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It was at just that moment that Matthew, standing in the corridor, lost patience. How many times did a man have to knock before he was granted admittance? His eyes narrowed. Especially when he was the one paying for the hotel room.
He put his hand on the knob. It turned, the door swung open, and he saw Susannah for the first time in more than two weeks.
His first thought was that something was wrong with his heart. Why should it suddenly be going up and down in his chest? That was not what hearts were supposed to do, and it couldn’t have a damn thing to do with the fact that no, Susannah wasn’t as beautiful as he’d remembered…
She was more beautiful.
His second thought was that there was something wrong with not just his heart but his vision How else to explain. the fact that the room of this pay-off the-national-debt-in-a-month suite was so damned tiny? On second glance, it wasn’t his vision. The room was small, all right, but what made it seem even smaller was all the muscle that filled it.
Susannah was standing in front of a Lilliputian-size couch, flanked by a pair of giants, one dark, one fair. Another guy stood maybe a couple of feet way. He had curls—curls?—hanging to his shoulders. And there was a dude out in front who looked like an ad for steroids.
“Matthew?” Susannah breathed, and just for a heartbeat, for one infinitesimal second, he thought he saw her eyes fill with joy.
But he was wrong. It wasn’t joy, it was shock. Of course, he thought coldly. She would be shocked. She had no reason to think he’d come along to shut down her weekend in paradise.
“Matthew,” she said, “what on earth are you doing here?”
She stepped forward, her boy toys in lockstep with her.
“Yeah,” the one with the curls said. “Susie Q? Didn’t you say there were just four of us?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. This man isn’t—he’s not—”
“You heard the lady,” Zeke said. “So, what are you doin’ here, man?”
“I’m sorry,” Matthew said pleasantly, “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“Zeke. Zeke McCool.”
Matthew smiled. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he said even more pleasantly. He could see that Curly was not happy. For that matter, neither were the two giants or the guy on steroids. They all looked as if they wanted a piece of him.
His smile curled into something that would have done a tiger proud. Considering his mood, what this foursome wanted sounded just fine.
“Matthew,” Susannah said, her voice rising, “I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”
Matthew smiled at her. She blanched. Amazing how rewarding it was to know that a smile could cause that.
“I’m here to check on my investment, Madison. Why else?”
“What’s he talking about?” Giant One asked suspiciously. “Susannah, you said there would only be four of us.”
“There are. Four of us. Four of you.” Susannah licked her lips. Matthew’s appearance, so unexpected, so unwanted, so—so magnificent, seemed to have obliterated her ability to think straight.
“Is this man your friend?”
“No. No, he’s not my friend—”
“I’m her employer,” Matthew said, looking around the room, smiling his toothy smile at each boy toy in turn. He could practically picture the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “The man who pays the bills Anything else you guys want to know?”
Alejandro stepped forward. So did the others. Oh, yeah, Matthew thought. He grinned, bounced once on his toes and moved farther into the room.
Holy hell, thought Susannah, and leaped between the Sexiests and her boss.
“Now, stop this,” she demanded. “Matthew, what’s going on here?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” he said, his eyes never leaving the faces of the boy toys. “I’ll tell you exactly what’s going on, Madison. I found out about your little party—”
“My what?”
“Oh, give me a break! Save that innocent look for my brother, okay? Your fun and games weekend. Your bacchanalia. Your sexy guys party.”
“Bacchanalia?” she asked. “Party?”
“You heard me. And after I chewed Joe out for being jerk enough to let you talk him into this—”
“Into what?”
“This,” Matthew said, waving his hand so that it took in the room and the glowering quartet of muscle “That’s why I’m here, Madison I flew here to—”
To what?
The torrent of words dried to a trickle, then stopped. Matthew felt a sick feeling welling in his throat. The four muscled hunks were looking at him as if he’d escaped from someplace that specialized in padded walls. Susannah was staring at him as if padded walls wouldn’t be enough. And he was starting to think they were right.
Why did I come here? he thought furiously. Why?
“I came here,” he said, “to, ah, to…”
Damnation. For the first time in his life, Matthew found himself wishing the ground would open under his feet and swallow him whole Susannah and the Sexiests were waiting for his answer, and he didn’t have any. Why had he come here? It was not just a good question, it was the only question.
Susannah had told him she was going to run three issues of CHIC. Three special issues. She’d spice them up. Sex them up. Catch the attention of the advertisers and the readers. And he’d said go for it. He’d said he’d back her all the way. Then he’d handed the job to Joe and told his brother to give CHIC, and Susannah, whatever they needed.
Susannah’s first issue had hit the stands, and it was a success. Now she had two more to go, and they’d sell even better. Susannah knew it. Joey knew it. Dammit, even he knew it.
Matthew frowned.
What was he doing here, then? He’d told Joe it was because of the cost of the Paris weekend, but who was he kidding? The money was a drop in the bucket, compared to what Romano Inc. spent in a day. Besides, it took money to make money.
The writer, the photographer, the whole bunch of people had nothing to do with his anger. Susannah could have had Eddie from the mail room tag along and he wouldn’t have blinked. He hadn’t come because of the people she’d brought here or because of the trip’s price tag.
Matthew puffed out his breath.
He’d come because of Susannah. Because, dammit, if any man was going to take her to the world’s most romantic city, it wasn’t going to be this—this assemblage of over-hormoned hunks, this gaggle of Greek gods.
This sad little knot of confused guys who’d been flown here to be interviewed and photographed and, instead, were watching a man make a complete ass of himself in front of a woman he’d run from.
“Matthew?” Susannah said again, and he sighed, pasted what he hoped was a smile on his lips and said the only thing he could think of, that he’d flown to Paris because Joey had urged him to.
“Your brother asked you to come?”
“Yes. Ah…” Ah, what? “Ah, Joey said—he said that he trusted your judgment completely but that—that for something this big, he really thought it would be best to have your publisher on hand, just in case.”
He held his breath, waiting for her to ask,
in case of what? But she didn’t. Maybe she was still too angry to think logically. And she was angry. He could see it. Her face was flushed, her eyes were bright, her hands were planted on her hips. She looked angry and annoyed…
And lovely. So lovely. Why had he walked away from her that night? Why hadn’t he realized there was only one way for the fire between them to burn itself out?
“You said…” Susannah cocked her head, as if to pin him with a glance. “You said this was a party. A—”
“A bacchanalia, whatever that is,” the guy with the steroid problem said helpfully.
“Uh, yeah.” Matthew nodded and told himself he’d only lose ground if he gave in to temptation, grabbed Steroid by the collar and tossed him into the hall. “Yeah, I did. But I was just quoting Joe.”
Susannah stared at him. “Your brother told you this was a party?”
“No,” he said quickly, “no, of course not. He said—he said this wasn’t going to be a party. He said you’d insisted you didn’t need any help with this project.” Was it true? And, if it wasn’t, could he confuse the issue enough to make it sound true? “He said you were just kidding yourself if you really thought you could do the interviews, the photos, the whole bit in just two days. So I figured I’d fly over to, ah, to offer my help.”
“Your help,” Susannah said.
“Exactly. I can pitch in. Assist. Offer my expertise.”
“On what?”
Matthew frowned. The woman was a font of excellent, if unanswerable, questions.
“All right, Susannah I’ll tell it to you straight.”
“I wish you would.”
“I’m, uh, I’m trying not to hurt your feelings but the thing is, you’ve taken on a hell of a responsibility here.” Yes. Yes, he was on the right track now. Matthew opened his jacket, thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and strolled into the room. He could hear the hunks shifting their weight behind him, turning so they could watch his every move. “A hell of a responsibility,” he said, and swung to face the little group. Joe, he thought, forgive me. “And Joe and I have some concerns.”
Susannah dug her hands into her pockets, too.
“Concerns?”
