The American Earl by Kathryn Jensen

up. I have several calls to make, then we’ll take a car to the Haversfield meeting at three o’clock.”
    Abby nearly choked on a laugh but managed to hold it back. Take her time? He was giving her an entire thirty minutes. She had hoped for a shower to rinse off the airport dust, but there was no time for that now. She’d have to settle for a spritz of perfume, change of clothes and a few strategic touches with a curling iron.
    While Abby hurriedly unpacked, her thoughts returned to the envelope she’d discovered on Matt’s desk. No wonder he was used to getting his own way; he had undoubtedly been terribly spoiled as a child, raised in the lap of aristocratic luxury. No doubt his adoring parents had set him up in business in the States, she thought indignantly. Most people struggled just to pay their rent and buy groceries. This man’s biggest worry was how many thousands he could add to his net worth on any given day! And he barely blinked when one employee left and another slipped into the vacant slot.
    She had never liked self-involved people. Whenshe added wealth to the equation, the earl of Brighton seemed even less her type.
    So what? she asked herself.
    She hadn’t taken the job because of Matthew Smythe’s winning personality. Her reasons had been purely practical. And Matt wouldn’t be disappointed when she left since none of his other hostesses had stayed as long.
    There was only one problem. Despite his cavalier treatment of her, as if she were no more than an insignificant cog in his personal wheel of success, she was strongly attracted to him. And, she had noticed, she wasn’t the only one. Everywhere they went, his mere presence commanded the attention of women. When he wanted a woman in his bed, she had no doubt there would be one. So, what did he want from her? A woman with no experience in pleasing a man. A woman who hadn’t even been able to entice her fiancé those last few steps to the altar. The pain returned with sharp, accusing jabs to her heart. She took three deep breaths then forced herself to think only of business.
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    There was one meeting in Manhattan that afternoon and another that evening. As they approached the first prospective client, Matt clasped Abby’s hand and casually rested it in the crook of his arm. He gave no other indication to the woman who represented the upscale, mail-order service that they might be more than boss and employee—no pet names, no suggestive touches. That one gesture, though, was enough to indicate an intimate connection.
    Although Matt acted as if he didn’t even feel her hand on his arm, Abby gave an unintended jump asher fingers curled around his suit sleeve. She was surprised to feel taut muscles in his biceps and forearm—something she hadn’t noticed before. She would have thought he was too busy cutting million-dollar deals to exercise. Apparently he had found a way.
    She imagined the rest of his body, just as toned and tight…and hard. Her knees felt rubbery. She managed to play her supporting role through the first meeting and not melt into a puddle of feminine desire every time he looked at her, but it was hard work.
    â€œI entertain my foreign suppliers differently than my customers in the U.S.,” Matt explained later that day as they rode to their dinner meeting at the Four Seasons.
    The brilliant lights of Broadway and Times Square flashed past the limo’s windows, and Abby felt suddenly breathless again. This was another kind of sexiness. A city could be sensual, edgy, provocative…although not as gut ticklingly so as a man like Matthew Smythe.
    â€œLet me guess,” she said, keeping her voice steady, her eyes on the view outside the car’s windows. “Tonight the situation is reversed; they’ll be trying to seduce you.”
    Matt gave her a strange look.
    Abby winced. Why had she used that word? Seduce. It held dangerous multiple meanings.