by Holly Jacobs
"I will, but even though we call, it's not the same."
"No, it's not the same. But it's the next best thing. And hey, if you sell the company, you'll have time to come out to California and visit. A nice, long visit. Maybe your Mr. Right is waiting for you there."
Annabelle shrugged. "We'll see. But truth be told, I doubt he is. My home is here in Pittsburgh. I'm sure I'll find him here. I just have to keep looking."
"God help Pittsburgh," Morgan muttered to herself as Annabelle took the cat carrier and Gilligan's leash and left.
So, now what?
The house was empty. No Gilligan, no lurking cats. Morgan's suitcase was packed, and she filled a few of her empty minutes by taking it out to the car and locking it in the truck. She checked that her wallet was in her purse and her ID in her wallet. She had her airline confirmation numbers and. . .
The night sort of stretched out ahead of her.
She should have asked her mother if she wanted to do pizza and a movie. She still could call.
The phone rang.
Kismet, she thought as she answered, "Hello?"
CONNER LOOKED AROUND THE apartment. It seemed. . . empty.
They'd moved Ian over to his new place earlier. Sunny and Johnny had come to help him settle in. Not that Johnny was a great help, but the baby seemed to enjoy shredding the newspaper packing, and kept them all amused.
Ian had invited Conner to stay for dinner, but he could sense his brother and Sunny were looking forward to some time alone, so he'd bowed out. . .and come home to this very empty apartment.
But, to be honest, it wasn't the emptiness of the apartment that had him calling Morgan. It was need, pure and simple.
After the wedding, he'd planned on inviting her over, but Luke's call had him scrambling to put a portfolio of his work together. It had taken all night. He'd agonized over each picture.
He'd put the samples of his work, along with a résumé, in the mail today. He'd done all he could.
And he found he needed to see Morgan.
Needed to touch her.
Needed some time alone with her. Time without her friends, without his brother and without her mother.
Morgan was leaving for San Diego the next day, but for tonight, he wanted her all to himself.
No strings to get entangled in.
It was a perfect situation.
Which was why he was puzzled as to why it didn't feel so perfect.
He saw her car pull up in front of the house and hurried to open the door before she had a chance to knock.
She held a pizza box in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. "I brought dinner."
He ushered her in and found himself grinning, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just the simple fact that he was glad to see her. "Looks good. And I'm not talking about the pizza or the wine."
She blushed. "I hope you're hungry."
"Oh, I am," he assured her as he shut the door and moved closer. She looked a bit hesitant, so he stepped back again. "You seem nervous."
"I am."
He took another step back, thinking he must have misread where their relationship was going.
"Then let's eat," he said, hoping to put her at ease. He started toward the kitchen, but noticed she wasn't following.
He turned. "Morgan?"
"Truth is, I don't want pizza or wine. I want. . ." She let the sentence trail off, but he could see that he hadn't misread anything, because what she wanted was there in her eyes.
"Me, too," he agreed.
MUCH LATER CONNER SAID, "THAT WAS. . ." He paused, not able to find the proper words.
"Yes, it was," she said.
Morgan snuggled close. Even after their amazing time together, she still craved his touch.
He brushed a stray wisp of hair off her face. "I want a picture of you looking like this."
"Like what?"
"Content. Beautiful."
"Well satisfied," she added, smiling. "Very, very well satisfied."
He chuckled. "Why, thank you, ma'am."
It felt so right, to be here in Conner's arms, teasing, touching. As if there were no one in the world but them, and time had stopped.
But her bubble of happiness burst as a sad fact crept in. Morgan knew that her all-the-time-in-the-world feeling was an illusion. They didn't have it and she was hit by a stab of regret. She was sorry her hours with this amazing man, amazing lover, would be so short.
She was determined to enjoy every minute she did have with him.
"Do you have to go home tonight because of the dog?" Conner whispered in her ear.
"No. Mom took the pets tonight because my flight's so early in the morning. I'm all packed and my luggage is in the car."
"Good. Good that she's got your pets, not good about the flight," he clarified. "Will you spend the night? My place is closer to the airport than yours."
She paused, then asked as she smiled, "If I say yes, can we have a repeat performance?"
"I think that could be arranged." His stomach growled. "But first, how do you feel about eating cold pizza while you're naked in bed?"
"Is there any other way to eat it?" she asked, and laughed for no reason other than she was here in Conner's bed and couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so happy. Felt a warm glow that seemed to envelope her completely.
It wasn't that they'd made love, though that had been fantastic.
It wasn't the idea of eating pizza naked in bed with him.
It was just Conner.
He was here; so was she.
That's all it took.
She was simply happy and she refused to analyze it any more than that.
MORGAN WOKE UP ON HER side in Conner's bed. He was nestled against her, his arm draped over her stomach. A hint of sunlight peeked beneath the window's blind, and someone close by was running a lawnmower. It wasn't so near that the noise was offensive, just a mild little hum.
She smiled. This was the perfect way to wake up.
She glanced at the clock and her smile faded.
It was 8:03.
She should be sitting at the airport right now, waiting to board her plane. A plane that was due to take off at 8:46.
The airport was at least. . .what? Half an hour away, maybe quite a bit more with traffic?
She'd never make it there, much less through check-in and security, on time.
She was screwed.
She had appointments. And even if she could get a later flight out, she'd never get there in time for her interviews.
She waited for the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach—waited for that spurt of panic to send adrenaline rushing through her system.
Waited for something.
And as she tried to analyze her feelings, she found there was one predominant one in the forefront: relief.
It didn't make sense. She wanted to go back to her life in San Diego, didn't she?
Conner stirred, not waking up, but reaching for her in his sleep and pulling her closer. She went obligingly.
Was he the reason for this hesitation about leaving?
That didn't make sense, either. This was casual. He was leaving Pittsburgh as well, to chase after his dream job in some big city.
Slowly, she eased out of bed, trying not to wake him, retrieved a flannel shirt from the back of his chair and tiptoed out of the room.
She found her purse in the living room and called both companies, knowing it was far too early in California for anyone to be in, but wanting to leave a message on their answering machines. She promised both to call later in the day and reschedule if they were still interested in interviewing her. Then she phoned the airline to see about arranging another flight out.
That done, she went toward the kitchen to start some coffee, but on her way down the hall, she passed the door that Conner had told her led to his darkroom. She opened it and felt for a switch.
As she turned it on, she blinked and waited for her eyes to adjust. There was traditional develop
ing equipment and a computer and a huge tank of a printer, probably for his digital shots.
She turned toward the other wall and sucked in her breath at what she saw. It was covered with a dizzying array of photos.
Nature shots mixed with wedding photos. Trees. Frogs. A pond. Brides. Grooms. Then she spotted a number of herself. That first reception she'd crashed, when he'd claimed he'd been testing his flash. Wearing that hideous pink monstrosity of a bridesmaid dress. Her standing with the puce bride. Candid shots she'd been unaware of.
Morgan had never considered herself photogenic. She had a habit of squinting, or grimacing at the precise moment the camera clicked. But these were as good as she'd ever looked on film.
Smiling. Laughing. Appearing intent, or lost in thought. Looking at them made her feel exposed. As if Conner saw things she almost wished he didn't.
She decided it was sort of narcissistic, studying herself in that way, so she concentrated on the other pictures.
She moved farther down the wall, and studied more of the nature shots. The frog with its tongue extended, presumably to catch its lunch. A fox peeking through underbrush. A field filled with deer grazing, one lone doe with her head up, cocked to one side as if she heard something. Morgan had thought she knew a fair bit about Conner. She'd discovered his sense of humor, his loyalty and caring for his brother. But here, in these pictures, she learned even more. He was an artist. He saw the world with an artist's eye.
"So, what do you think?"
She jumped and turned. She knew she was grinning like a moonstruck teenager, but she couldn't help it. He was amazing. She wondered how she'd ever lucked into finding him.
Her mom.
Morgan was eventually going to have to thank Annabelle for getting her to that wedding so they could meet.
"What do you think?" he repeated.
Before she could tell him how wonderful she thought he was, and gush all over him, he added, "About the pictures?"
"Oh, the pictures? They're amazing, really art. You're a brilliant photographer."
She kissed his cheek in greeting. "You've got an incredible talent. Conner, you've captured life there. Milestones in people's lives, and precious moments in nature. On one level you preserve history, record a special event, and on another, you create art."
He shrugged, as if he didn't quite know how to cope with her compliments.
She let him off the hook and changed the subject. "I was on my way to make coffee. You interested?"
"First I wanted to find you and do this. . . ." He kissed her. It was a friendly, good-morning sort of kiss. "Then I was after some coffee myself."
She burrowed her face in his chest and inhaled.
He laughed. "What was that all about?"
She could feel her cheeks warm as she admitted, "That first night we met? I thought you were cute. But right after that, I caught a whiff of you, and my second thought was that you smelled good. You still do."
"Glad I showered before you checked," he said with a laugh. Then he leaned over and made a great show of sniffing her back. "Let me return the compliment."
"I haven't showered yet."
"Doesn't matter. You still smell good." He took her hand and started out of the room.
"I missed my flight," she blurted out.
He dropped her hand and turned toward her, his response right there in his expression. "Oh, shit, Morgan, here we were, playing some kind of scratch-and-sniff game, and I totally forgot about your going to San Diego this morning. Shit," he repeated.
"It's all right."
"No, it's not. I'm so sorry. We should have set the alarm. Did you call and see if there was a later flight? I could drive you to the airport." Conner seemed so much more upset than she felt.
She tried to ease his obvious distress. "Hey, don't worry. I called and left a message at both places. I'll reschedule if they're still interested in meeting with me."
He didn't look the least bit calmer. "But—"
She gently put a finger to his lips to silence him. "No buts about it. It's fine."
"But what if you lose the positions to someone else?"
It was her turn to shrug. "Then they weren't the jobs I was meant to have."
"Morgan."
"Conner," she said, mimicking his exasperated inflection. "Don't go messing with my view of destiny. I'll get the job I was meant to get. I've worked too hard for too long not to. But maybe destiny had something other than interviews planned for me today."
"Like what?"
"Your brother's moved out, and my mother is pet sitting. No one expects to see me in Pittsburgh today at all. Oh, what do you think we should do with our time?"
She winked and tried to assume what she hoped was a seductress's expression. "And let me assure you the only answer I'm looking for involves you, me and your bedroom."
His tense expression finally relaxed. "I hadn't thought about that particular fringe benefit. May I say, I like how your mind works, Morgan Miller?"
"And I like how your—" she whispered the word "—works."
He laughed. "Let's get that coffee, then go see how well it's working this morning."
THEY STAYED IN BED FOR THE greater part of the morning, but they spent more time talking than having sex.
"I want to capture big events on film," he told her.
"And you had that kind of job offer before your brother got injured. You gave up that dream in order to take care of him. That says something about you, Conner Danning."
She mussed his hair, mainly just for an excuse to touch him.
Touching him. It was an addiction. She couldn't get enough.
"Taking care of each other, that's what family does."
"Not all families, but the good ones. And you're a good one."
Again he looked embarrassed by her praise, so he just shrugged it off. "I didn't really give it up, I just delayed it."
"So you're leaving, just like you planned."
"Just like I planned. I sent out my résumé and portfolio yesterday. I'll be starting at the bottom, but I'll be starting. I hope to be in D.C. in a few weeks."
"You must be thrilled."
"Yeah, I must be." Funny thing was he didn't sound particularly thrilled. "And speaking of thrilled. . .I can think of something I'd find even more thrilling. . . ."
He leered at her, but unfortunately, his smile ruined the effect.
Sometime after lunch she called the two businesses in San Diego. The time difference made it still early in the morning there.
Conner hovered behind her, looking worried.
She hung up the phone and offered him a reassuring smile. "I leave tomorrow morning, same time I was supposed to go this morning. They were very nice about it. But let's not test the scope of their forgiveness. We'll set the alarm this time. Let's do it right now, as a matter of fact."
"I think that would be wise."
She knew that when she left the next day, the magic would end. She'd be back on the road to California. Conner would be getting ready for his new job.
They'd both be leaving Pittsburgh.
Leaving each other.
And despite the fact she'd known him for only a short while, the thought hurt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ANNABELLE LIKED TO BELIEVE SHE LIVED her life as if the glass was perpetually half-full. But today, her glass wasn't just half-empty, it was bone dry.
She'd had such high hopes for this new man. He'd seemed so nice, so normal. Since she was pet-sitting Gilligan, she'd decided to enroll him in obedience class. Of course, due to his age, the only command he really listened to was "down." He'd seemed quite content to sprawl on the floor and watch the rest of the dogs perform.
That was until Hershal walked in with Miss Muffy, a very refined toy poodle. Gilligan suddenly remembered there was more to life than napping, and tried to show his appreciation of Muffy's refined poodle beauty. Unfortunately, neither Muffy nor Hershal was impressed by his rediscovered humping abilities.
/> Annabelle had protested that Gilligan wasn't even her dog, and that's when she was unceremoniously kicked out of the class. Ron and his boxer had followed them out. They'd gone for a coffee, and Annabelle had thought she'd found a man with potential.
Instead he was a jerk.
A real, honest-to-goodness cad. He'd led her on. And she'd never have known the truth if she hadn't called his office in the morning to tell him how much she'd enjoyed meeting him last night, only to have his secretary inform her that he'd been rushed to the hospital with an apparent heart attack.
Annabelle had hurried to his side, and found his wife already ensconced there.
His wife.
The two-timing, double-dipping, balding, slightly paunchy cad. Annabelle might have been inclined to go easy on him, but it turned out not to be a heart attack, just a bad case of gas, like Sunny's mother. Annabelle wondered how often gas attacks were mistaken for heart attacks.
It really didn't matter.
She'd met the wife, informed the poor woman what a scum-sucker she was married to, tossed a small yellow pitcher of water on the gassy two-timer and walked out of the emergency room.
She would have driven home, but was feeling too upset. Thankfully, she'd found this quiet meeting room. She had to get herself calmed down before she climbed behind the wheel.
She took a deep, cleansing breath.
She'd told Morgan she was lonely, but that description sounded too tame. She felt an aching hole in her life. She missed having a partner, and was beginning to think that she'd never find someone.
"That's it," she said aloud to the empty room. "I'm done. Quitting cold turkey."
Yes, no more crashing for Annabelle Miller. She'd rather spend the rest of her days alone than go through another humiliating experience like that.
"That's good," said a rich male voice from behind her. "Admitting you have a problem is the first step. Quitting cold turkey, a good second one."
Annabelle took in the lovely man standing in the doorway. Salt-and-pepper hair, thick glasses and a suit that looked as if it had just come out of some 1980s mothballs.