Blonde like their father but much sweeter in personality and sound Victoria's voice was pitched high as she immediately asked, “Were you talking to Nadia Walker?”
The name meant nothing to him other than his former companion of the past week. Now his mind raced, wondering who she was. “Yes. Just for a few moments.”
Kiwi, his brother’s wife, then said, “What she says will make or break our launch.”
Nadia could kill their launch? He didn't understand their tension. Gio patted Kiwi's back. Bart said, “I’m sure she’ll love your company’s designs.”
Gio looked to the ceiling and then asked, “Did you have sex with her, Bart?”
His face was hot, and he was reminded of the time their mother had caught him kissing Francesca when he was fourteen. “We’re consenting adults. How does she relate to your business?”
White lines formed around Gio's mouth as he said, “So, my brother, on the eve of our launch, risked everything and slept with the fashion editor that currently decides the market…”
Nadia was fashionable. It made sense. But he’d never guessed that the dark-haired woman he’d met in Rome had been important to his family. He sipped his drink and searched the warehouse for Nadia, who had taken a seat in the center row while others buzzed around her.
When he’d met her, she’d been alone, and sitting at a bar.
“Relax, Gio," Kiwi said. "Someday Bart will find the one woman who makes him happy. In the meantime, he’s free to browse and decide whatever he wants. As for Nadia, I’m sure we’ll dazzle her with our designs.”
“Just try not to hurt my business,” Gio said. “And remember Father’s one rule that made sense. Family doesn’t publicly hurt family.”
Yes. They’d agreed to that rule long ago and that should have included not sleeping with anyone that might hurt a Morgan business. If he’d known Nadia’s relationship to the House of Morgan, then nothing would have happened. Maybe next time he spent more than a night with a woman, he’d find out what she did for a living. Bart patted his brother’s back. “I didn't know who she was--Gio, Kiwi, I’m happy for you both and excited to see what new suit design I’m buying for this next year. Any word on Anthony or Jennifer?”
“Not a peep,” Kiwi said. “It’s best not to bring it up to the others. Even Vicki here is upset, when she should be calm.”
“I’m sorry.” Bart glanced down at his half-sister's tummy.
Vicki clutched her rounded stomach in her glittering diamond maternity gown. “She has been one of my friends since childhood. I don’t know what happened to her.”
Kiwi and Caro, on either side of Victoria, each clasped a hand in support. Gio pointed Bart toward chairs near the stage close to where they stood and said, “Take a seat, next to Luke." Luke was their half-brother, and Caro’s husband.
Bart hoped he hadn't ruined the show and scuffed off to his seat. He'd met Luke, who was a doctor, at Gio’s wedding. Luke crossed his long legs. “So, you were talking to Nadia? Caro hopes she likes the designs.”
Bart was the only Morgan it seemed who had no idea who Nadia was. He sipped his drink, glanced at the beautiful woman, but felt nothing for her. She’d been fun--that's all. “I just met Nadia last week and had no idea she was a fashion editor until a few minutes ago. We never discussed our professions or interests.”
And he’d find another woman, either here or when he returned to Rome. No woman was worth his family. More of his half-brothers, men he’d only met once, filled the rows. Luke asked, “She’s not someone you’re interested in pursuing?”
Their father had never been faithful to one woman, which was how there were so many Morgans already. He shrugged. “There are plenty of women in the world. Why choose just one?”
Luke winced. Perhaps Bart had just sounded a little bit like their father.
Bart never wanted to go down that road. And he never wanted to have some woman crying over losing him or cursing his name once she left him like their mother had done over their father.
Luke rubbed his jaw. “Because the right one can make you happier than countless women, who don’t see beyond your name or bank account.”
Caro, Luke's wife, seemed devoted and happy. Bart remembered being told at Gio’s wedding that Caro and Luke had gone to college together and knew each other before Luke found out he was a Morgan. He held up his glass in a toast. “I’m glad you found that one. I don’t think such a woman exists for me.”
Luke saluted him with his wine though before he drank, he asked, “Would you recognize her if she ever showed up?”
“I would hope so.” Bart's gut tightened. Perhaps he was becoming too much like his father. He wouldn't remember Nadia’s name in a week, and if the women he’d known all walked the stage tonight as the models, he'd be lucky to remember half.
Maybe it was time to change.
Chapter 3
Rebecca stared at the front door of the yacht lot from inside her car parked across the street near the sidewalk. She’d driven past three times before she'd had the courage to at least stop.
She’d seen a Maserati Quattroporte head in a half an hour ago. He or she hadn’t left yet, but that silver streak told her that someone at the marina had money.
Or were pretending, anyway--half of Miami lived in a shack but drove a car like they were rich.
The Maserati’s clipped engine exhaust purred in a way only that car did which made it unmistakable.
So he was either rich, which came with its own hazards, or a man about to destroy his credit and not the kind of guy she needed in her life.
This was stupid. Melissa and Destiny's challenge made no sense this morning as the hot sun beat down on her car, and if she hadn’t accepted the dare, she’d have left already.
Last night she’d told her friends she wanted a good guy--like Bart, who gave to charities and was a philanthropist searching for clean fuel options. Who could she meet here, other than a slick salesman?
She turned her engine on, ready to leave, but then she glanced at the door again. If she didn’t go inside, that meant she'd failed.
Rebecca was not a quitter, so at the last second, she drove into the parking lot of Claire’s Luxury Yachts near Starr Island.
She got out and fixed her blue cotton sundress, thin-strapped to show off her slightly muscular arms, squeezed her cheeks for color, and then headed inside the office.
Two men in business suits stared at her like she’d walked in from planet Mars. No, she didn’t paint her nails. So what? She paused in the doorway. She guessed they were son and father from their identical expressions as they wondered who she was, and what she wanted. Rebecca took a step forward, mumbling, “This is stup…” No. She wouldn't back out. She forced a smile as she said, “I’m here to see some yachts.”
Both men, the boy just out of high school and the older man with pepper-gray hair, looked at each other and then at her, sizing her up in her simple blue dress--not designer--with an oil stain near her knee that she hoped was hidden by the flounce at the hem. The older man shrugged and pointed to the exit leading to the marina. “Why don't you take a look around? The used ones are in the back.”
“She can’t afford one, Dad,” the teenager said.
To think she'd combed her hair out of her usual ponytail for that comment. Her heart beat wildly, but she walked past them and headed out to at least pretend to look.
Five minutes and then she was outta here, mission accomplished for the extra beer she’d drink.
"This way, hon," the older man said.
"Okay, thanks."
She stepped outside. The multitude of sleek, white yachts reminded her of the yearly boat parade in Fort Lauderdale for Christmas. She honestly didn’t know much about them and never had time to go to the beach. The drive to the ocean always turned her off because a half an hour in traffic seemed burdensome.
Her sandals clicked against the wooden dock as she walked to the closest boat slip in the marina. The breeze flipped her hem
around her knees. A large ship rumbled as it turned off its engine.
From below the dock, something banged beneath her feet and she jumped back, against a wall of muscles--strong arms wrapped around her briefly and the smell of almonds and olive trees that had to be an expensive cologne. A deep, accented voice said, “Watch out, cara.”
She turned around and froze. It was Mr. Perfect. Right here in the flesh. Wearing a navy blue polo and white pants that seemed designed for his muscular body. He was much hotter than his picture. The gleam in his eyes made her believe he’d know exactly what to do in bed and remember his lady love’s name. Rebecca stepped out of his arms and offered to shake his hand. “It’s you.”
He tilted his head toward her. “Who am I?”
Who? Was he serious? Mr. Perfect was here, which meant dreams really might come true. Anything was possible. She held his gaze. “You’re Prince Charming.”
He patted her on her back and walked past her while he said, “Talk like that is adorable, but I have to go.”
She sighed and smiled as she watched him, then shook herself. No. No! No. He had to come back.
He strode down the dock to the door of the sales office with hair slightly longer than the picture she’d found online. If she didn’t hurry, she’d lose her chance. She raced after him, pulse speeding as she followed him.
The younger salesman asked as she jolted inside, “You’re done, miss?”
“Yes.” She scanned the interior but her prince had gone. "Thank you," she called over her shoulder as she exited.
Once outside in the parking lot, she saw that the Maserati was already driving toward the street.
Without thinking of anything but holding onto a dream she flew to the driver’s seat of her dependable Toyota that was in top shape and hoped she’d catch him before he sped out of sight.
She pressed on the gas, seeing his blinker before he turned onto the highway.
If she had a chance, she’d tell him her name and ask Bart Morgan on a date. Fate had somehow brought them together and if she didn’t listen or take this risk, she’d regret it. She deserved to be treated like a lady and he might be the perfect gentleman.
As he headed off the highway and into Coral Gables, a voice in her head whispered she was being stupid and slightly reckless. If she didn't follow through, she would never have this opportunity again. Her new, improved outlook on life wouldn't allow regrets.
His Maserati was the electric version and the company stated it wanted to be better for the environment while still being luxurious and a beautiful vehicle.
His car pulled into the Biltmore Hotel and she noticed the tires.
Was he staying here? Or meeting someone... Hopefully not that--it would be awkward. She pulled into the valet right after him.
She handed her keys to a valet and jumped out, and Mr. Perfect nodded at her. Her heart was beating overtime--she clutched her hands and headed toward him. When she reached his side, he said, “Hello again. I’ve never had a beautiful woman following me before. May I help you, cara?”
Beautiful. Wow. His accent made him even more perfect. She sighed, but then pointed to the tires on his car. “Your tires are wrong, if you want optimum performance.”
He shrugged as the valet took off. “I’ll be sure to tell my brother, as it’s his--I am borrowing it while I am in Miami.”
Brother. Rebecca probably should have read the article that had gone with the picture. She'd gotten just enough to know that Mr. Perfect's name was Bart Morgan, his byline had called him a philanthropist, and the photo had been taken at a charity. She offered her hand in greeting. “Look. We don’t know each other or anything, but I wanted to introduce myself.”
“Following me like that makes you unforgettable.” After a brief clasp he gently placed his hand on her back as he pointed toward the door. “And since you’re here, would you like to get a drink with me in the hotel?”
Her heart thumped. Perfect. She’d have a chance to talk to him and see if it was worth their time to ask him on a date. Excitement drummed in her veins as she walked beside him and said, “I’d love to.”
He waved toward her car with one hand, the other still lightly against her lower back. “Excellent. The valet will take care of your car then.”
The sensation of his hand on her body was just right--not too forceful, not too little. The cold air conditioning of the hotel hit her skin and jolted her more awake. She moved the flounce at her hem, hoping to keep the oil stain covered. She should have gone shopping, but she hadn't actually believed anything was going to happen. “The Biltmore is a nice place. I haven't been here in years.”
His eyes widened imperceptibly. “You’ve frequented this hotel?”
Stayed the night, no. This place was out of her price range, but every twenty-one to twenty-five year old girl in Miami had been here at least once, as the nightclub inside the hotel was super nice. “The bar is open to the public, but it’s been a long time.”
He walked with her toward the bar and didn’t wave to any maitre’ d. He led her toward a VIP table. “So, what’s your name?”
Name. Her mind was clearly in a tailspin. She should have said that already. She released a deep breath and smiled. “Right. I’ve been meaning to tell you. Rebecca James. And yours?”
He kissed her hand like they were in a movie, or maybe it was his European charm. “Bartolomeo Morgan, though most people call me Bart.”
Rebecca should have paid more attention to social graces in school so she’d have cool things to say now. “Nice to meet you, Bart.”
A waitress hustled over. "What would you like to drink?"
Bart ordered a red wine that sounded wonderful though she was not familiar with the label.
"I'll have the same."
Rebecca could imagine Bart as the teacher in the movie where the Greek girl wanted to change her life--just like Rebecca wanted to do. She couldn’t stop smiling at him.
The waitress left and he turned his attention to her. “What kind of yacht are you looking to buy?”
Buy? Yeah. She needed to be honest about why she was there, and hoped he had a sense of humor. She’d never been on any boat as big as the ones she'd seen today. She pushed her hair behind her ear as she shook her head. “I’m not. I… I was looking to meet my prince charming.”
The waitress returned with two glasses of deep red wine. He flinched. Her face felt hot. She probably shouldn’t have said that.
Something was wrong with her today. Clearly.
"Anything else?" the waitress asked.
"Nothing, thank you." She left, and Bart sipped his wine and stared at her in frank curiosity.
Every cell in her body jumped and she didn't trust herself to reach for the glass. Would he throw her out of the hotel?
At last, he put the glass down and asked, “Prince Charming?”
No, no, no. She needed to somehow change the course of this conversation. She tried a little laugh. “And now I've met you and you’re perfect.”
That was too much.
He traced the stem of his glass, his intense eyes never wavering.
She waited and her neck and body was tight like she just closed a bolt.
"I see," his sexy voice said. "I’m in the running to be your would-be prince?”
Her fingers trembled as she picked up her glass. By default, she'd be a princess, when she actually felt like a jack in the box that had just popped out. Her confidence deserted her and she stared into the blood red liquid. “Yeah. Sounds silly right? Probably does. I’m super nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous near me, cara.” He patted her hand that had been on the table. He then leaned closer and said, “The wording makes me pause. Tell me what kind of man is your Prince Charming?”
Wow, Bart smelled good too. Stay calm. She ignored the hum in her body--he seemed interested, and not put off by her bizarre behavior. “Things I’m sure you are.”
His pat turned into a caress of his thumb over her knuckles and a
spark raced through her. “Indulge me," he said, "and tell me these qualities you seek in a man.”
"By Prince Charming, I just mean the perfect guy for me." She tried to imagine that he was Melissa, and this was just friendly conversation. While her best friend and Bart both had deep brown eyes, and dark brown hair--even a similar shape to their mouths, she couldn’t overlook the sparks that flew through her--or her fascination with the way Bart spoke. “He's genuine, remembers the woman he loves' birthday, surprises her with thoughtful flowers just because, stands up for his woman’s honor, stuff like that.”
He laughed as if he found her amusing, picked up his glass, and clinked it with hers. “No slaying dragons?”
“Dragons aren’t real.” She sipped her drink at the same time he did. She didn't blame him for teasing her.
He put his glass back on the table, waited for her to do the same and then asked, “But Prince Charming is?”
"I suppose not." She believed that there was one person for everyone. Love was real. It had to be. “But there is nothing wrong with believing in love.”
He played with the stem of his glass. “I don’t like disappointing women; I’d hate to be someone who broke your heart.”
She could tell he meant it, and that gave him another point in the perfect department. “Well, that’s an honorable trait.”
“What is?” He glanced toward the door.
That was her signal to tune it down. She tugged her dress to angle the stain away from him. “Not wanting to disappoint a woman.”
He lifted his glass to his mouth, every move graceful and elegant as he swallowed his wine. He leaned closer, covering her hand with his palm. “Rebecca, you’re unusual.”
His touch set her off course. “Is that good or bad?”
He gave a small laugh. “I honestly have no idea. What is it you do for a living?”
Guys like him didn’t get their hands dirty. She scrubbed her hands nonstop to get the grease out of her skin. She glanced around the outside bar to the beach, where palm trees swayed and people on towels half-burned beneath the sun. Here, the covered terrace had air blowing on them to keep them cool. The best of both worlds. “Does it matter?”
Secret Admirer (The House of Morgan Book 13) Page 3