The Sexiest Man Alive

by Sandra Marton

  His hand swept up, cupped her breast. She arched against the caress, riding the sensation of his touch. Her breath caught in an ecstatic sob as he shoved up her sweatshirt and stroked his fingertips over the satin of her flesh. She cried out and ground her bottom against the hardness of him.

  He rose, holding her. His embrace was powerful. She felt fragile, eager, filled with need for him. She clung to him, her hands locked behind his head, her mouth opening to his hot, hungry kisses. Papers, books, pencils flew from the conference table as he lay her down upon it.

  “Susannah,” he said fiercely.

  She looked at him. His eyes were hot and dark with desire.

  A shudder raced through her. She knew that what was going to happen between them would change her life forever, would make any other lover impossible.

  “Yes,” she said, raising her arms to him, “yes. yes…”

  The door swung open, hitting the wall like a clap of thunder rolling over the canyons of the city. “Oh, my God! Susannah!”

  Susannah almost fell off the table.

  She sat up. Matthew stepped back. Both of them stared at the open door, where Claire and Eddie and Judy and, Susannah thought desperately, what looked like a million other CHIC staffers stood crowded together in stunned silence. It was like staring into a sea of disbelief. Mouths hung open. Eyes grew round as saucers. Heads swiveled, as if this were a tennis match, while everyone looked from Susannah to Matthew, from Matthew to Susannah…

  Susannah’s stomach clenched as the enormity of what had happened—what had almost happened—began seeping in. She’d almost—she and Matthew Romano had almost—they had come very close to—

  And, as if that weren’t awful enough, everybody at CHIC knew it. And she would have to live with that forever.

  “Suze?”

  Susannah shut her eyes, then blinked them open. Claire was staring at her as if she were a stranger. Why wouldn’t she? She knew how she must look. Her disheveled clothes. Her hot face. Her kiss-swollen lips.

  “Claire,” she said. Her voice sounded rusty, and she cleared her throat and began again. “I know how this must look, but—”

  But? But what? But the man standing beside me, the one I swear to you I absolutely, positively, wholeheartedly abhor, hate and despise, kissed me, simply kissed me, and I went crazy?

  “Claire.” Susannah lifted her hands in a gesture of defeat. “I know what you want to hear. But—but really, I can’t—I just can’t explain why—why—”

  “Of course she can’t,” Matthew Romano said.

  Authority resonated in his deep voice. Every eye swiveled in his direction, Susannah’s included. He looked perfectly at ease and in control of the situation. Not even his tie was askew.

  “Can’t what?” Claire asked suspiciously.

  Good question, Susannah thought, and waited for the detestable Mr Romano to field it. He did, along with a smile that oozed concern.

  “She can’t explain why she fainted, Miss…?”

  “Haines,” Claire said, and looked even more suspiciously at Susannah. “You fainted?”

  Susannah licked her lips. “Ah… Yes. Yes, that’s right. I fainted.”

  Claire’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “Why?” Susannah asked stupidly, and Claire nodded.

  “That’s what I said, Suze. Why’d you faint? People don’t simply keel over for no reason at all”

  Susannah looked at Matthew. You’re the one with the answers, her eyes said, so go ahead. Come up with a good one.

  “It was the shock,” Romano said smoothly, and offered her his hand. “Miss Madison? Are you feeling well enough to stand?”

  “Thank you.” Her tone was as polite as his. “I don’t need any help.”

  But she did. Her legs weren’t as steady as her voice. She rocked on her heels when she slid from the table, and he slipped a gentlemanly arm around her shoulders.

  “Easy does it, Miss Madison. You don’t want to push yourself, considering the shock you just had.”

  “What shock?” Claire asked. Her gaze narrowed, focused on Matthew’s face and then on Susannah’s “Suze? Answer me.”

  Susannah patted down her hair, smoothed down her sweatshirt, avoided looking at her jelly-smeared foot and spoke as demurely as if she were still in Miss Porter’s seventh-grade dance class.

  “I would, but I’m sure Mr. Romano can explain it better than I can.”

  Matthew smiled. It was that same insolent smile she’d disliked from the first, and it galled her to think he could manage it, even now.

  “Why, the shock of hearing that I’ve decided to give all of you four weeks to try to turn CHIC around.”

  There was a second of dumbstruck silence, and then somebody gave a whoop of delight. It was just enough to muffle Susannah’s stunned whisper.

  “What?” she asked. “What?”

  Matthew’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Surprised?” he asked softly.

  Susannah nodded. She stared at him, and slowly a little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe he wasn’t such a rat, after all. Maybe…

  “That’s great!” Claire was almost dancing with excitement. “We all thought—well, considering how things were going between you and Suze, we figured…”

  “I’ve had a change of heart, ” Matthew said, “and you owe it all to Miss Madison.”

  A warning buzz sounded in Susannah’s ears.

  “It wasn’t me,” she said quickly. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Come now, Miss Madison.” Matthew was almost purring. “Don’t be so modest.”

  “Yeah, Suze.” Eddie grinned from ear to ear. “What’d she do to win you over, Mr. Romano? Quote you facts and figures? Dream up some new ad campaign?” He chuckled. “Suze can be real persuasive when she puts her mind to it.”

  “Oh, she certainly can.”

  Matthew’s smile made her heart stop.

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I mean, I never suggested—”

  “Of course she did,” he said gently, though his fingers were biting hard into her flesh. “Miss Madison spent the last few minutes doing her best to persuade me that she has the talent to make me a very happy man.”

  Panic beat through Susannah’s blood. “No! No, I did no such—”

  “Don’t be modest, Suze.” Claire grinned at Matthew. “And she succeeded, huh?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said softly, his eyes locked on Susannah’s. “Luckily for you all, she most certainly did.”

  “Way to go, Suze,” Eddie cried.

  The little crowd began to cheer.

  “Bastard,” Susannah whispered, but nobody but Matthew could hear her, and he just laughed, chucked her under the chin, saluted his fans and strolled from the room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MATTHEW whistled softly through his teeth as he rode the elevator to the lobby.

  Damn, but this had been a good morning’s work.

  He’d come here to deal with Susannah Madison. And, by God, deal with her he had. Oh, if only he’d had a camera to record the look on her face when she came sauntering through the door of the boardroom and laid eyes on him!

  Matthew chuckled and leaned against the wall, hands tucked in his pockets. It was a moment he’d never forget. Her shock. Her disbelief. The dismay that had glinted in those brown eyes.

  Hazel eyes. Her eyes were hazel.

  He frowned, took his hands from his pockets and folded his arms.

  Who gave a damn what color her eyes were?

  Maybe they were green. Yes, green was more like it, and shot with flecks of gold.

  Matthew’s frown deepened. He stepped away from the wall of the elevator and jabbed the button for the lobby floor in frustration.

  “Come on,” he muttered, and shot an impatient glance at the indicator panel above the door. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. How long could it take to go fourteen floors?

  As for Madison’s eyes, what did the color matter? He’d evene
d the score, hadn’t he? That was what counted. By moving quickly, he’d caught Susannah Madison unexpectedly. With her pants down, so to speak.

  Oh, hell.

  He scrubbed a hand across his face.

  What an image that was!

  The last thing he wanted to think about was Susannah Madison with her pants down, she of the topaz eyes—because that was what they were. She had topaz eyes, a soft mouth, skin that had turned hot and silken at his touch…

  Matthew’s anatomy responded to the unplanned inventory with breathtaking speed.

  “Damnation!”

  He slammed the lobby button again, which was obviously a mistake, because the car shuddered, groaned and came to a dead stop. The doors didn’t move. He looked at the old-fashioned indicator panel. The arrow sat neatly between numbers eight and nine.

  “Great,” Matthew snarled. “Just great.”

  He punched the emergency button, waited for the sound of the alarm bell… and heard only silence. He hit the button again, and the car gave a jolt. Slowly, at a rate of what seemed an inch an hour, it began its descent.

  Matthew cursed, leaned against the wall, folded his arms and settled in to wait.

  First the incident in the boardroom, now a cranky elevator. This was turning out to be one great day.

  Where had he left his brain this morning? It wasn’t between his ears. There was no other way to explain why he’d given up rational thought as soon as the Madison woman had come sashaying into view with her laceless sneaker, her hairstyle-by-electric-outlet. And that doughnut between her teeth.

  Oh, yeah. Without question, wasn’t that a description sexy enough to put any red-blooded American male’s gonads into overdrive?

  Matthew glared at his reflection in the smudged brass elevator door.

  “You’re behaving like an idiot, Romano,” he muttered.

  His reflection knew better than to argue. Besides, it was true.

  It was bad enough he’d succumbed to an emotion as petty as revenge and had flown three thousand miles across the country to get it. Revenge, and never mind all his speeches about not being a vindictive man. He’d let the sophomoric remarks of a woman he’d never met tick him off.

  And he’d ended up making an ass of himself.

  Why had he kissed Susannah Madison?

  Kissed her? Kissed her? Matthew rolled his eyes. If that was just a kiss, he’d left Planet Earth behind.

  What he’d done was damn near jump her bones. Ten minutes after he’d met her. In the boardroom. On the conference table. With a crowd of thousands in the hall.

  Matthew’s shoulders slumped.

  Was he nuts, or was he nuts? What had happened to his control over the situation, over Susannah Madison…over himself?

  It wasn’t even as if she’d turned him on. The thought was almost enough to make him laugh. Turned on by a woman with a razor-sharp tongue and the charm of a rattlesnake? Turned on by somebody who looked like a refugee from a sideshow?

  The sweatshirt. The jeans. The sneakers. Oh, yes, the sneakers.

  He did laugh, this time.

  A bag lady had more going for her than the Madison broad…and yet, if the CHIC staffers hadn’t come bursting through the door, he’d have—she’d have—they’d have…

  “Damnation,” Matthew said again, and wiped his hand over his suddenly sweaty brow.

  Was he losing his taste? His touch? His mind?

  What in hell would make a man hit on a woman who didn’t even look like a woman? Well, okay. She’d looked like a woman. There’d been the curve of her breasts, even under the baggy shirt. The feel of that nice, rounded bottom beneath the saggy jeans. The smell of her hair, the length of her lashes, the pouty mouth.

  There had to be an explanation for his behavior. Anger? Could that have been the reason? Could his rage at Susannah Madison have somehow translated itself into desire?

  No way.

  Sex was sex. Rage was rage. Only a complete idiot would confuse the two.

  “Do I really look like an idiot?” Matthew demanded of his reflection just as the doors swooshed open on the lobby.

  A small, stout woman, arms crammed with file folders, eyed him warily. Matthew felt a strange sensation begin crawling up his neck. He-was blushing! Blushing, and all because a broad who’d already maligned him on paper had managed to humiliate him in person.

  “No.” The woman’s voice quavered “You, ah, you look like a perfectly normal human being to me.”

  Matthew felt the heat rise into his face. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he said stiffly.

  “Sure. Whatever you say, mister. There’s no need to explain, no need at—”

  Matthew started past her, stopped and swung around.

  “Would you answer a question, please, madam?”

  I already did,” the woman said quickly. “You said—”

  “Forget that,” he said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I was talking to myself.”

  “Uh-huh. And I understand. I, uh, I talk to myself, too.” She made a gargling noise that might have been a laugh. “You get the best answers that—”

  “Do I look like a fool?”

  “Ah…”

  “Do I look like the type of man who needs to hit a woman over the head with a club, toss her over my shoulder and carry her back to my cave?”

  “No. Oh, no. You most certainly—”

  “On the other hand, a woman—one who had reason to do so—could probably entice even the most civilized man into such behavior, if she wished.”

  “Well, I—”

  “She could.” Matthew’s voice was impatient. Why hadn’t he seen the truth before? What had happened was Susannah Madison’s doing, not his. She’d stop at nothing for the chance to cut him down to size. Or to hang onto her job. One or the other, maybe both. Who knew? Who cared? What mattered was that he’d figured it out, and just in time.

  “Thank you for your help, madam,” Matthew said. He flashed a glittering smile and stepped into the elevator.

  “Uh…didn’t you want to get out? I mean, the car came down. Now it’s going to go back up…”

  “Madam.” Matthew drew himself to his full—and imposing—six feet two inches. “I do not need you to tell me that both the car and I are about to make a return trip.” He frowned. “I have business—unfinished business—on the fourteenth floor.”

  “And I have unfinished business in the lobby,” the woman said quickly.

  “As you wish,” Matthew said politely, and pressed the button. The doors slid shut, the car lurched upward, and he folded his arms and contemplated the ceiling.

  That Madison woman had made a fool of him not once, but twice.

  Well, she wouldn’t get away with it.

  Never mind giving CHIC four weeks. What for? Why should he lose more money? It was revenge, yes, but so what? The magazine was done for. He’d only come here today for the pleasure of firing Susannah Madison in person. And he’d have done what he’d come to do if it hadn’t been for that nonsense in the boardroom. Nonsense the Madison broad had engineered.

  Matthew’s teeth showed in a feral grin.

  Had the woman really believed her silly little seduction scene would keep him from delivering the coup de grace? No way. It was the confusion afterward, when her staff had come bursting in, that had left him groping for an explanation.

  Well, Madison and company were about to attend another meeting, and he knew exactly what he’d say this time

  “You’re fired, every last one of you, and you can thank the charming Miss Madison for what’s happened.”

  Oh, yes.

  Matthew tucked his hands into his pockets and began to whistle. The doors opened, and he stepped briskly from the car.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, he stood on the curb.

  He was not smiling or whistling. What he was doing was grinding his teeth.

  At least, he thought glumly, he’d made a quick exit, substituting the fire stairs for the ele
vator. He also had his briefcase and the beginning of a nasty headache, one he suspected was going to take four weeks—four very long weeks—to go away.

  A taxi pulled to the curb in response to Matthew’s raised hand.

  “The Manhattan Towers,” he said, “on the park.”

  The cab edged out into traffic. Matthew sat back, folded his arms and continued glowering.

  The idea had seemed so simple. Go back, confront everyone at CHIC, and make his announcement.

  How could he have known that the receptionist would shriek as if he were Tom Cruise and she were a randy teenager? How could he have guessed she’d come running from behind her desk clutching his briefcase in her arms? That she’d babble about how he’d left it behind, how she’d been about to phone his office and find out where to hand deliver it..except she’d been delayed by the celebration?

  “Celebration?” he’d said cautiously, at which point her eyes had turned suspiciously bright.

  “Oh, Mr. Romano,” she’d said in a wobbly voice. “We’re all so grateful for this chance!”

  Matthew had cleared his throat. “Actually, ah, Miss—”

  “I’m Judy,” she’d said through a tear-stained smile. “See, we were all sure the new owner—well, we didn’t know it was you, but we figured it would be, you know, off with their heads with one big chop without even giving us a chance to prove ourselves.”

  “To tell you the truth, Judy—”

  “I was so worried. About my mother, you know? She’s in the hospital, she fell and broke her leg but it’s not too bad, really, she could just as easily have broken her hip again.”

  “Judy,” Matthew had said desperately, “if you’d just give me a minute—”

  “Eddie, from the mail room? He called his girlfriend. They were supposed to get married this weekend. She’s pregnant, which is great, they wanted this baby, but once he figured he might be out of a job… Anyway, he told her the good news. I mean, we know nothing’s permanent but now that you’ve shown this faith in us and in Susannah…”

  Matthew shut his eyes as the cab maneuvered through the crowded streets.

  Another minute, she’d probably have credited him with finding the cure for the common cold.

  He looked out the window, his expression grim. Unfortunately, Judy had misjudged him. He wasn’t a miracle worker. He was CEO of a multimillion-dollar corporation. He was a man who made tough decisions. And so he’d done what any prudent man would have done under the circumstances.