Heart of Hurricane (3 page)

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Althea fumed all the way back to the hotel. She'd had no intention of accepting the invitation. She'd have to be deaf, blind and stupid not to realize that Victoria Norton didn't want her there. But Ward could at least have let her speak for herself. And that he expected her to work while he and Martin spent the evening enjoying themselves at a party infuriated her. What did the man think she was, a robot? Probably, she conceded grimly to herself as she followed the two men into the luxurious suite.

The first time Althea had accompanied her employer on a business trip, she had been leery about sharing a hotel suite with him, but it hadn't taken long for her to see the practicality of the arrangement. Invariably these trips entailed long, hard hours, and Ward expected her to be available to work at a moment's notice. In any case, she could have had one eye and a wart on her nose as big as a lemon, for all the attention he paid her. Their relationship was strictly business.

Since the interview, almost five months ago, Ward had asked no personal questions. Every word of conversation between them was business-related; he gave orders and she carried them out. Women's Lib would love him, Althea decided; he treated her exactly the same as he treated his male employees. There were times when she doubted that he even realized she was a woman.

After issuing a few terse instructions, Ward disappeared into his bedroom to get ready for the evening. Tight-lipped and still seething, Althea turned to pick up her typewriter, only to find that Martin had already set it on the cherry wood table she would be using for a desk.

"There, that should do it," he announced as he straightened from plugging in the portable machine. "Is there anything else I can help you with before we leave?"

He smiled at her pleasantly, and Althea felt some of her anger melt away. She liked Martin. He was a nice, average-looking man with brown hair and hazel eyes, and, like Ward, somewhere in his mid-thirties. While his attitude toward her was not in the least amorous, he was unfailingly polite and considerate. Althea supposed that when he wasn't being overshadowed by Ward, he was considered something of a catch in his own right. He was single, successful and attractive in a quiet, unassuming way. He didn't have Ward Kingman's playboy reputation, but she was quite sure that Martin had wooed and won his share of the female population.

"No. No, this will be fine," Althea assured him, returning his smile as she snapped open her briefcase and removed a box of bond paper. When he hesitated, she arched one brow and added, "If you're going to make that party, you'd better get a move on. You know how Mr. Kingman hates to be kept waiting."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." A quick glance at his watch produced a grimace, and Martin turned and hurried away toward his room.

When the two men emerged a short time later, Althea was diligently pounding away at the typewriter. To her annoyance, when she looked up and caught sight of Ward her heart executed a funny little skip. Freshly shaved and showered and dressed in a superbly tailored dark blue suit, the man was devastating.

"When you've finished typing up that agreement, just leave it on the table, Miss Winters. I'll check it over when we get back." He didn't seem to expect a reply and Althea didn't give one. Turning to Martin, he said, "If you're ready, let's get going, shall we?" A slow grin tilted Ward's hard mouth and a look of purely masculine communication passed between the two men. "I certainly don't want to keep Miss Norton waiting."

Althea's wistful gaze followed their progress to the door. When they reached it, Martin paused and looked back at her, his expression concerned and slightly apologetic. "Will you be all right here alone, Althea?" he asked in a worried tone that earned him a sharp look from Ward. "I mean, if you need any help, I'll be happy to stay."

The considerate offer brought a sudden sting of tears to Althea's eyes, and she blinked to hold them in check. Smiling wanly, she shook her head. "Thank you, Martin, but I'll be fine. Don't worry."

"Well, if you're sure . . ."

"I am. Good night. And have a nice evening."

With a shrug, Martin stepped through the door, but Ward didn't move. Those deceptively sleepy brown eyes ran over her in quick assessment, from the top of her dull, skinned-back hair to the tips of her clumpy shoes. Althea stiffened as she realized that, for the first time since the day of her interview, she was being subjected to a thorough masculine appraisal. Sheer panic made her catch her breath. Surely, after all this time, he wasn't about to see through her disguise! Just the thought of it made her heart pound in alarm. Darn! Why did Martin have to have that sudden attack of conscience? With a boldness she did not feel, Althea lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on. "Was there something else, Mr. Kingman?"

A puzzled frown creased Ward's forehead, but finally he shook his head. "No. Nothing. Good night, Miss Winters. I'll see you in the morning."

Althea stared at the door a long time after it had clicked shut behind him. Her fear had begun to slowly fade, but in its place came a feeling of desolation.

Unable to return to work just yet, she rose and wandered aimlessly around the elegant sitting room. It was so quiet. So lonely. She walked to the balcony doors and stared past her reflection to the lights of Los Angeles far below, and sighed. Actually, she would have loved to go to a party. It was just what she needed. Since coming to work for Kingman Enterprises her social life had all but ceased to exist. The long hours plus the unpredictability of her free time had discouraged most of the men she dated. Suddenly she realized how one-dimensional and empty her life had become. And it was a sure bet it wasn't going to get any better in the foreseeable future.

The depressing thought produced another long, deep sigh. "Now you know how Cinderella felt before her fairy godmother arrived," she whispered. Then, as Althea's eyes refocused on her reflection, her mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace. "But you look more like one of the ugly stepsisters." She yanked off the useless glasses and tossed them aside, and as her gaze traced over her colorless features, the unbecoming hairstyle, the dowdy clothes, her disgust deepened. How she hated looking like a frump. No wonder Ward treated her like a piece of office machinery.

Swinging away from the doors, Althea returned to the middle of the room and began to pace. What had brought on this sudden discontent? It was true that Ward Kingman was a demanding employer, but he paid her quite well. Just the bonus he had given her last month at the completion of the McQuirter deal would pay Greg's fall tuition, with some left over. And she had learned more about business and finance in the past four months than she had learned in her entire four years at Barlow's. As much as it pained her to admit it, her respect for her employer's business acumen had skyrocketed. If only he would treat her like a woman . . .

Althea sucked in her breath as she realized the direction her thoughts had taken. How ridiculous! She certainly didn't want to attract his attention in that way! She deplored his type. Granted, the man was keenly intelligent and dynamic and exciting to work for, but he possessed a rugged, sensual appeal that drew women like flies to honey, a situation which he enjoyed to the fullest. And Althea had no desire to become one of a crowd.

Not that you'd get the chance, she reminded herself severely. If he ever finds out about your disguise, he'll probably fire you on the spot, and don't you forget it, my girl.

Firmly subduing her turbulent emotions, Althea marched back to the desk. It was after midnight before she finished typing the agreement. She was stiff and tired and longed for a hot soak, but settled for a quick shower instead, and crawled wearily into bed. Ward and Martin still had not returned.

By the next morning the temporary bout of self-pity had passed and Althea once more had herself in hand. She had an excellent job that would provide both herself and Greg with a secure future, she told herself sternly. If holding on to it meant her social life had to suffer a bit, so be it.

As expected, Stanley Norton's legal advisers balked at some of the conditions of the agreement, and the entire day was spent in endless meetings as they hashed out a compromise acceptable to both sides. That evening when Ward left to keep another date with Victoria Norton, both Althea and Martin were still slaving away over the revisions. Too tired to feel either envy or resentment, Althea could only marvel at the man's stamina.

When they boarded the company jet the next day for their return to Houston, Althea fully expected to spend the entire trip working, but after dictating only three intercorporate memos, Ward gave her a keen look and said, "That will be all for now. You may as well catch forty winks on the sofa. You look as though you need it."

The thoughtful suggestion came as a complete surprise, but Althea didn't question it. Hurriedly, before he could change his mind, she kicked off her shoes and curled up on the burnt-orange sofa, sighing as her tired body sank into the soft cushions. Just before her eyelids fluttered shut she caught Ward staring at her, a puzzled frown etched between his brows, but she was too exhausted to wonder why. Within seconds she was asleep.

She awoke slowly. Warm, snuggled deep into the soft cushions, Althea felt saturated with a delicious languor, every muscle in her body slack. She didn't bother to move or open her eyes; she was content just to lie there savoring the feeling. Slowly she realized that someone had covered her with a blanket. Martin, most likely, she told herself. She couldn't imagine Ward doing anything so thoughtful.

Gradually the low-voiced conversation of the plane's other two passengers impinged on Althea's consciousness. Martin and Ward were sitting in the armchairs just in front of the sofa, and though they were making an effort to keep their voices down, she couldn't help but hear what they were saying.

"Come on, Ward. Give me a break," Martin groaned. "You know how I hate those affairs Estelle and Sam give."

Ward chuckled softly. "You'll suffer through it, I'm sure."

"Why do I have to go? Why can't you just take Deborah?"

"Because I promised her that we'd go out to dinner, just the two of us, as soon as I returned. She's been giving me hell lately because I haven't been spending any time with her," he said with irritation. Althea smiled and snuggled deeper under the blanket.

Martin groaned again, and Ward added, "Look, you don't have to stay long. Just mingle a bit, put out a few feelers. I need to know whether or not Harrison is going to exercise that stock option."

"But the party is tonight, and I don't have a date. And you know how Estelle feels about stag males. Her parties all resemble Noah's Ark; everyone comes in pairs."

"So? Get a date."

"This late? You've got to be kidding! You may get by with calling at the eleventh hour, but it never works for me."

Althea could hear the seat in front of her creak as Ward shifted and stretched out his long legs. "Well, don't worry," he soothed in an amused tone. "If you strike out you can always take Miss Winters."

Althea's eyes popped open, her body stiffening in outrage. The nerve of that man! Did he think that she was such a hopeless case she couldn't possibly have a date? That she was so ... so lonely and pathetic she'd jump at the chance to go out with Martin ... or any man?

"Aw, come on, Ward. Have a heart! You can't actually expect me to take Miss Winters, for God's sake!"

"Why not? She's single and available." He laughed softly. "She may not be much to look at, but the woman's got a mind like a steel trap."

Martin moaned again and slumped down in his chair, and Ward changed the subject.

Althea feigned sleep the rest of the way to Houston. She was so angry she was sure she would hit them both if she didn't. When they touched down in Houston, she stalked off the plane without a word, too furious to speak.

At the office she took her anger out on her typewriter, pounding away at the keys as though she were driving nails with her fingertips. The two men had disappeared inside Ward's office, leaving the door ajar, and to her further annoyance she could hear Martin frantically dialing the phone, calling one woman after another. With every call Althea's temper rose higher and higher. By the time Martin strolled out into her office and perched on the corner of her desk, two hours later, she had built up a full head of steam.

She glanced up from the letter she was proofreading and found him looking at her like a man who was about to meet a fate worse than death. Eyeing him coldly, she snapped, "Yes? Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Phillips?" They had been on a first-name basis for months, but Althea was too incensed to be anything but coldly polite.

Martin cleared his throat noisily. "Well, uh . . . I was wondering. That is . . ." He paused to take a deep breath, then said all in a rush, "Would you like to go to a party with me tonight?"

Althea looked at him narrowly, not saying anything for a moment. Then; slowly, a very feline smile curved her mouth, and behind the tinted lenses her sapphire eyes glinted dangerously. "Why, thank you, Martin," she said in a voice filled with fluttery surprise. "I'd like that very much."