Morgan's Secret Son

by Sara Wood

  ‘We must do what’s best for him. During his last conscious moments I want him to be happy. No stress. I will be plain, Jodie. I find you sexually desirable. But I need to concentrate on Jack, and on Sam.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she muttered.

  ‘You may decide that you still want to be reunited with your father,’ he went on. ‘On the other hand, you might not. It would be a short-lived relationship which would give you great pain, and I for one wouldn’t blame you for walking away. However, if you do decide to meet him, then I ask you to make things easier for me, for both of us.’

  ‘How?’ she whispered.

  His strides quickened. ‘Stay in a hotel, a flat—whatever you want. I’ll pay for it. I just don’t want you here. When he’s well enough—after a spell in a convalescent home, perhaps—I will tell him about you and arrange for you to visit him here—’

  ‘How long before you’d tell him?’

  He shrugged. ‘Two, three weeks.’ He gripped the edge of a kitchen chair and whirled around, his face grim. ‘And you must promise that when he no longer recognises you…’

  He paused, overcome with emotion. That would be when he’d need her most.

  ‘What?’ she asked in a thin, reedy voice.

  He controlled his selfish needs and glared at her ferociously. ‘Then I want you to get out of our lives for ever!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JODIE rose to her feet. And although her legs were shaking, she managed to remain steady by holding fiercely onto the edge of the table, her fingers white with strain.

  ‘Unthinkable!’ she snapped. ‘Do you really expect me to pick and choose the kind of father I have? To only want a father who is in good health and able to respond to me?’

  Morgan seemed disconcerted, his frown bringing his dark brows hard together. ‘Just visit him, Jodie. See him when he’s awake and settled—’

  ‘This is my father! Why should I be sidelined when he needs me most—?’

  ‘Because it will be hell looking after him!’ Morgan rasped. ‘Because I’m offering you a chance to hold a better memory of him in your mind—’

  ‘Do you think I’m so shallow that I can’t see beyond the shell of a person and into the heart and mind and soul? I know what my father’s character is—you’ve told me. I will respect and love him whatever he looks like, however ill he becomes—’

  ‘You can’t take on his care,’ he insisted grimly. ‘And I won’t have some ultra-efficient nurse bullying him—’

  ‘Neither will I!’ she retorted, horrified that he could even think of that. ‘Maybe someone to help with the chores, to do the washing—but not to care for him. That’s for the people who love him, who don’t flinch at the unpleasantness and the sadness of seeing a loved one slowly declining—’

  ‘You can’t put yourself through that, Jodie!’ he cried passionately.

  ‘Why not?’ she yelled. ‘You are!’

  ‘I’m different—’

  ‘No, you’re not! Oh, granted, I don’t even know him. He’s been your substitute father for most of your life, your friend, and the man you admire. But I have a deep and abiding need to know and love and cherish my father—and you can’t take that from me!’

  Too fraught to know what she was doing, she went to Morgan, catching his wrists in an urgent grip. He had to understand how she felt. She must win him over.

  ‘You forget,’ she cried, ‘I’ve been a regular visitor to an old people’s home in New York. I’ve seen things that would make your hair curl. I’ve watched men and women die and I hope I’ve made their last few moments easier by my presence, by holding their hands and talking to them till their spirits departed. Yes, it sears the emotions. Yes, it hurts. Yes, I cry when someone I’ve known has gone. But that’s the reality of life and death and love and sorrow, and to know one you must at some time endure the others!’

  ‘Jodie—!’ he started hoarsely, his eyes glistening, dark and fevered.

  ‘No, let me finish!’ she insisted fervently. ‘I don’t shrink from what I have to do. It won’t be easy. But this is my father we’re talking about, and you can’t deny me the right to make his life as comfortable as possible! I want his love. I want to love him, Morgan! You, with no father, must feel some pity for me! I have to stay in the house. I will need to be near him. We can work out a rota. You have Jack to think of. Let us share the care between us. Please!’

  ‘Hell.’

  He wrenched free of her grip and put a hand to his forehead, concealing his eyes. Abruptly he turned away. But she had seen the anguish that racked him and she knew she had hit raw nerves.

  ‘Morgan,’ she implored gently. ‘Whatever our needs, we have to ignore them for my father’s sake. We can do this. More than anything, I’d like my father to be fit and well, but he isn’t, so that’s what I must accept.’

  ‘You have surprised me,’ he said softly.

  She blinked. ‘Why?’

  He came to her, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. And he seemed less tense than before, his anger abated. She hoped she’d persuaded him. It was so important to her that she stayed, not only for her father’s sake but because she wanted to help Morgan break the barriers he’d erected when Teresa had died. He needed to be free so he could meet someone, fall in love…

  She frowned, hating that thought, jealousy slicing sharply through her body. And found Morgan’s finger smoothing out the furrows on her brow.

  ‘I am impressed by your passion and your devotion,’ he said, his deep voice soft and low. ‘Not many women would choose such a hard and thankless path. Think carefully about this. You could be surrendering a year of your life in exchange for increasing heartbreak.’

  ‘I would do it for the rest of my life if needed!’ she cried with all the fervent conviction of her heart.

  ‘I do believe you would.’

  Her eyes widened. She found that they were leaning closer to one another, their gazes locked, lips parted. And Morgan was swallowing, as she was, perhaps because he too was overcome with deep emotion.

  Her heart clamoured in her breast. Unless she was mistaken, there was more in his eyes than a hunger for sex or comfort. He admired her. Respected her. A wonderful warmth washed through her veins. She smiled shakily.

  ‘Say you agree!’ she begged.

  His eyes were an irresistible liquid black, drawing her even nearer, the intensity of his gaze making her breath shorten in her throat.

  ‘I must ask you to think about this a little longer. Our passions, our emotions are overstretched, and the situation will get worse. We could both do something we regret. I admit that I have a need to feel a woman’s arms around me,’ he said huskily. ‘I’m warning you for your own good. I’ve been to hell and back, Jodie. Sometimes I feel I’m still on my way.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, longing to ease that hell.

  He frowned. ‘That’s the trouble! You’re so damn understanding and compassionate! Having you, a beautiful and achingly desirable woman, around is tempting fate. I can’t expect you to spend your time here wondering if I’m going to grab you. I’m not made of stone—and you are…irresistible.’

  She blinked. Irresistible! Achingly desirable! ‘Am I, Morgan?’ she asked, unwittingly alluring.

  He licked his lips, the tip of his tongue leaving a glistening sheen on his carnal mouth, and all she could think of was taking his face between her palms and pressing her lips to his—thus forcing him to concentrate on her and not Teresa.

  ‘Jodie!’ he said sharply, making her jump. ‘Nurse your father if you want, spend most of the day here, but don’t sleep here. Do you hear that? You have to leave!’

  She gave him a level glance. ‘Why should I? To salve your conscience?’

  Morgan winced. ‘To prevent a disaster happening,’ he bit back.

  So, he thought that making love to her would be a disaster! Huh! He wouldn’t think that if they did! He’d be overwhelmed, thrilled and besotted with her! she thought indignantl
y.

  Hadn’t he almost lost track of reality in her arms? If he hadn’t broken that photo, wouldn’t they now be snuggling up to one another, glowing and sated in the aftermath of blissful satiation?

  Jodie glared, revising her thoughts radically. He couldn’t—shouldn’t—mourn a dead woman for the rest of his life. He needed someone alive and real to help him forget his mistaken infatuation.

  Gradually, over time, he needed to learn what lay beyond sex, what was better than a cold and empty fantasy. He needed to be loved, to find love. Her heart sang. She knew just the woman for the job!

  She groaned inwardly, terrified of the emotional risks she was contemplating. This was crazy! He was talking about wanting sex with her for comfort, whereas she was imagining something more profound…

  But what did he know? she argued. He was confused, clinging to his shrine to the unattained and unattainable Teresa, consumed with guilt because he hadn’t loved Jack’s mother as he should have done. But that was in the past.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ she purred.

  He hesitated, and in that moment she knew the answer. ‘I…like having you around,’ he said slowly. ‘I can hardly deny that, can I? But I’m not blind to the explosive potential of two needy people in close proximity to one another—and I think you should protect yourself from a possibly awkward situation. You don’t want a relationship based on sex. We’d quarrel—and our hostility to one another would become obvious. We don’t want your father to detect an atmosphere between us.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘For his sake we must be friends. And surely he’d think it odd if I stayed anywhere other than his house? If we’re to share the next difficult months then I need to get to know you, Morgan. I think you want that too.’

  Morgan opened his mouth to reply and then he let out a groan, leaping out of his chair and flinging the oven door open. Smoke billowed out. Jodie went over and they both stood there staring in surprise at the blackened remains of the pizza.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ he exclaimed irritably.

  ‘Easy to do.’ A smile tipped the corners of her mouth. ‘What with your cooking and mine, we’ll be as skinny as string in no time at all!’

  His lips twitched and he gave a rueful grin. ‘I’ve never done that before!’

  She laughed, watching him lift out the remains and slam the heavy iron door shut. ‘Join the club. I’m an old hand.’

  ‘You’re teaching me bad tricks,’ he admonished, scraping the mess into the bin.

  ‘I’ve got plenty more up my sleeve.’

  He drew away, his mouth pinching in. ‘That’s what worries me. I don’t know that I can be what you want, Jodie.’

  ‘You couldn’t be my friend?’ she asked, disappointed. It was the first essential step to a lasting relationship; any idiot knew that.

  ‘That would be the easy part,’ he admitted. She beamed and he shook his head in amused exasperation. ‘You never give up, do you? I’ve never met anyone as persuasive.’

  ‘People where I worked used to say I could sell pork pies to vegetarians,’ she said, her eyes dancing with hope.

  Morgan groaned. ‘Don’t talk about food! I’m starving. Look…we need time to think this over. Shall we put a hold on any decisions for the moment and go to the pub first?’ he suggested.

  A reprieve. Glad that their row had blown over, she nodded. ‘And Jack?’

  ‘I can bundle him up and bring him too. There’s a children’s area—though it’ll be fairly quiet at this time of night. What do you say?’

  ‘I say, why not?’ she agreed happily.

  Things were moving on, she thought, hugging herself in delight. Morgan had admitted they could be good friends. It was a promising start.

  From the house it was only a short walk to the pub. When he opened the door she walked in to a cheerful atmosphere full of noise and chatter, which abated when they were noticed and then increased considerably in volume.

  ‘We’re being discussed,’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘It’s tempting to do something outrageous,’ she whispered with a wicked grin.

  He looked at her mouth, as if contemplating landing a kiss there. ‘I could order champagne and feed you oysters with my teeth.’

  She made a face. ‘I’d rather have steak pie and chips.’

  ‘The gravy would drip down my chin.’

  Jodie raised an eyebrow. ‘No problem. There’s a bib in your pocket with hedgehogs on it.’

  ‘So there is,’ he cried, rummaging for it.

  ‘No! Don’t!’ she giggled, going pink at the sideways glances from everyone.

  ‘If you insist. Performance over, then. Let’s head for the family room,’ Morgan proposed.

  Family room, she thought sentimentally, and sighed. It was small and empty, but bright with balloons and a colourful rack of children’s books and jigsaws. Outside she could see a floodlit garden with a climbing frame and a slide.

  Relaxing by the log fire, Jodie enjoyed her experience of an English pub. She and Morgan chatted all through the meal, though later she couldn’t remember what they’d talked about—only that his eyes had never left hers and she’d felt a wild and uncontainable joy.

  ‘Ready to leave?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Oh, must we go?’ She didn’t want their companionship to end. Going back would break the spell. ‘I like it here. It’s cosy.’

  ‘I like it too, but I’m working on baby hours,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Jack hauls me out of bed a few times in the night and I need to get some sleep in first.’ He stood up. ‘OK, force me. One quick half and then we must leave. I’d love to stay longer, but—’

  ‘I understand. We can’t have everything we want, can we?’

  Morgan froze. Jodie had been on his mind all evening. Jodie and Jack. Something flicked into his mind, a fleeting, crazy thought that flung his resolution into disarray.

  ‘What did you say?’ he breathed.

  She looked up at him and blinked. ‘OK, so it was a trite cliché But it’s true. We can never have everything we want.’

  His head came up and he stared ahead sightlessly. ‘Can’t we?’ he murmured, a smile curving his masculine mouth.

  ‘You know we can’t,’ she replied in a sad voice.

  But they could. His heart thundered in his chest. ‘Two halves of cider coming up,’ he said, excitement hurtling through him.

  Morgan strode to the bar and waited to be served, his mind whirling with the rapidity of events. All his life he’d had a strength of will that was phenomenal: admired, feared and discussed with awe by friends and colleagues.

  With Jodie he could only respond to his basic instincts. Or perhaps, he mused, some higher command that knew what was right for him.

  He liked and admired her. Found himself unable to stop touching her. And she felt the same way about him. All evening they’d talked like old friends. He hadn’t imagined the look in her eyes. She was naturally wary, and afraid of being used, but she wasn’t the sort of woman to opt for sex without a deeper emotion backing it up.

  Could they make a go of a relationship? It was crucial that they did. He licked dry lips, conscious that his lungs were deprived of air. Slowly he brought his breathing under control. He would test the water. Court her. And when the time was right, he’d make love to her. And then he’d propose.

  ‘Yes?’

  He stared blankly at the woman behind the bar and then smiled. ‘Sorry. Miles away. Two halves of cider, please.’

  He opened his wallet and extracted a note, elation rippling through him. He grinned at the woman. ‘And one for yourself.’

  He could have everything he wanted. Jodie and Jack. He’d found the solution.

  His gaze fell on the small packet tucked in the back of his wallet—forgotten since his liaison with Teresa. He stared at it, knowing it gave him the opportunity to make love to Jodie without the danger of a pregnancy.

  Dangerous. He was teetering on the brink of a precipice—virtu
ally ready to throw himself over!

  Turning, he saw her pensively smiling into space and strode forward, recklessly disregarding caution and more than ready to take the plunge.

  They fell into a comfortable routine very quickly—almost like a married couple, Jodie thought happily as she Hoovered the stairs with loving care.

  Since the evening at the pub Morgan had been relaxed and friendly, and despite their worries about her father there had been moments of laughter and a deep contentment that she had never known before.

  Morgan concentrated on Jack, she looked after the house, and they both did the shopping and cooking. He’d begun to work in his study, leaving the door open so, he said in a hopeful hint, she could wander in with cups of tea.

  Taking him at his word, she brought a pot of tea and chocolate cake one afternoon, pausing to admire the drawing he was finishing.

  ‘That looks like a church!’ she exclaimed, placing the tray on his desk.

  He swivelled around from the drawing slope. ‘It is. Look…I’m really excited about this.’

  Encouraged, she came closer. ‘“St Bartholomew’s”,’ she read. ‘You’re designing a church?’

  He laughed. ‘No! Better than that. Converting it. The bishop has decided it’s too large for the congregation and most of it is wasted. So I’m dividing it in half.’

  He flicked over a sheet. She looked at him and adored him. He was so happy, so absorbed in his work. With a sigh she dragged her gaze from his eager face and tried to make out the drawing.

  ‘Looks like a hotel,’ she said, puzzled.

  ‘Close. A hostel—for the homeless.’ He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her even nearer. ‘Look, Jodie. It’s a brilliant idea. There’s a day room, kitchens to cook their meals, and small, individual rooms for thirty people. I’ve had to tuck them into the church arches, but it works, don’t you think?’

  She beamed, thrilled with the idea. ‘It’s wonderful. Oh, Morgan, you must be so proud to be doing something that’s such a benefit to the community!’