by Jackie Braun
The sum had him swearing. From the doorway, Britney cleared her throat. “Hold on a minute, John.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Do you have Morgan on the line?”
“Actually, she’s here.”
Relief flooded through him. “Get her a cup of coffee or tea if she prefers and tell her I’ll be with her in a few minutes.”
It was nearly half an hour, though, before he was finally able to wrap up the call. He’d found it difficult to concentrate on the site manager’s concerns with Morgan just outside his office, especially when he heard Brice start to fuss.
When he finally hung up and stepped out into the waiting area, his mouth fell open at the sight of her.
“My God! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t look fine. Her hair was soaked and plastered to her head. Her clothes were equally soggy. Brice had fared better thanks to the stroller’s hood and an extra blanket. Now that he was sipping from a small bottle of juice, he was perfectly content.
“What happened?” Bryan asked once they were alone in his office.
“I had to see you.”
“Morgan, you’re soaked to the bone.” And cold, too, he thought as he watched her shiver. He helped her out of her wet coat and put his suit jacket around her shaking shoulders. Together they sat on the leather couch, the same couch where she’d once writhed in labor.
“I got caught in the r-rain. My car broke d-down again.”
“That thing is a hazard,” he said as he rubbed her back.
“Agreed. It’s gone to the scrap heap as of today. But that’s not why I’m here, Bryan.” She shifted so she was facing him, green eyes filled with concern. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but—”
“You’ve seen the article in City Talk.”
She winced. “You know.”
“Britney brought in a copy.” He frowned. “That’s why you rushed here in the rain?”
“I tried calling from a coffee shop and again at the El stop, but this seemed the sort of thing you should be told in person anyway. I’m so sorry.”
She meant that, he knew. “It’s not your fault. Hell, you and Brice are as much victims as I am. More so, when you get right down to it. You only got dragged into this because of the Caliborn name.”
She tilted her head to one side. “It’s a good name. One worth standing up for. Fight back, Bryan.”
“Oh, I plan to. I’ve already spoken to my attorney about bringing a libel suit against the publisher. He thinks we have a good case, despite my standing as a quasi-public figure. They printed half truths and outright lies without making any effort to verify the facts.”
“Tell me about it. They make me out to be some sort of…” She shook her head, left the sentence unfinished.
It was his turn to apologize. He pulled her against him, dropped a kiss on her temple. “I’m sorry you got thrown under the bus with me.”
“That’s okay. I’m pretty resilient.”
“I know.” But she didn’t deserve this. He stood and helped her to her feet. “Now let’s get you and Brice home so you can get out of those wet clothes.”
Morgan didn’t expect Bryan to stay after he delivered her and the baby to the penthouse. Especially after they spotted a photographer hanging around outside and the doorman told them a couple of reporters had tried to sneak into the elevators. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he offered to change and entertain the baby while she took a hot shower and put on fresh clothes.
She did so quickly, pulling her still-damp hair into a ponytail and not bothering with makeup. She didn’t want to keep him waiting too long. Surely he had to get back to the office. But when she joined him in the living room, Brice was asleep in his swing and Bryan was in no hurry to leave.
He was sitting on the couch with one foot propped on the coffee table. He’d removed his suit jacket when they arrived. His tie was loosened now, too, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled halfway up his forearms.
“It’s almost lunchtime. Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Not really. You?”
“No.” She’d felt queasy since seeing that headline. She plunked down next to him on the couch.
“I called my parents to let them know. A neighbor saw the paper in the grocery store and had already given them the news.”
Grimacing, Morgan asked, “What did they say?”
“Well, they weren’t happy about it, but they were more worried about me.” He sent her a smile. “And you. They’re especially glad you’re going to be moving into their guesthouse. You and Brice will have more privacy there. They’ll see to it.”
“But isn’t my moving there likely to raise more speculation? The last thing I want to do is cause your parents to be hounded by reporters or have photographers camped outside their front door.”
He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “They have a suggestion for how we can prevent that. They want to call a press conference, Morgan.” One side of his mouth rose. “Steal the gossipmongers’ thunder, as my dad put it.”
“A press conference?”
“They want to make it clear to everyone that Brice is a Caliborn. They don’t want it to seem as if we’re hiding something or are somehow ashamed of the situation.” He turned, touched her face, his fingers lingering on the curve of her cheek. “But it’s your decision. They’re leaving it up to you.”
She glanced away. “The details make it all seem so sordid.”
“You don’t owe them details. Just the basic facts. Brice is Dillon’s son and you came here to connect with your baby’s family. There’s no shame in that.”
“No shame in that,” she repeated. Being an unwed mother wasn’t as big a deal as it used to be, but that didn’t mean Morgan was eager to have all of Chicago discussing her situation over their morning coffee.
“None.”
She nodded as she rose and crossed to her sleeping son. Lifting him out of the swing, she dropped a kiss on his forehead. “I’m going to put him in his crib.”
Bryan was still on the couch when she returned. “We don’t have to say anything,” he told her. “You don’t owe anyone any explanations. My parents will understand.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I told you to stand up, fight back. I need to, too. Your parents are right. In the absence of the facts, the lies will just continue being spread.”
He stood, crossed to her. Hands on her shoulders, he asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I won’t let my son be the subject of rumors.”
Bryan pulled her close for a hug. He intended the gesture to offer reassurance, but it morphed into something else as the seconds ticked by. She fitted perfectly in his arms, soft curves molding against him. He turned his head slightly so he could breathe in her scent. It was nothing overpowering, a hint of citrus and soap. His lips brushed her temple as his hands stroked her back, and just that quickly, the need he’d tried to keep banked was stoked to life.
“Morgan.” He sighed her name. “God, I wish…” He covered her mouth with his to prevent the words from slipping out. They were too frightening, too damning to utter.
Her arms came up, her hands gripped his shoulders. He felt her fingernails dig into his flesh through the fabric of his shirt, letting him know that this need wasn’t one-sided. Bryan took everything she offered and still wanted more. He’d never been this greedy or felt half this desperate. His fingers brushed her cheek, stroked the column of her neck and then found the buttons of her blouse. As he nibbled the sensitive skin just below her ear, he slipped the first one through its hole. When the last one gave way and his fingertips brushed the valley between her breasts, he was rewarded with a moan of pleasure.
“You’re in—”
“Insane.” Morgan finished as she pushed away, pulling her blouse together. Her hair was mussed, half of it hanging free from the ponytail.
The breath sawed in and out of Bryan’s lungs. Actually, he had been thinking intoxicating, incredible.
“I—We can’t do this!”
He almost argued the point. He thought they could do it, very well and to both of their satisfaction. But he knew that wasn’t what she meant.
“Can we pretend this never happened?” she asked.
They’d done that after the first time he’d kissed her. It hadn’t worked for him then. It wouldn’t work now. But Bryan nodded anyway. “If that’s what you want.”
“I think it’s for the best, given everything that’s involved here.”
Bryan retrieved his coat. Though his body was burning with need from their all-too-brief encounter, he said, “It never happened.”
After he left, Morgan flopped down on the couch. She was mortified by her behavior. The way she’d kissed him. The thoughts that had gone through her mind at the time. Just thinking about them now had goose bumps prickling her flesh, heat curling through her…tears blurring her vision.
A year ago, confused and in mourning, she’d allowed Dillon to seduce her. She was every bit as confused now, but no seduction was necessary on Bryan’s part. She wasn’t sure when or how, but the fact was irrefutable. She’d fallen in love with him.
CHAPTER TEN
THE Caliborns called the press conference for the following afternoon. It made no sense to put it off, Morgan knew, especially now that the mainstream media had started sniffing around, too. But given what had transpired between her and Bryan twenty-four hours earlier, she was a nervous wreck. How was she going to stand in front of a crowd of probing reporters and explain that her relationship with Bryan was strictly platonic?
She wore the outfit she’d purchased to meet the Caliborns just the weekend before. Though she’d deposited the check Bryan had given her, she’d hardly had time to shop for something new. Vaguely, she wondered if someone would notice it was what she’d had on in the photograph that had been snapped. As for Brice, it didn’t really matter what he wore. Morgan planned to have him wrapped up tightly in a blanket, allowing only minimal exposure. She wasn’t about to let her son’s image be exploited so they could sell more papers.
Bryan sent a car for her. The conference was slated to begin at ten o’clock at the Windy City offices. She arrived just after nine and was quickly ushered inside the same conference room where she’d first encountered the real Bryan Caliborn. He was at the end of the same long table, standing rather than sitting, and instead of a file folder, a bank of microphones was in front of him. He looked every bit as handsome and authoritative as he had that day. The only difference was that instead of scowling when he spied her, his eyes lit up and he smiled.
Julia and Hugh were there, too. Julia gave Morgan a hug and took Brice, who had fallen asleep on the car ride over. Hugh hugged her as well.
“Damned vultures,” he muttered. “For all the good things Windy City Industries has done in this city, you’d think they’d show some restraint on private matters.”
When Hugh released her, Bryan was there, holding out a cup of tea like a peace offering. He didn’t hug her, but he did squeeze her arm when he asked, “Nervous?”
“Yes.” For reasons that had more to do with the man in front of her than the throng of reporters assembling outside. “I suppose you’re better at this sort of thing than I am. This is my first news conference.”
“I’ve done several, but I’m nervous, too. I’d much rather be talking about business than about my private life,” he said ruefully. “Did you read over the notes I sent last night?”
She nodded. He had e-mailed Morgan a set of questions he felt they were likely to encounter and suggestions for how they should respond. Basically, all she had to be was honest, but brevity was the key.
“Remember, don’t offer them anything they don’t ask for, and feel free not to answer any question that makes you uncomfortable. They’re not entitled to all of the details,” he said.
She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because clamming up would defeat the purpose of such a press conference. They wanted the media to get their fill and then go away, otherwise the story would grow legs and keep running.
A knock sounded at the door a moment before a young woman poked her head inside. “The waiting room is full. Should I start sending them in, Mr. Caliborn?”
“Give us five more minutes,” he said.
“Who’s that?” Morgan asked.
“My new secretary.” His mouth tightened.
This came as a surprise. “What happened to Britney?”
“She wisely decided it was in her best interests to resign.”
They stood at the end of the room, Morgan holding Brice and flanked by the elder Caliborns. Bryan was just in front of them at the microphones. The long table kept the reporters and photographers at a distance, though close enough that Morgan saw eagerness and speculation in some of their expressions. When the noise died down and everyone had filed into the room, Bryan cleared his throat and gave his prepared statement.
“Thank you for coming here today. As you know, a story about my family recently ran in City Talk. It was poorly researched and full of innuendo and outright lies. My attorney will be filing a libel suit on my behalf. In the meantime, we asked you here today to set the record straight.
“First of all, the baby in question is a Caliborn.”
Camera flashes popped and a couple of reporters shouted out questions. Bryan ignored them and kept talking. “His name is Brice Dillon Stevens. He is my late brother’s son.”
The room erupted into a frenzy then. He gave up continuing with his prepared remarks and pointed to a reporter.
“Leslie Michaelson with City Talk,” the woman began. “I didn’t write the original story that appeared in my newspaper.”
“Rag, you mean,” Julia inserted. The comment, coming as it did from such a demure and usually pleasant woman, had most of the reporters snickering.
The woman cleared her throat and went on, “We were led to believe, by a source very close to you, that the baby was yours. Do you deny that Miss Stevens had been contacting your office for months, seeking an audience with you regarding her pregnancy?”
“Miss Stevens did contact me looking for her baby’s father. Dillon was not here, so I referred the matter to my attorney.”
Morgan was impressed. What he’d said was true, he’d just left out enough information to give a different impression—much like the woman’s City Talk colleague had done in the original story.
“My question is for Miss Stevens,” another reporter chimed in. “How did you meet Dillon Caliborn?”
“I met him while vacationing. I found him very charming, and I was very sorry to learn of his death.”
The man opened his mouth to follow up on the question, most likely to fill in the gaps left by her response, but Bryan called on another reporter before he could.
“Mr. and Mrs. Caliborn, is there any doubt in your mind that Miss Stevens’s child is your grandchild?”
“None whatsoever.” Julia beamed.
“He’s a Caliborn through and through,” Hugh agreed. “If he chooses, he’ll be the one standing before you one day, putting you in your place instead of putting up with your nonsense.”
That caused a rumble of uncomfortable laughter from their ranks.
The reporter wasn’t deterred, though. This time he addressed Bryan. “In the matter of the son your former wife conceived while married to you, a paternity test was performed. Was one done this time?”
Morgan chanced a glance at Bryan. His expression was inscrutable, but she knew the pain the question caused and it was all she could do not to shout for them all to go away and leave him alone.
“No test was necessary. Unlike my former wife, I trust Miss Stevens.”
“Is that why you hired an investigator to probe her background and report back on any other men she might have been seeing at the time of the baby’s conception?”
Morgan hadn’t seen that question coming. It landed like a prizefighter’s uppercut. She let out a little gasp, which she camouf
laged by clearing her throat. “I’ll take this one,” she said.
More flashes popped. Holding the baby so his face wasn’t visible to the cameras, she stepped to the microphone.
“I requested the investigation.” Morgan didn’t question why she felt the need to stretch the truth, only that, even though she was hurt by the revelation, it seemed the right thing to do. “The Caliborns accepted my son and me right away. They have shown me nothing but kindness. But given what the family had been through in the past, I wanted them to be assured of my claims. Even though they saw no need for a definitive paternity test, I wanted as many facts as possible on the table.”
“Are you still living in Mr. Caliborn’s penthouse?” someone shouted.
“I will be moving out today and he will be moving back in. He’s been very gracious to let me stay there as long as he has, and I’ve appreciated his kindness.”
“Where will you move to?”
“Do you really think I plan to give the lot of you my new address?” she asked with wry laughter.
The reporters and photographers laughed as well.
More questions were asked, all of them anticipated and as such easily answered. Then Bryan announced, “This will be the final question.”
Morgan nearly sagged with relief until she heard what it was. Then she stiffened.
“Mr. Caliborn, what exactly is your relationship to Miss Stevens?”
Had the question been directed toward her, she would be stammering over her words. But not Bryan. Without hesitation and in that tone that brooked no argument, he said, “My relationship to Miss Stevens is obvious. Her son is my nephew and since my brother is no longer alive I feel an obligation to look after both of them.”
His words echoed what Britney had told Morgan when she’d moved into the penthouse: Mr. Caliborn takes his responsibilities very seriously.
The answer was jotted down in the man’s notebook, apparently accepted as the truth, but Morgan didn’t want to believe it could be possible that while Bryan was attracted to her and finally trusted her, duty was his main priority.
