She looked good in black.

Sidney studied her reflection. She hadn’t thought she’d like it, but now that she wore it, she had to admit she was glad she’d splurged on the outfit. Auspicious occasions, her uncle Philip claimed, demanded auspicious clothing. And being in the Hudson River valley home of Max Loden, financial guru and world’s most enigmatic bachelor, she supposed, was just about as auspicious as it got.

The luxurious fabric, which had seemed so incredibly impractical, highlighted the best aspects of her figure with exquisitely tailored perfection while somehow managing to downplay her flaws. It skimmed her hips and fell gracefully to the floor, giving her an air of sophistication she suspected she was going to urgently need. The short jacket, with its structured shoulders and waist-trimming fit, inspired her Miracle Bra to new levels of achievement.

Perhaps, she thought whimsically, she might survive this encounter after all.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Or, maybe not. Sidney took a deep breath before she turned to face him. At the fierce look on his face, she had to stifle a grin. She could easily picture him saying, fee, fi, fo, fum. Sidney schooled her countenance into an appropriately solemn expression. “Hello, Mr. Loden.”

“Mad Max,” as his enemies and even some of his friends called him, was everything she remembered and more. Elegantly clad in a black tuxedo, he towered over her. His melt-her-kneecaps gaze swept her from head to foot. “Sidney.” He sounded simultaneously baffled and annoyed. “Where’s Philip?”

She straightened the lapels of her catering jacket to disguise the customary nervousness she felt in the presence of the indomitable Max Loden. It was his eyes, she’d decided years ago. They had a way of dismantling her. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” she said. “Uncle Philip’s not here.”

His razor-sharp gaze darted around the spacious kitchen of his Hudson River home—although, Sidney mused as she thought of the sprawling structure, the term was loosely applied. Her staff had seized the kitchen, and were functioning at their usual peak efficiency. Rows of hors d’oeuvre trays lined the stainless steel countertops. Three of her pastry chefs put finishing touches on an assortment of desserts and handmade chocolates. Champagne glasses, freshly polished, stood in neat rows, and her assistant busily rushed about making careful notes of each procedure. Evidently done with his inspection, Max met Sidney’s gaze. “What do you mean he’s not here?”

“Uncle Philip isn’t well.”

That turned his generally fierce expression into a full-blown scowl. “Not well? He’s ill? What’s wrong with him?”

She refused to let the bulletlike pace of the interrogation rattle her. “He has the flu.”

“The flu—are you sure?”

“Very. He was extremely upset that he couldn’t be here for you this weekend.” She clasped her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting.

“Hell.” Max rubbed at the muscles of his neck. The motion, she noted, spread his black jacket open to emphasize a broad chest that had been rumored to make women swoon.

Sidney made a mental note to thank Philip for encouraging her to abandon the jeans and sweatshirts she usually wore when she supervised a party this size. Although she spent her time behind the scenes, and would generally remain invisible to Max’s guests, both the cut and the cost of the black jacket and trousers boosted her confidence. “Uncle Philip sends his regrets,” she told Max.

“His—” He swore. “Is he going to be all right?”

The question would have surprised many, she knew. Max Loden had something of a reputation. People called him all sorts of names—compassionate was not generally one of them. Had it not been for her uncle’s long relationship with him, Sidney, too, might never have seen behind Max’s implacable facade to the heart of this amazing, if daunting, man. She tilted her head to one side to study him. “I’m sure he will be.”

“Does he need anything? Has he seen a doctor?”

Not for the first time, Sidney decided that every story she’d ever heard about “Mad Max” Loden was completely unfounded. No man could inquire after the health of his butler with that rough and tender voice and be missing his heart, no matter what his critics said. “Yes, he has. And he’s quite fine. I stocked his refrigerator and his pantry before I left.”

“The flu can be dangerous for a man his age.”

Heartless indeed, she mentally scoffed and felt her inner knot of tension begin to unwind. Even Philip’s home was another of Max’s flagrant generosities. While most butlers lived in their employers’ homes at their employers’ whims, Max had provided Philip with a personal retreat for his off-duty hours. “Yes, it can. That’s why his doctor confined him to bed.”

“Is someone with him?”

“A neighbor.”

“You’re all the family he has.”

“Except you,” she said quietly.

He stared at her for long, disconcerting seconds, his silver gaze searching her face. Everything else about him was dark. His hair, his expression, his countenance, even his voice. But those eyes were positively brilliant. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of him?” Max prompted.

“He wanted me to take care of you instead.”

Max lifted one eyebrow in an expression she was willing to bet sent his employees scrambling. “That sounds like Philip.”

“He knew this weekend’s house party was exceptionally important to you. He briefed me that your brother, Greg, is considering an engagement to Lauren Fitzwater. That, with any luck, Greg will finally muster the nerve to ask the young lady to marry him—and that you hope the relationship will further your efforts to merge Loden Enterprises with Edward Fitzwater’s electronics company.”

Max’s eyebrows lifted. “Philip’s in top mental form, I see.”

Sidney nodded. “He also explained that the younger Mr. Loden probably wouldn’t respond favorably to that information, and that you’d prefer discretion from the staff. Without Philip here to command them, he was worried they might not understand the importance of decorum. Since the Fitzwaters and several of your investors will be present this weekend, this particular event could prove both profitable and beneficial to your long-term goals.”

“It could,” he agreed.

“And, knowing that, Philip was extremely concerned. He knew how much you have riding on this event. He’d already employed my staff to assist your own for the weekend, and, in his absence, he asked me to supervise.” She finished the speech and breathed a mental sigh of relief.

Max studied her for long seconds. “Philip told me you’re in business for yourself now.”

The note of admiration in his voice almost felled her. Not in her wildest imagination had she pictured him admiring her for anything. Not when his first impression of her had been as a miserably unhappy adolescent who’d cowered from him for no apparent reason, and every subsequent impression would have been formed while watching her cater his friends’ parties and assist her uncle. Though she’d seen him from a distance, this was their first substantial conversation in years. “I am,” she said.

“You run a temp agency.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Waitstaff and caterers,” he clarified, still holding her captive with his gaze. “As Philip explained it to me, you started the business after your divorce.”

She cringed. Uncle Philip, it seemed, was certainly quite liberal with the details of her private life. She wasn’t prepared for the idea that Max Loden had an intimate view of her failures. “That’s true.”

“And you supply extra personnel for large events and household needs.”

“And parties like this one.”

“I see.” He continued to stare at her.

“Was there something else you wanted, Mr. Loden?”

“Max.” His voice was nearly a whisper. He seemed to be studying her. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a door at one end of the kitchen.

She gave him an anxious glance. “Is something wrong?”

Max looped his fingers under her elbow as he hurried her toward the pantry. “Maybe.”

Sidney decided not to resist. If she did, he’d probably make a scene. Max loved scenes. It was one of his quirks. “Chip,” she called out to one of her assistants, “Can you take those lobster crepes out when the buzzer rings?”

“Sure.” He lifted his eyebrows.

Sidney ignored him. Max steered her into the relative quiet of the pantry. The door swung soundlessly shut behind them. “Why are you here, Sidney?” His voice had dropped to a low rumble.

The only light in the cramped space came from the slight space around the door. With a sharp tug on the string, she switched on the overhead light. A mistake, that, she mused. The single light bulb made his expression more fierce. Gathering her calm, she met his gaze. “Uncle Philip—”

Max cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I know. Philip’s sick. He asked you to stand in. You haven’t answered my question, though. I want to know why you agreed.”

“I’d do anything for him. He was very worried that he—”

“Couldn’t be here.” Max moved a step closer. “You told me. But Philip told me that you almost never supervise parties yourself. You leave that to your assistant.” His eyebrows drew closer together. “Kelly—” She could almost see the gears turning in his brain.

“Lars,” Sidney supplied.

Max’s nod was short. “That’s right. You run the business and assist your clients with event planning, but she handles the events on site. Isn’t that right?”

“Uh—”

He nodded. “It’s right. So I want to know why you made an exception in my case.”

“Well, I—”

“Why did you decide that this particular event needed your personal touch?”

Gritting her teeth in frustration, she resisted the urge to tell him it was rude to interrupt. “I knew uncle Philip was particularly worried about not being here, and that he’d rest easier if he knew I was.”

He frowned. “Is that what he told you?”

“Not in so many words, but he was very agitated about missing this event.”

Max watched her through a narrow-lidded gaze. “Is that the only reason?”

She swallowed. “What other reasons would there be?”

He raised one hand to rest it on her shoulder. The slight pressure of his fingers eased her closer to him. “I don’t know, Sidney. You tell me.”

Her breathing turned shallow. He couldn’t possibly know the effect he was having on her—the effect he always had on her. By design, she saw him rarely. Most of what she knew about Max, she knew from her uncle. She stayed out of his way whenever possible simply because he had this ability to melt her bones. “Max, I—”

His fingers tightened. “Damn it,” he whispered.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Damn it,” he said again.

“Max—?”

His eyes drifted momentarily shut. When they opened again, she saw the resolve in them. “I want you to stay here this weekend.”

Sidney blinked. Oh, Lord. Not that. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I want you to stay here.”

Vintage Max, she mused. No explanations. No commonsense argument. Direct, and straight to the point. What Max wanted, he was used to getting. She’d been afraid of this when she’d spoken to her uncle. Max had a lot riding on this weekend. He’d want to make sure someone was covering for Philip. He couldn’t know that three uninterrupted days with him would shrink her into a bowl of nerves. “I don’t think—”

“There are twenty bedrooms in this place, not including the guest quarters where Philip usually stays when we’re out here. You could have the apartment to yourself.”

“Really, I—”

“Your staff is going to stay, aren’t they?”

She reached for her patience. “Not all of them. Only the few that I’ll need for early morning. You have an ample household staff to cover whatever happens during the night. You won’t need any extra help until your guests start moving around tomorrow.”

“I want you to stay.”

She stifled a groan. “I know you—”

He leaned closer to her and said, with a soft insistence that curled her toes, “I’m serious.”

She couldn’t decide what he meant by that. “I can see that.”

“Philip would stay.”

“It’s Phillip’s job to stay.”

“He won’t like it if you leave.”

She recognized the lightning-fast change in strategy. He wasn’t getting his way by bullying her, so he’d switched to guilt as a maneuvering tactic. “He doesn’t like being sick, either, but he is. I had planned to stay with him tonight.”

Max eased his hand down her arm to cup her elbow. There was something oddly intimate about the slight heat of his fingers seeping through her jacket. “I appreciate your concern about Philip. I’ll send someone over to take care of him.”

Sidney felt herself losing ground. “I really feel I should check on him myself.”

“He told you to stay here, didn’t he?”

The man was too insightful, that was his problem—and he was making it her problem. Philip had argued with her for nearly an hour. Somehow, Max knew it, and didn’t hesitate to use the knowledge to his advantage. “I think you can understand why Philip would want—”

“Didn’t he?” Max prompted.

She squelched a sigh of irritation. Max knew Philip well. “Yes.”

Philip had worked for the Loden family for forty years. Two days after Max’s birth, he’d been promoted to senior butler. And he considered the care and tending of Max Loden his life’s work. When Sidney had informed him that she planned to leave her assistant in charge overnight, Philip had pushed himself up in his sickbed and given her a sound lecture on the importance of personal service. Sidney had no answer for that. She certainly couldn’t explain that she was sure to be wearing her heart on her sleeve by the end of the weekend.

“Then what’s the problem?” Max persisted.

Sidney frowned at him. “Uncle Philip doesn’t run my life, you know?”

“He runs mine pretty well.”

“And he can’t right now. He needs someone, and I want to be there for him.”

“By driving home at two o’clock in the morning? Do you have any idea what kind of people are on the road at that hour?”

“Overworked caterers who are being harassed by their clients?”

His scowl darkened his features. “Drunks and criminals.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He uttered a mild curse. “It’ll be almost four when you get there. You’ll get three hours sleep, and then drive back out here tomorrow. That’s inefficient and foolish.”

Blunt as usual, she thought irritably. “There’s more to life than efficiency, you know.”

His expression told her he thought that was ludicrous, and barely resisted the urge to tell her so. He shook his head instead. “What are you going to be worth to me tomorrow night, or the night after, if you’re exhausted?”

“I assure you, you won’t have any complaints.”

“I know I won’t if you stay here.”

“Why are we arguing about this?”

“Because you aren’t giving me my way.” He reached for the wall phone. “I’m going to send Charlie to your house to pick up your clothes.”

Sidney recognized the name of one of Max’s chauffeurs. “Max—”

He ignored the warning note in her voice. “Really,” he said. “I left Charlie in town with the limo. It’s a stretch. I never use the damned thing. Too pretentious, and parking’s impossible.” He punched a couple of numbers.

“Then why have it?”

He shrugged. “Because I’m supposed to. People expect it.”

Sidney abruptly pressed down the receiver button. “Max, stop it. This isn’t going to work.”

He ignored her. “Of course it will. If you call someone to pack a bag for you, Charlie can swing by your place, get your stuff, then stop at Philip’s on the way here to let him know your plans have changed.”

“That’s not—” She drew a deep breath. “I’m not staying.”

“He can be here by midnight if I call him now.”

“I hadn’t planned to work all weekend.” Sidney said.

That stopped him. “You had plans?”

Plans like fighting her way through her accounts, and trying, somehow, to dig her way out of the mess her tax accountant had left her holding. Plans like taking care of her uncle. Still, they were her plans, and while Max might have succeeded in taking over the lives of his family, her life was her own. “Yes. I do.”

“Hell. Can you cancel them?”

“Maybe I don’t want to. And why is this so important to you, anyway?”

“I just want you here to take care of things, Sidney.”

Something about that didn’t ring quite true. She frowned at him. “I know you’ll miss Philip, but—”

“I’m not trying to be a jerk about this, you know.”

“Really?” She raised a knowing eyebrow.

He stared at her. She pictured him rummaging through his mental bag of tricks for a new strategy. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he said softly. “What am I paying you for this? Four, five thousand for the weekend?”

She gritted her teeth. “There hasn’t been time to discuss the terms of the contract. Philip got sick this afternoon.”

“Did you already have an event for this weekend?”

“That’s not—”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have to cancel it?”

“I spread my staff out, and brought on some extra people. We’re fine.”

His low whistle parted her hair. “I hope you’re charging me a premium for this. How much overtime are you shelling out this weekend?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the bill hurts when you pay it.”

“I doubt it. Look.” He covered her hand where she still had her finger on the phone. “Whatever you’re planning to bill me, I’ll double it if you stay.”

“Why?”

He stared at her for several breathless seconds. “Because I’ve got a lot riding on this weekend and it’ll make me feel better if you’re here.”

“For a man with a renowned sense of business acumen, paying twice my fee for a little personal security seems a little rash.”

He shrugged. “Don’t let it get out. The stock market might crash.”

Not even a hint of humor showed in his expression. Sidney searched his face for some indication, even a flicker of evidence that he wasn’t absolutely serious. Finding none, she released a careful breath. “Are you going to let me out of the pantry—or do you plan to hold me hostage in here until I agree?”

“Will it work?”

“I can be kind of stubborn.”

“So Philip tells me.”

“I really feel like I should check on him tomorrow.”

“If I send someone over there tonight to make sure he’s okay, can’t you go in the morning?”

“I’d have to drive all the way down there and back in time for lunch.”

“I’ll go with you. I’ll drive you.” She started to shake her head. His fingers tightened on her hand. “I want to.”

The quiet insistence chipped away at her resolve. “You have guests.”

“So?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised her. Social niceties generally eluded him. “If this weekend is as important as you say, you should be here to entertain them.”

“My guests expect to sleep until eleven-thirty, then take advantage of my pool, my tennis courts and my bar. If we leave early, I’ll be back for the important stuff. No one will miss me.”

There was something profoundly sad in that statement. Max had everything money could buy, and none of the things that mattered. Not for the first time, Sidney wondered how, and why, he’d surrounded himself with such superficial people. When Max entered a room, he immediately took up all the available space. Dynamic and compelling, he left a vacuum in his wake. Anyone who failed to notice was a self-absorbed fool. Deliberately, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

“I rarely do.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Say yes, Sidney.”

She hesitated. Why, oh why, did he have this effect on her? What was it the man did that made her want to simply melt into the floor? She’d seen him less than ten times since she’d come to live with her uncle Philip, and every time, he had the same, unnerving effect on her. “Max—”

He held her gaze with intense scrutiny. “Say yes.”

It was that boyish charm that did her in. It had never ceased to amaze her that people found Max Loden irascible and ruthless when she found him so irresistible. “Are you sure you can get someone to stay with uncle Philip tonight?”

He squeezed her hand. “Not a problem. I’ve got a full staff of people in the city who love Philip. In fact, I’ll get Gertie to go over there with some chicken soup. Unless I miss my guess, she’s got a soft spot for your uncle.”

“He likes her, too.” Her uncle spoke often and warmly of the older woman who took care of Max’s New York penthouse.

“See? Problem solved. Do you want Charlie to pick up your stuff?”

“Yes, no—oh, I don’t know. This is too complicated. I can’t think this fast. I like to plan things more than five minutes in advance.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just let me take care of everything.”

Just like he always did, she thought. Max Loden, general manager of the universe, caretaker of the downtrodden. She thought of all the reasons she shouldn’t—even prepared a quick list in her mind—but as she prepared to tell him no, he trailed the tip of his index finger along the back of her hand. “Sidney,” he said, his voice a rumbling whisper that set off a fluttering of butterflies in her belly. “I thought you were a customer service fanatic.”

She was going to lose, she realized. He was going to captivate her, just like he did everyone else. “I am,” she blurted, more to herself than to him.

If he sensed her inner turmoil, he ignored it—or rather, capitalized on it. “Then make the customer happy.” His thumb found the pulse in her wrist. “Make me happy, Sidney.”

She could no more resist that pleading tone in his voice than she could fly to the moon. Waging silent war with the warning bells in her head, she hesitated for long seconds, then nodded. Max’s gaze flared with satisfaction as he brushed her hand from the phone and again punched the numbers. With a few efficient words, he set the wheels in motion to take over her life—or her weekend, at least.

When he pressed the receiver into her hand a few seconds later, she couldn’t meet his gaze as she explained the change in plans to her uncle. He seemed relieved. She frowned at the sound of his racking cough. “Uncle Philip, are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

“Fine, fine,” the older man told her. “Gertie’s soup can cure anything. How’s Max?”

Sidney glanced at him. “Stubborn as ever.”

“Good. I told you that you should stay there. Max is going to need you.” He coughed again. “You can’t imagine how much, Sidney.”

That made her smile. “I’ll never be able to replace you, you know.”

“You’ll do fine. Make sure someone pays special attention to Greg Loden.”

“I know. Keep him away from the gazebo.” According to her uncle, the younger Loden’s favorite seduction spot was the picturesque gazebo in the grove of apple trees near the foot of the estate.

“And keep the women away from him.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Don’t let Max turn into a tyrant.”

“Too late for that.”

His slight laugh warmed her. “And don’t worry about me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right. We’ll be there by nine. Good night, Uncle Philip. Promise you’ll call if you need me.”

“My word, my dear. Good night.”

“Good night.” Sydney slowly replaced the receiver. She raised her gaze to Max’s. “You win.” He still had that probing look that made her feel oddly transparent. She drew a deep breath.

“Good.” He pushed open the pantry door. “I guarantee that I’m always in a much better mood when I win. Do you want Charlie to bring you some clothes or not?”

“I guess not. I can make do for tonight.” Sidney followed him back into the kitchen. Her assistant, Kelly, could lend her whatever she couldn’t scrounge in Philip’s apartment.

He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets as he turned to face her once more. “I’m glad we settled that. And I meant what I said, I’ll double your fee just for giving in.”

His voice was a sultry whisper that reminded her of a hot summer wind: strangely welcome, and more than a little disconcerting, as if a storm was sure to follow in its wake. Worse, he smiled at her. At the sight, her heart skipped a beat. Max Loden’s smile, she’d long ago determined, was like a well-preserved piece of art: he displayed it on the rarest occasions and it never failed to impress. “I’ll see you later, Sidney.”

And then he left.

The room went suddenly still. The vacuum caused by his absence, she mused. Like the aftermath of a hurricane, unnatural silence settled on the bustling kitchen. Sidney turned to find her staff watching her with wary eyes. “What?” she prompted.

Kelly Lars, her assistant and best friend, shot her a grin. “That was him,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Sidney nodded. “Yes. That was Mr. Loden.”

One of her pastry chefs, a young woman who’d joined Sidney’s team several weeks ago, leaned one hip against the counter and exhaled an audible breath. “Wow.”

Chip Meyers, who’d worked for Sidney for several years, gave the girl a sympathetic look. “It’s not usually like this, Becky. Most of the places we work, we never even see the people we work for. This is a little different because Sidney is friends with the guy.”

Kelly laughed. “I’m not sure I’d say that exactly.”

Sidney shot her a warning glance. “Kel—”

“Well, you’re not,” Kelly insisted. “You’ve talked to him—what? A dozen times in twelve years?”

Sidney suppressed an irritated retort. “My uncle is his butler,” she explained to her overly curious staff. “Uncle Philip has been with the Loden family for forty years. He’s known Mr. Loden all of his life. You’re here this weekend because my uncle hired you to augment Mr. Loden’s staff. I’m here because uncle Philip couldn’t be.”

Becky was busily wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “You didn’t mention, when you asked me if I wanted this assignment, that we’d be working for a human stick of dynamite.”

“You’re not.” Sidney’s voice was sharper than she’d intended. “You’re working for me.” The dynamite, she silently added, is my problem.

Chip frowned. “You know, Sid, when you told me the guy made his living making toys, this wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Toys?” Becky asked.

Sidney exhaled a slow breath. “Max Loden makes his living making money. AppleTree Toys is just a part of the Loden Enterprises empire.”

Becky’s eyes widened. “AppleTree—oh my God! Max Loden. That Max Loden?” Her expression changed to awe. “I can’t believe I’m in Max Loden’s house. And that he looks like that.”

Kelly laughed. “What did you expect him to look like?”

“Well, I expected he was like, sixty at least.” Becky leaned against the counter. “I had no idea he was such a—well—such a stud. My kid sisters love those dolls.”

Chip laughed. “So do the rest of the girls in America. That’s how we ended up working in digs like this. Who knew a guy could make billions selling dolls.”

Becky warmed to the topic. “I remember when the Real Men collection came out. I was so jealous of my sisters. When I played with Barbie dolls, all we had were Ken and Alan to date Barbie and all her friends.”

“That was a man’s kind of world,” Chip countered.

Becky glared at him. “Then along came AppleTree Toys with the Real Men collection. How many are there? Six?”

“Eight,” Sidney supplied. “Max got the idea from watching his friend’s daughters play with their dolls. There were never enough males to go around.”

Kelly snorted. “Very insightful.”

Becky nodded. “Lucratively insightful. I remember reading that. So he conceived this entire line of male dolls. Each one has his own personality. There’s a stockbroker, a park ranger, a football player, a doctor—I can’t remember the rest. Anyway, the Max doll is the central figure. Supposedly, his staff named the doll after him.”

“They did it without his knowledge,” Sidney said quietly. “By the time he found out, the ad slicks had already gone out. At the time, AppleTree toys was operating on a shoestring, and Max didn’t feel like he could justify the expense of pulling the ads.” She paused. “He doesn’t like it.”

“Yeah, well,” Becky continued, “like it or not, the Max doll, and all his friends, are phenomenally popular. My sisters have a zillion of them, and all their accessories.”

Chip raised his eyebrows. “They have accessories? No guy I know would be caught dead with anything that could be called an accessory.”

Becky laughed. “Not even if the accessory is a twin-engine airplane?”

“Well—”

Kelly came to his rescue. “What she means, Chip, is that the Real Men dolls have an entire line of fashions and play sets that suit their individual personalities. I have it on very good authority that when the Max doll pulls up in his Jag roadster, it sends any self-respecting Barbie doll into a swoon.”

Chip flexed his biceps beneath his white chef’s jacket. “I’ll bet he doesn’t have Chip the super chef.”

Becky swatted him with the dishtowel. “Those dolls are so popular, the advertising slogan for the line is Who Gets To Marry Max? When little girls drag their dolls out to play, that’s the first question they ask.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Kelly quipped. “Every society reporter and fortune hunter in the country keeps asking the same question about who’ll marry the real Max Loden.”

Chip shook his head. “So that’s how ‘Mad Max’ made his millions.”

Sidney lost what was left of her indulgence. “Don’t call him that,” she said firmly.

The three looked at her, wide-eyed. Kelly placed a hand on her arm. “He didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Sidney assured her, and managed a slight smile at Chip. “I know you didn’t. But I don’t want to hear that name again while we’re here.” She paused. “For that matter, I don’t want to hear it after we leave, either. Max Loden inherited his father’s company on the verge of bankruptcy. Thanks to the success of the Real Men dolls, he earned enough capital to bail out some of Loden Enterprises’ less successful public ventures. He took an ailing company, put his mind and effort behind it, and made it grow. Just because his methods are a little unorthodox, and just because some of his adversaries think he’s a little—eccentric—doesn’t mean we’re going to disrespect him. I trust I’ve made that clear.”

Chip looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, Sidney. I didn’t know you—”

“It’s all right. He’s heard the name before, I’m certain. But I don’t want him to hear it from us. Mr. Loden is paying every member of this staff extraordinarily well for their service.”

Becky nodded. “I’m getting twice what I did for the last house party I worked.”

Sidney tugged at the points of her jacket. “Most of you are. So in addition to your service, he’s going to get your respect, too. I’d like you to alert the rest of the staff to that. If I hear anything that even hints at disrespect, I won’t hesitate to let someone go.”

Becky and Chip stared at her, astonished. Kelly alone seemed to sense the volatile nature of her mood. “Chip,” she said, with the soft authority Sidney had always admired. “I think now would be a good time for you to find Mr. Loden’s chef and decide how the two of you want to divvy up the kitchen responsibilities. Do you have the punch list I gave you?”

He nodded. Kelly waved him away with a sweep of her hand. “Good. Becky, I’d like you to gather the rest of our staff in about ten minutes so we can brief them.” She scanned the kitchen, then tucked her clipboard under her arm. “We’ve got two hours,” she continued, “and I’m going to make sure the guest rooms are up to spec.”

As Kelly picked up a tray of chocolates, Sidney gave the confections a final, assessing glance. The shaped candies were Sidney’s personal trademark. Individually made, each candy represented a guest’s personal interests. Before a major event, she interviewed her clients to determine how best to serve their guests. The chocolates, which her staff placed on the pillows of the guest room beds or at each place setting for meals, were a special touch her clients usually raved about.

Kelly paused on her way to the door. “Sidney, would you like to instruct the rest of the staff, or shall I?”

Sidney gave her a grateful look. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” At her friend’s dubious look, Sidney laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve delivered my last avenging angel speech for the day.”

“All right,” Kelly agreed. “I’m going to deliver the chocolates, then.” She inspected the tray. “You know, these look really good, Sid,” she said. “Even if you did make them at three this morning. No one makes them as well as you do.”

Sidney shrugged, unwilling to discuss why she’d been unable to sleep the night before, and had decided to personally make the chocolates—a duty she generally would have delegated. “I enjoy doing it. I hadn’t done them in a while, and I wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost my touch.”

Kelly gave her a shrewd look, but silently hoisted the tray of chocolates to her shoulder. As she strolled past Sidney, she whispered, “Sure you don’t want me to put the Cupid on Max’s pillow, Sid?”

Sidney frowned at her. “Did you listen to a word I just said?”

“Every one of them. That’s why I asked.”

“Kel—”

“Okay, okay. He sure is cute, though.” She sailed out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

Sidney almost laughed out loud. Max Loden was many things. Daunting. Charming. Elegant. Ruthless. Brilliant. Maybe even handsome. But never, ever had anyone described him as cute. Sidney sometimes doubted that Max had even entered the world as a baby. Instead, he seemed to have walked onto the stage of his life full-grown and ready for battle.

When his parents died, leaving a twenty-five-year-old Max full responsibility for his brother, his two sisters and his father’s struggling corporation, Max had taken the reins like a man born to lead. He’d made a lot of money, and a lot of enemies along the way. Sidney’s uncle, Philip Grant, had seen him through all of it. And while the world found Max’s eccentricities, razor-sharp business acumen and incomprehensible ability to take the wildest risk possible and make astounding profits from the venture both infuriating and intimidating, Philip adored him. His adversaries and even his colleagues claimed he had no heart, that he placed profits above people and that he’d step on anyone who got in his way. “Mad Max,” they called him. And as far as everyone could tell, he liked it.

But Sidney had never believed it, for reasons she’d told no one—not even Philip. On a cold rainy evening, years ago, not long after she’d come to live with her uncle, Max Loden had given her a gift so generous, so unthinkably extravagant that she’d tucked it close to her heart and used it whenever her confidence had needed it most.

He would never remember the incident, she was sure. She’d been fifteen. He was a college student bound for glory. Everyone agreed it was his destiny. She’d been afraid of him, and hadn’t known why. In those days, however, it seemed she had feared everyone. Even then people talked about him. He had what Philip called presence. He always seemed to be involved in terribly important, terribly serious business. While his brother and sisters were enjoying the carefree life afforded them by wealthy parents, Max appeared to know, somehow, that his destiny would be different—that, too soon, he would bear responsibilities far too heavy for most men’s shoulders.

Yet on that night, for reasons she might never know, he had stepped off his constantly spinning world to give Sidney’s self-esteem a desperately needed transfusion. And, in that instant, she’d mentally cast aside his critics as shallow fools and envious naysayers. And “Mad Max” had become, forever known to her alone, as “Max the Magnificent.”

When Philip Grant recovered from the flu, Max decided two hours later, he would kill him. He stood in his study where he scanned the assembled guests on his terrace. The only light in this third-story room he used as a refuge came from the festive lanterns and mini-lights Sidney’s staff had strung through the trees. Dark clouds blotted out the crescent moon.

Which, he thought in a burst of grim humor, seemed wildly appropriate. The clouds of his temper had begun gathering earlier that day. His mood had rapidly progressed from foul to rotten. Greg, who had trouble committing to wearing the same tie all day, was predictably balking at the idea of betrothing himself to Lauren Fitzwater. Never mind that Greg had made certain promises—promises that Lauren had every reason to believe would lead to marriage. Greg was experiencing a very predictable bout of jitters. Max had been prepared for that. Max liked to think he was prepared for just about everything.

He had assured Greg, and meant it, that Lauren was the best thing in his life. Max’s desire to see Greg settled went far beyond the simplicity of a multimillion dollar corporate takeover.

Everyone needed stability.

Max should know. He’d spent his whole life without any. Stability, he’d learned, was the remedy for loneliness. So he’d strengthened his brother’s resolve, and considered it all part of a day’s work.

And while Greg’s burst of misgivings had proved mildly irritating, the beginning of his descent into hell hadn’t happened until later. His gaze narrowed and found Alice Northrup-Bowles downing a glass of champagne as she flirted with Max’s senior vice president. Damn the shrew. Her presence alone was enough to rattle him.

And then there was Sidney Grant. Sidney with her wise, intelligent eyes and that cocky little smile that made him want to kiss it right off her full mouth. What the hell was Philip thinking?

The old man was too shrewd, Max realized, not to know that his employer’s interest in his niece ran deeper than common courtesy. While Max had never told Philip the story, the evening years ago when he’d discovered Sidney in his parents’ library had left an indelible mark on him. He didn’t know why, and had long since given up trying to figure it out. He’d found her holding a dust rag in one hand, weeping over the broken remains of a porcelain figurine. She’d looked so desolate. Something in the bend of her shoulders, her tear-filled eyes, had struck a note in Max that had never stopped ringing.

The encounter hadn’t lasted long. Less than five minutes as he recalled, but he’d walked into that room, with no earthly idea why he felt moved to comfort her. And in the end, she’d comforted him. She’d told him how her twice-divorced mother had remarried again, had decided that Sidney’s presence in her home would make it too difficult for her new stepchildren to accept her as their mother. Philip asked his younger sister to send Sidney to him. Sidney’s mother had needed little prompting. She’d put her fifteen-year-old daughter on a bus the following afternoon.

Max remembered his sense of horror as her story unfolded. Even his parents, who had always remained slightly detached from their children’s activities, wouldn’t have contemplated anything so unspeakable. Sidney had mopped her eyes as she’d told him the tale, then apologized for burdening him with it. She’d started crying, she’d said, and that was how she’d broken the figurine. She was on her way to find her uncle Philip to report the incident.

Max had shaken his head, handed her his handkerchief, and assured her he’d handle everything. She needn’t worry about the broken figure. “I’ll take care of it,” he’d told her. At her wide-eyed look, he’d explained, “That’s what I do.”

Sidney had looked at him with that expressive gaze and said, “You always take care of everyone, don’t you?” At his startled look, she’d managed a slight chuckle that had seared its way through his nervous system. “Uncle Philip told me.”

He vaguely remembered coughing. “I see.”

Sidney tilted her head to one side. “So if you take care of everyone else, who takes care of you?” He’d stared at her, stunned. At his silence, Sidney had looked at him with that probing look that reminded him so much of her uncle. “Everyone needs someone to take care of them,” she’d whispered. “Even you.”

Her declaration had zeroed in on the secret part of himself he kept firmly hidden in a vault of self-control. Sidney’s softly uttered words had thrown open the curtains of his heart and sent light streaming through the window of his soul. He’d had to struggle to restore the internal security system that kept his emotions firmly in their fortress.

Without allowing himself to consider the reasons, Max had changed his plans that night, and taken his date shopping at Tiffany’s so he could replace the figurine. The incident with Sidney had rattled him more than he’d thought it should. He still wasn’t precisely sure why she’d managed to get to him like that, but he knew that in the handful of times he’d seen her thereafter, he’d felt inexplicably connected to her—as if something mysterious and irrevocable had bonded them together.

He’d made a point, over the next few years, to follow Sidney ’s life through Philip’s reports. With a few phone calls, he’d ensured she had the scholarship money she needed to attend college. She’d graduated summa cum laude, and he’d had nothing at all to do with that. He’d roundly cursed the philandering, weak-spined bastard she’d married soon thereafter, and silently cheered the guts it had taken for her to divorce him. Carter Silas had done a tap dance on Sidney’s confidence that would have unraveled most people, but Sidney had impressed the hell out of Max with the courage she’d shown in standing up to him.

Later, he’d learned, she hadn’t even begun to impress him. Though Sidney knew nothing of Max’s interest, he’d made it his business—compelled at first by the surge of protectiveness he’d felt when he first met her, and later by an odd fascination with wanting to know what she’d accomplish next.

Unknown to Philip, Carter Silas had done more than abuse Sidney’s self-esteem. On a snowy February night, Carter had drained their mutual accounts, embezzled a quarter of a million dollars from the brokerage firm where he worked, then left Sidney holding the legal bag while he fled town with his twenty-one-year-old mistress. Max had sent his accountant and his lawyers to Sidney’s aid, and hired a private detective to get incriminating pictures of her husband. Max had made absolutely sure that Sidney’s lawyers had everything they needed to nail the weasel, but, in the end, Sidney had done most of the fighting on her own. Thanks to Max, her lawyers had shaken the bastard down for enough of a settlement to ensure that Sidney was comfortable. Though the embezzlement charges had never been proven, Silas had floundered for several years until Max finally decided he wasn’t worth the bother.

When Sidney had started her temp agency, an effort Philip hinted had taken all the courage Sidney had left, Max had again placed private phone calls. His business associates had suddenly found themselves in desperate need of temporary staff. Sidney had charmed them all with her skill and poise, and he still received Christmas cards thanking him for recommending her to them.

Philip had never asked why Max had taken such a personal interest in his niece, and Max hadn’t offered an explanation. If he had his way, neither Philip nor Sidney would ever know that those few seconds in the library, when she’d looked at him with those sad, sympathetic eyes and earnestly asked who took care of him, had opened an aching chasm in his soul that had never healed. No one he cared about, he’d vowed, as long as he had power to stop it, would ever feel as alone as he had at that moment.

Now, she barely resembled the slightly bedraggled, self-conscious girl in his father’s library. Her dark hair, thick and luxuriant, framed an expressive face dominated by a pair of intelligent hazel eyes. He’d always liked the way she looked at him. No one else looked at him quite that way—as if she understood some secret part of him that remained hidden to the rest of the world.

And, if he were honest, his thoughts generally ran a more primitive course. With little or no effort, he found himself imagining just how Sidney’s eyes would look if he were making love to her. They’d grow misty, he knew, and the color would darken. Emerald green and intense, full of fire and need, they’d steal his breath.

He hadn’t bothered to question why he’d insisted she stay for the weekend. There were dozens of practical reasons for the decision, but Max knew none of them explained the knot of hunger that had been steadily growing in his gut since he’d found her in his kitchen that afternoon. His desire to have her on his property had little, if anything, to do with keeping her off the road at a late hour, or his worries about his guests.

He wanted her.

Like a blow to the head, the knowledge had hit him squarely when he’d seen her standing there in the midst of well-ordered chaos. He wanted her.

Hell, he’d probably wanted her for years. Why he hadn’t recognized it before, he had no idea. Maybe it was the impossibility of the whole thing. Sidney Grant, and everything she deserved in life, was as out of reach to him as a normal family in a little house with a dog, a picket fence and a two-car garage. So far out of reach, in fact, that he’d never even allowed himself to contemplate what it would be like to have her in his life.

Until today. Until he’d seen her wearing a ridiculously seductive tuxedo and commanding a small army. A surge of adrenaline had raked him, and he recognized it instantly. It was the same feeling he got when he looked at a stock report and saw the future; the same feeling that overcame him when he analyzed a financial statement and knew the hidden potential of a buried asset or an underutilized resource; the same feeling, he mused, that drove him to gamble millions of dollars on what seemed like bad odds. And with customary dispatch, he’d listened to his gut feeling and not to his head.

With a carefully executed strategy, he’d ensured that he’d have her undivided attention for the next several days. He had her safely in his sphere, where he could watch and listen. He could examine the tension in his gut and sift through the messages screaming through his brain. For three days, he could concentrate on nothing but the hungry need he felt each time he looked at Sidney Grant.

The thought brought a wry smile to his lips. If the heaviness he’d felt in his lower body since earlier that day was any indication, he didn’t even need to look at her to feel the effects of her sway over him. He’d retreated here, to his third-story office, to clear his head. It hadn’t worked. Evidently, thinking about Sidney worked just as well as watching her. If he survived this weekend, he decided, he’d satisfy several of his more pressing curiosities, and see if this feeling had the kind of payoff he expected.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

At the sound of Sidney’s voice, Max felt need pour through his veins like lava. He turned from the window to find her watching him with the same quiet intensity she’d had long ago in his parent’s library. His fingers flexed at his sides as he struggled for equilibrium. Easy, he warned himself. Don’t overwhelm her. “Hello, Sidney. What brings you up here?”

She held a bottle and two glasses in her hand. “Philip mentioned that if you disappeared up here during the party, you’d probably want this.” She set the bottle on his desk.

“Philip thinks of everything,” he said quietly, wondering if Philip had thought of the consequences of sending Sidney to him.

“He does.” She hesitated. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to deliver this. If there’s nothing else you want, I need to get back downstairs.”

“Do you?” He glanced at the terrace again. “Your staff certainly seem to have everything under control.”

She offered him that slight smile, the one that drew his attention straight to her mouth and kept it there. “They do. But it’s a large party. Someone has to see to the details.”

He wasn’t ready for her to leave yet. He was never, he’d long ago admitted, ready for Sidney to leave him. “Do they know where to find you?”

She searched his expression. “Yes.”

With a wave of his hand, he indicated the leather chair across from his desk. “Then sit. You’ve been on your feet all afternoon.” At her surprised look, he managed a slight smile. “And don’t ask me how I know.”

“You’re omniscient?” she quipped.

He shook his head at that. “Hardly. But Philip tells me you’re maniacal about quality service. I understand what that means. If I were in your place, I’d have checked everything twice, then checked it again.”

Surprise flickered in her gaze, but she eased into the chair. “I can spare a few minutes, I guess.”

“Thank you.” Max studied her for several tension-filled seconds. Her eyes, he admitted with some chagrin, weren’t the only things about her that had him struggling for breath. The tailored lines of her uniform did nothing to disguise a lithe figure and the kind of curves designed to catch a man’s attention. It skimmed her body in all kinds of interesting ways, yet managed through some tailoring miracle to still appear subdued. After fifteen seconds in her presence, he’d felt his fingers tingling with the urge to thrust one hand into her hair, and snake the other around her waist so he could feel the imprint of her curves against his body.

Sidney began to fidget under his intense stare. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you again for sending Gertie to take care of Philip,” she finally said.

“Don’t mention it. I was glad to.”

“He’ll like having her there.”

“I hope so.” He watched the uneasiness that played across her face. She looked nervous, and, unless he missed his guess, a little heated. It made him feel better to think she was as aware as he of the strange electricity between them.

She shifted uncertainly. “Was there something you wanted?”

You, he wanted to say, just to gauge her reaction. “Philip,” he said instead. “I wanted to ask you how much Philip told you about the guest list for this weekend.”

A slight smile played at her full lips. “You wanted to strangle him, you mean?”

“Maybe.”

She nodded. “I think yes. He suggested that you might be feeling a bit, ah, perturbed by now.”

“So he knew that Raymond Lort was bringing Alice Northrup-Bowles as his guest?”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t care to enlighten me.”

“I suppose not.”

“Why the hell not?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t care to speculate.”

He narrowed his gaze. “But you knew.”

“I knew she’d be here.”

“Did you know it would make me furious?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t tell me either.”

She brushed her palm over her jacket sleeve. “I didn’t feel—”

“Damn Philip. He should have told me.”

“He seemed to feel you’d rescind Mr. Lort’s invitation if you knew he intended to bring Ms. Nothrup-Bowles.”

“I would have. The bastard. Lort knows exactly how I feel about that woman.”

“Uncle Philip felt the crisis could be easily avoided without forcing you to offend Mr. Lort.”

Philip would, he thought, his temper kicking up another degree. “I don’t give a damn about offending Raymond Lort. Alice is a scheming, conniving leech who happens to make my sister Natalie feel miserable. Alice has a genius for making Natalie forget that she’s an exceptionally talented, remarkably gifted woman. Worse, Alice enjoys it.” His gaze narrowed. He uttered a dark curse. “And it enrages me.”

Sidney visibly stilled. She appeared to be gathering her calm. Slowly, she pushed herself out of her chair, then brushed past him to stand at the window. “Look.” Pointing, she drew his attention back to the terrace. “I’d like you to notice that my assistant has your sister fully occupied in solving a crisis which will, no doubt, save your party from certain ruin.”

She indicated a darkened corner of the terrace. “Natalie’s husband, Paul, is busily distracting Edward Fitzwater’s attention from your brother’s obvious nervousness, thereby ensuring that Miss Northrup-Bowles has absolutely no chance of attracting Paul’s notice.” She pointed to the dance floor where Greg and Lauren were enjoying a few moments together. “And Miss Fitzwater is being given every opportunity to wrestle the expected proposal from your brother.”

Even as she said it, a waiter intercepted one of Greg’s former girlfriends with a canapé-laden tray. The woman stopped, sampled the confection, then accepted an invitation to dance from one of Max’s vice presidents. Max’s gaze flicked over the party as he repressed the urge to pull Sidney into his arms. Too soon, he reminded himself. Patience was key. “Nicely done,” he murmured.

Her eyes twinkled when she looked at him. “I’m very good at what I do.”

The statement sent heat skittering along his skin as he wondered, inevitably, just how good she was at other things. “Really?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

He knew from her expression that she sensed the shift in the conversation. She backed up a step. “Max, is something wrong?”

Max exhaled a deep breath and leaned back against his desk. He had more riding on this weekend than she could possibly know. Philip had understood. And Max had to believe that Philip wouldn’t have sent Sidney to him if he didn’t think she could help him. It wasn’t Philip’s fault that Max was having trouble picturing Sidney as his ally when the thoughts he was having weren’t nearly so tame. Much as he’d like to concentrate all his energy on her, he couldn’t afford the risk. There was too much at stake. “Sidney, look,” he began. “I don’t know how much Philip told you about this party, but it’s extremely important.”

She nodded. “Because of the merger with Fitzwater.”

He tipped his head toward the window. “Since your staff obviously have my guests completely under control, why don’t you sit down and let me explain.” He poured himself a drink. “Want one?” he asked.

She shook her head as she hurried around the desk. “No, thank you.” Sidney dropped back into the leather chair. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“You brought two glasses.”

“I thought you might have a guest.”

He shook his head. “Not up here. I don’t entertain guests in this room.” He met her gaze, waited to see if she recognized the significance of the statement. Awareness flickered in her gaze. Satisfied, he waved the bottle at her. “Will it change your mind if I tell you this is iced tea?”

Sidney’s eyebrows lifted.

“It’s a quirk of mine,” Max continued. “I don’t drink on the job either.”

“Aren’t you always on the job?”

He gave her a knowing look. “That’s why I keep tea instead of bourbon in my decanters.” He poured her a glass. “I’m surprised Philip didn’t tell you.”

“He told me everything he thought I needed to know to help make this a successful weekend for you. He doesn’t tell me your personal business.”

Max pondered that. Philip had told him certain details about Sidney’s life, it was true, but when he thought about it, he really knew very little about her personal habits and preferences. He nodded. “I’m sure he doesn’t. That’s one of the reasons I like him.”

“Uncle Philip is very professional, and he cares for you. You’re lucky to have him.”

“I know I am. Smart people surround themselves with smart people who are strong where they aren’t. I’m sure you’ve learned that in business.”

She nodded. “That’s why Kelly’s in charge of client relations, and I stick to making chocolates.”

Max’s gaze narrowed. There was something significant in the statement, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d never been particularly gifted at reading the nuances of conversation. Especially not from the female of the species. “Something like that,” he admitted.

Shifting slightly in the chair, Sidney waved a hand in the general direction of the party. “The more you tell me, the more I can help you.”

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. She was, indeed, Philip’s niece. Philip Grant’s personal motto was: Knowledge Is Ammunition. “That’s probably true. Are you sure you’re willing to help me?”

She looked surprised. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Against your better judgment?”

“No, of course not.”

“How did your staff feel when you told them they’d be working for ‘Mad Max?”’

Her lips pressed together in a tight line. “They were pleased.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You pay very well. They were pleased.”

Max shrugged. In a burst of restless energy, he slipped open the buttons of his double-breasted tuxedo jacket, then dropped into his desk chair. “Did you tell them I’m prone to fits of brooding and unmanageable temper and that most of my acquaintances are scared to death of me?”

“No.” There was firm resolution in her voice. “I did not. I don’t indulge in spreading rumors.”

Had her expression been any less serious, he might have laughed. She meant it, he realized, and the thought warmed him as little else could. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

Sidney watched him for long seconds, then settled back in her chair. “So what else is riding on this besides a merger with Edward Fitzwater?”

Max exhaled. “Just about everything,” he told her. “I’m concerned about Greg.”

In the next few minutes, Max carefully explained to her how much he wanted his brother’s relationship with Lauren Fitzwater to progress. Yes, he admitted, the merger represented a significant gain for Loden Enterprises, but his true concern was for his brother’s welfare. Greg needed stability in his life, and Lauren would give it to him. If Philip were there, Max knew, he would have done whatever he could to ensure that Greg’s engagement came off without a hitch—Alice Northrup-Bowles notwithstanding.

When he finished his long explanation, he gave Sidney a cautious look. “Sorry. That’s probably more than you bargained for.”

“Actually, it’s what I expected.” Sidney tilted her head to one side in a manner painfully reminiscent of that night in the library. “Max, can I ask you something?”

He sensed danger, but deliberately dismissed it. “Sure.” He glanced out the window again.

“Why are you so sure this is right for your brother?”

His hand tightened on his glass. “Family is important to everyone, Sidney.”

“By family, you mean marriage.”

“For Greg I do.”

“Don’t you think that’s up to him to decide?”

“I know my brother. I know exactly what he needs.” He didn’t bother to explain that the same instincts that drove him in business told him that his brother’s life had reached a crucial turning point. A few more years, and Greg the immature young man was going to become their father—bitter, broke and completely alone.

“I see.”

He didn’t think he imagined the doubt in her tone and it annoyed him. He turned to face her. “Look, I’ve spent the last ten years taking care of my brother and my two sisters. Sometimes, I’m in a better position to know what’s best for them. In Greg’s case, he has trouble committing himself. If he can find a way to screw this up, he will.”

“Do you think he’ll make Lauren happy?”

“Yes.”

She frowned again. “Will he cheat on her?”

Max studied her for a few seconds, cursing the man who’d put that pained look in her eyes. Evidently, the memories of her first marriage still stung. She knew firsthand just how devastating infidelity could be. “No. He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I wouldn’t let him.” His voice held a note of iron resolve, the same tone he used when he made reckless business decisions and dared his staff to question him.

“You couldn’t stop—”

Max shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean Greg knows that no one in this family would tolerate it if he cheated on his spouse. We’re not that kind of people, Sidney. He’d have hell to pay if he decided to wander, and Greg’s not extremely fond of paying consequences.”

She studied him. “That’s an interesting theory.”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. She couldn’t possibly understand. “It’s the way I do things.”

As if she sensed the challenge in the words, she gave him a short nod. “I understand.”

“Then we’re clear on that?”

“Absolutely. I’m here for you.”

The slight emphasis nearly undid him. Could she even suspect the effect she was having on him? He searched her expression and found it stubbornly unreadable. Setting his glass on the desk, he leaned toward her. She smelled like chocolate. He found it more arousing than any designer perfume.

Carefully holding her gaze he said, “I’m counting on it.”

FROM THE adjacent room, one of Max’s maids, who’d spent an hour on the phone with Philip Grant earlier that evening, smiled as she flicked the lamp on and off three times. She watched her contact, the young bartender near the fountain, for a response. He glanced around, then carefully selected a champagne glass to polish with a soft, white cloth. Understanding the message, the maid nodded to the other young woman in the room before she headed off to intercept Max’s sister Colleen, who was at that moment, according to the bartender, on her way to find Max in his third-story office. Philip had made it quite clear that Sidney and Max weren’t to be interrupted.

The other woman, one of Max’s chauffeurs, picked up the telephone to place a call to Philip Grant. The senior butler had asked for complete information on the weekend’s events. He would, no doubt, find this bit of news especially intriguing.

“I don’t know, Philip,” Gertie said as she discarded the king of hearts. “If Sidney finds out what you’re up to, she’ll strangle you.”

Philip Grant picked up the king and added it to his hand. “She’ll never suspect. Besides, Max needs her.” He discarded the three of spades.

Sam Mitchell, Max’s groundskeeper, pulled a card from the draw stack. “That’s for sure. Last month, I was scared to death he was going to give in and marry the Barlow woman—” He snapped his fingers. “What’s her name?”

“Constance,” Elena Garcia, who kept the exotic plants blooming in Max’s greenhouse, said with disdain.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “Constance—as in constantly annoying. She’s taken on becoming the answer to ‘Who Gets To Marry Max?’ as a personal project.” He tapped his blunt fingers on his fanned cards. “Can you imagine life with her running Max’s house?”

Elena clucked her tongue. “I tell you one thing, if he brings home that Barlow woman, I’m going to quit.”

Gertie grunted. “You’re not the only one. The minute he hints there might be a wedding, I’m giving him my resignation.”

“You, and all the rest of us,” Sam agreed, tossing the five of hearts onto the discard pile. “Except maybe Philip. What would it take to make you leave Max, Philip?”

“I don’t know,” he said blandly. “Are you going to take that card, Elena?”

Elena gave him a dry look. “Don’t think you’re going to distract me. You may think you’re going to force Max and Sidney together, but what will you do if your plan backfires? Greg Loden isn’t exactly oblivious to Sidney’s obvious charms, you know?”

Sam nodded. “That’s true. And with Max breathing down his brother’s neck about an engagement to Miss Fitzwater, I suspect Greg’ll be looking for some diversion this weekend.”

“He won’t find it with Sidney,” Philip assured them. “I’ve already told her what Max is expecting from Greg. She’ll see that it happens.”

“He’s a charmer, that one,” Gertie mused. “I’ve seen him turn heads before.”

“Not Sidney’s. She’s immune to him.”

“But not to Max,” Elena prompted.

Philip shook his head. “Sidney and Max—” he searched for the right word “—communicate.” He glanced at Elena. “If you’re not going to take that card, I am.”

She clucked her tongue as she reached for the card. “You can’t expect to win every game, Philip.”

While she studied her hand, Philip decided not to ask what she meant by that. Instead, he wondered how Max and Sidney were faring at the estate. He’d seen Max grow from a lonely young boy, who gracefully bore the pressures of the world on his shoulders, to an even lonelier man whose friends and family expected him to solve all their problems. Isolated in a tower of emotional distance, Max Loden was in serious danger of losing his heart. To hear some tell it, he was already past saving. Philip didn’t believe it.

Elena dropped a card onto the discard pile. Gertie reached for it. “No matter what you say, Philip, if Sidney finds out you’re not really sick, she’ll kill you for this.”

Philip suppressed a smile. Long ago, he’d given up trying to understand the strange connection between his niece and his employer. But of one thing he was certain: Max needed rescuing. Always the savior, always the one his family relied on in a crisis, always the hero, Max had learned to depend on no one—for support, for help, or even for love. While Sidney, his brave, talented, headstrong niece, had learned to keep the world at arm’s length. Hurt one time too many, Sidney allowed no one to penetrate her inner world.

As Gertie studied her cards, Philip considered the niece he loved like a daughter, and the employer he considered a close friend. Only Philip had breached their collective defenses. And while he didn’t begin to understand why he’d been blessed with such a role, he took the responsibility seriously. They needed each other. And since the two of them were too thickheaded to know it, he had no choice but to take matters into his own hands.

Gertie discarded the jack of diamonds. Philip picked it up with a feeling of satisfaction. Eventually, he reasoned, Max and Sidney would understand that he was acting in their best interest and forgive him for meddling. He discarded, then set his cards down on the table. “Gin.”

Sam grumbled as he began tabulating the score. “One day, I’m going to figure out how you manage to cheat.”

Elena dropped her cards to the table with a sigh of disgust. “He marks the cards. He has to. Nobody has his luck.”

As Philip piled the cards into a neat stack, the phone rang. Gertie frowned as she reached for the receiver. “Well, let’s hope his luck is holding. Sidney already called once this morning. I hope she’s not suspicious.”

“She’s not,” Philip assured her.

“Hello?” Gertie answered the phone. Philip carefully watched her expression change from polite inquiry to unabashed delight. She covered the receiver with her hand. “It’s Mary Beth,” she said, identifying the young woman who’d called last night with news of Max’s third-floor rendezvous with Sidney. “She says Max is teaching Bailey how to dive this morning.”

Philip lifted an eyebrow—an affectation he’d passed on to his employer. “There’s nothing unusual about that. Max is very fond of his niece.”

Gertie asked Mary Beth a few more questions, then hung up. “Nothing unusual,” she told the small group, satisfaction evident in her tone, “except that Sidney is watching, and Max is watching her watch him.”

SIDNEY WAS still questioning her sanity as she methodically made her way around Max’s pool, discreetly checking on his guests. Drinks were filled, towels replaced. At a waved command to one of her staff, an ashtray materialized near the elbow of Raymond Lort. Momentarily satisfied, she continued to scan the scene, looking for flaws and, more consciously, trying to ignore the way Max looked sitting on the edge of the pool, patiently teaching one of his nieces how to dive.

She still wasn’t sure what had possessed her to agree to stay at the estate for the weekend. She should have known what prolonged exposure to the man was going to do to her. She’d slept poorly last night, and, as much as she’d like to believe her restless slumber owed itself to the strange bed, she knew better. She’d been consumed with thoughts of the way Max had looked at her when he’d delivered that final announcement in his office. “I’m counting on it,” he’d said, and her stomach had started dancing the Macarena.

The odd feeling had continued through the evening’s festivities, and left her feeling unsettled when Greg Loden had cornered her near a secluded area of the terrace.

“Sidney,” he’d said, his voice a little too controlled. “How are you?”

She had searched his expression for signs of inebriation, but other than unnaturally bright eyes, he seemed in control. “I’m fine, Mr. Loden. How are you?”

With his elegantly casual shrug, the one she’d long ago summed up as his philosophy on life, he’d explained that Max was annoyed that he’d continued to drag his feet on his engagement to Lauren Fitzwater. “You know Max,” Greg had told her, “he thinks what’s good for business is good for the family.”

Sidney frowned. “You don’t think your brother is pushing you simply because he wants the business merger with Fitzwater, do you?”

“No. He’s pushing me because he thinks Lauren can have a positive influence on my more, er, autarkic tendencies.”

“Is that a nice way of saying libertine?”

To her relief, he had laughed, and the strange tension shattered. “No, it’s a Harvard economics major’s way of saying I enjoy the benefits of being a Loden without bearing much of the responsibility.” He shrugged again. “Max likes running the business. He wouldn’t consider relinquishing control to any of us.”

Thoughtfully, Sidney studied Greg’s handsome features. “Have you asked him?”

Greg shook his head as he finished his glass of champagne. “No need. What Max wants is to see all of us safely settled in nice, stable marriages. Natalie and Colleen succumbed without a fight. I like to give Max a challenge every now and then.” He leaned closer to her and dropped his voice several decibels. “It builds character, you know?” He’d raised his hand, then, to cup her shoulder. “And speaking of characters, why have you been hiding from us, Sidney? I miss having you around here.”

His fingers slid over the fabric of her jacket. Sidney took a careful step away. “I work for a living, Greg.”

His amused laugh carried on the night breeze. “Unlike me, you mean?”

She shook her head. “No. I just mean that I have a lot of responsibilities with my business. I don’t have as much time to visit with Uncle Philip as I used to.”

Greg’s hazel eyes searched her face. “Do you have time for other things?”

She sensed the suggestive undertone in the question, and carefully headed it off. “Not really.” She set her water glass down with a decisive clink. “It’s been nice talking with you, Greg, but I think I should call it a night. The party’s winding down, and Max seems to think I might be needed early tomorrow morning. He’s probably right.”

“Ah, Max,” Greg said. “He’s always right, isn’t he?”

Sidney chose not to answer. “Good night, Greg.”

He had hesitated, then gave her a brief nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Now, as Sidney glanced around the pool deck, she carefully considered the note she’d received from Max that morning requesting her presence. How much, she had to wonder, did he know about her conversation with his brother, and how much would he want to know? She pushed aside the unsettling thought and told herself, for the umpteenth time that morning, to get a grip. It wasn’t working. When she’d spoken to her uncle, he’d assured her that he was much better—so much better that he’d encouraged her not to make the trip out to see him that morning. Reluctantly, if not gracefully, Sidney had agreed.

Fool, fool, fool, she now thought as she looked at Max. She could have used the break, and the chance to think things over. Clad in black swim trunks, he looked—she searched for the word Kelly had used the night before—dishy. That was it. Kelly had informed her that Max’s advertising gurus used the word to describe the Max doll and his supposed effect on the female doll population. At the time, Sidney had thought the word a corny advertising gimmick. Now, she merely found it inadequate.

Max Loden wasn’t merely dishy, he was devastating. Well, he was devastating her, anyway. Except for the barely veiled looks of Constance Barlow, the same woman Sidney had observed clinging to Max’s arm during last night’s party, no one else at poolside seemed to realize they were in the presence of Adonis.

Suddenly, as if he sensed her scrutiny, Max turned to meet her gaze. Embarrassed that he’d caught her watching him, she struggled not to look away. He watched her for long seconds, then tilted his head in an invitation to join him.

Sidney glanced around the deck once more, before she threaded her way through the clutter of lounge chairs to stand near Max’s shoulder. “Did you need something?” she asked him.

“Watch me, Uncle Max,” his seven-year-old niece urged.

“I’m watching, Bailey,” he assured her. He remained steadily focused as the child bent nearly in two, then tumbled into the water. She surfaced with a broad grin. “Did I get it right?”

Max nodded. “Absolutely. You can work on keeping your feet pointed if you want to go in with less splash. Otherwise, it’s perfect.”

“Does splash count?”

“Only in the Olympics.”

“Good divers don’t splash?”

Max shook his head. “Nope.”

“Okay. I’ll try.” Bailey swam toward him. “But can I try the diving board even if I splash?”

“You have to ask your mother.”

Bailey frowned. “She won’t let me.”

Max plucked her from the pool and seated her on the deck next to him. “I’ll tell her I taught you how to dive. Then you can ask her.”

He earned a toothless grin. “Thanks, Uncle Max.” The child turned inquisitive eyes to Sidney. “Who is that lady?”

Max still didn’t look at her. “A friend of mine.”

“A good friend?”

He paused. “Yes.”

Bailey studied her. “I’m Bailey.”

Sidney smiled. “I’m Sidney.”

Bailey watched her with open curiosity. “How come you aren’t wearing a swimsuit?”

“Because I’m not here to swim. I’m here to work.”

“Oh. Like Uncle Max.”

“He’s swimming,” Sidney pointed out.

Bailey jumped up and reached for a towel. “Only for me. He promised to teach me how to dive so I could use the diving board. He woulda worked instead if he hadn’t promised.”

As Bailey vigorously dried her mop of red curls, Max finally turned to look at Sidney. His eyes gleamed in the morning light—like a predator’s, she thought. “Good morning,” he said quietly.

“Good morning.” She plucked a piece of paper from her trouser pocket. “I got your note. You wanted to see me about something?”

“It wasn’t a summons.”

“It sounded like it.”

Max frowned. “I didn’t mean—”

“Uncle Max?” Bailey tapped him on the shoulder.

His frown deepened before he looked at his niece. “What, Sprout?”

“When are you gonna tell Mama?”

“This morning.”

Bailey’s gaze slid to Sidney. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said.

“You might get distracted.”

Max rolled his eyes. “I will not get distracted.”

Bailey continued looking at Sidney. “Uncle Greg would.”

“I’m not your uncle Greg.”

“No.” Bailey shook her head, then shrugged. “I want to dive off the board this afternoon. I told Kristina we would.”

“This morning,” Max said again, giving his niece a gentle shove. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.”

“Now say goodbye.”

Bailey grinned at Sidney. “Nice to meet you, Sidney.”

Max ruffled her curls. “It’s Miss Grant.”

“But she said—”

“It’s Miss Grant.”

Sidney held up a hand, “Max, really—”

He shook his head. “Bailey?”

Bailey capitulated. “Nice to meet you, Miss Grant.”

Max and Sidney watched as the child hurried off across the deck. “She’s a great kid,” Sidney said.

“Natalie is a great mother.” Max pinned her with his gaze. “How was your night?”

The question couldn’t possibly be as provocative as it sounded. “Fine. You?”

He shrugged, then surged to his feet. Sidney forced herself not to take a step backward as he stood dripping and imposing above her. “It was fine. I wanted to ask you about your plans for this evening. Can you take a break?”

She visually scanned the deck. “Everything seems to be under control. Your guests are apparently content. Except maybe Mr. Lort. He looks a little the worse for wear.”

His mouth twitched at the corner. “Yeah, well, if I’d spent the night with Alice Northrup-Bowles, I’d look that way, too.”

Sidney ruthlessly pushed aside an image of Constance Barlow, wearing a sparkling designer dress, clinging to Max’s tuxedo-clad arm, looking like a “do” example in Town and Country Magazine.

Max snatched a towel from a nearby lounge chair, then slung it casually around his shoulders. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Let me change, and I’ll meet you in my office in five minutes. Will that be okay?”

She deliberately ignored the warning bells in her head. More time alone with Max. Great. At this rate, she’d be a basket case by noon. The man raised her body heat into the red zone. “That’ll be fine.”

AS SIDNEY waited for Max to join her in his third-story office, she replayed her conversation with Greg Loden in her head. She couldn’t put her finger on why the incident had disturbed her so much. Philip had told her, often and in detail, the stories of Greg’s misdeeds. It seemed Max was constantly bailing him out of one scrape or another. Generally, the younger Loden brother stayed out of serious trouble. To her knowledge, he’d had no encounters with the law. He’d managed to dredge up some negative publicity a time or two—generally related to his affinity for fast women and fast cars—but, according to Philip, Greg Loden was a decent enough character who lacked any serious direction in life.

Lauren Fitzwater, on the other hand, came from old money and an even older family tradition. Since Greg had begun dating her, he’d calmed down considerably, and it was certainly easy to see why Max felt the relationship was good for his younger brother. Still, the tension between the two men bothered Sidney for reasons she didn’t begin to understand. Worse, she felt somehow trapped in the middle.

“Good morning.” Max strode into the room wearing khaki trousers and a denim shirt that somehow looked elegant. Philip’s scrupulous care of his wardrobe, no doubt. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

Sidney shook her head. “No problem. You’re the boss.”

He frowned at her as he seated himself behind his desk. “I wish you’d quit saying that.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t consider you my employee, you know. I consider you—” he paused, “my partner.”

Her stomach started its lurching rhythm again. “I see.”

“I doubt it.” He shook his head. “I’ll explain later. Right now, I want to talk to you about tonight. Greg is waffling.”

She blinked at the rapid change in topic. “What?”

“I spoke with him this morning. He’s having second thoughts about his engagement to Lauren.”

Sidney considered the information relative to last night’s conversation. “He’s an adult, Max. He can make his own choices.”

“He needs her.”

“Max….” She hesitated. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Greg needs some purpose in his life?”

“Of course. That’s why I want him to marry Lauren. She’s good for him. She’s stable.”

“And she’s Edward Fitzwater’s daughter.”

“What the hell does that mean?” His voice had dropped to a deceptively quiet level.

“Are you absolutely certain that Lauren’s, ah, familial credentials don’t have something to do with why you’re pushing Greg so hard?”

He bit off a curse. “That was a rotten thing to say, Sidney. You may not have the highest opinion of me, but what kind of bastard do you think I am?”

His vehemence took her back. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He ignored her. “It’s got nothing to do with Edward Fitzwater. The man would be a fool to merge with anyone else. He dotes on Lauren, it’s true, and her engagement to Greg will make the deal easier for him to swallow, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’s overfinanced and undercapitalized. If he doesn’t merge with me, then someone else will take him over. He left himself vulnerable to this.”

“And the vultures are circling?”

“Yes.”

“Then if the merger is a foregone conclusion, why push so hard for the engagement?”

“I told you. Greg needs Lauren. It’s that simple.”

With a sad smile, Sidney leaned forward in her chair to place a hand on his desk. “There’s nothing simple about relationships, Max.”

He looked down at her hand, stared at it for long seconds. She sensed a struggle in him. “No, I don’t suppose there is.”

“If you push Greg into a corner, he’ll fight you.”

He visibly tensed. “If he does, I’ll win.”

“Probably. But if the price is alienating your brother, is it worth it?”

“It’s the right thing for Greg’s future. In time, he’ll understand that.”

“Max—”

He surged out of his chair, rounded the desk, and towered over her. She had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. His expression looked harder than usual. “I realize this probably sounds ruthless to you, but I’ve spent my life taking care of my family.” He raked a hand over his face. “Sometimes, that means I have to decide what I think is best and make sure it happens. And I’m good at it.”

“And do you always get what you want?”

He studied her for long seconds, that same unnerving gleam in his eyes. Then he carefully took her hand in his larger one. In less than a millisecond, the center of his focus had shifted from his brother’s engagement to rest squarely on her. She sensed it as surely as she had sensed the tension thrumming through him last night. “As of today,” he said quietly, “I’m batting a thousand.”

Having the full force of that indomitable concentration directed at her sent goosebumps skittering along her flesh. Anticipatory goosebumps, she realized as she forced herself not to look away. “Max, I—”

He turned her hand to study her palm. “In fact, I think we should just clear this up right now. It’s been on my mind since last night.”

“It has?”

He nodded. “Very much so. And unless I’m completely off my game, you’ve been thinking about it too.”

“We’re not talking about Greg and Lauren anymore. Are we?”

“No.”

Sidney shivered. “I didn’t think so.”

“I’ve been told that I lack a certain, ah, finesse in situations like this.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But it’s like a business venture—once I know what I want, I don’t see any point in hedging about it.”

“Wastes time.”

“Precisely.” His fingers tightened on her hand. “So do you know why I really asked you to stay out at the estate for the weekend?”

Her brain short-circuited. He didn’t give her a chance to recover. “I want you, Sidney.”

The soft declaration made her ears ring. Her fingers quivered in his warm grasp.

“And you want me.”

Sidney pulled in a ragged breath. “Max—”

He squeezed her hand. “Don’t you?”

“I—”

“Look, I’m not trying to rush you. I know small talk generally eludes me.”

“You could say that.”

“I wouldn’t have told you last night—I should have told you last night, but I was afraid you’d leave. I wanted you here. With me.”

Sidney concentrated on breathing normally. “It wouldn’t work. We’re too different.”

“I thought so, too.” He cast a swift glance at the door. “For a long time, I thought so. But I changed my mind.”

“If that gets out,” she managed to quip, “it could cause the value of the dollar to plunge in the foreign currency markets.”

His soft chuckle rumbled along her nerve endings. “You have an overinflated sense of my importance, I assure you.”

“As long as we’re laying our cards on the table, is this a good time for me to tell you that you scare me to death?”

His eyebrows rose. “I’d never hurt you, Sidney.”

“I know that. That’s not what I mean.”

“Explain it to me.”

She searched for words. “I guess—I don’t want to feel like another corporate takeover.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

She pulled her hand from his. “It’s hard to explain. After Carter—after my divorce—I swore I’d never do that to myself again.”

“Are you comparing me to your ex-husband?” His tone had turned flat—and sounded somehow more dangerous.

“No.” She shook her head. “No, you’re nothing like Carter. He was weak and selfish, and I was a fool to marry him.”

“Sidney—”

“Don’t say it,” she said with a slight smile. “There’s no point in arguing with me. What kind of idiot gets involved with a jerk like that?”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

She inwardly cringed. He could never understand the flood of self-condemnation that had engulfed her when her marriage dissolved. Max didn’t make colossal mistakes. It was beyond his scope of experience. “Whatever. The point is, I had a really hard time putting myself back together after he—after it was over.”

“I know.” His gray eyes studied her. “Philip told me.”

“He tells you a lot, doesn’t he?”

“He loves you.”

“I know he does.” She managed a slight smile. “He loves you, too.”

With incredibly gentle fingers, Max tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Sidney, no more stalling.” He seated himself on the edge of his desk. “Talk to me.”

“I’m afraid of what might happen to me if I get involved with you,” she admitted.

“I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh, Max. Don’t you see? I don’t want you to take care of me. I’ve just started to feel like I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. I’m not ready to turn the job over to someone else.”

That made him frown. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know. It’s not you. It’s me.” She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. “This is all moving a little fast for me.”

“I’ve known you for ten years.”

She laughed a little. “You’ve barely spoken to me, and now, suddenly, you want…” She couldn’t continue.

“It’s not sudden. I’ve wanted you for a long time, but things were never right for us.”

Her gaze flew to his. “Max—”

“It’s true.” He leaned closer. “It’s complicated, and I’m not sure I understand it. I’m not very good at explaining myself. I don’t have to do it very often.”

“I don’t think—”

He cut her off. “We’re going to be together all weekend.” His gaze narrowed. “If I have my way, really together. I want you to understand that. I don’t want to play games.”

“I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

“I tend to have that effect on people.” With his fingertips he gently traced the curve of her eyebrows. The touch made her shiver. “I decided last night that I’m tired of waiting. I’d prefer to know exactly where I stand with you.”

She was drowning in the intoxicating sensation of his clean scent filling her head and his warmth wrapping her in a sensory cocoon. “Max, please.”

“Please what?” His voice had dropped to a seductive whisper. “Please stop? Please don’t stop?”

She shook her head, trying to clear it. “I don’t know.”

His lips turned into a beautiful smile that stole her breath and made her heart skip a beat. “Don’t worry.” He reached for her hand, then raised it to press a kiss to her wrist. “I’ve waited this long, and I may not like it, but I can wait a little longer. I can wait until you’re ready.”

Sidney drew a steadying breath.

“A few more hours won’t kill me.”

“Hours?” she choked out.

His smile widened. “Did I happen to mention that in addition to ‘Mad Max,’ my adversaries call me ‘Max the Relentless?”’

“I’d heard that.”

He tipped his head so his mouth was a hairbreadth from hers. “You’re about to experience it firsthand.”

Her knees almost buckled. “I might not survive.”

He pressed a swift kiss to her lips. “Don’t worry,” he said again. “You won’t get hurt. I promise.”

Her lips burned from the slight contact, but the words penetrated the fog in her brain to leave her with an uneasy feeling. “You can’t guarantee that.”

He evidently decided to ignore her protest. He shrugged. “I’ll let you make the choice, Sidney. Just don’t wait too long to make it.”

Or, she thought, you’ll make it for me.

To her utter relief, Sidney barely saw Max for the rest of the day. She had ample time to consider her reaction to the man as she and her staff prepared for the evening’s event. Max’s guests proved to be relatively undemanding during the daylight hours, which, Sidney considered, was a good thing. In her current muddle, she wasn’t certain she could have adequately handled a major crisis.

More than once, she chided herself for an overactive imagination when Max’s staff seemed to study her with undue curiosity. For the most part, she’d known these people for years through her relationship with her uncle. They knew of her long history with the Loden family, and surely found nothing odd about her third-floor rendezvous with their boss. After all, Philip had left her in charge for the weekend. Everyone knew it. Guilt alone was making her think everyone knew she harbored thoughts of jumping their boss’s bones.

One of the housemaids sauntered by, offering Sidney a jaunty smile. “Cripes,” Sidney mumbled to herself. “Two more days of this and they’ll have to have me committed.” More likely, two more days of close proximity to Max and she’d turn into a complete simpleton. He had that effect on her. He enveloped her. How in the world, she wondered more than once, could anyone fail to notice the way the man sucked up all the available oxygen and space in a room. He was like a human firecracker—he inspired awe when properly handled, and he had the potential to be positively deadly.

Sidney had worked herself into a nervous sweat by the time she put the finishing touches on a tray of handmade chocolates. The combination of stainless steel and granite in Max’s ultramodern kitchen did nothing to chill the slight fever on her flesh.

Unmistakably strong, tanned hands came from behind to rest on either side of her, pinning her to the counter. Sidney pulled in a ragged breath and tried not to surrender to the urge to melt into him.

Max whispered against her ear, “I hope you brought something to wear to the party tonight.” His breath fanned her face.

Sidney kept her voice light. “My uniform.”

He nuzzled her ear. “I’d rather you attended. I’m looking forward to—” he paused almost imperceptibly “—dancing with you.”

“I don’t let my staff fraternize with guests.”

“You’re the boss.” He twined a curl of her hair around his forefinger. “You get to make your own rules.”

“I like to set an example.”

“Sidney—”

She turned to face him. “Not now, Max. I’m busy.”

He licked a dollop of chocolate from her fingertips. “Soon, Sidney. I’m not a very patient man.”

“You told me you’d let me decide.”

He looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he took her hand in his and pressed it to his chest. “Dance with me tonight,” he murmured.

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Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.