by Jane Porter
"Name a few."
He kissed her just above her collarbone. It was a fleeting kiss but he seemed to know every nerve ending already. Winnie gasped softly as his tongue flicked the curve of collarbone.
"I'm waiting," he added, just before his mouth slid up her neck, back to her ear and she felt as if he'd set her skin on fire.
Winnie grabbed his shirt, practically clinging to his chest, and dragged herself closer, needing contact, much more contact.
"Swimming," she whispered, mouth drying, belly knotting. Oh, she wanted him to touch her, wanted his hands against her ribs, under her breasts, sliding down the length of her.
But he was too intent on keeping score. "That's one."
"Is that enough?"
"No," he answered, hands moving to cup her face and tilt her head, exposing her neck. His fingers caressed her nape. His lips kissed an invisible spot on her neck, a spot that seemed wired just for him because every time he touched her there she gripped his shirt tighter, pressed herself closer.
"You said endless," he reminded, tipping her head back so that his lips could travel up her neck to the width of her jaw.
He was touching her skin and tasting her skin and she'd never felt so much sensation in all her life. "Jogging," she choked.
"That's two."
"Jogging-"
"You already said that."
She felt his smile against her skin, felt the heat building between them. It was wild, it was something so new and yet so strong that she wriggled helplessly, seeking more contact, more pressure, more fulfillment. "Snorkeling, sailing, snorkeling, sailing.... "
"Yes. But you can only count each one once."
"How about kissing?" she sighed, turning her head toward his, wanting his mouth, needing his lips.
He wouldn't kiss her though. He lifted his head and appeared to consider her question.
Winnie groaned. "Kiss me, Morgan, please."
He bent his elbows, leaned all the way in so that his chest crushed her breasts and his hips ground against hers and she felt the hard ridge of his erection against her thighs. But still he didn't kiss her, and suddenly she couldn't stand it a moment longer.
Groaning, Winnie reached up, clasped his neck and dragged his head down to hers. His mouth felt cool, he felt hard and strong and her lips parted beneath the pressure of his.
She wanted to open that way for him. Wanted to part her knees and let him in and feel him tight and hard against her skin.
Just wanting to know him, wanting to experience him, made her blood race, her body warming from the inside out. As his kiss deepened and his tongue thrust inside her mouth she felt herself soften, growing pliant against him. It was the most wonderful sensual awakening, a hint of what could be, a glimpse of what surrender would feel like.
The door banged open and the young man in the bright yellow print shirt burst in carrying Winnie's suitcase.
"Oh! Sorry," he apologized, quickly backing up once he'd realized he'd intruded.
But by then Winnie had jumped out from under Morgan's arm and Morgan was smiling faintly as he watched her smooth her linen skirt and top.
Her lips felt tender. Her body throbbed. She felt self-conscious once again.
"Thanks for the tour," she said briskly, trying to cover her embarrassment. "I think I now know where everything is."
His eyes met hers and his smile slowly stretched, laughter just beneath the surface, warmth in the blue depths. "Yes, I think I do, too."
He led her back to the center of the house, which had a distinct pavilion feel with the floor-to-ceiling windows and the oversize ceiling fans strategically positioned over dining and sitting areas.
Mr. Foley appeared as they returned to the living room. "A cold drink?" he asked, extending a sleek pewter tray.
"Thank you," Winnie said, accepting one of the tall glasses festively garnished with pineapple, banana and orange slices.
This was the life. She knew she was being spoiled, knew she'd never experience anything like this again. A small voice inside her urged her to savor every decadent cocktail, every breathtaking vista, every mind-blowing kiss, because before she knew it she'd be back in steamy New York, sweating on the subway's vinyl seat and wishing to high heaven that women's nylons had never been invented.
Morgan took his drink and Mr. Foley slid the tray beneath his arm. "There are hot and cold appetizers waiting," he said, gesturing toward the sunken living room.
"He's very formal," Winnie said as Mr. Foley marched down the hall back toward the kitchen.
"He's great, isn't he?" Morgan answered, carrying his drink down the steps into the living room eclectically furnished with antiques and low comfortable pieces.
Winnie had yet to take a sip from her glass but she loved just looking at the luscious fresh fruit garnish. She hadn't had really ripe pineapple in ages.
She followed Morgan slowly, reminding herself to remember this moment, making note of the gentle breeze created by the ceiling fan and the blue sky outside now lit with horizontal streaks of pink and orange. Even the sky here looked ripe, edible, sensual.
Morgan watched her come down the steps and approach the rattan coffee table. She was beautiful, and her beauty was natural, the kind that glows from the inside, the kind that has nothing to do with hair and makeup and elegant clothes.
It was her lovely green-flecked eyes. Her soft sensitive mouth. Her light brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. He loved the lines of her neck. The shape of her lips. Her curves. Oh, those curves.
He'd felt her warmth earlier, felt the promise of her softness and he'd wanted her so bad that it was all he could do to keep it slow, take it easy, stay relaxed.
She was smiling now, smiling at some secret thought and he loved the way she bit her lower lip trying to keep her smile to herself.
"Do you like the drink?" Morgan asked, indicating the glass with the frothy white mixture.
"I haven't tried it yet. Let me find out." She lifted her glass, took a little sip. "It's a banana milkshake!" She laughed in surprise.
That smile just about did him in. His gut knotted, his body hardened. He wanted to drop her on the couch, slide his hands beneath her narrow linen skirt and- He shook his head, he wouldn't last the night if he didn't get some control.
"An adult banana milkshake," he corrected, "it's potent. Mr. Foley makes one very dangerous banana daiquiri.'
She took another drink, this time a bigger swallow.
"I don't taste any alcohol."
"Annika said the same thing-" Morgan broke off, mentally kicking himself. That was stupid.
Winnie had heard him. It was amazing the impact his words had on her. A moment ago she'd been so happy she literally glowed, and yet suddenly she crumpled. Folded in like a paper airplane
"Annika's been here?"
Of course she had. Annika had been his girlfriend for months but none of that mattered now. Annika was the past. Winnie was the present. Women should know these things but they never focused on the important facts.
Morgan stifled a sigh. "She came with me last spring, when we were dating."
"Did she like it here?"
"Winnie, don't do this."
But Winnie's chin was set, her expression fixed.
"Did she come here often?"
"That's irrelevant. The important thing is you're here with me now."
Her eyes watered. "Yes, but that's just this week. It'll be someone else next week."
Morgan set his glass on the rattan coffee table. "I'm not going to even dignify that with a response."
She moved toward him, blocking his path. "Why not?"
"Because you're being ridiculous. You're acting ... jealous, and you have no right to be jealous."
"Why not?"
"Because I proposed to you. I was at the church yesterday. I was standing with the priest at the altar in front of a huge crowd of people waiting for you. And guess what? You walked out on me."
Winnie didn't speak and he d
rew in a deep breath, surprised at the depth of his emotion. He was angry, yes, but it wasn't just anger. It was...it was ...
Concern. Worry. Pain.
It'd hurt him when she left. It hurt that she'd walk away from him.
It crossed his mind that everything had changed.
Something had happened in the past few weeks. Something had happened just yesterday. And something had happened today when he pressed her against the bedroom wall and felt her shudder beneath him, felt her body arch against him. He wasn't indifferent to her. Not in the least.
"Why did you run away yesterday?" he asked her, abruptly, recognizing how heavily the question had been weighing on him the past twenty-four hours.
"Why did you ask me to marry you?"
"You already know that answer."
Her head lifted, her light brown ponytail swishing as she looked up at him. "I wouldn't have asked if I knew."
This was a new Winnie. A stronger Winnie, a more confident Winnie.
Certainly a more direct Winnie.
"Because you were the best candidate for the job," he answered lightly, trying for humor, but she didn't smile. Her grim expression didn't change.
"What about Annika?"
"What about Annika?" he retorted.
"Well, she's blond and beautiful and famous. She's your Swedish supermodel and she'd have looked perfect in the paper's page six photos."
"But I don't want to be the center of the society page. I don't want to spend the rest of my life photographed. I just want to live a normal life. A quiet life. A life away from the limelight."
It took Winnie a moment for the implications to hit her. She grit her teeth thinking he had incredible nerve. He didn't want a beautiful supermodel for a wife because the press would eat it up, but he'd marry her, a chunky little secretary who'd bore the media to death.
Her stomach physically hurt. "What about love?"
"I don't love Annika."
"You don't love me."
He didn't answer. The rawness inside her chest was nearly intolerable. "You don't love me," she repeated, her tone turning savage. "Do you?"
Morgan regarded her steadily. "No."
"So why me? Why did you ask me?"
"You're different." His shoulders shifted. "You know me. You wouldn't be operating under some false romantic illusion about married life."
Because a woman like Winnie wouldn't have any romantic illusions. A woman like Winnie was practical, dependable, sensible. A woman like Winnie didn't get many offers and she ought to know that Morgan Grady wasn't just a good catch, but a dream catch.
God help her, but she was supposed to be flattered.
He expected her to be pleased.
For the first time since working for him she thought she could actually hate him. He really had no idea who she was.
She'd waited her whole life for the magic of falling in love, for the chance to be deeply loved. Her sisters had been loved, adored, spoiled. Winnie wanted the same thing, too, but didn't think she'd ever have it ... didn't think she deserved it until yesterday when she looked in the mirror at the expensive Park A venue salon and saw what the bevy of makeup artists and hair stylists had done, saw how they'd turned her from stodgy Winnie Graham into someone utterly magical, truly beautiful.
Winnie had looked in the mirror, contact lenses in, hair glossed and pinned, makeup expertly applied and she'd seen a woman who deserved real happiness, a woman still longing for the fairy-tale ending. And a marriage of convenience wasn't even close to her idea of a happy-ever-after dream.
Yes, she'd have money, Morgan had ensured she'd be handsomely compensated, but what was money without love?
What was anything without love?
Winnie turned away and looked out toward the ocean.
The late-afternoon sun shone hot and bright, glazing the beach.
"You know they're wrong," she said quietly, "those gossip columnists who called me a gold digger. I'm not interested in your money. I've never been interested in money-least of all yours."
She shook her head once, remembering the harsh things written about her in the past couple weeks and then looked back at him over her shoulder. Her lips twisted in a brief, rueful smile. "The only one thing I want from you is love."
CHAPTER EIGHT
MORGAN laughed. It wasn't a loud laugh, or harsh, but it was definitely laughter and it was the last thing Winnie expected to hear from him. "Why are you laughing?' '
"Because you ... you're ... a dreamer."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, except you're bound to be disappointed, and you think you agreed to marry me for love-which is very virtuous-but it's not exactly the truth."
She stiffened, blood draining from her face. "You can't say that. You don't know that. You don't know me."
Morgan smiled grimly. "Actually, I'm beginning to know you. I'm starting to understand you. You're not quite the altruistic person you think you are. You might tell yourself that all you want from me is love, but that's not true. You want a lot more than that."
"Really?" She glared at him, temper rising.
"Really." He walked toward her. "You want passion, sex, glamour, adventure. You want to try something different, be someone different. You think with me it could happen, and you're right, it could. With me you can be anyone and anything you want to be including yourself."
He stood just a foot away and Winnie had to tilt her head back to see his face. His eyes were narrowed, his expression closed, but the heat he was generating more than made up for his lack of expression.
Winnie was powerfully reminded of how it'd felt in his arms, pressed against his hard body. She felt the warmth increase now, and the slow, seductive rise in energy.
From the dark blue of his eyes, and the angle of his jaw, she realized he was feeling the change in tension, too.
"Neither of us are altruistic people, Winnie." He lifted a hand, touched the curve of her ear, rubbed his fingers lightly across the skin. His eyes met hers and held. "We both have needs-and some of these needs have nothing to do with love."
Winnie's pulse raced. His touch was amazing. He made her feel so many incredible things but her attraction to him was based on love, not lust. "Maybe you can reduce it to the physical, but I can't. I feel this way around you because I love you, not because you turn me on."
He smiled. "You're such a romantic. You want it all-love with a capital L, romance with a capital R, passion with a capital P-"
"Yes, I do, and I think it exists."
His smile reached his eyes. He had the most beautiful eyes, the most lovely shade of blue. They were the kind of blue one would never get tired of. Not a shiny plastic blue, but rich and dark, like sapphires and midnight and silk from the Far East.
His fingertips trailed down her neck. ''We could be happy together, Winnie. I know I could make you happy."
His touch did one thing to her. His words did another.
She felt her heart squeeze, protesting against his logic, and his cool pragmatic reasoning. "I couldn't ever be happy with you if I knew you didn't love me."
"There's all kinds of love. You're talking romantic love. I'm talking reality love. I'm talking respect, admiration, friendship-"
"Not that again!" she interrupted, drawing swiftly away.
She wanted passion, romance, love and he wanted respect, admiration, and friendship. How perfect was that?
Snorting to herself, Winnie reached for her frosty glass and took a swallow. He'd spent the last fifteen years dating models, actresses, socialites, but he wanted to marry her based on the incredibly dull virtues of respect and admiration.
He wanted to marry someone safe. Someone dependable. Someone dumpy, dowdy, dull.
"Boring!" she snapped, setting her drink down again. "I can't spend the rest of my life with a man who feels nothing for me-"
"But I do like you."
"Like? Morgan, I want love." She was getting angrier. She needed to take a step back, calm dow
n, but she was too irritated. "I want someone who really wants me, someone who can't keep his hands off me, someone who'd walk to the ends of the earth for me. I want the real thing, and that includes fireworks, amazing sex, and eternal love."
She felt his gaze but he didn't speak. Her shoulders slumped, anger fading. She drew a shaky breath. "I just don't want to settle for less. It'd be wrong to settle for less."
