THE LAW OFFICES OF Thornton Cowling Drake Silverman and Hodges et al. were presidential, palatial. The offices occupied several floors of a midtown Manhattan high-rise. Surrounding Maddie on that Tuesday afternoon in Mr. Thornton’s office were polished woods and gleaming marble. Entire pillars of marble. Valuable antiques. Thick rugs. A massive desk dominated the room. Wainscoted walls and elegant appointments rounded out the impression of wealth and power. Real power. This was an office from which you’d expect a head of state or a monarch to rule over an entire country.
As Maddie waited—she was early—she tried not to be overawed or intimidated by her surroundings. She sat on an elegant couch that was part of an intimate suite done in muted earth tones. She faced a huge marble fireplace set between two floor-length windows, which were covered in dark-cherry draperies. These were drawn back with gold tasseled cords.
Maddie crossed her ankles and tried to relax. She set her purse next to her as if she were afraid to take up too much room. From this vantage point, she surveyed Mr. Thornton’s world. She couldn’t even imagine such wealth as lay behind all this. Why, the president of the country should have it so nice. In fact, there on a wall was his picture with Mr. Thornton. Great. Maddie took a deep breath and swallowed. She wished this ordeal would hurry up and be over. It was nerve-racking. Not because of what might be in James’s will with regard to her, she admitted, but because of the prospect of seeing Hank Madison again. God, he is fabulous. And really, really mad at me.
Maddie quirked her mouth for what would never be. She and Hank Madison. Not going to happen. Because, from what she could gather, given his anger and his insinuations last week while in her shop, he believed his inheritance was threatened by something she’d done. Maddie shook her head. Like what, for example? And he’d also said he knew how to deal with women like her. Maddie felt her temper rise. What was that supposed to mean? Could she be more in the dark here?
Thus disheartened, Maddie flopped backward on the sofa in a sprawl of arms and legs. In a fit of defiance, she kicked her pumps off. Her feet were killing her. She just lay there, staring absently at the fabulous painting across the way, which she deemed to be a priceless original. She could thus deem such things, since she’d majored in art history at Columbia and had worked for three years in the research department of the Whitney Museum here in New York.
A sudden prick of unease told her she’d better sit up and take stock of herself. “Right.” In her efforts to right herself she knocked her purse off the sofa. The contents went everywhere. Lipstick, keys, compact, wallet, everything in its own direction. “Oh, lovely. Just great,” Maddie fussed in a whispery voice as she went down on all fours and crawled around, quickly scooping up each item and dumping it back into her purse.
A sudden perverse thought occurred to her, there on her hands and knees. Now would be a perfect moment for someone to come in, wouldn’t it? Spooked and certain an entire pantheon of attorneys were at this moment staring at her bottom, Maddie popped upright, somewhat like a prairie dog coming out of its hole. She looked all around. Still alone. A relieved sigh escaped her. She put a hand over her hammering heart. “Okay, so things like that only happen in Doris Day movies and not in real life.”
Clutching her purse, Maddie struggled to her stocking feet and this time sat decorously on the sofa’s overstuffed cushions. She thought to put her shoes back on, but that was also the instant when she spied the wet bar.
Chewing on a thumbnail, she looked all around. Still alone. She turned toward the bar again, this time hearing its siren song. Well, she had been told by that Mrs. Crane executive assistant woman to make herself comfortable. With such permission, the temptation became deed as, shoeless still, Maddie padded across the thick carpet over to the bar and sorted through everything while she talked to herself. “Hmmm. A German Riesling. Chilled. Uncorked. That says ‘drink me.’”
Maddie plucked the dark bottle out of its bucket of ice and studied it. Had Mr. Thornton planned to serve this wine following the reading of James’s will? Probably. She shrugged. So she’d get an early start. She plucked a wineglass from a hanging rack and poured herself a healthy measure of the white wine. The first sip was nirvana. Feeling better now, she stepped over to one of the floor-length windows that afforded her with—naturally, in these surroundings—a magnificent view of the city.
Allowing her gaze to wander where it would over the skyline, she set her mind to wondering what today was really all about. And how the coming revelations in this very office would affect her life. For better? Or for worse? Obviously there was money involved. Obviously James had kept things from her. A lot of things. Like that little grandson of his. Maddie put a hand to her steadily warming face. “Little, hell. What am I going to do about him?”
She hated admitting it to herself, but she couldn’t lie to her own conscience. Yes, she’d spent the last three days thinking about Hank Madison. She hadn’t wanted to think about him, but there he’d been—a fully grown and handsome red-blooded American male. Maddie shook her head slowly in appreciation of the man. “Just when you don’t want one, there one is. Wow. What a perfect example of the whole breed he is.”
But Maddie didn’t trust herself with such men. After all, she’d thought she loved another fine example. Stanton Fairchild, M.D. No, she had loved him. He hadn’t loved her. And he’d left her standing at the altar a little over a year ago. So there she’d been in her white dress with a church full of people, all shifting uncomfortably in their seats as she’d faced them and told them that the man she’d thought she’d spend the rest of her life with simply hadn’t shown up. And everyone could go home. Which was what she’d done. Gone back home to Hanscomb Harbor. Thank God she hadn’t moved to New York City yet. And so could just return to her house, where it was safe and where her heart was safe. Until Hank Madison.
“Dammit.” At this point in her life she didn’t even want to think about some red-blooded American-male type. Or any other type. Right now she was off them. Men. A woman couldn’t count on them. “Oh, ha. Tell that to the hormonally charged hussy who controls my thoughts.”
It was embarrassing. When she was awake, her mind kept replaying her confrontation with Hank Madison in her shop on Saturday. How many times since then had she startled herself with the realization that she’d paused her mental video in mid-argument so she could visualize him at her leisure? So she could linger over such details as his dark eyes, his darker hair, how broad his shoulders were, how his hands might feel on her. And when she was asleep, well, her little tart of a brain hadn’t minded showing her how she really thought of the man … naked.
“I have got to stop doing this,” she warned herself, forcing his handsome image from her mind. With an act of will, she focused on the wonderful reality of New York City on the other side of the window’s glass. Look at this place. She couldn’t help comparing it to Hanscomb Harbor. Talk about a world apart. No one had to tell her, though, that these two worlds were about to collide, that her immediate future most likely was somehow tied up with Hank Madison’s. Great.
Suddenly angry with herself for being so captivated by a man who’d been nothing but arrogant and insulting with her, Maddie gulped at the Riesling. And glared out the window. Sure, she had to see him today. But after this, she could just stop thinking about him. It was that easy. Just refuse him access to her thoughts. Tell him to butt out of her dreams, tell him to take a flying—
“May I join you?”
Maddie shrieked and jerked around. The half-full wineglass flew from her suddenly nerveless fingers—and hit Hank Madison, who was standing right behind her, in the middle of his chest.
* * *
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Unsmiling, Hank meant to play it cool with this little gold digger. Show her that he wasn’t susceptible to her wiles and her charms. So why had his gaze locked with Maddie Copeland’s frozen and horrified one? Damn. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Fine-featured. Delicate. Fair-complected. Full sensual mouth. Wide blue eyes. Arresting figure.
Stop right there. Think, man. All those things are her arsenal of weapons. You’re smarter than this. You’re not a frail eighty-year-old man. Resist. Hank gave himself a mental shake and again became aware that some expensive—and cold—vintage from Jim’s stock of fine wines was soaking into his shirt and dripping down his slacks, right onto his Italian loafers. Funny how he hadn’t really noticed, even though he could certainly feel its chill on his skin.
“I am so sorry,” the blonde said. “I didn’t know you were there. God, you startled me.”
Hank pulled his handkerchief out of an inner pocket of his suit coat and dabbed at his shirtfront. “Obviously.”
“I’m serious. I didn’t even hear you come in. What’d you do—just appear in a puff of smoke?”
Hank met her gaze—and willed himself not to be moved by the deep blue and the silver lights of her eyes. “You mean like a magician—and not the devil, right?”
She cocked her head in an arch way that suggested she was on to him. “I don’t know. Your choice.”
Hank hoped his answering grin conveyed his let-the-games-begin attitude. “So, what were you so deep in thought about over here that you didn’t hear me enter?”
“You, mainly. Well, no, I mean your grandfather. This place. What it all means; that will. And you.”
“I see.” This was good. She was concerned about his reaction to her being in his grandfather’s will. She’d damned well better be. Hank pinched his wine-soaked shirt and pulled it away from his chest. “For future reference, I prefer my wine in a glass.”
“I am so sorry.”
He ignored that, keeping the game going. “So, what are we drinking here? I already know it’s chilled.” He smelled his now damp handkerchief and spied the wine bottle on the bar. “Mmm. Nice bouquet. A Riesling, perhaps? From one of the fine vintners in Germany?”
She looked impressed. “That’s amazing. You got all that from a handkerchief?”
“I wish. But no. You left the bottle sitting out.”
She confirmed this with a glance over her shoulder to the bar. Then she faced him again. “Cheater.” She surprised him by plucking his handkerchief from him and dabbing roughly at his custom-made white dress shirt. “This is awful. Seriously. I feel so clumsy. I just can’t believe—”
“Maddie.” He grabbed her hand, holding it hostage. He’d startled himself by using her first name. It had come to him so easily. Hank realized rationally that he was standing there, holding her hand, and staring down into her upturned and sensual face. But rationality lost out to senses, which were shouting that her skin was soft, warm, electrifying. That her hand felt small and fine-boned. That nothing had ever felt so right as her nearness to him. Hank wanted only to pull her to him and kiss her deeply, soundly.
No. He meant he wanted to push her away and tell her to stay the hell away from him. With the old man gone, did she think it was time to work on the young man? He wanted to tell her that her feminine wiles were wasted on him, that she could stop the sexy-but-helpless-blonde routine.
Then she said, “Hank.” Just the one word. His name … on a breathy exhalation.
Good sense fled. Hank dipped his head down to hers and claimed her lips with a hunger that shook him. A current of tiny shocks abraded his lips the moment his mouth met hers. Forgotten in his moan of desire for her was the spilled wine, their surroundings, his suspicions regarding her, and everything else in the world except for the feel of her surrendering to him. She melted against him. His arms encircled her, crushing her to him. He deepened their kiss. Hungry, questing, probing the heat and the wetness of her mouth. She whimpered against him, and Hank was undone. He gripped her arms, breaking their contact, pulling back, peppering her face with kisses fueled by intense desire. “Maddie, God, you’re all I can think about—”
“Oh, Hank, we shouldn’t—”
“We should. I want to lay you down right here and take you.” He held her to him and nuzzled her neck, practically growling his words into her skin. “I want you in the worst way. Christ, do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to my dreams lately? I can’t think. Can’t eat—”
“Hank, wait. Please.” Maddie stiffened, pulled back. Finally hearing “no,” Hank instantly throttled down and held her more gently, slightly away from him. He noticed her breaths were shallow, her lipstick smeared, and her pupils dilated. “This is insane. What are we doing? Look where we are.”
“Where?” Hank couldn’t think. All the blood had apparently left his head. He looked around. “Oh, man. Jim’s office.” He let go of Maddie as if she were hot. She was hot. So was he. Very hot. In fact he was surprised to realize that the wine that still soaked his shirt hadn’t sizzled and steamed itself dry against his desire-racked body.
Maddie looked down at her wine-dampened blouse and pulled it away from her skin. “Oh no, now I’m all wet.”
That was a line Hank wasn’t about to touch with a ten-foot pole. Then he thought … what the hell. “If you weren’t, I’d think I was slipping.”
It took her a second, but she got his drift. Her cheeks flamed red with embarrassment as she looked away from him and began straightening her clothing, her hair, anything to avoid looking at him. She pushed his handkerchief into his hands. “Here. This is yours. Sorry.”
Hank exhaled his regret at his actions. “Look, Maddie, I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry. I had no right. Let’s just call it a draw and pretend it never happened, okay? Because it’s not going to go any further than this.”
She drew back as if surprised. “Excuse me? Do you even hear yourself? I mean are you always this arrogant? Of course it’s not going any further. And I don’t know what made you think I wanted it to. Because I didn’t kiss you, remember. You kissed me.”
“And you kissed me back. But let me ask you your own question. Does this always work for you?”
As if totally confused, she shook her head, setting her golden blond hair swirling about her shoulders in such a way that Hank, despite everything, itched to stroke it. “‘This’ what? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“All right, Maddie, look, drop the act, okay? It’s going nowhere. Maybe we should just retreat to our corners and wait for Jim to come in.”
“There is no ‘act.’ But fine. Separate corners work for me.” She stepped past him, careful not to touch him.
Hank turned, watching her and hating himself for his lapse in resolve and then this behavior around her. She’d gotten to James Senior, but she wasn’t about to get to him. That was his promise to himself. Yet here he was watching her slender, swaying hips as she headed for the couch, where he could see her purse atop a cushion. No doubt she intended to repair the damage to her makeup that he’d done with his kiss. Oh, man, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He really didn’t want to like her. And he certainly didn’t want to be charmed by her. Exhaling sharply, Hank busied himself with folding his damp handkerchief.
Perhaps his exhalation caught her attention, but whatever had, Maddie turned to face him. “I just want you to know that I’ve never done anything like that before. Kissing a man I hardly know, I mean.”
Exactly what he would expect any gold digger to say. “Right.”
“I’m serious. I’m not that type of woman.”
“What type of woman is that?” He shoved his handkerchief back into his inner coat pocket.
“The kind who throws herself at a man. That’s not me.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. And I wish you’d believe me.”
“All right. I believe you.”
“No you don’t.”
“Sure I do. Besides, you didn’t throw yourself at me. I pretty much threw myself at you, as you reminded me. But I still say we both liked it.”
She had no comeback to that. She just looked down and away and then opened her purse, pulling out a tissue and compact, which she opened and held up to her face as she wiped at her smeared lipstick. Fascinated despite himself with this feminine ritual that was somehow sensual, Hank watched her—and she caught him doing so. “You might want to consider cleaning your face, too, Hank.”
She was right. He pulled out his handkerchief again and wiped at his mouth, all the while denying how much he liked her using his given name. He then happened to look down at her feet. “You’re not wearing shoes.”
Maddie’s gaze followed his. She wriggled her toes. He couldn’t stop the chuckles that had him shaking his head. Nor could he stop himself from wondering if she might be, could possibly be, as unspoiled and innocent as she appeared. What shook him the most was how much he realized he wanted that to be true.
Just then, the sound of a door opening behind him captured Hank’s attention. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Had a client with an emergency. She has got to quit carrying a gun. Or improve her aim, one or the other.”
Jim had spoken, calling out from the next room over, but first through the door was Mrs. Crane, the attorney’s executive assistant. In her arms was a very thick file that no doubt contained the last will and testament of James Henry Madison, Senior. Hank felt his heart rate pick up. In those papers was written his future. The efficient brown-haired woman set the paperwork on Jim’s desk, smiled politely, and left the office.
Then Jim came in. He wasn’t alone. The leash he held had at its other end a beautiful golden retriever. Hank brightened, recognizing Beamer, his grandfather’s dog. Perfectly groomed but with her head and tail down, she padded into the room, a living picture of dejection. Hank’s heart went out to her. She had to be missing her owner, the poor thing. Though a little surprised to see the dog here of all places, Hank nevertheless was grateful for the distraction she would supply. He called out to her and clapped his hands together. “Hey there, Beamer. What you doing, girl?”
Up came the dog’s head and her ears. Recognition dawned in her big brown eyes. Grinning now, her whole demeanor transformed, she tugged against her leash and whined happily. Laughing, Jim released its catch from her collar. “Just what the doctor ordered. Go on, girl. Go say hi to your kid.”
Hank grinned as the seventy or so pounds of sweet-natured canine energy bounded his way. He crouched down in anticipation of her boisterous greeting. “That’s a girl. Come here.”
To Hank’s surprise, the dog tore past him, spinning Hank around in her wake. “Beamer! Where are you going, girl? Come here!”
But she wouldn’t. Thoroughly excited now and yapping to prove it, the dog headed straight for Maddie, who stood frozen and wide-eyed in front of the couch. “Watch out,” Hank warned, a hand extended to her.
“Ohmigod, no,” Maddie gasped, both of her hands held out in front of her. As if that could ward off Beamer’s enthusiastic greeting. “Oh, no, please. Get her away. I’m afraid of dogs.”
Too late. Already airborne, Beamer pounced on Maddie, eliciting from her a hair-raising yell and sending her flying backward helplessly onto the couch’s cushions.
“Oh, hell.” Hank tore for the couch. “Get off her, Beamer! Get off! Down, girl!”
No such luck. With Maddie thoroughly pinned under her weight, the friendly dog whined and licked her victim all over her face. From under the dog, Maddie fought every show of affection coming her way, shrieking and tugging at the dog’s fur. “Help me! Get her off!”
With Jim right on his heels and then helping him, Hank straddled the big, determined dog around her furry middle and tugged her backward. “Come on, now. Get off. Bad Beamer. Down. Where are your manners?”
Manners? As if Hank’s had been any better a few minutes ago when he’d all but attacked Maddie, too, and kissed her. A thinking part of Hank’s mind wanted to know what it was about this woman that had gotten to all the Madisons and made them act like idiots.
In only a moment, he and Jim had Beamer off Maddie. Jim leashed the excitedly barking dog and was diligently urging her back and away, two directions she clearly didn’t want to go. The retriever lunged unsuccessfully in Maddie’s direction. For his part, Hank went to Maddie’s rescue as she struggled—all arms and legs and run nylons and disarrayed clothing and dog-kiss-wettened face and wild hair—to sit up or stand up, or whatever she was trying to do. It was hard to tell, exactly, what with her fighting his help and crying out.
Finally, Hank got her to her feet and held onto her arms as he put his face in front of hers. “Maddie, it’s me. Hank.” Not that he was a calming presence to her, he realized. But at least he wasn’t the dog. “Look at me, Maddie. You’re OK. Do you hear me?”
Clearly in shock from being accosted, Maddie stared blankly up at Hank. While he sympathized with her, he had to fight back a threatening chortle of laughter. Apparently more than one of Beamer’s slurpy kisses had essentially moussed Maddie’s hair out at a wild angle from her temple. She looked like a mad scientist whose lab had just exploded. Then she blinked and her vision cleared. Recognition of Hank shone from her eyes. She promptly burst into tears and melted against him. Encircling his waist with her slender arms, she held onto him for all she was worth.
Startled, meeting Jim’s clueless gaze over the top of Maddie’s head, which rested under his chin, Hank saw Jim shrug his shoulders as he held the dog’s leash with both hands. Straying blond hairs of Maddie’s tickled Hank’s nose. With a nod of his chin, Jim silently urged Hank to comfort her. So, with really no choice, Hank put his arms around Maddie and awkwardly patted her slender back and said inane but hopefully comforting things.
After a moment, and as Hank tried not to feel her breasts mashed against his chest, Maddie said, “I’m sorry. I feel so silly, but I can’t help it.”
“Hey, no need to explain. Beamer attacked you.” Could he sound more supportive and in her corner? This meeting was not going at all like he’d planned. He’d told himself beforehand that he’d undo her with cool and calm and reserve. And yet here he was comforting her and apologizing to her—after he’d already kissed her. He was no better than the dog. “I don’t know what got into me. Her. I mean her. She’s not usually like that.”
“Well, she is with me,” Maddie sobbed. “Every time she sees me, she knocks me down and licks me all over.”
“Well, I can’t fault her for wanting to do that,” Hank heard himself admitting out loud. Maddie abruptly stiffened in his arms and pulled back, staring accusingly into his face. Hank immediately switched tactics. He turned, pointing at the golden retriever. “Terrible manners, Beamer. You know better. Apologize.”
Standing four-square and flat-footed at the very end of her taut leash as it was still held valiantly by Jim Thornton, and singularly unimpressed with Hank’s berating of her, Beamer lowered her ears and tail … and showed Hank her teeth. Not in a nice way.
A bit taken aback by that display, Hank focused again on Maddie, still so pleasantly ensconced in his embrace, and adopted a droll expression. “See? You have nothing to be afraid of. She minds every word I say.”
Still looking frazzled, Maddie ignored all that. “You have to understand that a big stray dog bit me when I was a little girl. And I had to take rabies shots. I’ve been afraid of dogs ever since. Or of being bitten by one, I guess is more accurate.”
“But Beamer doesn’t bite,” Hank assured her. “As you’ve seen, if you hold still long enough, all she’ll do is lick you skinless.”
“Excuse me, Maddie, but did James Senior know you were afraid of dogs?” This was Jim cutting in.
Nodding yes, Maddie finally pulled out of Hank’s embrace and fussed self-consciously with her hair and clothes as she faced Jim. For his part, Hank tugged at his slacks’ waistband and generally tried to act as if he hadn’t been affected so greatly by Maddie’s nearness.
“Of course James knew,” Maddie assured Jim. “When he would visit my shop, he always had her with him. But he left her outside. It was that or have her break everything in my shop as she jumped on me and licked me to death. I must put out a pheromone or something that draws her to me.”
Hank wondered—this time silently—if he’d reacted to that same pheromone just a few minutes ago when he’d been drawn to her and had kissed her with such abandon.
By now Beamer had calmed down enough to sit, although she watched Maddie’s every movement with her big brown and adoring eyes. Hank caught the odd, bemused expression on Jim’s face and said, “What?”
Jim blinked, shook his head. “Nothing. Or everything. This complicates matters even more. And I didn’t think that was possible before now.”
Instantly alert, again recalling why they were really here, Hank blurted, “Why? What’s complicated?”
“Everything,” Jim said. Then he frowned and really focused on Hank and then Maddie standing next to him. “Why are your clothes wet?” His glance fell to Maddie’s stocking feet. “You’re not wearing any shoes.” He turned an accusing glance Hank’s way and waited.
Exhaling a breath, and feeling busted, about like he was ten years old, Hank heard himself saying, “I don’t know about the shoes. But we spilled some wine on us. Nothing more.”
Jim’s expression further wrinkled with confusion as he glanced the way of his wet bar and then back at Hank and Maddie. “So what’d you do—throw it at each other?”
“Hardly.” Totally over this scene, which could only get more ridiculous, Hank signaled Maddie to precede him over to the chairs that faced Jim’s desk. “Let’s just get this will read and get on with our lives, shall we?”