The American Earl by Kathryn Jensen Page A

Maybe it was the allure of the city working on her subconscious. Or maybe it was because she couldn’t stop thinking about her new boss in an unclothed sort of way…because of those hidden muscles she’d discovered.
    â€œI suppose seduction is a good analogy.” He gave her one more quick glance before returning to noteson his laptop, but didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. The computer was hooked to a modem, he had explained to her earlier, which allowed him to communicate with the touch of a few keys with any of his offices, as well as clients and suppliers around the world. “Tonight,” he continued, “the vice-president of an Austrian company will be pitching his products to us. I already have a deal with a similar firm based in Munich, but I’m not satisfied with the quality of their goods.”
    â€œThen why are you entertaining him, instead of the other way around?”
    After typing a few more sentences, Matt leaned back against the leather upholstery to observe her solemnly. “I never let anyone pay my way,” he said. “It’s one of my rules.”
    She frowned. “Why is that?”
    â€œIt just is.” He shrugged as if it didn’t really matter. But she sensed that this was an important issue to him. “Neither I nor anyone on my staff accepts gifts. If one of my clients should send you anything more than a tasteful bouquet of flowers, you’re to send the gift back immediately, with your gracious thanks.”
    â€œI understand,” she said, though she really didn’t. She dismissed this as just another example of his eccentricity.
    Dinner at the Four Seasons was sedately spectacular. The enormous reflection pool in the middle of the single spacious dining room caught the light from the ceiling above. All the seating faced the room’s center, giving the room the feeling of a theater-in-the-round. The elegantly attired waiters took center stage. The couple sharing their table spoke only a little English and clearly preferred German, which Matt spoke fluently.
    â€œIch spreche ein bitte,” Abby apologized at the beginning of their conversation for the little she spoke. She remembered only a few phrases from her high school foreign language classes.
    Matthew said something to his guests in German, then translated for her. “I told them you’ve only recently joined our firm.” He laid a hand over hers on the tabletop, as if to demonstrate an additional personal nature to their relationship.
    The message must have been lost to Frau Gremmel, a pretty blonde with wandering eyes. Her gaze hungrily took in the dashing waiters, then settled on Matt with special intensity. Impulsively, Abby turned her hand over, palm up, lacing her fingers through Matt’s, as if tenderly marking her territory. She felt an answering tremor through his hand and knew she’d taken him by surprise. Good, she thought, someone ought to shake up the man once in a while.
    He started to move his hand out of hers, but she closed her fingers around his. Not so hard that he couldn’t pull away if he really wanted to, just enough to challenge him. Later, if he asked her what she’d been doing, she would say that she’d just been playing along. Secretly, it gave her almost as much satisfaction to rattle his cage as it did to disappoint the fair Frau.
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    For the life of him, Matt couldn’t remember what he had ordered for dinner. He vaguely nodded as the waiter placed the sizzling roast duckling topped with mango chutney in front of him. His senses seemed to be reacting in slow motion. Staring at the food beforehim, he felt Abby release his hand to pick up her own fork and dig into a thick cut of rare prime rib glistening in its own juices. For a moment everything in the room seemed to wash away in a blue haze, and all he felt or knew was the sensation of cool air lifting the perspiration from his palm, where her hand had