Secret Admirer (The House of Morgan Book 13)

by Victoria Pinder

  Clearly he was worried. Bart stood and offered his hand to shake. The kid's palm was damp. “Will, these are my lawyers.”

  “I’m a little nervous about all of this.” Will released Bart's hand and sank into an office chair.

  Bart sat and then handed over the paperwork. “Relax. Your tech to use ultraviolet light to transform carbon emissions into oxygen--something that can be attached to every engine--has the power to revolutionize green technology.”

  Will crossed his legs and squirmed in his seat. “I’ve only run small tests to see if the attachment is possible.”

  Bart pointed to the papers. “Which is why we’re here. I prefer the funding part of this equation. You provide the brains, and together we solve a world crisis.”

  The young man held his armrests as he said without looking at him, “I just don’t want to end up like Tesla when he made deals with a bank.”

  If Bart wanted to steal this man’s tech, Will would be easy prey. However, Bart wasn’t his father. If he signed Will, he’d get the best deal possible and together they might develop a long-term plan instead of a one-time deal. “You’ll be more like Edison, who's remembered to this day.”

  Will finally looked him in the eyes and nodded. “That’s more the deal I want to sign.”

  Bart handed him a pen. Will needed him--a predator would hand him a contract keeping all the patents to any developed technology without his name on it at all. Will would be wise to join his team. Unlike his father, Bart thought that if he fostered creativity in people, he had a better chance to work with genius types rather than just take from them. He pushed the button on the pen for the ink to appear. “The lawyers will handle that.”

  Without reading the contract, Will signed.

  Details would be worked out later. Once Will handed Bart the contract back, they both stood. Will offered to shake his hand and said, “Thank you again, Mr. Morgan. I hope we have a fruitful relationship.”

  His father was Mr. Morgan, but signore was too foreign for Americans to say. “I’m looking forward to working together, Will. How would you like to see your new lab?”

  Will nodded and walked out of the conference room toward the hall.

  Bart handed the contract to his lawyers and headed downstairs to where his driver waited.

  Thoughts of Rebecca intruded--he would take her somewhere nice to celebrate the contract.

  His driver dropped Bart and Will off at a lab he’d rented for Will near the University of Miami. He gave the young guy a tour and at the end, Will rubbed his hands together. “This is exciting.”

  "I couldn't agree more." Bart walked him toward a laptop and opened a program with the Morgan name on it. “Whatever else you might need, can be ordered through this program. I'll be in touch soon--you will have an assistant to handle paperwork so you can focus on your studies. I’ll ensure he or she is a good editor for when you submit to the research journals.”

  “Perfect. Goodbye, Mr. Morgan.” Will stared around the lab like he’d just walked into paradise.

  Bart understood that feeling because that was how he felt around Rebecca.

  He left Will in the lab and returned to his driver. The driver held his door for him and Bart asked, “Where did Rebecca have you drop her off?”

  “She took a hired car.” His driver closed the door.

  Bart’s skin tingled. This wasn’t good--maybe he hadn't been clear to her about her safety now that she was with him. He waited till the driver took his seat and asked, “She didn’t ask you?”

  The driver turned the car on and said, “No, but I can bring you to where she went, sir.”

  “Excellent.” Bart settled into his seat.

  He checked his tablet for news and updates. His lawyers had filed the contract so everything was now official with Will. But then the driver took a broken side street that made the car jiggle. He put his tablet down. If this car didn't have excellent struts, he’d feel every bounce. The driver stopped in front of a garage with a line of cars waiting for work. His brow furrowed as he looked around but didn't see Rebecca. “Where are we?”

  “James’ Garage.” The driver's voice held no inflection.

  Every cell in his body grew alert and adrenaline pushed through his veins. Rebecca’s last name. Bart peered out the tinted window and saw Rebecca step into the garage from the office and hug an older man holding a wrench above a car with an open hood. Then they both leaned over the engine and Rebecca reached into the engine like she knew what she was going. He’d asked what she did for a living, and she'd avoided the question. That in itself was a falsehood. She’d lied about what she did. His entire body clenched. “Take me back to the hotel.”

  “As you wish, sir.” The driver headed down the bumpy road.

  Bart’s stomach twisted as he tried to make sense of what he'd just seen.

  Why hadn’t she told him? What was she hiding? Why?

  Was it because he was a Morgan, and she had grown up poor? Had she targeted him to gain his fortune? In his quest to not be his father, had he found a woman so different that he'd pushed himself too far? But why had she not told him the truth when he'd asked?

  The Rebecca he liked was forthright about everything and had confidence in her handshake--yet she'd refused to answer what should have been a simple question.

  So what else had she lied about?

  And why had he thought she was the type that wouldn’t lie to him?

  His instinct was right that everyone always did. The driver returned him to the hotel and he signed the contract for the house. He'd wanted to share it with Rebecca. He headed to the bar on the first floor and bought himself a bottle of red wine for the room.

  He sat on the balcony overlooking the ocean and let the sun and humidity warm his skin and hopefully relax his tight shoulders.

  He sipped the wine--never drinking too much--yet questions continued to spin in his head.

  Until the door creeped open in the room behind him.

  He turned toward the sound. Rebecca shuffled in wearing a red dress he’d bought her--at the garage, she'd worn jeans. He made a noise so she turned toward him, and he pushed the seat next to him in invitation.

  She joined him on the balcony and he poured her a glass while she sat down beside him. He handed it to her and the tension he’d felt in the car returned instantly while he asked, “Rebecca, how was your father?”

  She sipped her wine and leaned back in her chair like she had nothing to worry about as she said, “He was happy to see me.”

  He inched toward the edge of his seat and studied her when he asked, “Did you tell him where you’re staying or who you're dating?”

  She smiled at him like she was a summer breeze and reached for his hand. “I told him I was in love and he wants to meet you.”

  Love? That was impossible without honesty. His entire life had taught him that and steel was just as hard as he was right now. He couldn’t move. His blood was cold as metal. Bart didn't dare pry her hand away. “You love me?”

  With a softness that comforted like a freshly made bed, she nodded. “Very much, Bart. I love everything about you.”

  If he pulled his wrist out of her grasp, would he snap her fingers? He couldn't risk hurting her. Instead, he held still, his entire body tense. “But we don’t know much about each other.”

  “I know enough.” She tilted her head and pouted her full lips. “I was right when I said you were Prince Charming.”

  “That’s impossible.” Right now he wanted to rip her clothes off and show her physically how he felt. He needed the release but it was too dangerous. He removed her hand from his and sat back, afraid to touch her.

  He picked up his wine and wished his skin didn’t burn with desire.

  She sighed. “You're kind and decent and classy and the type of guy I’ve always wanted to meet.”

  Always. He stood and hated that word. It echoed in his mind and translated to gold digger. He gripped his glass tight, afraid the stem might break. “
Because I have money?”

  She sat straighter and didn’t touch him anywhere as she raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  She'd evaded this question over and over. “What is it that you do, Rebecca?”

  She rose quickly, her chair scooting backward in her haste. “I told you. I’m starting school next week.”

  He jumped up and followed her so she wouldn't disappear--they needed to finish this conversation for once. “And before you start school?”

  She wiped a tear from her eye and he stepped away from her to give her space as she asked, “What’s going on? Why are you so upset right now?”

  Fair. It was like he'd spied on her and he shouldn’t have. He straightened his shoulders, explaining so they were on the same page, “I had my driver follow you.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Why?”

  Without thinking he said, “I wanted to surprise you and meet your father.”

  She blinked and her face blushed.

  Bart realized he'd said too much and the inner cold returned.

  She pressed her hand to her heart and lowered her lashes. “You saw the garage.”

  "I did and you were working on an engine like a pro." His words hurt like he'd ripped the scab off a still-bleeding wound. "I asked you what you did and you never answered that question.”

  “I should have.”

  Yes, she should have. The scent of her perfume was like a drug calling to him to make things better. If he touched her, he’d forget when he didn’t need to ever forget her deliberate avoidance of the truth. “I wondered why you didn’t tell me. Why were you hiding?”

  She glanced up and he stared into her deep blue hues. “I wanted to tell you.”

  She'd chosen to lie by omission. “But?”

  Rebecca crossed her arms with a familiar lift of her chin. “But you’re a bit of a snob. You hated my house. You hated my clothes.”

  “They were stained.” Her assessment was a direct hit to the armor around his heart.

  She lowered her hands to her sides. “So you dressed me up and had me move in with you.”

  None of that had been forced. “You said you wanted to be my girlfriend.”

  She took his hand and sighed. His heart beat wildly and he didn’t dare move. Rebecca said, “I want us to be real with each other. I love you and want you to love me too.”

  Her palm was warm in his. He didn’t move a muscle. He couldn’t. If he moved, he might explode. “Don’t, Rebecca. I’m still upset that you didn’t tell me about your father or your job--I'm assuming you work at the garage?”

  She came closer. Her warm breath made his lips tingle as she said, “I planned on telling you. It’s why I wanted to invite him out to dinner, or we can have him come over? Maybe go to his house. I was going to leave it up to you.”

  “You were?” The idea of ripping off the red dress replayed in his mind. He didn’t move.

  She pressed her hand on his chest and nodded. “Yes. Please believe me.”

  Maybe he was tuned up like one of her cars, but she broke through the wall around his heart. No one ever had before. Bart had already claimed her, which meant he’d keep her. He always bought the deeds to any property of interest and would negotiate terms if necessary. “I want to meet him. We can go to his house to pay our respects tomorrow.”

  “Great.” She hugged him tight.

  The zips in his skin from her touch made him hard. He needed to possess her now. “And Rebecca?”

  “Yes.” She spoke breathlessly, like she wanted his kiss as badly as he wanted her.

  He wrapped his arms around her and let her feel what she’d done to his body as he said, “Never lie to me again.”

  Chapter 13

  Rebecca woke up in the middle of the day and stretched.

  She'd never had so much great sex.

  Bart didn’t want to stop and her body crashed into sweet oblivion every time.

  And every time she tried to speak, he possessed her body with such passion that she forgot what she wanted to say.

  Loving him changed everything. She gazed at the tropical landscape outside their balcony window and snuggled beneath the white sheet of the hotel.

  Bart stretched his hands and let out a small groan that showed he was awake. She turned toward his muscular frame and sighed.

  No wonder he had so much control. His body was in shape, like an athlete. She rested her head on her palm. “Bart?”

  He finished his yawn and traced her naked hip as he kept his head on his pillow. “Rebecca?”

  Her cheeks were warm from being so sated. She propped her head up on one hand to stare into his handsome brown eyes. “Earlier…what happened to you?”

  For a moment he didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just stared at her. She swallowed and waited. At last, he smiled and said, “I was upset. Now I’m not.”

  Ah. Her body relaxed when she hadn’t known she was even tense. She scooted closer and brushed against the hair on his wrist as she said, “I meant, what happened that caused you to be so… classist.”

  He stayed still, goosebumps from her touch on his arm. “I've never met anyone like you.”

  She needed to believe in love and happily-ever-after. She sighed and asked, “Do they not have… normal people in your small town?”

  He pulled her sheet down like he wanted to see all of her, again. “Everyone knows each other, but we also know our place in society. You met Valentina at the party, no?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Her father owns a restaurant. She served our tables and followed Anthony around, like a puppy dog. She would never be acceptable as someone to date.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she served us. She wasn’t our equal.”

  “That’s so wrong.” She readjusted the sheet to stop him from seducing her, at least for a few minutes. It was important to talk, too. They got along physically just fine. “That’s so rigid.”

  His gaze had a sexy gleam. “I never once wanted the mechanic's daughter, until you.”

  Perhaps that was his European upbringing. He had to understand that she meant every word she said, so she scooted up on her pillow and glanced down at his beautiful, sculpted body. “That attitude is why I like living in the United States.”

  He sat up a little too as he countered, “Even Miami has a class structure. Your father doesn’t fix Teslas.”

  Fair. Her father’s garage was in Hialeah, but people came from all over South Florida when there was real trouble. She ran her hands through her hair to finger-comb the cherry-red tips. “Actually, he does. Everyone who's received my father’s work tends to return, and everyone who wants quality trusts his opinion. I’m going to school because I can’t get the battery idea out of my head and I want to combine that with my automotive knowledge.”

  “You should go to school to follow your passion.” He pulled his knees up. “In Italy, you and I would never work.”

  This time her heart was silent, but her hair stood on end. It wasn’t good if he couldn’t see her as potential no matter where they lived. She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  He massaged her lower back and his fingers released her tension. “No one would have given us a chance to know each other. My father would have ensured you disappeared. My mother would have reminded me daily that she was related to the Medici family of old.”

  There was some show about that name. She’d seen it as an option on her screen somewhere, not that she'd watched it. It had been on the same page as the Tudors, which had been about English royalty. “So your mom was a lady?”

  He laughed. “Yes and no. The Medicis were bankers, but my branch intermarried well. Although there are no more titles in Italy, we were always well off.”

  Banks. Like the Morgans. No wonder he had more money than anyone else alive. She’d seen the house he'd bought in a day. The yacht. “Interesting. So you come from two dynasties of bankers?”

  He bobbed his head in confirmation. “It’s in my blood.”

>   If skill went via blood, she'd know how to fix cars without an internship, which wasn’t true. Her father had spent years of his life showing her how to rebuild an engine. “I don’t know my history, not like you. I am without a pedigree.”

  He kissed her cheek. “You have an open heart, and faith in your fellow man.”

  The sweetness inside him echoed in her heart. This was why she loved him. She couldn’t deny her feelings when she cupped his face. “It’s easy to love you.”

  He didn’t pull away but he didn’t push forward either. Bart stayed absolutely still and said, “You scare me when you say that.”

  Feelings didn't have to be scary. Rebecca became hyperaware of the moment--she didn’t want to ruin anything, so she relaxed and folded her hand in his. “Too soon?”

  He squeezed her fingers and nodded. “We haven’t known each other long.”

  Time didn’t matter. The heart just knew, at least hers did. She shrugged. “You know right away sometimes.”

  His eyes deepened mysteriously, his breathing short. “Impulsive decisions can often be wrong.”

  But status, time, and other barriers were just things to overcome. She kissed the side of his downturned mouth. “Love isn’t impulsive. It’s good to listen to your heart.”

  He scooted closer and she held him. “I don’t know if I have a heart.”

  Seriously? Maybe he didn’t trust himself, but he wasn’t the monster out to steal the happiness of children at Christmas--of course he loved--she'd seen him with his family, with Aurelia. She hugged him tight. “Don’t be silly.”

  “No one’s ever accused me of that.” He leaned back to study her face, as if at a crossroads for a major decision.

  Hopefully the result would be that he loved her back. How to break through the wall of ice surrounding his feelings? “Everyone has a heart, even you.”

  He shook his head. “No, not everyone.”

  “Yes. Even you,” she argued, but her pulse changed as she realized he referred to his evil father. She wasn’t sure how to fix the wrongs caused by Mitch Morgan.