By the time six-thirty rolled around he was positively surly, or at least that’s what his executive assistant had called him. Then Madison had complained about his bad temper when he’d arrived home. Now, as he negotiated the eastbound traffic back to Fontaine Richesse, his mood perked up alarmingly. Damn it. He was looking forward to spending the evening with her. To seeing what sort of delectable outfit she’d prepared for him. To letting her steal food off his plate and wheedle out of him intimate details about his life. Why had he agreed to have dinner with her? He should have insisted on meeting her at her office during the regular workday when he wouldn’t be tempted to linger for a nightcap in her suite. A nightcap that might lead him to forget how quickly she turned on the charm. He would find himself seducing her and believing it was his idea. He’d have her naked and writhing beneath him before he realized she’d orchestrated the entire event.
