by Jane Porter
He smiled faintly, creases fanning from his eyes, making him even sexier than ever. "Hello, Willa."
"Winnie.'
"I know." His smile stretched and moving forward he took her travel bag from her and slung it on his own shoulder. "How did the interview go?"
"Fine." She frowned a little, realizing that he was here at the airport when he was supposed to be out to dinner with members of his board. "What are you doing here?"
"I came for you."
"Your shareholder's meeting-"
"Canceled." His mouth quirked but he wasn't exactly smiling anymore. In fact, he looked fierce, hard. "I was waiting at the gate but somehow missed you," he added, gesturing toward the terminal, black blazer falling open over his fine knit black shirt. He almost always wore black.
"Ah, there's my car now," he said. "We'll talk on the way."
She fell into step beside him. "Talk on the way where?"
"Dinner."
Nothing was making sense, she thought, reaching up to rub her temple, her thick hair falling forward against her cheek. She felt so tired and unkempt. Her hair down, her suit creased, her feet aching. And he wanted to take her to dinner now, like this?
She'd fantasized about having dinner with him but it hadn't been like this in her fantasy. In her fantasy she felt fresh, elegantly dressed, relaxed. In her fantasy she'd been in control.
That certainly wasn't the case now.
The limousine pulled next to the curb, black and sleek. Morgan opened the limo's back door. "Come," he encouraged. "I don't want to miss our dinner reservation. I've already pushed it back twice."
Winnie flashed him a worried glance before sliding into the back of the luxurious limousine. As the car pulled from the curb he pushed a dozen long-stemmed red roses into her arms, the stems perfectly straight, tied with a wide purple silk ribbon, arid the roses still in identically shaped buds.
He'd never given her flowers before. Not even on Secretaries Day.
Winnie's heart twisted, a jagged little pain going through her middle. She was surprised how much all this hurt. She'd always wanted this from him but now that it was happening, it was wrong. It felt wrong. Flowers were supposed to mean something, she thought wildly. Dinner was part of romance. But this wasn't romance. This was business.
He wanted her back. He was determined to get her back. She clutched the flowers so tightly they shook in her hands.
"He offered you the job?" Morgan's voice sliced through the dim interior, an edge to his voice-anger- too.
She jerked her head up. Her gaze met his. "Yes."
"Did you accept it?"
"Not yet," she answered, drawing a swift breath, drinking in the fragrance he wore. It was relatively light but on him it made her head swim.
She loved the way he smelled. He didn't always wear cologne, but when he did, it knocked her off balance, affected her coordination. Other men wore the same cologne but it didn't make her dizzy and hungry to bury her face against the neck and just breathe him in ...
"Good. Because I have something to propose to you. "
"What?"
"Let's wait until we get to the restaurant. I just ask you to keep an open mind."
An open mind? What did he mean by that? Nervous, Winnie drew the flowers up and sniffed the blossoms. Compared to him, they had no fragrance, no spicy or musky scent, nothing like the roses in her mother's garden.
She glanced at him and his blue gaze locked with hers. The intensity in his expression took her breath away.
"An open mind," he repeated softly as the limousine pulled off the interstate and made a series of turns before drawing up in front of a small rustic restaurant with a nearly deserted parking lot. "That's all I ask."
The driver parked in front of the restaurant, put the car in neutral, and hurried around the side to open the door.
"Where are we?" she asked, sliding across the leather seat and stepping out into the warm night.
"We're just outside the city. This is Franco's. It's a favorite place of mine."
As Morgan stepped aside to let her pass, a car pulled out of the shadows, headlights blinding, and drew next to them. Morgan muttered an oath and Winnie glanced at him in alarm. The driver of the car leaned out and a camera flash exploded in their eyes. Morgan's driver charged the photographer.
"Come on, let's get inside," Morgan urged her, shielding her eyes from the blinding strobe of light.
She wanted to move, but fear and too much adrenaline held her in place.
It wasn't until the photographer peeled out of the parking lot, tires screaming as the car rounded the corner that she let go of Morgan.
She drew a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself. She'd been so afraid. When the photographer had first pulled up, she'd thought it was a gun he held, not a camera, and she'd felt absolute terror when the flash exploded. All her fears about big city life and crime had come to life. She felt violated. Her safety stripped.
Trembling, she turned on Morgan. "What was that about?"
He shook his head, shadows in his eyes. "Just more of the same."
She drew another shuddering breath. "That was awful."
"I'm sorry."
"He had no right."
"They do it all the time, Winnie."
Morgan's voice was quietly apologetic, but she heard his frustration. He endured this on a daily basis lately.
She was beginning to calm down but she still felt chilled, and her nerves were jittery. "It's just such a shock. Where did he come from? How did he know you were here?"
"He probably followed the limo from the airport."
"You mean he's been tailing you this whole time?" He sighed wearily.
"Most likely."
Winnie was horrified. She glanced out, to the street and beyond. "They need to leave you alone."
"They will. Eventually." He reached toward her, placed a light hand on her back. "You're all right now?"
Her anger had dissipated, and the shock was wearing off, but she wasn't all right. She felt hot and tingly, and just the light pressure of his hand made her feel too sensitive. He'd never touched her in six months of working for him and his hand sent rippling shock waves through her middle.
"I'm fine," she answered, her voice huskier than normal.
The restaurant door opened and a gentleman in a red smoking jacket and black trousers stood in the doorway. "Mr. Grady, we've been expecting you. Welcome."
"Hello, Franco. Thanks for accommodating us." Morgan steered her up the three front steps. She felt his warmth and it was a tangible thing.
Franco led them to a table at the back. The restaurant was dark and dimly lit, with deep crimson cloths and lots of little votive candles on what would otherwise be empty tables.
Winnie slid out of her blazer and Franco took it with him. Winnie felt a little naked in the cream silk blouse but tried to focus on other things. "Is Franco's Italian or French?" What a dumb question. "I guess it doesn't matter," she added quickly. "It could be either. Italian or French."
She was babbling. She was barely coherent. This evening was going to be bad.
"Don't be so nervous. This is just me. Morgan Grady. That jerk of a boss you work for-"
"Don't," she wailed, slinking lower in her seat. "Please don't bring that up now."
He smiled. "I'm playing."
He played? That was a revelation. "Okay."
Morgan had been studying her. "Now I know why I missed you at the gate," he said, almost relieved. "You don't look like you. I was looking for the-" he pointed to his head, finger circling "-braids."
"Oh."
He was still staring at her. "I've never seen you wear your hair down."
"Not by choice, no. But I had a headache earlier, on the plane, so I took the bobby pins out." He didn't say anything and she shifted uncomfortably. "You don't like my hair down, do you? It is on the messy side-"
"It's nice. I'm just not used to seeing you like this, but it-you-look very nice."
His voice had deepened and she felt absolutely terrified again. This wasn't normal. She didn't know what to do, or what to say. It didn't help when Franco arrived with a bottle of champagne.
Champagne. Her heart did a painful flip. Morgan was really going all out.
Franco held the bottle before Morgan, waiting for his approval, and once getting it, pushed the cork off with a soft pop.
Her first bottle of real champagne, French champagne, in a restaurant named Franco's with News Weekly's Man of the Year. This wasn't her life. She was living Morgan's ex-girlfriend Annika's life. Only problem was, she didn't know how to be Annika.
Winnie smiled nervously as Morgan filled her glass before filling his. The champagne was a pale gold and very fizzy. Hundreds of tiny bubbles rose swiftly to the surface and she realized she'd better say something intelligent soon, do something semi-sophisticated.
Winnie seized her flute. "To News Weekly's Man of the Year," she proposed, voice quavering. "Congratulations, Morgan. You deserve it."
She sounded so sincere, so artless, Morgan thought, lifting his glass and clinking his flute against hers. The candlelight flattered her, her pale skin luminous in the candle's flickering yellow-white light.
She wasn't like the women he dated. She was far more grounded, more real. He liked her lack of sophistication; it suited him better than glamour and glitz. Everyone assumed because he'd made enormous sums of money that he liked the trappings, preferred the trappings. The opposite was true.
"It's been quite a year," she added. "You're everyone’s favorite person."
"Not yours," he answered mockingly.
Her cheeks turned pink. Her gaze dropped to the tablecloth. "You're talking about the book, but I really do hate it when you bring this up because the last six months have been amazing. I mean, let's face it. You're amazing."
Something in her voice wrapped around his heart.
She had a softness in her that constantly surprised him. He didn't know many women anymore that were still so tender, still so…innocent.
Morgan frowned, momentarily confused. He wasn't entirely comfortable with this slight shift in feeling. He wasn't comfortable with feeling, period, but he hadn't selected her as a wife candidate based on emotion. It was reason. She was the most logical choice.
"And to think a week ago I felt underappreciated," she said with a wry smile. "I guess I can't feel that way now, can I?"
"You felt underappreciated?"
"You didn't even know my name!"
He felt a stab of guilt. That was bad. She had a right to be upset, but she also had to learn to accept responsibility for herself. Stand on her own two feet. "I wish you'd corrected me the first time I said it wrong. Tapped me on the shoulder, buzzed me on the intercom-"
"Would never happen," she interrupted with another husky laugh, and in the candlelight he realized her eyes were a hazel green, mostly green, with just a touch of yellow. "You ... you're ... you."
"Brilliant deduction, Miss Graham."
She smiled at him, pink suffusing her cheeks and something shifted inside him yet again. This emotion was new, and rather protective, and more than a little bit jealous. Mr. Osborne couldn't have her. Morgan wasn't going to lose her.
Dinner over, Franco cleared their plates and the empty champagne bottle was replaced with coffee. Winnie leaned back against the booth, relaxed, sated.
"Lovely," she sighed and then was forced to cover her mouth to smother a yawn. She hadn't looked at her watch but it had to be way past midnight. ''This was like a dream."
"It doesn't have to end." Morgan leaned forward, black knit shirt pushed up on his muscular forearms. "I have an idea, and it's going to sound a little crazy, but I think it'd work, and I think we'd both be happy."
"You're going to give me a raise?"
His eyes met hers and held. They were such a dark blue, gleaming like water beneath a full moon. "You could say that.'
He reached down, drew a small black-velvet jeweler’s box from his trouser pocket and set it on the table.
Winnie's heart stopped for a moment. She felt odd, a prickly sensation shooting from her middle to her limbs.
He slid the jeweler's box across the table. "Marry me."
"This is like a prank high school boys play. This is something they'd do-set you up, make you feel special, and then humiliate you afterward. But I never, ever would have expected this from you. "
He caught her by the shoulders. "But this isn't a joke. The proposal is real, and I'm very sincere, but obviously I approached it wrong."
She closed her eyes. "Have some pity, please."
But he wouldn't stop talking and his fingers dug into her shoulders. "I should have told you at the outset that this is business. I should have prefaced the proposal by telling you it's a job. I do want to marry you but it wouldn't be all fun and games. There's the media to contend with, and tremendous social pressure, but I'd take care of you financially. I'd make sure you had everything your heart desires."
His fingers tightened yet again. "Everything," he repeated more forcefully.
She'd begun to shake. She felt so cold. She couldn't believe he'd do this. She couldn't believe he'd treat her this way. "That's not funny." Her hands felt stiff as she groped about on the seat for her purse before remembering she'd left it in the limo.
"I'm not making a joke."
"Put it away," she choked.
"Winnie-'
"Don't Winnie me." She felt naked in her silk blouse, bereft with her hair down. It was as if he'd caught her skinny-dipping. She felt so bare, so exposed.
Winnie slipped out of the booth and onto her feet.
"Don't get up," she said quickly, cheeks feverish, her skin burning with shame. And she did feel shame. She felt completely humiliated. ''I'll just grab a cab."
Morgan dropped cash on the table and followed quickly. "Wait, Winnie." He barred her exit with an arm strategically placed across the doorway. "Don't leave. Not like this."
"I think we've both had enough drama for one evening," she choked, unable to look at him, her arms bundled across her chest.
He'd always thought of her as comfortable and solid, but without her blazer he realized she wasn't very big at all and definitely not comfortable and solid. He could see the outline of a delicate collarbone through her thin silk blouse and the slender bra strap across her straight back. With her head averted he glimpsed her neck and the pale creamy skin beneath her ear. She looked so small. And terribly defenseless.
"Winnie, don't be angry. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to tell you that I need you."
Need her? Winnie thought, trying hard to keep the tears from falling. He didn't need her. He was Morgan Grady, New York's Sexiest Bachelor. How could he need anything?
****
The Wedding Of The Year! New York papers proclaimed. Wall Street's Most Eligible Bachelor No Longer Available.
Winnie tried to avoid reading the papers, not wanting to get caught up in the hype but every now and then she'd sit back at her desk and stare off into space and just smile. She, Winnie Graham, was marrying Morgan Grady in just four weeks.
There was paperwork to sign, a contract and a rather tersely worded prenuptial agreement, but the business aspect didn't bother her. He needed her, and that was enough.
Planning the wedding was even more exciting. For the first time in years she and her mother had something in common and they spent hours on the phone discussing wedding traditions and making decisions about the ceremony and reception.
Winnie confided to her mother one evening that she felt like Cinderella getting ready for the ball. Everything was just so perfect, Winnie enthused, life couldn't be better.
"You really love him, don't you?" her mother had said gently, maternal pride in her voice. It was almost as if she couldn't believe that Winnie, her most awkward daughter, would soon be a radiant bride.
"Of course!" Winnie didn't even have to think about it. There were no questions in her mind. She was doing th
e right thing. Morgan needed her and she needed him. "I'm crazy about him. I couldn't love anyone more."
Her mother hesitated. "And you're sure he's right for you?"
"Mother, I love Morgan."
Her mother hesitated even longer this time. "Yes, darling, but are you sure he loves you?"