Heart of Hurricane

by Ginna Gray

  Althea closed her eyes and let the music take her, her body moving in a sensuous rhythm that absorbed and echoed the throbbing beat.

  "Are you having a good time?" Martin asked, smiling at the rapt pleasure that suffused her face.

  Althea tilted her head back and looked at him through half-closed eyes. "Mmmmm, tremendous," she replied dreamily. "I had almost forgotten how good it felt to let my hair down and just be myself."

  "Well, now that I know there's a warm, gorgeous woman hiding behind those shapeless clothes and thick-rimmed glasses, I'll be sure to see that you do it more often.''

  "Terrific." Althea's enthusiastic response was accompanied by a grin. Closing her eyes, she once more lost herself in the primitive beat of the music. They were both silent for a few moments; then Martin's sudden whispered curse made her open her eyes.

  "What is it?" she asked urgently when she saw his expression.

  Martin pulled his gaze away from whoever was standing in the patio doorway. The regretful, almost pitying look in his eyes made Althea's lungs stop functioning for a moment. Martin's lips were set in a thin line that barely moved as he murmured, "Don't look now, but the big man is here."

  Shock and horror widened Althea's eyes. There was no need to ask who he was talking about.

  ❧

  "Isn't this simply a fabulous place, darling?" Deborah Lang gushed, her scarlet-tipped nails clutching Ward's dark-suited arm as they paused in the open doorway leading to the patio. "And look, it's right on the golf course."

  Ward ignored Deborah's inane prattle. He stood indolently, his slumberous gaze roaming over the crowd of dancers with apparent indifference, but there was a hint of irritation in the inflexible set of his features. Where the devil was Martin? Estelle had said that he and his date were out here somewhere.

  A cynical smile twisted Ward's mouth as he absently noted the party decorations. Exotic flowers of every kind were all over the place, attached to the trees and to the arbor overhead, scattered over the lawn, masses of them floating in the pool. And among them, suspended on fine strands of monofilament line, were hundreds of crystal birds that created a tinkling sound as they swayed in the slight breeze. It was obvious that, as usual, Estelle had spent a fortune on this blowout, and as usual, at least in Ward's opinion, the result was god-awful.

  Whenever he could find a convenient excuse, he avoided the Masons' parties and would have done so tonight except for one thing: Deborah was boring him out of his mind. The admission brought with it a feeling of mingled guilt and irritation, and Ward shifted restlessly. It wasn't Deborah's fault, he admitted to himself. In truth, the only woman who didn't bore him lately was Miss Winters.

  The minute the words formed in his mind, Ward experienced a start of surprise. Where on earth had that thought come from? Miss Winters?

  Then slowly his lips curved upward in a hint of a smile as he remembered how touchingly vulnerable she had looked that morning when he covered her with a blanket. Relaxed in sleep, her colorless little face had been oddly appealing. Ward's smile grew wider. Of course, if she had known he was studying her, she would have stiffened up and given him one of those freezing looks she was so good at. She was always so prim, so studiously calm, yet he sensed that there was a lot of fire and passion smoldering beneath that cool exterior. And there was something about her that disturbed him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

  In a sudden surge of irritation Ward shook off the perplexing thoughts. It's stupid to stand here with a gorgeous, willing woman on your arm thinking about your plain-Jane assistant, he berated himself disgustedly.

  Suddenly his eye was caught by the graceful movements of a woman on the dance floor. Her back was to him and Ward couldn't see her face, but her body was luscious: slender, yet curved beautifully in all the right places. Blond hair cascaded thickly around her creamy shoulders and down her back, swaying with each sensuous beat of the music and shimmering like molten gold. The low cut of her gown revealed an expanse of milky skin, which made Ward's hands itch to touch her, to test its silken texture. When his eyes dropped to her undulating hips, he experienced an almost overwhelming desire to feel her move like that against him . . . beneath him.

  His eyes roamed over her hungrily, willing her to turn so that he could see her face. As though responding to his silent command, the woman shifted slightly, and Ward's breath caught in his throat as he drank in the purity of her profile. Never taking his eyes off her, he began to move in her direction, wondering as he went how long it would take to find someone who could introduce him. It was then that he noticed Martin, and with a sense of shock, Ward realized that he was dancing with the woman. So, despite his protestations, Martin had managed to get a date, an exceptionally lovely one at that.

  Ward's jaw hardened. He and Martin had been friends for a long time, and he had never once deliberately tried to take a woman away from him, but he had a gut feeling that that was about to change. Just the sight of her excited him in a way he had never experienced before. He could actually feel his blood surging hotly through his body.

  Through careful timing, Ward managed to be within a few feet of the couple when the music stopped, and he stepped forward at once.

  "Hello, Martin. I see you didn't have to come alone after all."

  "No. No, I didn't. Hello, Deborah," Martin added uneasily to the woman clinging to Ward's arm. She responded with a faint smile and a nod.

  Ward smiled as his gaze switched to his friend's companion. He waited for her to turn, feeling the excitement growing inside him, but, curiously, she kept her back to him. Cocking one brow, he looked back at Martin. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

  Althea closed her eyes and expelled the breath she'd been holding. It was no use. It was over, and she might as well face the music. Steeling herself, she turned slowly and looked up into her employer's warm brown eyes, her own swimming with apprehension. "Good evening, Mr. Kingman."

  A slow, sensuous smile spread over Ward's face, then froze a split second later, his eyes first growing wide, then narrowing as his brows came down in a thunderous scowl. At the same time, Martin cleared his throat and announced, "As you can see, I took your advice and invited Althea."

  "Yes. So I see," Ward said in that ominously quiet voice that always presaged an eruption. A shiver feathered down Althea's spine as his blazing eyes went over her slowly, from the top of her golden head down over each clearly defined curve, all the way to her toes peeking out of the strappy sandals. "And may I say, you're looking very . . .", he paused and smiled coldly, "... lovely tonight, Miss Winters."

  "Miss Winters? This is Miss Winters? Your assistant?" Deborah Lang blurted out before Althea could formulate a reply. The brunette's cat-green eyes blazed with fury as she looked Althea up and down. "Well, well. It would seem that Miss Winters isn't at all what she claims to be." Giving Althea a smug look of pure malice, Deborah snuggled closer to Ward, pressing his arm tightly against the side of her breast. "It looks, darling, as though you've been duped," she added with a great deal of relish.

  "So it would seem," Ward concurred, in that same chillingly quiet voice.

  The band began to play a ballad, and never taking his eyes from Althea's face, Ward freed himself from Deborah's clutching hold. Placing his hand at the small of Althea's back, he began to propel her closer to the improvised dance floor. "That being the case, I'm sure you won't mind if I have a few minutes in private with Miss Winters so that we can discuss it. Martin will take care of you until I get back." He didn't give the furious woman a chance to reply. In a deft move, he slipped his arms around Althea and drew her against him. With only a few steps he maneuvered her into the center of the crowd of dancers.

  Althea gasped and stiffened when she felt his warm hand glide down her spine, molding her to him with shattering intimacy. Instinctively she tried to push away, but it was like trying to knock over a brick wall with her bare hands. "Mr. Kingman, please," she grated out desperately when he lowered his head and pl
aced his cheek against her temple. A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated in her ear, sending a prickly sensation rushing down her spine and raising gooseflesh on her bare arms and shoulders. Ward tucked her hand against his chest alongside the other one, and encircled her with both arms, drawing her closer still.

  What was he doing? For a moment Althea's lungs ceased to function as she felt his hand roam down beneath her waist and cup the rounded curve of her bottom. His long fingers spread and kneaded the firm flesh with a sensual rhythm, holding her hips against him, making her shockingly aware of the differences in their bodies. A shudder rippled through Althea. In response Ward chuckled again and slid his hand up her spine to close around the back of her head and hold her face against his neck. From cheek to knee they were plastered together, moving as one to the slow, sensual rhythm.

  Althea's heart was pounding so fast she could barely breathe. She felt as though she were suffocating. Her face was pressed against the side of his neck, and with every breath, she drew in the woodsy fragrance of his cologne, mingled with his healthy male scent.

  She had expected him to react with anger and had braced herself for an explosive burst of temper. She had not been prepared for this tactile ravishment, this blatant attack on her senses. She had no defenses against it. Verbal abuse she could handle. It wasn't pleasant, and she certainly didn't like it, but she had learned early how to remain calm and ride out the storm. But she had no idea how to fight against Ward's sensual expertise.

  Though molded against him, Althea's body was rigid and trembling with apprehension. Ward's hands moved caressingly over the bare skin of her back, his fingertips insinuating themselves beneath the edges of the low-cut gown.

  "Relax," he murmured huskily in her ear. He nibbled at the lobe, his teeth nipping gently. "Let yourself go. You'll enjoy it."

  Althea shivered as his warm, moist breath skated over the sensitive skin behind her ear. "I . . . uh, you . . . you said you wanted to talk," she stammered in a desperate effort to divert him.

  "Ah, but why talk when we're already communicating, and on a much more basic and enjoyable level."

  "Please, Mr. Kingman, you must stop this!" Althea pleaded, her voice rising in panic as he blazed a trail of moist, nipping kisses down her neck and shoulder. "This isn't like you at all!"

  Ward stopped dancing and drew slightly away from her, and Althea realized suddenly that he had maneuvered her behind a rose trellis at the far end of the patio, well out of sight of the other partygoers. His heavy-lidded brown eyes held a taunting gleam as they inspected her wary expression. "Really? You surprise me, Miss Winters. Isn't this exactly the kind of behavior you expected from me? Isn't that why you made yourself so unattractive? So you wouldn't arouse the beast in me? Wasn't it your fear of being chased around the office by a lusting satyr that prompted you to hide the fact that you're a beautiful and desirable woman?" With each question his voice became harder, colder.

  "No. No, of course not!" Althea cried, but Ward ignored her protests. His arms tightened and his head bent forward. With his lips hovering a mere hairbreadth from hers, he murmured, "Well, I certainly don't want to disillusion you, Miss Winters," and in the next instant his mouth closed over hers.

  Althea's struggles were a waste of energy. He held her easily while he plundered her lips with a sureness that took her breath away. Her gasp of surprise had given him easy access to the warm sweetness of her mouth and his tongue boldly explored its intimate recesses with the sureness of a conqueror. It was a devouring kiss that went on and on, drawing the very essence from her, sapping her strength and sending her blood surging hotly through her veins. Even in her weakened state Althea recognized that there was a possessive quality to the kiss, a branding that seemed to mark her as his own, and the very thought sent a cold shaft of fear through her, making her tremble all the way to her toes.

  Suddenly the kiss ended and Ward was holding her away from him, his hands on her shoulders. The taunting mask was gone, and his face now reflected the searing anger she had expected earlier. "Now that your worst fears have been realized perhaps we can get this matter cleared up. Be in my office the first thing Monday morning."

  Althea's legs nearly gave way beneath her when he released her to turn on his heel and stalk away. She stared after him, thoroughly shaken, her heart hammering in her throat.

  Trembling fingers lifted to cover her mouth. He had kissed her! Never, not even in her wildest imaginings, had she thought his anger would take that form. She had expected him to explode and dismiss her on the spot, or, at the very least, order her to leave the party. Althea closed her eyes and struggled to get her agitated breathing under control, inhaling the cool night air deeply and releasing it slowly, over and over. Trust Ward Kingman to do the unexpected. He was the most exasperating, unpredictable, thoroughly overwhelming man she had ever met. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he threw her a curve.

  Oh, he was a clever devil, she admitted reluctantly as she began to pull the ragged edges of her composure together. He had probably known that nothing could have upset her more than to be subjected to that sensual assault.

  Althea shuddered delicately. It hadn't just upset her; it had scared her silly. Not even to herself could she deny the excitement she had experienced in Ward's arms, the weak, wild sensations his touch, his kiss, had evoked. Her body had responded to him like a finely tuned Stradivarius responds to a master violinist. And nothing, as far as Althea was concerned, could have been more disastrous. The very thought of becoming personally involved with an overpowering man like Ward Kingman made her feel panicky. She had broken free of male dominance once, and she had sworn when she left her aunt and uncle's house that she would never let herself be trapped in that kind of situation again.

  Of course, Ward had no such thought in mind. He had merely been trying to unnerve her. And he had succeeded. Now she would spend the entire weekend worrying about whether he intended to fire her.

  Althea thought of the weeks she'd spent going from one interview to another trying to find a job, and groaned. Oh, Lord! Why? Why had she risked her future and Greg's for one night of fun? She needed this job. Desperately.

  The only ray of hope she could find in the situation was that maybe, just maybe, Ward would have cooled down somewhat by Monday morning.

  Chapter 4

  "Tell me you're kidding, Althea. Please. Tell me this is all just a big joke."

  "I wish I could, but I'm afraid it's true." Althea gave Judy a regretful look before jabbing her weeding fork at a sprout of nut grass. She lifted the loosened weed, shook the soil from its roots and tossed it into the gardening basket with the others, then methodically attacked the next offender.

  "But what happened? What did he say?" Judy had stopped the porch swing and now sat forward on the slatted seat, her eyes as big as a young owl's.

  Althea sank back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. She met her friend's worried gaze and sighed heavily. "Nothing much happened, actually." Ignoring the tiny stab of guilt, she deliberately pushed away the memory of that searing kiss, of the blatantly seductive way Ward had held her in his arms. Judy was her best friend, yet not even to her could she recount that disturbing encounter. "As you can imagine, Mr. Kingman was furious. He ordered me to report to his office the first thing Monday morning."

  "I knew you shouldn't have pulled this crazy stunt!" Judy wailed. "Now he's probably going to fire you!"

  "Ssshhh. Keep your voice down." Althea tipped her head toward her brother, who was clipping the hedge that separated her yard from the Brewsters', next door. "I don't want Greg to know about this. There's no point in his being upset too."

  "Oh, for pity's sake, Al, when are you going to quit sheltering Greg?" Judy questioned in a rare spurt of annoyance.

  Giving her a censuring look that told her the subject was not open to discussion, Althea snapped back, "Never," and bent once again to her task, jabbing the weeding fork into the loamy soil of the flowerbed
with a vengeance.

  Althea was convinced that if Judy knew the kind of childhood Greg had had, she wouldn't question Althea's desire to make life easier for him, but she simply couldn't bring herself to talk about those horrible years. Greg's disposition was different from hers. He had never developed the ability to hide his true feelings, as she had. Whenever Bill Holland had taken his spiteful temper out on Greg, he had flared back, which had only made matters worse. The first time it had happened Althea had rushed to Greg's defense, but that had been a grave mistake, because their uncle had taken great delight in meting out double punishment to her brother for her interference. After that Althea had been forced to stand stoically by and watch whenever he had disciplined Greg. She had vowed then that when she could she would do everything within her power to protect him.

  And that's exactly what I'm going to do, she told herself determinedly, ripping a stubborn weed out of the ground and tossing it into the basket. No matter who disapproves!

  Gardening was Althea's favorite method of releasing tension. Since inheriting her house four years before, she had buried many a problem in the rich earth of those flowerbeds, just as she had while tending the vegetable garden at her aunt and uncle's, years ago. Developing a passive, compliant facade had, to a degree, shielded her from her uncle's vicious temper and had helped her to achieve her goals, yet not without a price. There were times when Althea positively seethed with frustration and bottled-up anger. Vigorously attacking the soil with a pronged cultivating tool was a harmless, but effective, way of working off those hostile, disturbing feelings.

  "Look, Judy, I'm going to have to explain to Mr. Kingman why I did what I did," Althea said in a softer tone, wrapping a string of Bermuda grass around her fingers and tugging the long runner free of the soil, section by section. "I'm not going to tell him where I got my information, but if he cares to check and find out that we live at the same address, he's bound to put two and two together. I thought I'd better warn you."