The Secretary’s Seduction

by Jane Porter

  There. No longer a bride. Just plain old Winnie in Morgan's blue-striped shirt.

  They rode the elevator down together, and Winnie spotted the cluster of photographers outside.

  "I can't do this," she whispered, panicked all over again. "I know what the papers are going to say and it'll be horrible."

  "Pretend then everything's fine."

  "I can't, Morgan. That's the problem, I can't fake anything important-"

  "Relax," he said as he wrapped an arm around her and brought her close against him so that her cheek nestled against his chest. She could feel his warmth and smell his skin and she felt comforted. "Take a deep breath."

  She did. She stood there, close against him, and just breathed him in. Oh, heaven. This was heaven. His hand gently rubbed up and down her back. His voice was firm, soothing. "We'll go out, we'll smile, we'll act like everything's fine. You can do that."

  Immediately she stiffened. "I don't know-"

  "Sure you can. You're with me, and you trust me, right?"

  She looked up into his eyes, those amazing dark blue eyes, and his gaze was steady, his expression warm. He made her believe she could do anything. "Right."

  They exited the lobby through a side door, but the photographers rushed toward them as the limousine pulled up at the curb.

  It was still hot outside, the air heavy and sticky, and the flash of camera strobes blinded Winnie. The chauffeur had opened the back door but Morgan paused for the cameras, slid his hand low on Winnie's back and smiled.

  And then the panic struck. "This isn't going to work," she choked, turning her face away from the cameras, her mouth pressed close to his chest.

  "You just have to stop thinking. Let it go. Have fun," he answered, his lips against the curve of her ear.

  "How?"

  "Like this," he said, his voice dropping lower, deeper as he tilted her face up to his.

  He was going to kiss her.

  He was going kiss her here? Panic flooded her, drowning all rational thought. She jerked as his head dropped, but he held her firmly, his palms flat against her middle, one at her back, one at her belly.

  "Relax," he repeated, just before his mouth brushed hers. "It's just a kiss."

  Just a kiss, she silently repeated and then gave in to the incredible sensation of his lips slowly, very slowly covering hers.

  His mouth felt cool against her hot skin, his lips were firm and he drew her closer, bringing her snugly against the hard plane of his chest and the roughness of his jaw and chin. He was built so much bigger and harder and it crossed her mind that he knew everything about making love and she knew absolutely nothing.

  But expertise seemed inconsequential as his mouth moved leisurely across hers. He was doing something to her, making a deep dormant part of her come to life. The touch of his mouth against hers was about as wonderful sensation as she could imagine, and as his breath fanned her skin, she shuddered, her body rippling in a series of explosions, nerve endings bursting into flames.

  Winnie forgot everything but touch, and the newness of his touch, sighing with pleasure as the pressure of his lips increased. She welcomed the heat and the flick of his tongue against the inside of her lower lip.

  Her mouth felt warm, she felt warm, she felt wildly alive. Heat coiled in her middle, heat and urgency and something so physical she craved more of him but didn't know what. Tentatively she touched his chest, fingers splaying against the thick band of muscle.

  "See?" he said, his head lifting just enough to gaze into her eyes. "Kissing's easy."

  The photographers got their shot, she thought numbly, as the limousine sailed through Manhattan traffic. He might hate the media attention, might dread the photographers, but he always managed a smile and a civil word.

  He was amazing that way, she thought, glancing at him in the deepening twilight. Back there, at the Tower's building, one of the reporters had asked Morgan how it'd felt, being left at the altar, and Morgan had grinned, flashing white teeth.

  "Felt a little awkward," he answered with the easy confidence that charmed even tabloid journalists. "But I have her now, and that's all that matters."

  She turned to look out the tinted window at the flicker of light and shadow, the moon beginning to peek between skyscrapers and glimpses of water. No wonder people loved Morgan. He was everything the public admired-intelligent, articulate, insightful-and he broke hearts.

  "You do that so well," Winnie said. "You're a PR dream."

  "I don't feel like it."

  "Then you fake it well."

  "Learned early."

  She felt cold on the inside, empty on the inside. She'd loved the kiss but it'd just been good PR for him. Everything about them was just appearances. "How did you learn to fake it?"

  He shrugged. "Rather Darwinian. Survival of the fittest, I suppose. People don't want to know about problems and troubles. They want success stories. I try to give them a success story."

  "So you do what you have to do?"

  "That's right."

  Her emotions felt dangerously unhinged. "Including kissing me."

  He turned, stared at her, his gaze unflinching. "It wasn't exactly a chore."

  She took a moment to answer, wondering why her heart was beating so fiercely and why she had this odd weak sensation in her tummy. "I know you're not attracted to me. You prefer models. Tall blond supermodels, preferably from Sweden."

  "I liked kissing you."

  "No, you didn't."

  "And I'd like to kiss you again but I think we have a few things to straighten out first. Our relationship, for example."

  Winnie was growing increasingly uncomfortable.

  "We don't have a relationship-"

  "We do. We had one at the office and we came awfully close to getting married today so obviously there's something here, even if it's just friendship, and that alone deserves discussion."

  "It's going to be hard to discuss anything right now. Emotions are running awfully high."

  "Which is why we need some time. I think it'd be wise if we both went away for a few weeks, put some distance between us and the gossip columnists and figure out what we're going to do next."

  Truthfully, she'd love to get away for a few weeks. She felt trapped right now, trapped and claustrophobic.

  Winnie chewed on her lower lip. "Where are you thinking of going?"

  "St. Jermaine's."

  His island off the Berry Islands in the Bahamas. She thought longingly of turquoise water and sandy coves and the shade provided by coconut trees.

  "I guess I could go home," she said slowly, trying to figure out her best escape plan. "Mom and Dad will be upset but I can't imagine them kicking me out."

  Morgan muttered an exasperated oath. "I'm not leaving you here to face the media alone. The pressure will be intense. If I head to St. Jermaine's, I'm taking you with me."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THEY weren't flying out until the morning and Morgan spent much of the night sitting in a leather chair in his living room staring out at Manhattan's sparkling skyline.

  She did love him.

  Damn. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't want her emotionally involved. He knew what it felt like to love someone and not be loved in return. It hurt. It was miserable. He wouldn't wish that kind of feeling on his worst enemy and Winnie was definitely not his enemy.

  Hell, he liked her. A lot. And she'd looked pretty today, almost glamorous, although part of him preferred her without the eye makeup and hair goop. Winnie didn't need cosmetics to cover her up or try to improve her. She was great just the way she was.

  Everything was great until today.

  What had happened at the church? What scared her? Sighing, Morgan rubbed his jaw, the bristles of his beard scraping his palm. She loved him. Fine. He liked her.

  In fact, he'd really liked kissing her. She had a great mouth, incredibly lush lips, and sex would be just as pleasurable once they got past the early, awkward stage.

  The ear
ly, awkward stage.

  That's it, he thought, sitting up. That's where he went wrong.

  He'd been rushing her too much, pressuring her without meaning to. She needed time to grow comfortable with him, with them.

  He knew without asking that she wasn't sexually experienced. There was an innocent air about her. Even the way she looked at him was youthful, hopeful, lacking pretension. He knew she rarely dated. In fact, he didn't know when she'd last gone out.

  No wonder she was scared. She probably stood there at the back of the church listening to the heavy-handed organist, overpowered by the lilies, and imagined all the things she'd never done, wondering if sex with him would even be enjoyable or if it'd be something she'd have to endure like the Victorian wife who stared at the ceiling, gritting her teeth and bearing it for God and country.

  He reluctantly smiled. Poor Winnie.

  She had no idea that he'd never, ever rush her into bed. She hadn't a clue that he loved foreplay, loved the feel of a woman, and the unique way a woman was made. He relished curves, adored the female shape, and had a particular weakness for a soft, bare mouth.

  Like Winnie's soft, bare mouth.

  His body hardened just thinking about the kiss earlier.

  She'd shivered in his arms. He'd felt her helpless response and he knew then that if she responded to his kiss like that, she'd be just as sensitive in bed.

  What he needed to do was woo her. Wine her, dine her, make impossibly slow love to her. She'd eventually discover that love wasn't the only thing that helped cement a relationship. He might not love her in the romantic poetry sense, but he could offer Winnie trust, respect, companionship, and best of all, sexual compatibility.

  Morgan stood up, stretched, and gratefully headed for bed. Now that he'd identified the problem, he'd come up with a solution. Now, if he were lucky, he might even get a little sleep.

  ****

  Although in her job she rarely left the office, and when she did, it was to sit across from Morgan in the limousine, take dictation, prep him for meetings, and make last-minute travel arrangements. But she'd never been on his plane, or taken a trip anywhere with him until now.

  When the Learjet landed an hour ago on St. Jermaine's narrow airstrip, Winnie felt a wave of excitement. For the next week she'd be virtually alone on a private tropical island with Morgan Grady, New York's Sexiest Bachelor. If that wasn't an adventure, she didn't know what was.

  A young man in a bright print shirt driving a white Jeep had met them at the airstrip and ferried them the half mile to the house.

  They'd driven through a dense grove of coconut trees on the way to the house and Winnie had peeled off her linen blazer to relish the island breeze. The blazer matched her beige linen skirt and without the blazer she was quite comfortable in her camisole top.

  In the shade of the coconut grove Winnie drew a deep breath, feeling for the first time a moment of peace. With the emerald hills, turquoise cove, and white powdery sand, it almost felt like paradise.

  Morgan's bungalow on St. Jermaine's, if five thousand elegant square feet could be called a bungalow, looked like something out of Architectural Digest.

  It was an absolutely stunning space, all creams and taupe, floor-to-ceiling windows that opened completely to let in the cool sea breeze, with gleaming hardwood floors.

  Hands on her hips, Winnie inspected his collection of folk and Caribbean art. The bright canvases and sculpture were a contrast to the cool neutral walls and furniture.

  "This is not a beach house," she said, transfixed by the canvases depicting trees and oceans, exploding volcanoes and dancing people.

  "Sure it is. It's just got style, that's all," Morgan retorted as Mr. Foley moved past them, heading toward the kitchen where he intended to take control of the menu, the grocery list, and the cook.

  During the three-hour flight from New York, Winnie had learned that Mr. Foley accompanied Morgan on most trips, ensuring Morgan's comfort and saving him from having to attend to irritating domestic details.

  Rather like her job.

  Morgan took her on a brief tour of the house, showing her the central living areas before leading her down a wide, highly polished hallway to a very private wing of guestrooms.

  "Your room's here," he said, opening a door, revealing a spacious suite decorated in apricot and cream. "I'm on the other side. There is a house phone, though, in case you need me."

  She turned her back on the massive four-poster bed not wanting that kind of visual just now. "I won't need you."

  One black eyebrow rose. "You sound so sure." Winnie shrugged, feeling a little cavalier. She rather liked being with Morgan one on one, away from the office. She felt more equal, less dependent. It wasn't as if she needed his approval anymore. What was the worst that could happen now? He'd fire her?

  "I won't need you," she said sweetly, crossing her arms over her chest. "If I think about the history of our relationship, it's you that needs me."

  His eyebrow arched higher. "How is it that I need you?"

  She felt rather feisty just then, and more than a bit wicked. He'd always been so in control and she'd followed him around like a puppy dog.

  Winnie smiled.

  "You're the one always desperate to find me. At work you lean on the intercom, shoot constant e-mails to me, hound me by cell phone. In fact the last time I left my pager on my desk, you practically had a nervous breakdown.'

  "That's a gross exaggeration!"

  Winnie took a step back as he stepped forward.

  "Maybe, but it's still true. When have I needed you for anything?' '

  Her arch question was met by complete silence. His dark blue eyes met hers, held, and she saw a flicker there, in the dark blue depths, a hot blue fire she'd never seen before.

  Winnie felt a tiny thrill, followed by a surge of adrenaline. Morgan was looking at her, really looking at her, and he liked what he saw. It wasn't an external thing, it was something else, something deeper, more basic, and there was heat in his eyes, heat in the way he leaned a little closer and then a little closer.

  Very slowly, very deliberately Morgan placed his right hand on the wall next to her shoulders, and then his left hand, trapping her there between him and the wall.

  He leaned even closer, until their bodies were nearly touching.

  "I think you have needs, Winnie."

  His voice was so husky. His warmth was tangible.

  She felt her tummy tighten. "Of course I do. I need eight hours' sleep each night, three nutritious meals every day, twenty minutes' exercise-"

  "Naked, in my bed."

  Winnie's mouth dropped open, then blushing furiously, she snapped it closed. She scrambled to think of something to say but nothing smart or succinct came to mind.

  Morgan leaned closer still, and whispered in her ear.

  "Actually, twenty minutes is nothing. I recommend a minimum of forty." Glints shone in his eyes. "Sixty whenever possible."

  Still blushing, she lifted her chin, her heart beating faster in a one-two dance that made her feel very aware and very alive. "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Grady, but I believe there'll be plenty of exercise opportunities on St. Jermaine's without having to put yourself out."

  "Really?'

  She fought the urge to smile. Her imagination was running wild just now. She could picture his style of warm-up, the vigorous aerobic activity and the recommended cool-down. "Better yet, the things I have in mind require no nudity."

  "Nudity's nice."

  "I prefer my clothes."

  Morgan's mouth practically grazed her sensitive earlobe. "Then you haven't found the right... activity ... yet."

  She loved the feel of his lips on the curve of her ear and the tender skin below. A delicious shiver raced through her as he caught her ear between his teeth and held it there.

  He was teasing her, tormenting her and she loved it.

  How bad was that? She actually liked that he was making her ache inside, making her feel a fierce and dri
ving need.

  "Come on, Winnie, admit that you'd enjoy nude activity with me."

  She grinned. He made sex sound lighthearted, even fun. She was amused and intrigued. "I don't know. Maybe ... after I'm tired of everything else there is to do on the island."

  His lips touched her neck very briefly, very lightly.

  "Like what?"

  "Everything," she sighed, voice dropping, heat growing.