by Mona Ingram
Chapter Four
Olivia kicked off her shoes and curled up in a corner of the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. “You’re not drinking,” she observed, holding out her glass for a refill.
He complied with her silent request, and then sat next to her, looking surprisingly comfortable in the elegant surroundings. “I rarely drink when I’m working.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake.” She gestured impatiently. “You don’t have to keep it up when we’re alone.” He raised an eyebrow and she flushed.
“I don’t think that would be a problem.” His bold gaze drifted down her body. “But then that’s not what you meant, is it?” He paused. “I plan to stop by Morgan’s tonight. Check out the action.”
It was remarkable how quickly he could change. One moment he was devouring her with his eyes and the next he was all business. She lowered the champagne glass, her expression thoughtful. “I wonder if Tony Newcombe is still running Morgan’s. It’s been ages since I saw him.”
The club had been carefully checked out, and Tony was still very much in charge. But it was important to let Olivia feel that she was being of some use. He waited for her to continue.
She tapped her fingernails against the side of the glass, still thinking. “I don’t recall ever seeing anyone playing poker there. Of course, the games are very likely played in one of the private rooms.”
He draped an arm over the back of the sofa, his mind focused on the evening ahead. “What I had in mind for tonight was simply to enjoy ourselves.” He grinned. “Show the flag, as it were. I might play baccarat for a couple of hours. If you don’t mind, that is.”
“Of course not, although it all sounds rather James Bond-ish. Am I to dress in a low-cut gown and drape myself over your left shoulder?”
Wariness surfaced momentarily in his eyes. Olivia wondered if she’d said something wrong. Then he relaxed visibly, disarming her with a crooked smile. “Nothing nearly that dramatic. We’ll be flying down to Monte Carlo tomorrow, so we’ll make it an early night. Now…how about some dinner?”
* * *
Shortly after one in the morning they returned to the hotel. Josh undid his tie and slipped out of his jacket before easing into an overstuffed armchair with a sigh. He hadn’t spoken on the way home.
Olivia kicked off her shoes, watching him carefully. She knew that he hadn’t had a successful evening.
She wandered over to the bar. “Would you like a drink?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“What?” He looked up. “Oh, no thanks.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I hope I wasn’t too obvious tonight. Time will tell, but I think I was convincing.”
“Obvious? What do you mean?” She looked at him curiously.
“It’s hard to lose money and make it look believable.”
Staring at him uncomprehendingly, she sank onto the sofa. “Are you saying that you lost on purpose tonight?”
“They remember the big winners and the big losers.” He grinned. “By the time we show up at Monte Carlo the word will have filtered down. They’ll all want a piece of me.”
Olivia shook her head. “You’re amazing.”
“Speaking of amazing.” He pulled up a footstool in front of her. “I was watching you tonight. You were trying to hide the fact that your feet hurt. They’re killing you, aren’t they?”
“It’s my own fault. I usually don’t wear high heels.”
He held out a hand. “Here, give me one of those feet.”
Startled, she obeyed. His hands closed over her foot, both thumbs probing the tender sole. She sighed with pleasure, melting into the cushions of the sofa. “Where did you learn this?” she asked, eyes half-closed.
“Stick with me, kid.”
His Bogey imitation was excellent; she laughed and then offered him the other foot. “You’re a man of many talents, Josh Morgan. Tell me, are there any more like you at home?”
His hands stilled, and he cupped her foot by the heel, lowering it gently to the floor.
“No,” he replied, his voice flat. “I’m the only one.” He stood and gathered up his jacket and tie. “I think I’ll turn in now.”
He hesitated, and Olivia held her breath, hoping that he would explain the sudden frostiness in the air. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head he strode toward his bedroom, pausing at the door. “Goodnight Olivia. See you in the morning.”
She stared at the door for several long minutes after he closed it. Had she done something to offend him? She replayed their conversation in her mind, but couldn’t imagine what she’d done–or said–wrong. Her brow furrowed. There was a lot more to Josh Morgan than he had so far revealed. She wiggled her toes in the plush carpet. Discovering the real man behind the façade was going to be interesting. Very interesting indeed.
* * *
“Do you always travel like this?” she asked, glancing around the small private jet as they flew over France. A steward had just served them coffee, and Olivia sipped appreciatively from the fine porcelain cup.
“Not always,” he replied casually, looking past her to assess the scattered clouds below. “I fly my own Cessna at home. It saves a lot of time.”
“Yes, I suppose it would,” she murmured, following his gaze. She remained silent for several moments, then turned to face him. “Josh, did I say something to offend you last night? One minute we were chatting away and the next thing I knew you’d disappeared.” She studied him for a reaction, but he looked at her calmly, giving nothing away.
“I owe you an apology for that.” His eyes held hers. “Perhaps someday I’ll explain it to you, but for now, please know that I’m sorry for walking out on you.”
In an attempt to lighten the mood she held out her left hand. The diamond caught the light, sending shafts of brilliance dancing around the cabin. “As you can see, I haven’t completely given up on you.”
“Good, because I have a feeling you’re going to love where we’re staying.”
* * *
He was right. A limousine service met them at the airport and they were taken to a breathtaking villa overlooking the Mediterranean. An older woman met them at the door, hastily tucking an errant strand of graying hair behind her ear.
“You must be Monsieur Morgan,” she said in heavily accented English. “And Miss MacMillan. Welcome to the villa. I am Martine, your housekeeper. My husband Alain takes care of the grounds.” She gave them a short tour through gardens lush with flowers, shrubs and fruit trees. The scent of roses hung in the heated air and bees clustered around massive lavender plants.
The villa’s interior was shaded and peaceful, and Olivia kicked off her shoes immediately, reveling in the cool tile floors.
“Your bedroom is upstairs. Alain will take your bags up as soon as he gets back from town.” A car door slammed, and Martine tilted her head. “Ah, here he is now. I’ll tell him you’ve arrived. Please…” she indicated that they should continue exploring. “You will call me if I can be of help, no?” She scurried toward the kitchen.
Olivia felt immediately at home. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, trying to take it all in. “How did you find it?”
“A friend in London arranged it for me.” Josh glanced around appreciatively. “He has good taste.”
They rounded a corner and Olivia stifled a gasp. An infinity pool hung out over the hillside, blending the pool water with the Mediterranean in the distance. The effect was breathtaking. Terracotta planters of various heights stood grouped around the deck, exotic plants spilling over their sides in luxuriant green cascades. Tucked under a broad awning, a well-stocked bar backed onto the house.
Olivia slid into a lounge chair under an overgrown trellis, stretching her arms above her head. “I could get used to this.”
Josh stood looking down at her, an indulgent smile on his face. “I’m glad you like it,” he said softly. “It’s good to see you relax.”
She pushed herself out of the chair and stood in front of him. In her bare feet she ha
d to look up into his eyes. For a fleeting moment, something moved in their depths.
“Thank you, Josh.” She laid a hand on his chest, and was surprised to feel the rapid beating of his heart. “I know I wasn’t very gracious about accepting your invitation, but this is lovely.” She wandered over to the bar, sliding onto one of the tall stools. “Let’s have something cold to drink.”
Josh walked behind the bar. “It looks fully stocked. What would you like?”
“A glass of white wine would be nice.”
“Coming right up.” He removed the foil cap and started to insert the corkscrew. “But there’s a price.” He removed the cork and twisted it off the corkscrew, placing it in front of her. “I’d like to know what made you decide to come with me.” He placed two glasses on the bar, filling them part way.
Olivia studied the pale liquid. How much should she tell him? Her reasons were too tangled, too personal to share, and yet she wanted to tell him about her work. Raising her eyes to his, she searched for a glint of amusement, or condescension, but found only interest. He could be arrogant, cheeky and downright infuriating, but there was something solid about him. Something that she could trust. What had Alex said? Something about trusting Josh with his life. Olivia was beginning to understand why.
“Ever since finishing my journalism course, I’ve devoted myself to my career.” She held up a hand, as though warding off a comment. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved every minute of it. But I’ve always been busy. Always had an assignment.” She inched to the edge of the stool in her eagerness to be understood. “And then the other day my editor refused to let me pursue a perfectly good story.”
“What sort of a story?”
“I wanted to follow one soldier in Iraq and describe the war from his point of view. His Battalion is stationed near Basra, and I had permission to live at the base for two weeks.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “It would have been great, too. When I came back I was going to follow up with his family here at home.”
“Iraq is a dangerous place right now Darlin’.”
She ignored the endearment with a toss of her head. “Not you too! You sound like my editor. Not only did he kill the story idea, but he made me take a few weeks off.”
“Well in this case, he’s right. Maybe I should thank him.”
“What for?”
“For keeping you alive. For giving you time off.” He bent his knees until his eyes were level with hers. “For giving you a reason to come with me.”
Olivia looked him in the eye. “There’s a little more to it than that.”
“Really?” He moved out from behind the bar and took the stool next to her.
“I asked Alex about you, you know. He told me that you used to be with American Special Forces.” She tilted her head to one side. “I’ve been to Afghanistan and I know there’s nothing ordinary about what those men do.”
His eyes narrowed. “That was a different lifetime for me.”
She nodded. “Fair enough. But knowing that you had been with such an elite branch of the American military intrigued me, and that’s part of the reason I came.” She paused. “That and feeling sorry for myself that my editor turned me down on the Iraq story.”
He lifted his glass, studying her over the rim. “I hate to disappoint you, but the most excitement in my life these days is the odd poker game. Not much of a story there.”
“One can always hope.” She shrugged. “Anyway that’s why I decided to come with you.”
“And I’m glad you did.” There was a change in his voice. The slick-talking gambler had disappeared.
She gave him a long steady look, as though seeing him for the first time. “Who are you, Josh Morgan?” One minute I think I’ve got you figured out then you go and say something completely out of character.”
He pulled back in mock horror. “Now ma’am, why would you want to go and figure out an old cowpoke like me?” He shook his head. “That won’t do. No siree. That won’t do at all.”
She rolled her eyes. “See what I mean? You’re impossible.” She took a few steps toward the main house. “I for one am not going to let this day go to waste. I’m going to have a swim.”
* * *
Josh watched her walk away, bare feet slapping softly on the tiles. He took a deep breath. It was becoming difficult to maintain the façade of smooth talking, devil-may-care gambler. And to make things worse, Olivia wasn’t anything like he’d anticipated.
As he’d read her pieces in WorldView, a picture of the woman had begun to form in his mind. From the tone of her writing, he suspected that she was driven, always going one step further, setting up just one more interview to add depth to her stories. As a result, her pieces lingered in the mind. Her stories captured the frailty of the human spirit as well as its strengths. And yet he’d ignored those clues that pointed to the woman behind the professional. For some reason he’d thought she would be like other journalists–most of whom cared only about getting the latest story. It had been a mistake to pre-judge her. A big mistake.
He wandered to the edge of the pool deck, lost in thought. He could still feel the way he’d responded when he caught up to her in the greenhouse and how his heart had thudded against his ribcage like a bucking bronco. Had that been only a few days ago?
He smiled. She was feisty and had a sharp tongue. But he’d begun to see beyond the brittle exterior she presented to the world. To his surprise, he’d discovered a gentle, vulnerable woman; a woman who wasn’t even aware that she set his heart racing every time she moved, or tilted her head just so. But he had a mission to accomplish, and that had to be his focus. Zach’s face swam before his eyes and he steeled himself. Tonight the real work would begin.
* * *
“Olivia! It’s a delight to see you again.”
“Hello Gerard.” Olivia took the extended hand, kissing the air on either side of the man’s handsome features. “It’s been a while.” She slipped her arm through Josh’s. “Darling, I’d like you to meet Gerard Lavoie.” She gestured vaguely around the casino. “This is his establishment. Gerard, I’d like you to meet Josh Morgan, my fiancé.”
The Frenchman smiled graciously, and extended his hand. “You are most welcome, Mr. Morgan. I don’t think we’ve enjoyed your company before?” The dark eyes took in the impeccable tailoring of Josh’s suit and assessed the quality of the ring on Olivia’s hand in a matter of seconds. She noticed the brief flare of interest before he turned his attention back to Josh.
“This is my first visit,” replied Josh smoothly. “And so far, I’m very impressed.” He and Olivia had taken a short tour of the public areas before settling at the bar for a drink.
“What is your game monsieur?”
Josh’s gaze drifted across the casino, where elegantly dressed patrons mingled with sunburned tourists. “I dabble at bit baccarat, but my main interest is high stakes poker.” His eyes came back to rest on Gerard’s face.
“Ah yes. This has become the game of choice for many people in America, n’est-ce pas?”
“It seems that way.” Josh smiled politely.
“I believe we have just such a game scheduled for this evening in one of our private rooms.” He nodded toward Olivia. “If you will excuse me, I’ll check to see if they can accommodate another player. In the meantime, if you decide to play the baccarat, I’ll find you at the tables.”
“Thank you.” Josh smiled broadly. “I’d appreciate that.”
The Frenchman walked away and Josh turned to Olivia. “Thank you, my dear.”
“For what?”
“For lending me your credibility.” He lowered his voice. “Your friend Gerard knows exactly how many players there are in that game tonight. He knows their names, and no doubt he has a good idea of their net worth, down to the last dinar, pound or franc. He hasn’t gone to see if there’s room for me, he’s checking me out.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He managed to keep an eye on the new arrivals w
ithout being obvious. “These games sometimes go on all night. What do you intend to do if I disappear back there?” He nodded his head toward a shallow flight of stairs behind a red velvet rope.
“I’ll probably play some roulette.” She sipped her champagne cocktail. “I’ll get a taxi if I want to leave before you’re finished. I’m on a holiday, remember?”
“That you are.” He stood up and offered her his hand. “Let’s take another walk around.”
He slipped his arm around her waist and she leaned into him, glad of an excuse to enjoy the solid comfort of his body. He guided her smoothly among the tables, and she nodded to several people she recognized. Being on his arm was intoxicating, and his comments as they passed the various gaming areas barely registered. With a shock, she realized that she wanted to know this man in the most intimate fashion. She wanted to run her fingers through that shock of dark hair; she wanted to kiss him–right there, on that spot on his neck. She wanted to…
“…so if you don’t mind I’ll play a few hands of baccarat while I’m waiting.” He stopped and looked at her strangely. “Are you all right?”
She swallowed with difficulty. “I’m sorry, Darling. My mind was somewhere else.”
He tipped up her chin, looking deeply into her eyes. Surely he didn’t know what she’d been thinking! “I was saying I think I’ll play baccarat for a while.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “And whatever it was you were just thinking about–hold that thought.” He slipped into an empty chair and she backed away, her face aflame.
Olivia made her way to the roulette table, glancing back over her shoulder to where Josh was introducing himself to the others at the baccarat table. His remark had unsettled her, and she nodded distractedly to the other players.
Within a very short time, her pile of chips had grown considerably, and she looked at it in surprise. She didn’t recall placing her bets. She gathered her winnings and made her way to the wicket, converting her chips to Euros. En route to the bar she paused at the baccarat table. Josh was dealing the cards smoothly, and he looked up as she paused on the other side of the table. For a brief moment their eyes locked, and the rest of the players in the casino ceased to exist. The air between them seemed to sizzle with the intensity of his gaze before he turned his attention to the plump woman on his right, dealing her two cards. Watching his hands deal the cards, her throat went dry and she turned away, shocked at the erotic nature of her thoughts.