"I'm fine, Breva. You look very pretty in red, if I might say. It's nice to see you. too, Aaron," he added as he held out a hand to her husband.
"Thank you," Breva replied, while Aaron nodded in response. "So, where's this date of yours? I've been trying to get a peek at her."
"She's over there, dancing with Stan Ashworth."
"Ah."
"Ah? What is that supposed to mean?"
A hint of mischief tinged Breva's tone. "Well, they seem to be having a very good time together, don't you think?"
Why was it that his fifty-year-old assistant talked as if she were perpetually fifteen? "Stan's married," Morgan said.
"Since when has that stopped Stan?"
Alarm spread through Morgan's stomach. "What do you know that I don't?" Brooke was, after all, his responsibility for the evening. At least that was what he told himself to explain his sudden uneasiness.
Aaron shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about it, Morgan. Breva's just giving you grief."
But Breva didn't seem ready to end her teasing. "By the way, I was talking to Michelle down in human resources yesterday, and boy, did I hear an earful!"
"About who?" Morgan inquired. Heck, he could gossip with the best of them.
"Well, she did mention a certain product purchasing manager -"
"Brev," Aaron warned.
That must have been the tone she listened to, because she stopped right then. Morgan was tempted to pursue it, but saw Brooke approaching them. "Be nice," he hissed to his secretary.
"I'm sorry I didn't see your dance end - I would've come to get you," he said, stepping forward to take Brooke's hand. After a small pause, she placed it in his.
"Hello," she said to Aaron and Breva.
"Hi, there," Breva answered. "I'm Breva Henry, and this is my husband, Aaron. M.C. was just telling us all about you."
Brooke looked taken aback. "M.C?"
"Breva's my assistant," Morgan said, trying to imagine how confusing the plethora of names and titles must be for Brooke. "I can't get anything done without her, and she reminds me of that constantly. Back when we first met, I wanted her to call me Morgan, she wanted Mr. Carmichael, so we settled on my initials. Most of the time, anyway."
"How're you surviving your first Royal Hotels ball?" Aaron asked. "This is my fourth one."
"Oh, you're practically a veteran!"
"They're not so bad once you learn to pay no attention to most of the people."
"Aaron!" Breva chided.
Brooke smiled at Aaron. "I'm enjoying myself, actually. I love to dance, so it's a nice opportunity for me."
"I know what you mean," Aaron replied kindly. "I'm in construction, and this isn't something the guys go out and do on a regular basis. Or ever."
"How much convincing did Breva have to do to get you here the first time?"
"I had to promise a lot of things that are better left unsaid," Breva said with a laugh.
Aaron rolled his eyes. "Let me just say that the dance lessons were worth every bit of what I got in return," he said with an impish smile.
The force between them was hard to ignore, although Morgan would've liked to. He eyed the two of them with resentment, something he'd never felt before. He envied their security with each other and their playful banter. Feeling he had to diffuse the electricity in the air, he muttered inanely, "Well, at least we all know how to dance now."
"I saw you doing the fox-trot with Stan,'' Breva said to Brooke. "When did you learn ballroom dancing?"
She laughed. "I started taking lessons in junior high. It's kind of funny, but I've always liked to dance, especially the old-fashioned kinds of dances. One day when I was little, I watched a ballroom dancing competition on TV. The women were wearing gorgeous flowing gowns, and the men had on tuxedos with tails...and I was immediately hooked. I wanted to be one of those beautiful ladies, with their perfect makeup and serene expressions. I wanted to be twirled and dipped -" She stopped suddenly and pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go on and on about something so silly."
Morgan shook his head when she met his eyes. She hadn't sounded silly at all, just honest. Adorable.
Aaron seemed enchanted. "The music's starting again. May I have this dance, Brooke?"
And before Morgan could even utter a word or try to cut in, Aaron was escorting Brooke onto the floor as the music flowed through the room.
Breva gazed at them with amusement. "Well, there you have it - the only two people in the entire room who are having a completely wonderful time. Everybody else looks like they're on the prowl for brownie points from the president."
Morgan had to laugh at her description. It was true. Last year, when he'd taken Sheri, both had been so intent on saying the right things and pandering to senior management that they'd actually seen very little of each other. Their conversation had centered entirely on work, and they'd spent the whole night dancing with other partners.
No wonder they had broken up just months afterward. It had been evident - at least to him - that any sparks between them had more to do with business than romance.
Only now did he realize the irony of that night. He'd been with a gorgeous woman, had wined and dined her all evening, yet the only thing they'd talked about had been rumors of who in the company was getting the largest Christmas bonus.
"Why are we here, Brev?" Morgan asked, in spite of the knowledge that he should probably just keep his mouth shut.
She looked at him in concern. "Because it's the thing to do. Because we have to be here if we want to keep our jobs. And we like our jobs."
"Do we?"
"I like the money. The power. So do you."
That he couldn't deny. "It's true."
She gestured toward several of their associates, who were also observing the dancing from the sidelines. Some wore obvious fake smiles, others had worry lines on their foreheads. "We're not the only ones who feel this way."
"I know," Morgan sighed as he watched one of the directors take his wife on a stumbling turn around the dance floor. Since that particular director was known for being especially fond of NASCAR racing and bowling, his presence on the dance floor could only be described as a command performance. Morgan threw Breva an amused look when the other man twirled his date with a little too much gusto. "I think Chris is actually getting better."
Breva arched an eyebrow. "I don't think so." Gesturing to her husband and Brooke, she said, "The thing of it is, you need your own Aaron."
"Is that right?"
"Yep. You need someone as down to earth as Aaron, who'll flatly tell you that work is over when you try to bring it up at night. I've told my children to do that, as well."
"Do you listen when he tells you to stop thinking about work?"
"Not always... but he finds ways to distract me," Breva said with a secret smile. "The fact is, Morgan, we all need to be reminded sometimes of what's really important in life. There's got to be more than office gossip and paychecks to keep us going."
They watched the parade of couples on the dance floor in silence for a few moments. Breva chuckled when Aaron and Brooke accidentally ran into the vice president of service, and then began visiting with him and his wife as if they were out on the golf course. "I like Brooke, Morgan. I hope you keep her around for a while."
"I like her, too," he stated, surprising even himself.
"You going to take her out again?"
"I don't know," he replied slowly, then revealed something he was hesitant to admit even to himself. "For some reason it feels like this is a one-night thing...that this is my only opportunity to get in good with her, and if I blow it, I might never see her again."
"I'd give you more credit than that, M.C. You need to think that way, too."
"I'll try. It's just that tonight, I seem to be thinking almost like a real human being. Tomorrow I'll probably go back to being an idiot."
"Not if you hold on to her."
Morgan saw Aaron and Brooke laughing whil
e they waltzed, and couldn't help himself any longer. He wanted to be near her, to get a taste of that laugh, of her vibrancy. If he was only going to have her for one night, he didn't want to waste a minute of it.
*****
Chapter Eight
Brooke Anne's evening was like a dream come true. Actually, it was better. It was real. She was being whisked away by a handsome executive who appeared content to stay glued to her side. He stared at her as if she was beautiful. No daydream that she'd ever had could come close to this.
Morgan Carmichael looked dashing and powerful. He had a ready smile for everyone - and a secret, sensual one for her alone. He acted like her personal Prince Charming, her own knight in shining armor. He seemed prepared to defend her honor, slay her dragons and fight off marauding knights just to make her happy.
Luckily for him, she was content simply to dance.
And dance they did. They tangoed and cha-chaed and waltzed throughout the evening. And when they waltzed, he held her tightly against him, and she could feel the muscles in his arms and chest. She reveled in his self-assured steps and allowed her gaze to linger on the planes of his face, the shape of his lips.
He wasn't the sullen, quiet dance partner she'd imagined he would be. He talked to her. After further prodding, Morgan told her about growing up with his older sister, about his adventures in the woods when he was a boy and about his seemingly idyllic childhood.
In turn, she told him about her family vacations, complete with their run-down station wagon and a carsick dog. The conversation was light and revealing and gave Brooke Anne a true insight into the man she'd become enormously attracted to.
After waiting patiently while she took two brief turns on the floor with Stan and Aaron and introducing her to a variety of people he knew, Morgan seemed to let his possessive side come out.
His hand lingered on the small of her back, and his breath was warm against her neck as he whispered silly comments about different people in the room. He smelted spicy and masculine, and when their eyes met in the middle of a conversation, the look he gave her was decidedly warm.
She was lulled into being tempted by his interest. Tempted to believe they could have a future together. Tempted to forget she was getting paid to be there, and that she could've never afforded her dress or shoes without his financial assistance.
It was tempting to pretend she always painted her nails that shade of coral, that she truly did regularly schedule pedicures and manicures. That she hadn't arrived in a Jovial Janitor van.
Which was why, when he asked her to accompany him to the enclosed balcony, she didn't hesitate.
"Thanks," he said, as soon as he closed the sliding door behind them. "I couldn't wait to take a breather. It was getting hot in there."
"It's cold out here."
Concern crept into his eyes. "Are you chilled? I forgot that you're only wearing that lacy dress."
"I'm all right."
"Here, take my jacket," he offered, sliding it over her shoulders before she could refuse. Brooke Anne couldn't resist pulling it around her and losing herself in its warmth.
The lining of his jacket felt comforting and slick against her skin. Immediately, she caught the scent of his cologne. Feeling his coat around her was almost as good as his arms.
"In spite of our circumstances, I'm having a good time, Morgan."
"I am, too. Actually, I'm having the best time I ever had at one of these affairs. You're a wonderful dancer and a great date."
"Thanks."
He paused. "I was just telling Breva how much I've enjoyed getting to know you. You're so different from most of the girls I've dated."
"How so?"
"You're more real, if that makes any sense."
"Real?"
"I feel like I can be myself with you.... That's good."
"Tonight is a lot different than I thought it would be, too," Brooke Anne admitted.
"How so?"
She smiled at the echo of her own words. "I guess because my first impression of you wasn't all that great. You seemed a bit...shallow, the way you were so worried about having the right date and everything."
He stepped closer. "And now?"
His proximity made her breath catch. "Now I realize we're not really so different."
A new understanding infused the air between them. No longer did she feel like his employee. No longer did she feel unsure of what to say to him. She was hoping for more. More of the type of thing that wasn't scripted or in their plans for the evening.
Brooke Anne's awareness of the flecks in his eyes, the faint scar on his jaw, the pleasure she felt just being next to him suddenly increased, and a shiver ran through her.
Morgan noticed and wrapped his hands around her shoulders. Their warmth transfixed her, and she closed her eyes briefly, reveling in his touch.
"You're cold, Brooke.... I'm sorry." But instead of offering to take her inside, he enveloped her in a hug, his arms sliding under his jacket to circle her waist.
It was only natural to lift her arms to his neck and nuzzle her face against his chest.
"Better?" he whispered.
"Almost," she said, then cringed in mortification. How could she have said that aloud?
"You still cold?" he murmured huskily. "What do you need, Brooke?"
She knew what he was asking. Any sane person intent on regaining body heat would be heading toward the glass doors as quickly as possible.
She wanted a kiss, and she wanted it from Morgan. She wanted to feel his lips against hers, to melt into his embrace. So she did the only thing any bright, forward-thinking girl would do: she tilted her head up to him in an unspoken request.
With a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he muttered, "I was hoping you'd say that." And then, finally, his mouth touched hers. He was gentle and slow, tenderly giving her a taste of what she wanted so badly. She sighed as his lips brushed against hers-once, twice. Moaned when he trailed his lips over her cheek to her jaw.
But it wasn't enough.
Thankful for her heels, she stood on tiptoe and buried her fingers in his hair, then strained to deepen her exploration.
And once again it seemed he'd only been waiting for her consent.
His hands pressed her upper back toward him, then one hand snaked up to trace the tendons of her neck. All the while, he savored her mouth, teasing her, delighting her with his patience and expertise. He was a passionate and thoughtful kisser, and she appreciated every second of it. She never wanted this to end, and-truth be told-she was already anticipating their next embrace. Looking forward to future dates and moonlit walks and furtive kisses on dark balconies. She wanted to hold on to him and never let go.
When his hands circled her rib cage, then slid down to her waist, she leaned into him. When his lips grazed her shoulder, then the tender slope of her breasts, she braced herself for the onslaught of sensation she knew would come.
She wasn't disappointed.
No longer were they relative strangers on a first date. They were Morgan and Brooke Anne, two almost lovers. Two people lost in the sensation of each others' body, intent on finding satisfaction in each others' arms.
She curved her hips to meet his. Moaned softly when his thumb swept her breast. Drew closer to his warmth. His desire. She arched her back, heard his breath hitch unevenly-then gasped when he broke the contact. Cautiously, she glanced up at him.
He stepped back, his face mirroring her own emotions. He looked mesmerized and a little stunned by what had just happened. His lips were swollen, his eyes dark and cloudy.
A chime rang in the distance, followed by the muffled call of someone announcing that dinner was about to be served.
A new awareness permeated the air.
She felt his ragged sigh on her cheek when he cleared his throat.
"Wow," he said, then chuckled. His dimple appeared. "You're probably not going to believe this, but I don't think I've ever been as affected by one kiss in my entire life."
"I believe it," she answered, seeing no reason to point out that they'd just shared far more than one innocent kiss.
Morgan combed his fingers through his hair. "I guess we should go on in. The people at our table will be looking for us."
"All right."
"And. uh...Brooke?"
"Yes?"
"I'm really glad you came," he said quietly.
"I am, too." She exchanged a knowing smile with him, then realized she was still wearing his coat. "I think you're going to need this," she said jokingly, and pulled it off. Immediately, the chilly air seeped through the thin fabric of her gown.
Morgan slipped his suit jacket on and straightened his bow tie. "You're still beautiful. Do I look okay, or am I all rumpled?"
"You're still beautiful, too," she teased.
His answering grin was a gift in itself as he opened the door, then guided her to their waiting chairs at table number seventeen.
*****
Chapter Nine
Each table seated ten people, and Brooke Anne was disappointed that neither Breva and her husband, nor any of the women she'd met earlier, were seated with them. If Morgan was disappointed by their table partners, too, he didn't let on.
He'd managed to transform himself once again. In the space of a split second, it seemed, he'd adopted his professional demeanor, joking with some people and brusquely introducing Brooke to the others. His manner was cool and distant, as though he was completely aware of his colleagues' scrutiny.
Almost as soon as they'd been seated, uniformed waiters in navy jackets, black trousers and white gloves served a shrimp appetizer. Brooke Anne took her cue from the others about which fork to use.
And she took care to be just a silent observer during the dinner conversation. There was talk of a recent takeover by a competitor's company - something that made a man named Bruce very uncomfortable. Morgan seemed to be doing his best to calm Bruce's nerves, but it didn't look as if he was having much success.
After a time, the shrimp plates were removed and small Caesar salads were served, three large croutons decorating the center of each. Morgan's attention was drawn to another co-worker, So Brooke Anne turned to the dark-haired woman on her left.
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