by Maggie Cox
‘I’ll see to it.’
Finding her chair before her legs gave way beneath her, Morgen put her hands to her burning cheeks and sighed. How was it possible for a totally innocent little smile from that man to reduce her to a quivering, shivering wreck? Even Simon, handsome as he undoubtedly was, had never been able to provoke such a violent response in her.
Being glad to be back at work because she needed to get out of the house and back into a routine was one thing—but being glad to be back because of a certain six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, gorgeous blue-eyed male who happened to be her boss was completely another. If she was going to survive the remainder of the time he was acting as stand-in for Derek Morgen was going to have to claw back some professional distance between them.
She was seriously going to have to forget the fact that Conall had rung her every day since she’d been ill at home—and not just to discuss work either. Those phone calls had done her self-esteem a power of good. Not that she’d ever dream of telling him that. All such a confession would accomplish would be to turn their relationship into something more personal than she could handle, and Morgen could not risk such an eventuality. Socially and professionally she and Conall were light years apart—just like she and Simon had been. Never again would she put herself in a position of not feeling good enough. When—and if—she ever contemplated a relationship in the future, she’d be looking for someone who was her equal on every level. Someone she could totally be herself with.
Picking up the morning’s post, she tore open the first letter with her small silver knife with unnecessary zeal, then endeavoured to concentrate hard on reading the contents.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MUCH to Conall’s growing frustration, he hardly found an opportunity to have a conversation with Morgen all day. There were meetings scheduled in his diary practically back to back, and on top of that he’d spent the afternoon at the Docklands site with Stephen Ritchie and the contract manager, dealing with a particularly sticky problem that had come up. By the time he arrived back at the office it was five forty-five, and Morgen was reaching for her raincoat.
She looked startled when he blew in through the door, and her cheeks went very pink. Conall grinned. He threw down his briefcase onto the nearest chair.
‘Still here, Miss McKenzie?’ he teased. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to impress the boss.’
‘Seeing as I’m here most days until at least six or six-thirty, that would be an incorrect assumption on your part, Mr O’Brien.’ Colouring again, Morgen hastily slid her arms into the sleeves of her navy blue raincoat. ‘If you’re intending on staying a bit I’ve left the percolator on simmer in your office. Don’t forget to switch it off before you go. Well…have a good weekend. I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘Hey! Not so fast.’ Snagging her wrist as she breezed past him, Conall shut the door behind them and manoeuvred her deftly against it.
She felt as if her heart was about to jump straight out of her chest, and her green eyes flew wide in alarm. He was too close—didn’t he know that? Breaking all the rules of office protocol, as if he didn’t give a damn. If someone should walk in right now he’d be— But how could they walk in when her back was against the door?
Her mind raced wildly as she tried not to notice those enviably long lashes of his, the beautiful sweeping cheekbones and the bristly shadow of a beard starting to form around his hard jaw. As for his mouth—well, there was no good reason on earth why she should fantasise wanting to kiss it, was there? Just because his lips looked firm and commanding and seemed to promise a sensuality that only a woman who’d lost the will to live wouldn’t crave…that was a poor excuse for feeling her resolve crumble, wasn’t it?
‘What—what is it?’
‘I want to see you tonight. Have dinner with me.’
‘I can’t.’ Panic locked Morgen’s throat. It was impossible…not to mention dicing with death. She was already experiencing the kind of urges and longings that could get her into big trouble, and if she wanted to make her life any more complicated then she was going about it in the right way.
‘Why not?’ Quirking a dark eyebrow, Conall loomed closer. Morgen gulped.
‘Because—because I always spend Friday night with my daughter. We order in pizza and watch Top of the Pops together.’
‘Sounds nice. What about tomorrow night?’
‘I told you when we first met that I don’t get involved with people from work. It’s the one rule I don’t break.’ Tipping up her chin, Morgen challenged him to find something wrong with her reasoning. Surely even he could see the sense in her explanation? One day he might even thank her for it.
‘Never been tempted? Even once?’ Gravel-voiced, Conall ran his finger down the length of her nose, then drew the pad of his thumb gently round her plump lower lip, as if he were examining something quite exquisite and unique.
Heat assailed Morgen as if she was lying on a beach somewhere with the sun beating down. A slow trickle of perspiration slid inexorably down her back. ‘Tempted’ was the word. Knowing the soft gasp she heard had emanated from her own lips, she struggled to maintain control, to act sensibly. Move away, a small voice of caution in her head advised, and Morgen obediently slid her hand around Conall’s wrist to push him away.
That was her first mistake. His flesh was warm and firm beneath her touch, and the fine dark hairs on the back of his hand felt like silk. The contact immobilised her. In desperation she raised her soft green eyes to his.
‘I don’t—I don’t want to be tempted to do something I might regret. I don’t want to lose my job when things get complicated—and, believe me, they will. Nothing good ever comes out of office romances, and I have a living to earn and a child to think of.’
‘Do you always play safe?’ Conall’s brow puckered as if the idea really bothered him. ‘It doesn’t leave a lot of room for spontaneity, does it? Let down a few barriers, Morgen. I won’t tell…I promise.’
His mouth was on hers before she could think another thought. Melting warmth throbbed through her body and her whole world suddenly existed only in those marvellously warm and pliant lips of his, expertly coaxing hers into a response that she was helpless to withhold any longer. His kiss was deeply stirring, and filled her with the most sensual longing she could imagine. Hot little tingles of delicious pleasure sizzled up and down her spine.
Welcoming his deeper exploration, Morgen’s tongue danced with his, discovering erotic little sensations of velvet and fire with a hint of rich roast coffee, and her heartbeat throbbed like distant drums in her ears as her body found a natural home against the solid male hardness of his.
Breaking the kiss to press his lips against the side of her throat, Conall wound his fingers through her hair, tugging at the silky red ribbon that held her ponytail in place. He groaned when he freed the heavy dark velvet strands and anchored his hand possessively behind her head.
‘I think wanting you has become an obsession with me,’ he confessed huskily.
His words sent terror of a very particular kind barrelling into Morgen’s heart. Simon had always been so disappointed with her sexual responses. Many times he’d accused her of lacking passion. Saying that as well as being his professional inferior, she was also useless in bed—another strike against her suitability as a wife. The memory robbed her of all her pleasure. Especially now, in this too intimate situation with Conall. Already they had gone too far, transgressed boundaries between the professional and personal that they shouldn’t have crossed. Was it too late to put the brakes on? Morgen wondered in panic. Could she extricate herself from this wildly impossible attraction to her boss without causing either of them further embarrassment or difficulty?
‘I’m sorry, Conall.’ Breathing hard, she pushed him away, momentarily thankful for the fact that her hair had tumbled loose around her face because now she could partially hide behind it. ‘You’re a very attractive man, but I’m not interested in sex with you. I don’t
doubt that you could have any woman you set your sights on…you’re rich and successful with no ties, and I’m a divorced single mother trying to make ends meet. I can’t afford to throw away everything I’ve worked for in the heat of the moment. I have a child, Conall. I need to work to support us both. I need this job. Do you think I’d be so foolish as to jeopardise it for a one-night stand with my boss?’
‘Why would you think for a second that your job would be under threat if you slept with me?’
‘Because inevitably it would be. It would complicate things. How could it not? We’d see each other every day and it would be—it would be too distracting, for one thing. It would make it impossible for me to work here. I’m not the kind of woman who takes sex lightly, Conall. If you think I am then you’ve made another wrong assumption about me.’
‘And what makes you think that all it would be between us is a one-night stand?’ Frustrated and annoyed, Conall stepped back and yanked at his tie-knot.
Leaning against the door for support, Morgen stared. ‘What are you saying? That you’re looking for a relationship?’
He couldn’t answer her truthfully right then, because he didn’t know himself. He’d hardly thought beyond taking her to bed and fulfilling the fantasy that had gripped him since he’d first set eyes on her. Consumed by dreams of her that nightly took over his sleep, he wanted a release from such sweet torture. He knew his track record with women wasn’t good, and that he had no experience of a long-term relationship. But right up till now it hadn’t seriously bothered him. Not when ‘short and sweet’ had always been his motto. So did he want a relationship with this woman? Was he prepared to break one of his own major rules and commit to her long-term? She had a child to take care of. If he wanted Morgen, he would have to start considering her daughter too…
‘No.’ Answering for him, and smiling to hide her hurt, Morgen straightened and then bent to retrieve the slender red ribbon that lay curled on the floor at her feet. When she stood up again her pretty green eyes had a glaze in them that hadn’t been there before. ‘I didn’t think so. Well, that’s fine with me, because I’m not looking for a relationship either. I’ve already messed up royally once in my life; I’m not in a hurry to do it again. Goodnight, Conall. Enjoy your weekend. I will.’
He let her walk away, silently cursing himself because his wits had apparently deserted him. Why had he taken so long to answer her perfectly reasonable question? He wasn’t some insensitive oaf. He should have known from the beginning that she wasn’t the type of woman who was into brief sexual flings, even if he had jumped to the totally wrong conclusion when he’d first seen her. He’d quickly learned that she was conscientious and loyal and very clearly put her child first. That much was evident. Just the kind of candidate his mother would label ‘marriage material.’ He groaned. He didn’t want to marry anyone. To Conall, ‘long-term’ meant more than four or five dates—not a lifetime commitment.
Not wanting to examine his feelings any further right now, he reached for the telephone on Morgen’s perfectly tidy desk. As he dialled, he picked up a notepad that was lying there and idly flicked through it. On the first page he opened, he read: ‘Saturday, buy Neesha new shoes, then take her to Tumble Drum 2 till 4.’ Frowning, Conall tried to decipher what the last part meant as the ring tone purred in his ear.
‘Hello?’
‘Mother? It’s Conall. Are you home tonight?’
‘Conall! At last! I was wondering when you were going to get in touch. Of course I’m home. My bridge evening was last night. I’m just in the kitchen, preparing myself a meal. Why don’t you come and join me?’
Knowing he’d put off seeing her for long enough, and partly glad of the opportunity to just kick back and relax with someone who knew all his little foibles as well as he knew them himself, Conall dropped the notepad he’d been handling to tap his fingers resignedly on the desktop.
‘Okay. I’ll see you in about an hour. I’ll bring a bottle of wine.’
‘Conall?’
‘Yes, Mother?’
‘Are you all right, dear? Your voice sounds a little strained.’
Sexual frustration, no doubt. Smiling ruefully, Conall sighed into the phone. ‘I’m fine. Busy day, that’s all.’
‘Well, come over and put your feet up. It will be wonderful to have your company.’
As he let the receiver settle firmly back onto its rest Conall realised with surprise that he echoed the sentiment.
‘So, you’re enjoying being back home?’ Victoria Kendall’s crystal-blue eyes, so reminiscent of her son’s, carefully considered the big man filling the armchair opposite her own.
Hearing the hope in her voice, Conall grimaced. He knew only too well where this conversation was probably leading. But he’d enjoyed a wonderful home-cooked dinner, and two generous glasses of good Chablis, and he was feeling predisposed to be kind. At least that was what he told himself as he replied.
‘Yeah, I’m enjoying being back home. There are some things that I’ve missed for sure.’
‘Then why don’t you think about buying yourself a place in town? I know Teresa doesn’t mind you staying at her flat, but it’s not really practical if you’re going to be working at the London office for any length of time, is it?’
‘The thought had crossed my mind.’
In fact, on the drive over to his mother’s Conall had thought of not much else…well, apart from Morgen, that was. But somehow buying a house and his feelings for the woman were inexplicably intertwined. Worrying.
‘Seriously?’ His mother beamed at him. ‘So you really might think about working from the London office permanently?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Vaguely disgruntled, Conall got to his feet and paced the floor. ‘There’s a lot of things to consider before I make such a decision.’ Like, how soon can I tell them in New York that I’m transferring back to the UK?
He wondered how Morgen would feel about that. When Derek returned to the fold she’d no longer be working directly for Conall, but what was to stop him promoting her? After all, he’d need an assistant of his own if he were to work at the London office permanently, wouldn’t he? The idea shouldn’t hold such ridiculous appeal but, God help him, it did. After that sexy knee-trembling kiss they’d shared earlier he was in no hurry to put an ocean between them any time soon. Even if she did think his motives were less than worthy.
‘What’s on your mind, son?’
Gently, Victoria came up behind him, the softly stirring classic scent she always wore drifting around him, bringing an unexpected memory of his childhood.
‘I know something’s bothering you. Call it a mother’s intuition.’
‘Nothing’s bothering me. Least, nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.’
Victoria put out her hand and touched his arm. ‘It’s a woman, isn’t it?’
A mother’s intuition? Next she’d be telling him she had a crystal ball.
‘You’re like a terrier with a bone, you know that?’ But even though he scowled humour flashed in Conall’s compelling blue eyes. Delighted, his mother didn’t bother to hide her pleasure at the thought her son had finally met someone he was prepared to get serious about.
‘Who is she? Where does she live? She must be a local girl if you’re thinking of moving back here.’
‘Don’t jump to any conclusions. I’m not the settling-down type, as you well know.’
‘Like father, like son, huh?’ Victoria rolled her eyes and shook her head, but not before Conall saw the brief flash of hurt reflected there.
He admired and loved both his parents, but it was true that when it came to relationships he’d taken his lead from his father. Desmond O’Brien hadn’t been able to resist playing the field even when he’d married. Eventually, worn down by her husband’s philandering ways, Victoria had filed for divorce, but not without deep regret, Conall knew. In her heart she still carried a torch for the man—even now, when he was living on some tropical island thous
ands of miles away with a woman thirty-five years his junior.
‘We’re not going to fight, are we?’ Guilty and irritated, Conall turned away.
Frustrated, Victoria ‘hmmphed’ and crossed her arms in front of her soft pink cashmere sweater. ‘I know you don’t like me drawing comparisons with your father, but just look at the way you conduct your relationships, will you? And I know you’ve avoided coming to visit me because you hate hearing me say it. I would have given that man everything, Conall…everything. And I did for a while. But he chose to throw it all back in my face with his tawdry little affairs with other women. Don’t you want someone special in your life? Someone who’ll commit to you and you only? How long do you intend playing the field just because you can? Where is the satisfaction in that? You’re thirty-six years old now. About time you started thinking of marrying and having a family. I’m sixty next birthday and I don’t want to be too old to enjoy my grandchildren.’
What would his mother think if Conall told her the woman he was crazy about already had a six-year-old daughter of her own? The thought came out of nowhere, and a surge of anger made him push it away again. He didn’t want a permanent arrangement with Morgen. All he’d wanted from the very beginning was to get her into bed. That hadn’t changed—no matter how different or sweet she was compared to the other women he’d known. She was a single mother and Conall knew nothing about children. Brief as his relationships were, he liked his women to think of him exclusively. He was far too selfish and egotistical to want to share her with her daughter.
‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’ Affecting a yawn, he dropped back down into the armchair he had recently vacated. ‘Let’s talk about your love-life for a change, Mother. A little bird told me that a certain good-looking widower who’s joined your bridge club has been showing more than a passing interest in you lately.’