If you're trying to make me jealous—”

“I know that wouldn't work, and I wouldn't stoop that low anyway,” she said quickly. “But hearing from Richard made me think about why you and I first became intimate. I still want to be married some day, Matt. But that can't happen if I'm locked into a relationship with you.”

With an intuitive flash he understood. Abby wasn't the sort of woman to emotionally or physically hold back part of herself for the next man to come along. If she was involved with him, she would stop looking for that husband of her girlhood dreams. They would stay together for a year…two…five…maybe longer. But when it ended she'd be right back where she'd started, without a husband—although she'd have a business of her own. Now he understood the fine line
her heart had drawn. She would not surrender that part of her dream for him.

He heard himself give up a bitter laugh. “I thought
I
was the one who would have to pry myself loose from the naïve young woman.”

“Life is full of surprises.”

He shot a look at her, but there was no harshness or triumph in her expression. “Yes,” he murmured. “Surprises.” He took a deep breath. “If you won't accept the condo or the coffee shop, what will you do?”

“Work for Smythe International…if you'll allow me to stay.”

He frowned. “Abby, do you really think that's wise? We'd see a lot of each other, and that's going to be painful for both of us.”

“I enjoyed sleeping with you. But now that our affair is over, I can deal with it.” Her voice was a mere whisper. It tantalized him, summoning memories almost too sweet to savor, now that he knew they would never be more than memories. “I love my job, the people who work with me, and all that I'm learning about this business. Why should I give up all these things just because we didn't work out.”

But we did work out!
he wanted to shout.
We were perfect together!

However he couldn't say those words out loud. It was clear her view of a successful relationship was different from his. Marriage wasn't on his agenda.

“I'd value your help if you do stay,” he said in a controlled voice, letting his eyes drift down her slim green suit then up again, recalling the soft curves underneath that produced that lovely silhouette.

“You're sure about this?”

“I know what I want,” she said confidently, her eyes sparkling in a way that all but did him in.

 

Abby walked out of Matt's office, chin raised, eyes dry, her self-esteem up two notches…even though her hands wouldn't stop trembling. Paula shot a quick look to see that her boss's door was closed. “How'd it go?” she whispered.

Abby shrugged. “He doesn't know what hit him.”

Paula winked. “Go, girl. I told you—as long as you show no fear and stand by your guns, he can't bully or intimidate.”

It wasn't the possibility of intimidation Abby feared. It was the danger of being seduced again by the steamy look in Matt's eyes when he wanted her. She hoped with all her heart that she would be strong enough to resist when they were forced to work late into the nights or traveled together.

Back in her own office, Abby punched in the number for her apartment. Dee answered on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“I survived, thanks to Paula's coaching.” Abby collapsed in her desk chair and spun it around to gaze out on a gray Lake Michigan. It looked like rain.

“I'm guessing he didn't propose marriage when you told him he was no longer welcome in your bed?”

Abby laughed in spite of her aching heart. “No. He wanted to set me up in a shop of my own, a discreet distance away, and a condo close enough for drop-in visits.”

“No kidding! So you said?”

Abby related the whole story, leaving out how her heart had beat against her ribs and her stomach had
twisted into knots the entire time she was in the room with Matt. It finally struck her that the last time she'd made love with him really had been
the last time,
ever. She had made the rules. Now she would have to play by them. For if she gave in to his charm, even one more time, she knew she'd be no better off than any other woman the young earl of Brighton had dallied with.

On the other hand, what chance did she have of ever finding a man to live up to Matt? No lover would ever excite her the way he had. No man would ever bring her such joy, satisfaction or admiration. It had taken him only a few weeks to spoil her for all others.

 

Matt was aware only of the dying light through the sweep of glass along the south wall of his office. The skyline of Chicago faded quietly into a purple dusk. Lights came on across the city. The lake, so much a part of the spectacular view from his window, shifted from blue-gray to a somber charcoal, then to an invisible black as night fell.

He felt as if he too were fading. Leaving a very bright spot in his life and entering a darkness from which he might never find his way out. Abby had brought him unexpected joy, and sweetly beckoned from him new and exciting feelings. Feelings he didn't know how to deal with and, when it came right down to it, feared.

A knock on the door lifted him out of his bleak thoughts. “Yes?”

Paula let herself in. “I'm leaving now.”

He had assumed she had already left. So preoccupied had he been with thoughts of Abby, the hours had slipped away. “Thank you for staying so long. I
hadn't meant to—” The words clogged up his throat. His thoughts grew fuzzy. “Would you mind staying just another five minutes?”

Paula nodded and walked over to the desk. “What's wrong, Matthew?”

He shook his head, stood up and went to the windows. Pressing his hand against the glass, he felt the lingering warmth from the sun that no longer shone in the black sky. “I'm…I guess I'm…” He wanted to say afraid, but men didn't admit to that. “I'm worried.”

“About what?”

“Abby. No, not about Abby,” he corrected, shaking his head. “Apparently she can take care of herself. It's me I'm worried about.”

Paula gave him a knowing smile. “She's different, isn't she?”