The Seduction of Jason
By
Fayrene Preston
First published in paperback by Loveswept, 1983.
Electronic Edition Copyright 2011 Fayrene Preston
www.FayrenePreston.com
Cover Design: www.TammySeidickDesign.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author.
Chapter One
Morgan Saunders sank into the narrow seat and shut her eyes with a groan. The double Scotch she had just consumed in the airport lounge should have calmed her down. Sami had said it would. But then Samuelina Adkinson, her slightly bizarre next-door neighbor and long-time friend, said a lot of things.
It had been Sami who had said, “You’ve been working too hard and need a vacation. You’ve always wanted to go to the Caribbean, so why not go now?” She had also said, “Who knows? You may meet a tall, dark stranger who will sweep you off your feet.”
Morgan ran her hand shakily through her shoulder length ash-blond hair. When was she going to stop listening to Sami?
Leaning her head back against the headrest, she squeezed her eyes shut and her forehead pleated in frustration. She really hated this fear she had of flying. She didn’t like to think of herself as a neurotic person, even though she had to admit that sometimes her actions were governed by vague anxieties, weird compulsions, or even magnificent obsessions. This trip was a prime example of that. Even so, she had always tried to maintain a balance between the seeming contradictions in her nature, and, emotionally, she tended to think of herself as a very stable person.
The supersize jet idled throbbingly with the energy of its internal environmental system. But though the marvel of the plane’s technology should have reassured her, it only frightened Morgan to think of just how many things there were on such a big, complex system that could go wrong.
This was a late night flight and the passengers were exuding a holiday gaiety as they settled into their seats around her. Wishing with all her heart that she could relax and join in their enthusiasm, Morgan realized that, tonight, it was no use. She was scared to death of flying and a double Scotch or ten double Scotches was not going to cure her of it.
Normally she avoided flying like the plague, either taking the train or the bus or sometimes even a ship. But this time, because of her business, it hadn’t been sensible. And Morgan was usually very sensible—‘usually’ being the catch word.
She had waited until the last minute to board the aircraft, and had quickly taken the window seat she’d asked to have assigned to her. She didn’t want to have to get up to let anyone enter her row. But she had no desire to look out that window either, knowing what she would see.
Deep in the heart of winter, snow had iced over St. Paul with a frosting of white. According to the weather report, more snow was expected tomorrow and it was this very harshness and the bone-chilling cold accompanying it that she wished to escape for a couple of weeks.
Morgan had reserved a seat in the back row which the man at the desk had told her was empty. She was hoping for privacy. If she was going to make a fool of herself, she wanted to be alone. But just as that thought occurred, a slight sound of movement, a gentle poof of warm air and aroma that whiffed toward her, all indicated that someone had taken the seat beside her.
Fear was supposed to heighten the senses, yet she hadn’t been able to tell that the aisle seat on her row had been filled. Obviously it had, however, because someone had evidently been forced to sit in the middle seat beside her.
Morgan attempted to ignore her new seatmate, trying to think some positive thoughts about the safety of flying. The airline industry was always throwing out statistics about their safety versus that of other forms of travel. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to recall any at the moment—maybe because, for some odd reason, the person sitting next to her kept intruding into her consciousness.
The scent permeating the air around her was unmistakably masculine—clean, cool, fresh and slightly woodsy. But man or no man, tantalizing aroma or no tantalizing aroma, Morgan did not intend to open her eyes. And she certainly did not intend to engage in idle chitchat when she was about to die! She could see the headlines now. “Owner of ‘Little Bit Of Paradise’ Killed in Plane Crash.”
Feeling the brush of fine wool against her forearm, Morgan’s thoughts were once more drawn back to her seatmate. He must be wearing tweed, she arbitrarily decided, expensively soft. Wonder what the odds were that he was tall, dark and handsome? Astronomical, no doubt.
On the other hand, the tall part might be right; he could be a big man, because he seemed to be having some trouble getting comfortable in the narrow coach seat. Surmising that the man was taller than her own five foot seven because she felt his shoulder bump against her when he shifted in his seat, Morgan tried to picture what else he looked like.
The first jolt of movement from the plane startled her out of this speculation. Tightening her hold on the armrests, she tried to imagine her warm, sun-drenched destination, rather than the fact that the plane was moving out onto the runway. Sami had said that the beauty of Martinique would be well worth the terror of the airplane ride … but then what did Sami know?
That particular thought led, maddeningly, back to Sami’s prophecy and thus to the man next to her. Without opening her eyes, she seemed to be absorbing this unknown person through her senses. This was ridiculous! Nothing like it had ever happened to her before.
The momentary pressure of a hard, muscled thigh against hers made Morgan guess that he was obviously a man in good physical condition. But straining to hear his motions, she heard only the creaks and groans of the plane as it moved, and having read somewhere that the greatest danger of a crash came at takeoff and landing, Morgan cursed silently. She had to get her mind off the man next to her and back onto the effort of getting this paralyzing fear of hers under control.
Why, oh why, had she listened to Sami? Morgan didn’t want to die. She was only twenty-six and her business had just begun to pay off this past year.
The bright, flirtatious voice of a stewardess pierced her panic-stricken mind. “Mr. Falco? What are you doing sitting here? You’re supposed to be in First Class. Couldn’t you find your seat?”
A deep, firm voice answered, “I decided I would rather sit back here.”
“But I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in First Class. Let me show you to your seat.”
“Thank you all the same, but I’ll stay right here.”
Well, Morgan reflected, at least he was polite—in a commanding sort of way—but definitely someone used to doing exactly as he pleased. The voice had been young, too. Oh, not too young, but not too old either. The age thirty-five stuck in her mind for no reason at all.
The big jet, like some prehistoric dinosaur out of its natural element, had begun to lumber down the runway, getting into position for takeoff.
The same stewardess who had spoken to the unseen Mr. Falco now came on the intercom. “Welcome to the charter, nonstop flight of World Airways to Fort-de-France, Matinique. We’re happy to have you with us this evening and hope your flight will be a pleasant one. At this time, I would like to introduce our crew. Our captain’s name is Robert “Slick” Williams, our co-pilot’s name is…”
Slick! Morgan’s mind reeled at the name. How could she trust a pilot who had a name like “Slick” ?
As the stewardess continued her little spiel, Morgan chose not to listen. Knowing that the pilot had a cutsey nickname did not inspire a lot of confidence and she felt as though she would ne
ed to use all her powers of concentration to help him get the plane off the ground and to keep it up in the air.
The plane came to a halt, then sat at the end of the runway while the jets roared in preparation for its final lunge down the long strip of concrete.
Morgan took the moment of reprieve to rub her sweaty palms over the skirt of her tailored dress, speculating silently on her chances of getting the powers-that-be to turn the plane around, take it back to the terminal and let her out. She wouldn’t even ask for a refund.
Too late! The big jet began to roll, gathering speed, and Morgan’s hands grabbed for something solid. Her left hand took a death grip on an armrest, but her right came down on top of a large hand. Flinching only momentarily at the unexpected contact, she fastened onto the warm security of it. “Any port in a storm” became her new motto suddenly, as she noticed the pleasing tactile sensation of the hairs on the back of the large, muscular hand.
The plane was hurling headlong down the runway at a terrifying speed and Morgan felt as if her body were being plastered against the seat. Hearing her heart hammering loudly, she realized her breathing rate had increased drastically. Sami, she thought to herself, I’ll never understand how I let you talk me into this.
All at once, she felt another large hand come down on top of hers and her seatmate’s calm voice saying, “We’ll be all right, you know. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
His palm felt smoothly uncalloused against the back of her hand and, as the big jet catapulted into the sky, a small measure of the man’s confidence began to seep through to her from the reassuring pressure of his hand.
The plane began its steep ascent and Morgan found herself in the irrational position of being torn between her fear of being airborne and her fascination with a man she had never seen. Extraordinary as it seemed, no matter how much she had tried to shut this person out, he had somehow succeeded in reaching out to her, assailing her senses and invading her mind—all before they had even looked at one another!
Nevertheless, she kept her eyes closed until the plane finished its climb and leveled off, not daring to open them until she heard the “no smoking” sign ping off.
Her vision focused slowly. The first sight she saw were the unfamiliar pair of hands sandwiching her own. They were indeed large, with dark hairs growing across the back and a skin tone of golden copper.
Taking his top hand away, the man turned his other hand palm up to clasp hers lightly in a new hold.
Now she could see a heavy gold watch around his wrist and part of the brown tweed of his jacket sleeve. Her eyes trailed downward to view a pair of long legs covered with coffee-colored slacks and crossed at the knee. So far so good.
Retracing her route, Morgan turned her head cautiously and encountered a pair of brown eyes looking out at her from an arrestingly attractive face. Parted on the side, his dark brown hair was brushed appealingly back across his well-shaped head and he had an intriguing cleft chiseled into the middle of his well-defined chin. Definitely, tall, dark and handsome!
Morgan smiled slowly at the man, for some unexplained reason feeling instantly at ease with him. “I would have been disappointed if you had looked any other way.”
His full, sensual mouth turned upward into a grin. “I couldn’t lose. I had a bet going with myself that you would either have blue or green eyes, and now I can see that they’re blue-green.”
Morgan’s attention switched curiously to the vacant seat beside him. Not only that, the row across from them was unoccupied!
“I heard the stewardess talking to you. Are you supposed to be in First Class?”
The gold flecks in his eyes seemed to sparkle for her. “My ticket does say First Class, but when I saw you in the lounge, belting down that Scotch, I decided it would be more fun to sit with you.”
Laughter lurked in her voice as Morgan inquired politely, “Do you often do things like this?”
“I have to admit I don’t. Most of the time, I’m too wrapped up with my work. What about you? Is this an everyday occurrence for you?”
“What?” she bantered easily. “Finding a tall, dark and handsome man beside me?”
“I should imagine that you often find men of all descriptions around you.”
Morgan’s face colored slightly at his compliment, but she chose to ignore the remark. “I don’t usually drink like that. It’s just that I’m terribly afraid of flying.”
“I noticed,” he commented dryly.
Morgan looked down at her hand still clasped in his. “Thanks for the moral support. I suppose a psychiatrist would say I need extensive analysis, and I know that my mother views my fear of flying as a major flaw in my character.”
“Your mother?”
“My mother is a very proper Bostonian. Her life is devoted to my father, her clubs and charities and improving me—in that order.”
His hand reached out to tilt her chin up, and he studied her face thoughtfully through half-closed eyes. “It doesn’t look as if there’s too much wrong with you.”
Morgan grinned. “I like to think there’s not. But you see, I have a checkered past. I committed a huge indiscretion, almost unforgivable in fact, and my mother never lets me forget it.”
“I knew I was going to like you. What did you do?” —He actually looked hopeful!— “Murder someone?”
“Oh, no. That she could have forgiven. You see, my parents’ very best friends in the whole world, another leading family of Boston, have a son my age. We grew up together and it was expected that we would eventually marry.”
“I see.” He nodded sagely.
“Exactly. Not that Sebastian wasn’t a very nice person.”
“Sebastian!”
Morgan giggled at his arched brows. “The only problem was that I didn’t love Sebastian. He was too much like a brother.”
“I’d like to go on record as saying I understand perfectly.”
The man was absolutely charming! Morgan thought, and gave him a lovely smile in appreciation of the fact. “Unfortunately my parents didn’t. Or at least mother didn’t. If it had been just my dad, I might have been able to get around him.”
“Daddy’s little girl, huh?”
Morgan was thoroughly enjoying herself. Remarkably, she had forgotten all about her deathly fear of flying. Feeling the warmth of her hand in his and seeing the golden glow in his brown eyes, she continued talking to him as if she had known him all her life.
“Dad was generally on my side,” she admitted. “Or maybe it would be closer to the truth to say that he was just too busy to really make a fuss, one way or the other. But Mother accused me of having him wrapped around my little finger, anyway.”
He spread her hand out. “Such a nice little finger, too. It might be an interesting experience to be wrapped around it.” He took it up to his mouth, running it across his bottom lip.
A quick thrill of heat ran through her at the touch of his lips on her finger and Morgan’s heart skipped a beat or two. The atmosphere between them had just shifted perceptibly. All at once, their brief relationship seemed to be put on a new plane.
“You didn’t marry him, did you?” His deep voice had taken on a softer timbre.
“N-no, I didn’t. Sebastian would have been willing to marry me just to please everyone. He was a very passive sort of person and liked me as well as he did anything or anyone else, but I had developed a great crush on my art instructor in college and, in a fit of rebellion, I ran off with him.”
Morgan looked confusedly at the man next to her. His grip on her hand hadn’t tightened and the expression on his face hadn’t changed, but for some reason, she got the impression that he was waiting for what she was about to say next. She hunched her shoulders unconsciously. “The relationship didn’t last, naturally. It didn’t take long to realize that, well, not only didn’t I love him, but the only thing he was in love with was … my parent’s money.”
As hard as it was to talk about, Morgan felt somehow as though it we
re quite normal to be telling him something that she hadn’t spoken about in years—although she had deliberately left out a few very pertinent facts.
“How long ago was that?”
“Six years. I left Boston ‘to make it on my own,’ as the saying goes.”
“And have you?”
She nodded. “I’ve made a success out of a specialty store that features items from the tropics such as art, shells, plants, rattan, straw, that sort of thing.”
His eyes roamed over her face, taking in the peach glow of her skin and the aquamarine beauty of her eyes. Then he spoke very quietly. “What’s your name?”
“Name?” She looked at him blankly.
“I don’t know your name.”
They didn’t know each other’s names. How absurd! Here she was, flying through the night to the Caribbean, telling a man she had never met before the story of her life. Morgan could only imagine what her mother would say if she knew. But then, her mother wasn’t here, was she?
“My name is Morgan Saunders.”
He brought the back of her hand to his mouth in a disturbingly personal salute. “How do you do, Morgan Saunders. I’m Jason Falco, and I consider myself a very lucky man to have taken this flight tonight.”
Morgan inclined her head. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Falco. Your name sounds familiar. Didn’t I read recently that you had been elected to the Board of Directors of the St. Paul Committee on the Fine Arts?”
He moved his head in an affirmative motion. “That’s right. So now that you know I have a somewhat reliable reputation and I’ve heard about the unforgivable indiscretion you committed, let’s get comfortable.” Reaching down on either side of him, he lifted the arm rests up and out of the way. “There. Now we can have a little more room.”
Except he seemed to move closer!
“You’re a very interesting lady, Morgan.” Holding up his free hand, he ticked off points one by one. “You have a name that could belong to a linebacker—yet you’re deliciously feminine. You’re a smart, practical businesswoman, having made a success of your own business—yet you’re kooky enough to own a South Sea curio shop in the frozen climes of St. Paul, Minnesota. You’re fearless enough to go after what you want—yet you’re scared to death of plane flights.”
The Seduction of Jason Page 1