contact with him.”
She let out a little puff of air and shook her head. “How do you find out all this stuff? Employ moonlighting CIA agents to spy for you?”
“Nothing so dramatic.” He didn’t intend to explain the way he worked to her. “Come on, let’s go.” He gave her arm a tug. “The Duprés should arrive soon; she owns a chain of gift shops throughout New England.”
This time, she let him guide her through the door. The two couples turned toward them, and Matt made the introductions. Abby smoothly peeled the grandparents away after a few minutes and guided them toward the buffet table. He noticed she helped herself to a generous plateful of food, then realized she probably hadn’t had time to eat before returning to the building. Normally he frowned on his employees chowing down in front of guests, but he noticed that the Franklins seemed to take her cue and also served themselves more than a token taste of each item on the table. Perhaps a good sign.
His attention returned to Ramsey and his companion. The man was a short, rude bully. Matt didn’t like his manner or the way he did business, but that was beside the point. He still wanted him as a client, and Ramsey must have sensed it. He started talking money right away while his blond princess stood wide-eyed at the figures being tossed back and forth.
Twenty minutes later, the Duprés arrived. Matt didn’t want to leave Ramsey since he sensed they were closing in on a deal, but he couldn’t ignore his new arrivals. At a signal from him, Abby gracefully excused herself from the Franklins and made her way across the room to greet the newcomers. Minutes later, she’d brought all four of her guests together around the bar and the two women were laughing at something Abby had said. The men were observing her with discreet admiration. Matt was impressed.
He wrapped up his discussion with Ramsey, who excused himself to leave for another appointment. The gleam in the man’s beady, black eyes as he sought out his voluptuous date left Matt with the impression that the setting for the upcoming meeting would more likely include a bed than a desk.
Matt came up behind Abby and rested his hand on her waist. To her credit, she didn’t jump. She turned with a ready smile and looked up at him. “I’m having such a lovely chat with our guests. Did you know Caroline does watercolors? She’s quite an accomplished artist.”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Franklin objected, beaming nevertheless. “I’m a rank amateur.”
Matt smiled vaguely…then grunted in pain. Was that an elbow jabbing him in the ribs? “Love to see your work,” he blurted out, then glanced down at Abby to make sure he’d gotten the right message.
She looked pleased.
“Oh, I’d be so flattered,” the woman cooed. “Do you make it out to the West Coast very often?”
“I have a house in Los Angeles,” he said.
“And a penthouse apartment in New York, I hear,” her husband put in with a wink. “As well as property in Bermuda. The earl likes a variety of settings.”
Matt nodded. “I also enjoy offering my business colleagues a choice of locations for our meetings. You should all join me in Bermuda for a week this September. It’s a beautiful time of year there; most of the tourists have gone.” There was also the estate in England, given to him by his father. But he hadn’t returned to the country of his birth since his twenty-first birthday.
Mrs. Franklin smiled hopefully at Abby. “Oh, and would we see you there, my dear? Ronald hates shopping, but I so love it when I have company.”
Abby hesitated, looking unsure of what to say.
“I’m trying to convince her,” Matt said quickly, “to spare the time from her busy schedule.” He gave Abby’s hand a hard squeeze. “Right, darling?”
She grinned weakly. “He can be very persuasive.”
By eleven o’clock the remaining guests were taking their leave. Matt called for his driver to deliver the two couples to their hotels. When he came back from seeing them off at the elevator, he found Abby wrapping up leftovers and clearing the buffet table.
“Don’t bother with that,” he said.
“It will spoil if it’s not put away,” she objected.
“The cleaning crew will trash it when they come through in a few hours.”
“You’d waste all of this?” Her eyes were huge at the suggestion. “There must be hundreds of dollars worth of fantastic stuff here.”
“Take it with you if you like.”
“Really?”
Her reaction was charming—as open and guileless as a child’s in her amazement at the unexpected gift of free eats. Yet he’d seen her in action that night, and she had been mature, intelligent and even a little crafty in the way she had handled his guests. He hadn’t heard her pitch one of his products, yet he felt sure his marketing director would receive calls for orders the next day.
He stepped closer to her, watching as she pulled a paper bag out from beneath the table and started packing rewrapped portions of meats, cheeses and pastries into it.
“Thanks, this is really nice of you,” she murmured as she worked quickly. “My roommate and I will eat for a week off of this.”
“Really,” he said, moving still closer. He liked the way she smelled. Not highly cologned, still fresh from her hurried washup hours before.
He wagered she was a woman who favored long, sudsy baths. An enticing thought. A sudden image of her long legs intertwined with his beneath a cloud of bubbles sent a spur of heat into his lower regions. He stepped away from her hastily, forcing his mind back to unfinished business. Taking out his money clip he peeled off five crisp hundred-dollar bills.
When she turned with her bag of food clutched to her chest, her glance dropped to his hand. “Oh, you really don’t have to—”
“Take it.” She obviously could use the money. What was she getting for her little sales job? Not much more than minimum wage, he’d venture.
“But I had a really nice time. I don’t think I really earned all that money, Lord Smythe.”
“Matt,” he heard himself say.
She frowned at him. “All right. Matt. I’m sure I got as much out of tonight as you did. I enjoyed meeting your guests…and this is enough of a bonus.” She held up her bagged goodies.
“Take the bloody money,” he repeated, his voice a notch lower.
She looked warily up into his eyes, like a small animal gauging the next move of a predator. “All righty,” she said and slowly reached out to pluck the bills from his hand.
Their fingertips touched, grazed, and his noticeably warmed. The sensation only lasted for an instant, but he was sure it wasn’t his imagination. He thought he saw her lips tremble. She took a step backward. His glance settled on her bare shoulders. He ached to brush his lips along them.
“I’d better be going now,” she whispered.
“Do you have a car?”
“I’ll
