by Andrea Kane
MORGAN AND JILL had just finished working out the night’s logistics. They’d made alternate provisions based upon differing scenarios, the variable being how Morgan’s date turned out. Now Jill was upstairs, packing an overnight bag before settling into her yoga ritual, and Morgan was shutting down her desktop computer for the night.
She was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone.
Watching the computer screen to ensure it went into shut-down mode, she groped for her cell, punched it on, and tucked it in the cradle of her shoulder. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Lane greeted her. “Ready for our dinner?”
A smile curved Morgan’s lips and she perched at the edge of her desk so she could talk. “Not yet. It’s only seven-twenty here. I’ve got lots of time to get ready.” She paused as it dawned on her that the humming sound in the background was the jet engine. “Don’t I?”
“That depends on what you define as lots. I’d say you have a little over two hours. We’ve been airborne for a while. The winds are with us, so we should be landing by around nine-thirty.”
“That’s earlier than I expected.”
“Yeah, well, we cut the day a little short. Jonah took a fall on the last run. The doctor says he’s fine, but we wanted to get him home so he can take it easy.”
Morgan’s brows drew together. “You said he’s all right—nothing’s broken, I hope.”
“Fortunately, not. He just bruised his side. A little rest and he’ll be as good as new.” A pause. “I’ll be riding home separately with Arthur. His driver can drop me off at my place, or I can come straight to yours. Your choice.”
“Actually it’s not. It’s Arthur’s choice. He wants Jill and me at his and Elyse’s apartment in an hour, accompanied by our newly assigned, nondescript bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards—why?” Lane’s entire demeanor changed, tension lacing his tone. “What happened since Monday night that I don’t know about?”
She sighed. “I thought maybe Arthur would mention it. I guess not. He asked your father to hire security for Jill, Elyse, and me. Evidently, the guy who hit Rachel with that stolen van was tailing Elyse before he headed down to midtown. She spotted him across the street from her gym. On top of that, she’s been getting crank calls, actually just hang-ups. And she has the sense that she’s being followed.”
“Arthur didn’t say a word.” Lane’s wheels were clearly turning. “There’s no longer any question that you’re the link here. What did Monty have to say? Does he think the hit-and-run was intentional?”
“He thinks it was a scare tactic that got out of hand. He’s all over this, even without Arthur’s pressure. But Arthur felt better with the added security.”
“I don’t blame him.” Another pause, this one heavy with reluctance. “Would you rather postpone our date?”
“No,” Morgan replied bluntly. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day. I need to get my mind off things. Would you feel really uncomfortable picking me up at Elyse and Arthur’s place?”
“Not a bit. The only thing is, I won’t have a chance to change. Did you have your heart set on a jackets-required dinner?”
“The truth? I’m dying for a Greek salad and a slice of cheesecake at Gracie’s Corner. It’s close, it’s delicious, and it’s open all night. It’s also casual enough so you can stay in whatever you’re wearing, and I can change into jeans and a sweater.” She sighed. “It sounds better the more I think about it.”
“Gracie’s Corner.” Lane smacked his lips. “Now you’re talking. I can wolf down a twin cheeseburger platter and a hunk of chocolate layer cake. I’ve been skiing all day, and I’m starved.”
Morgan laughed. “I guess you liked my idea.”
“You guess right. I’ll swing by Arthur’s place and get you. How’s the weather?”
“Cold, but clear.”
“Good. We can walk. So dress warm.”
MORGAN WENT UPSTAIRS and took a hot shower, letting the water ease the tension of the day from her muscles. She’d meant what she said to Lane—she needed this evening away from the insanity of the past week. She’d also meant what she said to Jill—she had no idea where this evening would lead. But she was eager to find out.
She pulled on a pair of Citizens jeans and a lavender cashmere V-neck sweater—low enough to be alluring, not so low as to be obvious. She kept her makeup simple, and her hair loose, brushed off her face and down to her shoulders. For now, she padded around in a pair of warm socks. Her Ugg Fluff Mamas were in the hall closet along with her lightweight down jacket—she’d jump into both on her way out.
She yanked out her weekender tote, packing a change of clothes and some toiletries. Even though Arthur’s insistence that she and Jill spend the night there seemed a bit excessive, she had to admit that the thought of being here all alone at this particular time made her antsy.
Morgan glanced at the clock. A little after eight. The pan-flute music that had been drifting out from Jill’s room had been replaced by cheerful whistling and the sounds of clothes being stuffed in a bag.
“Hey, Morg, you ready?” she called out a minute later.
“All set,” Morgan called back. She grabbed her totebag and purse and left her room.
Reflexively, she glanced at the den. It would be the first night in weeks she hadn’t spent poring through journals or scrutinizing photographs. The thought of that was a relief. At the same time she felt as if she were leaving a crucial part of herself behind.
Before she could analyze it further, she’d walked in, gathered up the piles of mementos, and tucked them in her totebag. Like a child with its stuffed animal, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes. She needed them close by, a grown woman with a grown-up security blanket.
There’d be a time when she’d have to let them go—when she’d be able to let them go.
But now wasn’t that time.
FORTUNATELY, THE TAILWINDS were strong and Arthur had asked the pilot to do whatever was necessary to get home quickly. He’d also instructed the flight attendant to dispense with the usual amenities and instead devote all her attention to Jonah’s comfort.
The plane landed at 9:27 p.m.
The car service was there with Jonah’s parents, who eagerly embraced their still-groggy son, helped him into the town car, then thanked both Arthur and Lane and climbed in. Minutes later, they were on their way back to Brooklyn.
Arthur’s limo was waiting. By the time the town car’s taillights disappeared around the bend, Arthur’s driver had the congressman and Lane settled in the limo, and he was behind the wheel, pulling away from the curb.
Lane glanced over at Arthur. “I spoke to Morgan. She told me what’s been going on with Elyse.”
“Did she?” Arthur didn’t sound surprised. “I assumed she would, if not today then tonight, while you had dinner. Truthfully, I would have told you myself, but I didn’t want to spoil those few euphoric hours on the slopes.” A weary sigh. “Blocking out the world for a while becomes essential for survival. Because after that, reality has a way of catching up and biting you in the ass.”
“Don’t I know it,” Lane agreed grimly. “I’m glad you hired more security. Obviously, this hit-and-run was personal. Someone’s delivering a message to Morgan—loud and clear.”
“I want someone with her at all times.” A sideways look. “Tonight, that someone is you. I don’t know if she told you, but she and Jill went over to my apartment to hang out with Elyse until I get home.”
“She told me. That’s where I’m picking her up.”
“And dropping her off. Unless…” Arthur cleared his throat self-consciously. “Look, Lane, I don’t want you to think I’m one of those overbearing father types who inserts himself where he doesn’t belong. Morgan’s personal life is her own business. It’s just that, under the circumstances, I’m a little concerned. So suffice it to say, if the two of you are together, that’s fine. But if the evening should happen to wind down…”
“I’ll see her
safely to your door,” Lane assured him. “And I won’t leave until Morgan is inside with the dead bolt thrown.”
“Thanks.” Arthur’s brows arched in question. “When are you and your father reviewing the photographs you’re enhancing?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be working exclusively with Monty the rest of this week, except when I’m photographing you at various appearances and, of course, on Friday, when you and I are heading up to the Poconos to go skydiving.” Lane frowned. “I hope Jonah will be up to joining us. The poor kid’s been living for these chances to contribute to the Time photo essay.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” A nostalgic smile. “I really enjoy watching Jonah’s sense of excitement and discovery. Maybe it sounds melodramatic, but it feels like yesterday that I was his age. It’s gratifying to live vicariously through him, and to remember when things were new and unspoiled.”
Lane was surprised by the raw emotion in the congressman’s tone. “Don’t relegate yourself to a rocking chair just yet,” he informed him. “You’re in the best physical shape I’ve ever seen.”
“I wasn’t talking about skiing. I was talking about life.” Abruptly, Arthur slid down, leaned his head back. “Enough philosophizing. Let’s grab a forty-five-minute nap. We both need it. Especially you. Trust me, you won’t earn points by falling asleep in your entrée.”
FALLING ASLEEP WAS the furthest thing from Lane’s mind as he sat across the table from Morgan.
She looked strained, there was no doubt about it. Her features were drawn, and there were dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. Facts were facts. The events of the past week had taken their toll on her.
Still, she looked gorgeous, emanating that sexy combination of soft femininity and cut-to-the-chase dynamo that he’d found a major turn-on from day one. Her body was the kind that made heads turn, and the way her sweater V’d just to the top of her cleavage made it almost impossible for him to tear his eyes off her. On the other hand, she solved the problem for him just by being herself. Because if he didn’t keep his mind on their conversation and off her breasts, he’d never be a worthy sparring partner. Her pointed quips and personal insights were razor sharp and dead on. She kept him on his toes, challenged him at every turn—and he felt as pumped as he had on the ski slopes.
Maybe more.
Besides the excitement, there was an easy banter here, one he found unique and refreshing. And he respected her lack of pretense, the passion of her conviction, and the heartfelt sensitivity that underscored their more serious discussions.
Plus, he wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting a woman.
“So,” Morgan commented, abandoning her Greek salad and leaning forward, fingers interlaced, to regard Lane with great curiosity and interest. “From the brief overview you gave me, it sounds like you and Arthur blazed new trails in the San Juan Mountains.”
“We did.” Lane put down the cheeseburger he’d been chomping on, his eyes glittering with excitement as he attempted to recount the experience for her. “It’s hard to describe the feeling. The scenery was breathtaking. There wasn’t a mark on the snow, that’s how pristine it was. And the sharp drops, the speed, the skill it took to master the experience—it was awesome.”
Morgan absorbed every nuance of his reaction. “You really love it, don’t you? The adrenaline rush, the risk—all of it.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Don’t you ever get frightened? Feel vulnerable, mortal?”
“I suppose I would, if I let my mind go there. But I don’t. In fact, I don’t think at all. I just live in the moment.”
“It must be amazing to have that ability. I don’t.”
“I know. Then again, you have your reasons.”
“We’ve certainly led very different lives,” she agreed. “Your parents divorced. That’s never easy. But they were still alive, in your life. Plus, you were sixteen, old enough to understand, and to cope. With me, I was a child. I was totally alone. I’ve never really gotten over that feeling. So, yes, in my case, security trumps all.”
“You’re very aware of who you are. That’s a huge plus in life.”
A grimace. “You’d be surprised what seventeen years of therapy will do for you.”
“Now it’s time to learn all you can be.”
Morgan’s brows arched. “Are you psychologically assessing me?”
Lane gave her a lopsided grin. “Hey, you’re not the only one who’s good at reading people. We just do it in different ways. Mine’s through a camera lens.”
Visibly intrigued, Morgan contemplated that analogy. “I never thought of it that way. But you’re right. A photographer has to be able to read people. And one who’s as sought after as you, a veritable expert in his field, has to have really fine-tuned instincts.”
“See? We’re not so different after all.” A very pointed pause. “Except in the ways that matter—the good ways.”
“We’re different in lots of ways,” Morgan amended, but the color tingeing her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes told Lane that they were coming from the same place. “Some of those ways are setting off loud warning bells in my head, telling me to run in the opposite direction.”
“And is your head listening?”
“No.” More of that arousing candor. “Those good ways you’re talking about have it hands down.”
“I’m glad.” Lane reached across the table, took her hand. “Cards on the table,” he said quietly, his thumb tracing her palm. “You think I’m a player. Maybe by your definition I am. But, Morgan…” He paused, feeling the tiny quiver that ran through her hand and sent white-heat shooting through him. “I’m not playing this time.”
“I know.” Her fingers slid between his, interlacing their hands in a way that was wildly erotic. “You’re not playing. And I’m not playing it safe. Sounds like a plan.”
Lane’s entire body tensed. Where they were, who they were, what they were talking about—all of it ceased to matter. Now there was just now.
“I’ll have them wrap the food,” he said in a low, urgent tone. “We’ll take it with us.”
She nodded, already reaching for her jacket. “Don’t forget my cheesecake,” she managed.
“I won’t. Or my chocolate layer cake. I have a feeling we’ll both need the energy boost.”
He’d signaled the waiter and was halfway out of the booth, when Morgan stopped him, capturing his forearm. “Lane?”
Turning, he shot her a questioning look. Questioning? More like imploring. He felt like a horny teenager who was praying his date hadn’t gotten cold feet.
Morgan smiled, reading his expression. “Not a chance,” she assured him softly. “My jacket will be zipped and I’ll be at the door by the time you get our doggy bags. It’s just that…” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, pushing out her next words with an effort. “I realize my place is only four blocks away. It’s close. It’s empty. It’s the logical choice. But…”
“But you don’t want to go back there tonight.”
“No, I don’t. I want to shut out everything. I want to think about only tonight. Better yet, I don’t want to think at all.”
“Then don’t. My place is only seven or eight blocks farther. We’ll make up the time by grabbing a taxi instead of walking.” He snatched up his own jacket, yanking it on as he spoke to the waiter.
In a minute flat, he’d ordered their dessert to go and whipped out the money to pay their check. While the waiter totaled everything up, Lane angled his head in Morgan’s direction, gave her an intimate wink. “Meet you at the door in five.”
“Nope,” she countered, zipping up her jacket and plucking her purse off the seat. “Meet me outside. I’ll have a cab ready and waiting.”
TWENTY-TWO
Fifteen minutes later they were inside Lane’s apartment.
Morgan got a fleeting glimpse of the first floor, bathed in the entranceway light, as Lane threw the dead bolt behind them.
The place was very relaxed, very homey, very male. A living room with caramel leather sofas and chairs, a hearth and fireplace, and, off of that, a media room with a big-screen TV and lots of high-tech audio equipment. Beyond that, she could see a room with a ceramic-tile floor and stainless-steel appliances—obviously the kitchen. In the opposite corner was a dead-bolted door that had to lead to Lane’s digital photo lab. It was probably very impressive, as was the rest of the place, but Morgan didn’t—couldn’t—concentrate on asking for a tour. Not now.
“The second floor’s my home gym,” Lane said in a low, husky voice, pulling off her jacket and his and tossing them aside. “Want to see it?”
“I want to see the whole apartment—later.” Morgan shook a few snowflakes off her hair, her mind and body wired. “Unless you’re dying to show it to me now.”
“Uh-uh.” Lane walked over to her, rubbing his palms up and down the cashmere sleeves of her sweater. “What I’m dying to show you now is my bedroom.”
She tipped back her head, gazed up at him with undisguised desire glittering in her eyes. “My thoughts exactly.”
“The problem is, it’s on the third floor, two flights up.” His fingers glided through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Both bedrooms are.” He lowered his head, his lips grazing the side of her neck.
“So far away,” she whispered, her voice and body trembling.
“I’ve got a perfect solution.” His lips shifted to the hollow at the base of her throat. “I spend hours in my photo lab.” He kissed his way up to her jaw. “I crash in the media room. It’s got a cushioned air mattress—king-size. We could—”
“Yes.”
He lifted her arms around his neck, nibbling at the corner of her mouth as he backed her toward the media room. “I’m being a lousy host,” he murmured. “Can I offer you something—a drink? A glass of wine?”
“A kiss,” she replied, turning her head until her lips brushed his. “I’ve fantasized about that all week.”