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  “I believe we have met, Miss Evans,” he interjected, holding out his hand to her. “Quite recently, too. If I remember correctly, you referred to my perfectly restored Model A as ‘an old clunker’. Does that ring any bells?”

  He watched her expression shift from disbelief to anger to a kind of amused annoyance.

  “Oh no,” she began, the corners of her mouth rising at last into a tremulous smile. Obviously too flustered to shake his hand, she folded her arms defensively across her chest. “I can’t believe this,” she said, her gaping mouth searching for words. “I’ve never…”

  Matt rubbed the stubble along his jaw as he gazed back at her. He could feel the heat of her embarrassment reflecting off the warmth of his own growing attraction, creating a potent mix, an impulsive but heady rapport. “Well, maybe it’s time you did, Miss Evans,” he replied slowly, his voice growing husky. “Maybe it’s time you did.”

  Chapter Three

  It was all Nicky could do to keep breathing as Matt’s chocolate brown eyes stared down at her. She couldn’t seem to keep her cheeks from burning, and she had no idea how to slow down her speeding heartbeat.

  Her body was keenly aware of his, standing so near, waiting for her response. And respond she did. Deep within her, she could feel a tight sexual tension growing, radiating into every part of her anatomy.

  And by the way he was looking at her, she could tell he knew. He knew the exact effect he was having on her, and he was enjoying every second of it.

  All she knew right now was that there was far too much at stake to be baring all for Matthew Anderson’s eyes. She was, after all, here to observe him—she was here to uncover and expose him, not the other way around.

  Nicky searched for her voice. “So, this is it,” she finally managed, determinedly pulling her gaze away from his to take in the elegant foyer. “May I?” She lifted up her camera and waited for him to nod before snapping a few shots of the ornate entrance.

  In actual fact, the light in the foyer wasn’t substantial enough to get a decent picture, but she didn’t want to fuss with her equipment. Not with those dark flashing eyes taking in every inch of her. Right now all she wanted to do was hide behind the lens of her camera.

  But Matthew Anderson’s eyes were too focused on her every movement, her every body part as she shifted around the foyer, feigning a professional interest in the marble walls and perfect turn-of-the-century hardwood floors. Did he have to be so good-looking, so witty, and so damn sexy all at once? It was enough to send any woman’s confidence reeling.

  While playing with the settings on her camera, she tried once again to get hold of her runaway pulse. Looking through the lens, she lowered the angle a fraction, only to see Matthew Anderson’s face come into focus, shattering any coherent thoughts she had managed to put together.

  “What about the owner? Don’t you want pictures of him too?” he asked, and she watched as that impetuous grin—the same one she’d drooled over back in Smith’s office—took over the frame.

  She centered his handsome face for a shot, then hesitated, lowering her camera. “No, not really,” she said, floundering between what she had to do for Smith and the role she was supposed to be playing. “That is, not unless you want to be in the magazine.”

  “I’ll have to think about it,” he replied slowly, languorously. He scrubbed the stubble along his jaw, as if he were seriously contemplating it. But something told her he was just toying with her—that he really didn’t care one way or the other.

  She looked directly at him and felt her knees weaken. Peering into his confident, amused gaze, she was reminded of the other photograph Smith had handed her of Matt on a sailboat. It had caused this same rush she was experiencing now as she looked up into his earthy brown eyes. A feeling of intense sexual desire. And, at the same time, there was the oddest sensation of falling…

  Nicky bit down on her bottom lip. Suddenly, she felt like bolting. This was simply not going to work out. Not if she was so easily drawn into the man’s practiced, playboy charm. She had to remain neutral and distant. Turning away from him, she rummaged in her equipment bag for nothing in particular.

  “I don’t think I want to be photographed,” Matt said in a deep, sensual voice. He leaned casually against one of the marble columns that separated the foyer from the rest of the house. “In fact, I’d rather not appear in any of your photos, if you don’t mind. Unless they’re meant only for your own personal pleasure.”

  “Oh no, I don’t mind,” Nicky replied too quickly. She didn’t want to address that last comment of his—didn’t even want to consider what he’d meant by it. “I mean, it looks as if there’s going to be enough work just capturing all of this,” she said, gesturing up at the high, vaulted ceilings and the scrolled archways leading to the rest of the house. Eventually her gaze came back to rest on him, her eyes dropping down over his taut, sculpted body. “It’s so…big. I mean, so spacious,” she corrected, stumbling over her thoughts.

  Matt smiled a slow, private smile that made her nerve endings resonate. “Yes, well, if you run out of inspiration, there’s also the stables, the gazebo, and the gardens,” he said, folding his arms across his broad chest.

  She found herself staring at the bulging muscles in his upper arms and had to force herself to turn away, pretending once more to fiddle with her camera. Why doesn’t he just leave me alone so I can get on with it? she thought, wishing he would stop looking at her.

  “Oh, by the way, do you mind if I call you Nicky?” Matt asked, his dark brows rising expressively.

  Her racing thoughts dispersed as she savored the way he said her name. It was almost as if the letters were liquid on his tongue, the consonants dark and rich and tantalizing as an exquisite dessert.

  She shook her head. “No, that’s what most people call me,” she replied, her voice thin and tremulous by comparison. “I guess I might have mentioned that back in the car.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as she reminded him of that humorous situation. “Then I guess you can call me Matt.” He straightened up to his full six feet and extended his right hand once again.

  This time, she reluctantly placed her hand in his. Considering he was being so polite and accommodating, she had no alternative but to allow him to absorb every muscle and tendon, each and every cell of her right hand, the heat of his palm sinking into hers.

  Her heart leapt up into her throat as he squeezed her fingers. He didn’t seem to want to let go until she agreed to look at him, until she brought her gaze up to his dark, brooding eyes. Feeling she had no choice, she acquiesced, raising her eyes to his and allowing him to fill every part of her body with an undeniable heat, an electric energy that centered itself in her breasts and slipped downward.

  Only her mind held back. She knew none of this made any sense whatsoever. Not only was she here to spy on this man, but she was also supposed to catch him with his bride-to-be.

  Nicky gathered her resolve and pulled her hand away from Matt’s, doing the same with her eyes. “I…uh…need to make a quick call,” she stammered, as she peered down the long hallway at the maze of rooms unfolding on each side, one after the other. She hadn’t yet decided whom she’d call, but she knew she needed to get away. Maybe she should call Smithy and let him know she’d finally arrived. “I left my cell phone in the car. And anyway, it’s out of juice.”

  As she glanced into the nearest room, she thought she felt his eyes catching sight of her erect nipples through her thin blouse that was visible beneath her open blazer. She imagined he somehow sensed the warmth emanating from that collection of moisture between her thighs.

  “Will you take me…” she began as she turned back, feeling her voice catch in her throat. His eyes just would not relinquish their firm hold on her.

  “Take you?” he asked in a deep, intimate voice, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “Right now?”

  She coughed, her cheeks flaring with heat. “No, I meant…to the telephon
e.”

  “Certainly,” he replied with one of his cool, signature smiles, as if he had never intimated the possibility of a sexual encounter. As if he hadn’t spoken to her in that suggestive way, as if he hadn’t touched her cheek and left it on fire. “Right this way.”

  As she followed, Nicky let her gaze roam over him, pausing at that place at the base of his neck where she longed to kiss him, his strong back that she yearned to touch. She noted his buttocks which outlines were clearly perceptible through the light pair of khakis he wore. Meanwhile, Matt led her through room after exquisitely furnished room, naming them all as they went. The library, the conservatory, the game room.

  But she hardly noticed her surroundings. All she could see, at the moment, was Matt. And all she could think about was the fact that he had touched her, the way a lover touches his beloved, softly, tenderly.

  “Here we are,” Matt said, showing her into his office, which, she noted, was larger than her entire apartment. The air smelled of lemon furniture wax, old books, and the faintest hint of cigar smoke. Expensive cigars, she thought. Not like Smithy’s. “Have a seat.” Matt gestured towards an enormous leather chair sitting squarely in front of a handsome mahogany desk. “I know it’s none of my business,” he said, slowly raking a hand back through his thick, dark hair. “But, if you happen to be calling your boss at the magazine, may I make a suggestion?”

  Nicky felt her heart do a somersault, stirring up the butterflies again. It wasn’t just the precision of his assumption that she was calling her boss. There was something else, something in the way he was looking at her now, his eyes bright and dancing mischievously, as if he were harboring a secret. A secret that somehow involved her.

  There was an awkward silence as Nicky remembered she’d been asked a question. “Yes. I mean, I suppose a suggestion would be…fine,” she stumbled.

  “I was just thinking,” he began, glancing at the gold watch gracing his tanned arm. “It’s nearly five o’clock now, and your car needs rescuing.”

  Her car. She’d forgotten about it.

  Nicky instinctively turned to the large bay window beside the desk, but all she could see beyond it were trees, flowerbeds, and an endless stretch of perfect green lawn. The road suddenly seemed very far away.

  She turned back to see Matt watching her. He was so self-assured, his hands buried casually in his pockets. His confidence was so appealing, so undeniably sexy. But there was something about such unabashed confidence that unnerved her. It made her feel transparent and vulnerable—naked, as if he could see exactly who she was and what she was thinking.

  “Look, why don’t you stay for dinner?” he said, tilting his head to one side. “In fact, you might as well spend the night.” His voice dipped slightly, tantalizingly. “Since your car doesn’t seem to be working. Even if I could get it going temporarily, it might not be reliable. I’d say it would be far safer for you to stay here.”

  Nicky felt panic flare in her stomach. Safer was not the word she would use. Stay here, in this mansion, under the same roof as Matt Anderson? Oh sure, there was plenty of room. God knows the place could bed an army comfortably, but…

  She pressed her lips together into a firm line. It was no place for an army, and no place for her. Not considering the urges she was experiencing. Not considering the desire for this man that coursed through her in palpable waves, a want that her body would soon turn into a need if she remained anywhere near him.

  “Is that a yes, Nicky? Will you spend the night?” She lifted her eyes from the dark hardwood floor. There it was again, that same dashing grin that something in her just couldn’t resist. She was sure the man could melt a heart of stone if that was his intention. “Stay here…” she mumbled, only too aware of how anxious, how distraught she sounded. It couldn’t be every day a man like Matt offered such invitations, and to refuse him flatly would be downright rude. “I…I don’t know.”

  He shrugged. “Well, the nearest hotel is forty minutes away. And by the time we get your car back here, it’ll be dusk. You’ve already been stranded once. I think that’s enough for one day.”

  “I need to call my boss first, if you don’t mind.” She was relieved to see him nod graciously and turn to go.

  “No problem. Take all the time you need,” he said breezily, pulling the gilded double doors closed behind him.

  Nicky waited until he had disappeared before letting out a long, careworn groan. Now what? The most handsome man she’d ever met has just asked her to spend the night. Any woman in her right mind would be crazy to say no.

  But she wasn’t in her right mind, and her body certainly wasn’t under her control. Therefore, declining his offer seemed the only sensible thing to do. The only thing she could do. And besides, she couldn’t be accepting hospitality from the very person she was sent to inform on.

  No. All the odds were against her accepting the offer, however tempting. The suggestiveness, itself, of the suggestion had set off warning bells. Matt was obviously still very much a ladies’ man. From what she could see, the clause in his father’s will hadn’t changed a thing. Besides, hadn’t she always promised herself this was exactly the situation she would never fall into? Hadn’t she told herself just this morning that she would never get involved with a man like this? Flirtatious and attached. Both big no-nos in her book. And like her mother always said, two wrongs never make a right.

  Maybe Smith had been mistaken. Maybe he should have allocated the Anderson assignment to someone else. The fact that she was going through a dry spell sexually—not having had so much as a date in over six months—merely confirmed that she was the wrong person for the job. Make that the wrong gender of person. A man, that’s what this assignment called for. A big, burly man, like Smith himself.

  She stared at the old-fashioned telephone sitting on the desk in front of her, realizing it was original, not a replica, probably more than eighty years old. Matt certainly liked antiques. Recalling Smith’s direct phone line from memory was no problem, but as she began turning the rather stiff dial, she realized her hand was trembling slightly.

  She was obviously in a worse state than she’d thought. It was almost a relief to hear the familiar bluntness of her boss’ greeting. “Yeah, Smith here.”

  “Hi, Smithy.”

  “Hey, is that you Nick?” His tone noticeably lifted.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I’m here at the Anderson estate, and…”

  “Great!” he exclaimed, cutting her off. “I knew you wouldn’t have a problem finding the place. So, how’s Mr. Dark Eyes treating you? I bet he’s quite the charmer.”

  “That’s actually why I’m calling. You see, my car’s not working, and he suggested I stay overnight, and—”

  “He likes you then. Perfect! This is turning out even better than I’d expected!”

  “But, Smithy, I don’t want—”

  “Accept his invitation, for Pete’s sake! Hell, I don’t mind if you stay there a week, so long as you get the evidence we need. Do you realize what a chance this is, Nick? You’ll be right under his nose. It couldn’t be easier.”

  “It could, Smithy. Believe me, it could.”

  “Well, stop complaining and get to work, girl! He’s practically paving the way for you. Good luck with it. Otherwise I’ll expect to hear from you again in a few days.”

  “But Smithy!” she cried, only to hear the line go dead.

  Nicky slammed the receiver back in its cradle. Not one thing had gone right since she woke up this morning. Now she just wished she could forget everything and go back to bed. Her bed.

  Just then she felt her nerves jump to attention as a loud knock reverberated throughout the room. “Matt?” she called out.

  “Excuse me, Miss Evans.” The double doors opened to reveal the older gentleman she’d met earlier, except now he was dressed in a formal black suit. He carefully pushed back both doors and secured them on either side. Then he looked her straight in the eye, his expression serious beneath a cap of
bright silver hair. “Mr. Anderson wants me to show you to your room.”

  “Oh,” was all she could think of to say as the butler turned, showing her out of the office and up a long flight of stairs. Nicky reluctantly followed. So Matt hadn’t even waited for her to make up her mind. He had just assumed she would stay. Nicky frowned as she climbed the polished hardwood steps, annoyed at how, once again, his presumption had been accurate.

  The guestroom was located in the middle of the second floor. It was expansive and welcoming with its turret design. There was a vase of freshly cut roses on the dressing table next to the bed, their sweet fragrance filling the room. As the butler folded back the sheets and arranged the numerous pillows on the bed, she heaved her suitcase and camera equipment onto a comfortable-looking armchair sitting in the corner. Then she wandered over to the window.

  The view was different on this side of the house. Beyond a small garden lay a glimmering blue lake, its edges outlined with flowerbeds and a wide boardwalk. It was absolutely beautiful.

  “Excuse me, Miss Evans,” the butler said, clearing his throat to get her attention.

  She turned around to see him standing in front of what looked like an adjoining room. “I’m to inform you that the contents of this closet are yours to use as you wish,” he said matter-of-factly. Then he nodded and left the room.

  That was a closet? Walking through the arched doorway, Nicky found herself in the midst of a space comparable in size to the bedroom of her apartment in Boston. Except that this room was half-full of clothes. Women’s clothes, she noted, running a hand along an expensive silk dress followed by a taffeta skirt. There was also a shoe rack on the floor with several pairs of expensive shoes.

  The clothes had designer labels, but they were classic in style—not too flashy but not too conservative either. No doubt that would also describe the woman Matt had chosen to marry. Well, she was definitely rich enough, considering these had to be her clothes. Or, at least the ones she left behind to wear on her weekend visits.