his Swiss bank-account numbers.
Then his behavior by her car. He was sure he was certifiable after that move. But she’d been so close, and the faint trace of her perfume had made him forget who he was, who she was. All that he’d been thinking at that moment was that he wanted to kiss her, taste her, see if she was as perfect as she appeared.
Thankfully something had snapped him back. Now he had to make sure that this incident was never reprised.
He just hadn’t expected to like her so much. He wasn’t sure why, except maybe that while he had an extreme respect for Mrs. Montague, he’d never taken her or any other secretary out for a private dinner... although, technically, this dinner had been “in” not “out.” Anniversaries and other special occasions were noted with bonuses and gift certificates for Mrs. Montague to enjoy with her family. It was a pattern that made them both comfortable.
But Madalyn had him thinking about sex—hot, hard, driving sex, and then slow, long and languorous sex—and all within hours of meeting her. It wasn’t anything she’d done. Not one movement, not one look, not one word had been suggestive or inappropriate.
It was something primal that called to him past her proper demeanor. Then she’d unknowingly pricked his conscience when they’d spoken about the Price gala, and he’d felt himself withdrawing.
What had Sir Walter Scott said? “Oh, what a tangled web we weave...”
Suddenly he wasn’t so sure working with her was such a good idea after all. Even if it meant not capturing Price Manufacturing, he decided having her so near was too risky. She messed with his equilibrium and he couldn’t afford that; he wouldn’t take that risk.
He had too much to do to be dealing with distractions by his own staff. Especially this kind of distraction. The best thing to do would be to cut his losses and get another temp. What was one more anyway, the way things had been going?
Feeling a pang of regret, he decided he’d have to break the news to her tomorrow.
Chapter Three
Madalyn was surprised to find Philip wasn’t there when she arrived the next morning. A veteran early riser, especially now that she was a single mother, she hadn’t taken him up on his offer to sleep in. She couldn’t have, even if she’d wanted to. Erin’s idea of sleeping in was letting the sun actually peek over the horizon.
She wasn’t surprised, though, to see a stack of work neatly aligned on the corner of the desk. From the looks of it, he hadn’t taken his own counsel to go home. He had to have been there past midnight to have gotten so much done.
She was grateful, though. On the drive in, she’d berated herself for being so determined to finish up last night. She feared having to sit there and twiddle her thumbs, which would have made her miserable. She supposed she should have known better. Philip was never idle, so why should his staff be? Besides, being busy made the day go faster, and it felt like she got home to Erin sooner.
By the time the elevator doors opened and he emerged, she was engrossed in a prospectus from Philip to the members of a joint venture interested in buying one of his companies. It should have been dry, dull work—inputting numbers into a spreadsheet, typing a long document from one of the tapes Philip had claimed to hate. Instead, she was intrigued.
“I thought I told you to sleep in.”
Madalyn wished there had been a more teasing quality to his voice. “You did, but I’m not very good at that. It was hard enough waiting until nine to get here.”
“Oh, well, yes, I appreciate your dedication. Listen, Madalyn...”
“Yes?”
“You see, about last night, I—”
The phone rang and she hesitated, picking it up when he gave an exasperated nod toward the phone.
“Mr. Ambercroft’s office,” she answered in a crisp, professional tone.
There was no response.
“Hello? May I help you?”
“Who is this?”
Madalyn told herself not to be put out by the imperious tone in the woman’s voice. “I’m Madalyn Wier, Mr. Ambercroft’s assistant.”
“Of course,” the woman said slowly. “Is my son in his office?”
“One moment please.”
He raised an eyebrow as she put the call on hold.
“It’s your mother,” she said, answering his silent question.
Philip rubbed his forehead for a moment and when he dropped his hand, she thought she saw weariness in his incredibly blue eyes.
“I’ll take it in here.”
He disappeared into his office, shutting the door behind him. She understood his reaction. She loved her own mother dearly, and worried about her increasingly poor health, but no one on the face of the earth could exasperate her faster. She was grateful that her mother’s visit had only produced one argument so far on Madalyn’s single status. It was the only real source of contention between them. Their usual argument consisted of Madalyn trying to get her mother to move to Dallas so they could see each other more.
Philip came back out sometime later, and asked her about a file she had waiting for him. She stopped him when he turned to go back into his office.
“Was there something you wanted to say to me before we were interrupted?”
He looked at her for the longest time, the intensity of his gaze making her decidedly uncomfortable. It was almost as though he were battling himself, and she wondered if her own anxiety was what someone felt when facing a firing squad.
“No,” was all he said before he shut his door behind him.
She didn’t have to be hit on the head to understand that whatever subject he had been about to bring up was now closed and off-limits.
Philip leaned against his door, unaware until he looked down that he was crushing the file Madalyn had given him. After tossing the papers on his desk, he sat with controlled movements and leaned back.
First, he’d surprised himself by telling his mother more about Madalyn than that she was a temporary secretary. It had somehow slipped out that she had worked for Price Manufacturing, and even more startling, he’d said something about her amazing skills.
His mother’s pause had spoken volumes. She was obviously as taken aback as he was to be discussing such mundane details with her. They weren’t usually chatty.
Then he’d felt doubly foolish to hear his mother admonish him to not let his emotions interfere with his business sense. Since when had he needed his mother’s advice? Not that she was ever hesitant to give it, but Philip had drawn the line years ago to remind his mother that not only was he nearly forty years old, but he was more than capable of making decisions without his mama’s help.
He took responsibility for his actions, mistakes and all. Some lessons had been hard learned, such as losing his heart to Hannah Hollingsworth in college. That vivid lesson had made clear the fantasy of love conquering all. He hadn’t thought it mattered that the Ambercrofts couldn’t trace their roots to the Mayflawer. They’d been proud, self-made Americans... even if they glossed over the fact that Grandfather Ambercroft was the one who had really boosted the family fortune by bootlegging whiskey during Prohibition. As for himself, Philip thought his grandfather had been a hell of a guy, and he remembered listening intently to the stories the man had told about his youth. Philip suspected his grandfather had told the stories to irritate his mother as much as anything else.
But Hannah’s family had a decided lack of humor, and put exorbitant pride in their mostly blue-blood ancestry, but he’d foolishly believed that wasn’t enough to keep them apart. He’d begged