The Sexiest Man Alive

by Sandra Marton

  “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.

  Matthew groaned, parted her lips with his, tilted her head and angled his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, sucked on the soft flesh, bit lightly and then soothed the wound with the tip of his tongue.

  “Susannah,” he breathed, “Susannah.” It was all he was capable of saying, of thinking, of feeling.

  God, he was on fire!

  And so was she.

  He slid his tongue into her mouth. She moaned softly and wound her arms around his neck. His body was rock-hard beneath her. The feel of all that tightly leashed power, the realization that she had done this to him, made the kiss even more exciting.

  “Yes?”

  Susannah froze. “Matthew?”

  “I know, sweetheart.” Her yes had been soft. Husky. A little deeper than he’d have expected, but who was he to concern himself with Susannah’s tone of voice? “I know. You said, yes. And it’s the same for—”

  “I didn’t say anything,” she said, scrambling from his lap. “It was the driver.”

  The driver.

  The driver? Matthew met the cabby’s eyes in the mirror and breathed a sigh of relief. This was New York, meaning the guy had barely noticed the gymnastics.

  “Yes, please, we are here?”

  “We are here, yes,” Matthew said, looking out the window at La Guardia Airport. “We certainly are.”

  “Please? Give airline name?”

  Matthew cleared his throat. “Ah…”

  Ah? What kind of response was that to a simple question? His brain, on holiday early this morning, now seemed to have packed up and left home for good. How else to explain his actions? His loss of control? Susannah looked as baffled as he felt. She was smoothing her jacket, her hair, her skirt, every now and then shooting him quick glances from under her lashes.

  Matthew’s mouth thinned.

  Anybody who didn’t know better would have thought games like this were new for her. But he wasn’t anybody. He was the man who’d been the butt of her jokes. Even if he hadn’t, just one look at her in that sexy suit, one moment spent with her going wild in his arms would have made it clear Susannah Madison was, to use Joe’s favorite description, one hot babe.

  Matthew straightened his collar, fixed his tie and ran his hands through his hair.

  “Sorry,” he said briskly.

  Susannah jerked her head toward him. Sorry? The man sounded as if he were apologizing for—for jostling her elbow instead of for…

  Oh, lord.

  Maybe she’d lost her mind. It was as good an explanation as any. Why else would she have been crawling all over Matthew Romano in the back seat of a taxi? Matthew Romano, a man she didn’t like, a man she’d only met, what, four hours ago?

  It was all his fault. She smoothed her skirt again, tried uselessly to drag it over her knees. She was embarrassed, and he was sitting there, the epitome of cool.

  How she longed to pop him one right in his square jaw. If he hadn’t stormed into her life this morning, turned her existence upside down, if he hadn’t hauled her into his arms and kissed her as if the clock had spun backward and he were some tenth-century lord of the manor…

  She swung toward him. He swung toward her. They stared at each other. Susannah could feel the angry, indignant words building inside her, but How dare you? wasn’t really appropriate to the occasion, considering—Be honest, Susannah—considering that she’d just been sucking on his tongue.

  Color flooded her face.

  “Susannah,” he said, “that was—it was inappropriate behavior.”

  She nodded. “It certainly was.”

  “But it’s probably just as well we got it out of the way.”

  Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m sure neither of us wants to muddy the waters with, ah, with a personal involvement.”

  Bloody hell! What was wrong with him? He sounded like a pimply-faced kid trying to convince his girlfriend that he’d still respect her despite what had happened in the back seat of his Chevy.

  “Look,” he said, waving his hand, “why don’t we forget that, ah, that anything—that we ever…”

  “It was a mistake,” Susannah said.

  “Yes.

  “Yes?”

  Matthew looked up. The driver was smiling helpfully into the mirror.

  “No. I mean, not you, driver. I mean… It was a mistake, yes,” he said, turning back to Susannah. “A huge one. And I apologize for my part in it.”

  Susannah stared at him. It wasn’t much of an apology. In fact, it was pretty insulting. It suggested that she’d been as responsible for that kiss as he was. Well, he was right. She was equally responsible, heaven only knew why, but if he was willing to put the kiss behind them, so was she. She took a breath, puffed it out and nodded.

  “I agree.”

  “Good.” Matthew smiled politely, thought of shaking Susannah’s hand, thought of what might happen if he touched her and frowned. “Good,” he said again, and then he leaned forward. “Driver? We’ve had a change of plans. Take us back into the city, please, to the Manhattan Towers Hote—”

  “Absolutely not!”

  Susannah was looking at him as if he’d turned into something loathsome right before her eyes.

  “You are really something!”

  Matthew sighed. He had the feeling she hadn’t meant that as a compliment.

  “Is there a problem, Miss Madison?”

  “Is there a—” Susannah laughed. “Goodbye, Mr. Romano. I’d sooner sell sweaters in Macy’s than go back to your hotel with you.”

  “Macy’s? Yes?”

  It was the driver again. Matthew shot him a fierce look.

  “Macy’s, no,” he snapped, his voice growing testy.

  “Macy’s, Lord and Taylor’s, the moon,” Susannah said, reaching past him to the door.

  Matthew clamped his hand on hers. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the perks of the job. You never mentioned that along with health insurance and a pension plan, I could also count on being tucked into your bed!”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Let go of me, Romano.”

  “Susannah—”

  “Don’t you ‘Susannah’ me!”

  “Sorry,” he said, and tried not to laugh at her tone of righteous indignation. “I figure, once a woman’s crawled all over a man, he can assume they’re on a first-name basis.”

  “I’m sure this is very amusing to you, but I find nothing laughable in this situation.”

  “You will when you calm down enough to listen.”

  “Let go of my hand, please. I’ll take the subway to the office.”

  “You do that. Just be sure and
let me know which runway the train stops at.”

  “Go ahead, laugh. See if I care.”

  “It’s a long walk back to Manhattan.”

  “I’ll take a taxi,” she said, with dignity.

  “Dammit, woman, you’re in a taxi. Stop being an idiot.”

  “You stop hanging on to my wrist, or you’ll be reading your dentist’s estimate for a new set of teeth!”

  Matthew laughed. “I’m shaking in my shoes. Now, sit back and take it easy.”

  “After you just—after what you just—”

  “You’ve got your pronouns wrong, haven’t you? I didn’t just. We just. Remember the old saying, Susie? It takes two.”

  Susannah jerked her hand free. “A gentleman would not even suggest such a thing.”

  “I never said I was a gentleman.”

  “And a good thing. Otherwise, I’d have to call you a liar as well as a—a cad.”

  He knew it wasn’t fair, teasing her like this. It was just that watching her react—the color that shot into her cheeks, the angry tilt of her head—made it difficult to resist.

  But resist he would. He’d resist kissing her again, too, though he had to admit it was going to be tough. Who’d have dreamed Susannah Madison would be so complex? She’d gone from hoyden to businesswoman to sexy siren in less time than it took some women to dress for dinner. And right now, she was doing a credible job of playing the wronged innocent.

  Matthew’s body tightened.

  No question, it would be fun to explore all those layers. But he wasn’t interested. This was business, and he never mixed business with pleasure. Besides, he didn’t like the woman. And if there was one thing he never did, it was sleep with a woman he didn’t like.

  Not that she’d ever believe such a thing.

  Matthew’s brows knotted. Who cared if she did or didn’t? The only thing she had to believe was that what had just happened would never happen again.

  “You’ve made a mistake,” he said.

  Susannah rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I wasn’t asking you back to my hotel,” he said briskly.

  “No?”

  “No. I was simply telling the driver to take us back into Manhattan, now that our plans have changed.”