by Jane Frances
“Come up to my room?” Morgan asked as they walked into the lobby of her hotel.
“Try and stop me,” Ally said seductively, reaching for her hand.
“Not here,” Morgan murmured, tilting her head slightly in the direction of the reception desk. A group of men were standing around a cluster of suitcases, either checking in or checking out. In addition to the green and yellow rugby shirt that one wore—advertising he was a Wallabies supporter—their strong accents gave away their nationality. “Aussie alert to our right.”
Ally turned to watch the group and then turned back, scowling. “What are they doing here? You haven’t even finished filming your Barcelona segment yet.”
Morgan chuckled. “Yes, I know. How dare they make a travel decision without my recommendation!” She headed for the elevator. “Let’s go somewhere a little less crowded.”
After a ride in a divinely empty elevator and a dash down a deserted corridor, Morgan opened the door to her room. The room’s phone was ringing, but it stopped before Morgan could get to it. Not that she moved toward it with any great hurry. Her time with Ally was limited. She didn’t want to waste a moment of it talking to anyone else.
“I told you my life wasn’t all glamor and chic hotel rooms.” Morgan watched Ally scan the quite small and utilitarian surrounds. She’d donned some casual-fitting jeans and a sleeveless shirt for their walk. Even in such a simple outfit, Morgan thought her beautiful beyond belief.
Ally pushed at the mattress as if testing it for firmness. She glanced knowingly up to Morgan. “So long as the bed works . . .”
“We won’t get to find out.” Reluctantly, Morgan pulled Ally away from the bed. She worked at the first button of her shirt, revealing the beginnings of cleavage. “I don’t have time. But maybe you can test-drive the shower with me?”
Ally’s response was to turn Morgan around in her hands and slowly undo the zipper on her dress. The room phone began jangling again as she brushed Morgan’s hair to one side. “Are you going to get that?” Her voice was low and Morgan sucked in her breath when she felt a gentle bite on her earlobe. “Maybe it’s the driver calling to say he’ll be late.”
“He’d call Kitty.” Morgan’s pulse quickened at the thought of some extra time, even though she knew the chances of getting any were next to nil. “It’s probably her, since my mobile’s still turned off. And knowing her, she’ll keep calling till she gets an answer.” She undid another of Ally’s shirt buttons. “You keep going with this and I’ll get rid of her as fast as I can.”
It was Kitty, wanting to know why Morgan hadn’t yet appeared for breakfast. Morgan told her she’d had a very late dinner and so wasn’t hungry. She hung up on the promise she’d be downstairs at eight, as arranged.
“That was quick.” Ally was just at the point of peeling away her shirt when Morgan hung up the phone.
“Hmm.” Morgan’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Ally undo the button and zipper on her jeans. She’d stepped out of them by the time Morgan had shrugged out of her dress. By the time they reached the bathroom they’d stepped out of their underwear. Morgan reached over to turn on the spray. She turned to Ally while she waited for the water to get to temperature. “Now, remember, we don’t have much time.” She wagged her finger at her. “Be good.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Ally blinked innocently as she made the motions that went with the words. She tested the water with her hand, declared it as warm enough and stepped in. “Mmm.” She sniffed at the open bottle of Morgan’s almond body wash. “Now I know why you smell so good.” She squeezed a good amount into her palm and rubbed her hands together. “Turn around and I’ll wash your back.”
“I thought you promised to be good,” Morgan accused a minute later. Her reprimand was not very convincing. She was too intent on the sensation of Ally’s soapy body slithering and sliding up and down hers.
“Is this bad?” Ally whispered throatily into her ear.
“No.” Morgan groaned as Ally’s hands slid from her waist, to her breasts. Her lathered palms circled over Morgan’s nipples in a slow rhythmic motion. Morgan shuddered and groaned again. “It’s very good.”
“So what’s the problem then?” Ally asked, her mouth still at Morgan’s ear. “You asked for good. I’m only giving you what you wanted.”
“You’re a vixen.” Morgan closed her eyes as her breath caught in her throat. One of Ally’s hands was traveling down her stomach. The promise in the slippery fingertips caused her desire to grow exponentially. “That’s a technicality and you know it.”
“Maybe.” Ally slipped the tip of her tongue into Morgan’s ear and pressed her body closer against Morgan’s back, grinding lasciviously. Her hand slid lower. “All I know is I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“Oh, dear God!” Morgan threw her head back as Ally entered her. Morgan reached for the stability of the shower wall, laying her palms flat to the tiles.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Ally held onto Morgan tightly when her hands kept slipping, unable to gain purchase on the polished surface.
Yes. You’ve got me. Morgan thrust more urgently against Ally’s hand. So quickly the first waves of her orgasm approached. She closed her eyes tighter as sensation focused and then spilled to all points of her body. The explosion of energy came with a rush of emotion so strong that her cry of pleasure was accompanied by a choked declaration of love. And then, totally unexpectedly, tears rolled down her cheeks. “Ally . . .” She turned around in her arms. “I love you.” She took Ally’s face into her hands, punctuating each declaration with a kiss. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Morgan laughed through her tears in pure joy when the words were repeated back to her, and under the warm spray of the shower they kissed and kissed again.
Kitty rang at ten past eight. “Where are you?” she demanded.
Morgan rolled her eyes at Ally, pointing to her phone and mouthing Kitty. “I’m just stepping out of the elevator.”
It was true. By some miracle they had managed to finish their shared shower, get dressed and still have enough time for long good-byes in the privacy of Morgan’s room. All without running too grossly over schedule. Of course, their lovemaking had been rushed, but still, Morgan was impressed with their efficiency.
Once outside the hotel Morgan pointed to the other side of the street. Mark and Nick were loading their gear into the back of a gleaming silver four-wheel drive. “There they are.”
“I’ll leave you here?” Ally tugged on the short sleeve of Morgan’s T-shirt, bringing her to a halt.
“Don’t you want to come and say hi?”
Ally shook her head, looking down to the ground.
“You’ve time for a quick hello,” Morgan encouraged. “You said yourself you had a good hour before you had to leave for the airport. Mark will be disappointed if he finds out you were twenty feet away and didn’t stop to talk to him.”
“I know. It’s not that.” Ally shuffled her feet. When she looked up and met Morgan’s gaze her expression was uncertain. “It’s just . . .” She hesitated and scratched her head. “Won’t they all think it a bit strange me being here at this time of the morning?”
A light switch turned on in Morgan’s mind. Ally already knew she was out to all the crew. So she knew that they’d all know—or at least assume—the reason behind her early-morning presence. “Oh, honey. Don’t worry. They like you and they certainly won’t judge you.”
“Even Kitty?”
“Kitty’s different.” Morgan tugged at the waist of Ally’s shirt, encouraging her to cross the street, for the first time maligning her producer to someone other than Nick and Mark. “She disapproves of everyone and everything. None of us pays any attention to what she thinks, so neither should you.”
In another five minutes Morgan was feeling the first sharp pangs of abandonment. She stood by the open door of the four-wheel drive, watching Ally walk down the street. Mark, who was puffing madly bef
ore getting into the nonsmoking vehicle, sidled up to her.
“How’s it going?” he asked casually.
Morgan sighed. “I miss her already.”
“It’s not for long. Five days and we’ll be back home.”
“I know.” Morgan sighed again. She turned to Mark when Ally rounded the corner and disappeared from view. “She’s the one, Mark. She’s it.”
Mark took a deep, thoughtful drag on his cigarette before replying. “So does that mean from now on you won’t be abandoning me every chance you get to go chasing after some tail?” When Morgan nodded in agreement he grinned. “I knew I liked that woman!” He threw his cigarette to the curb and stamped it out. “The drinks are on me tonight, Mogs.”
By the end of the day Morgan was exhausted. “Not for me, thanks.” She waved away Mark’s offer of another drink. She set aside her empty glass and stood up from the too-soft club chair in the hotel bar. She stretched and yawned. “I’m sorry, but I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“But it’s only just gone nine,” Mark protested.
“I need an early night,” Morgan insisted. “I had a late one yesterday.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, Morgan Silverstone.”
“I know,” Morgan agreed, happy to see that Mark accompanied his insult with a crooked grin. He wasn’t too pissed off at her. “But I can’t help it. I’m in love, remember.”
Back in her room, Morgan made her preparations for the night. She also packed her suitcase. In the morning they were flying to Porto in Portugal. They’d fly out of Lisbon on Friday night, returning to Spain, this time for a quick visit to Seville, a city renowned for flamenco and bullfighting. Luckily they were there to film the former and not the latter. From there they were homeward bound, scheduled to arrive in Sydney midafternoon on Monday. Morgan smiled a little to herself, wondering what Ally would think when she saw her Monday appointments. She hadn’t told her she’d set up an official meeting at her offices, deciding to leave her to find that out for herself.
Morgan slipped between the covers, resting one elbow on her pillow as she navigated for the umpteenth time to the single SMS Ally had sent her today. It had been sent from Milan, before she embarked on the second leg of her journey. “Boarding 4 Singapore. Am guessing ur bobbing around in ur kayak right now. Miss u. I love u. A.” Morgan had indeed been bobbing in her kayak when the message arrived. Upside down, actually. She’d lost concentration, lost her paddling rhythm and lost her balance. Totally soaked, and with Mark and Nick laughing at her uproariously, she’d returned to shore to find the message waiting. It was too late to ring—Ally’s plane would have left by then—so sent her a return SMS that she’d receive when she arrived in Singapore. “Am wet. Fell in the drink cos was thinking of you. Miss u. I love u. Speak soon. M.”
Morgan read Ally’s SMS once more before turning her phone off. Long ago she’d learned that no one, herself included, could keep up with what time zone she was in. To avoid friends or colleagues unwittingly calling her at all hours of her night she turned her phone off altogether, opting instead to set the teeny digital alarm clock that she carried with her. Tonight she set it to ring at two thirty a.m. By her calculations, at that time Ally should be one hour into her three-hour Singapore stopover. She wouldn’t be expecting Morgan to call, assuming she’d be fast asleep. It would be a nice little surprise.
Morgan fell asleep smiling at the thought of spending the rest of her days giving Ally nice little surprises.
She had been deeply asleep and dreaming when a loud jangling woke her. Groggily she reached for her teeny alarm. “Wha . . . ?” The noise didn’t stop when she pressed the “off” button. It took her a good few seconds to realize it wasn’t her alarm at all. It was the room phone. “Hello?” she said sleepily, groping in the dark for the light switch. She blinked rapidly at the sudden glare and rubbed her eyes. They felt grainy with fatigue.
“Morgan. It’s Kitty.”
Morgan groaned. She picked up her teeny alarm and squinted at it. “It’s midnight. What do you want?”
“I need to see you in my room, right now.”
“It’s midnight,” Morgan repeated.
“Right now,” Kitty insisted, her voice gaining her infamous “don’t argue with me” tone.
Morgan argued anyway. “Can’t it wait until morning? I’m dead tired.”
“No, it can’t. Now, Morgan.” And she hung up.
Morgan threw herself into her pillow and stared at the ceiling, cursing Kitty and wondering what she was having a conniption over at this time of night. Ally, maybe? She’d thrown Morgan a tight-lipped glare this morning when she and Ally arrived together outside the hotel. But surprisingly, she hadn’t said a word about it all day, maybe still clinging onto the belief that Ally was straight and partnered with a respectable male architect. But now . . . maybe she’d put the pieces together and was champing at the bit to remind Morgan how stupid she was to be playing with Australian fire. If that was the case, then she’d just have to tell her that Ally was different, that she was no one-night fling. That she was “the one.” She’d tell Kitty that she and Ally had already agreed on a discreet relationship. And that her days of casual dalliances were over. That fact alone should make Kitty happy. God knew, the thought made her happy enough.
Morgan threw the covers back and pulled on the jeans and T-shirt she’d laid out for the next morning.
“Okay, Kitty.” She folded her arms when face-to-face with her producer. “I’m here. What’s so important it couldn’t wait?”
Kitty grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. “You’re in deep shit, Morgan Silverstone.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Morgan had heard Kitty talk about deep shit on more than one occasion. She heard it when she and the rest of the crew were being lectured on making it to the airport on time; she heard it when she and Mark were about to hit the town and they were being warned to behave themselves; and she heard it when Kitty was present to witness Morgan in the process of chatting up—or being chatted up by—a potential bed companion. In all cases, however, Kitty said, “You will be in deep shit,” and talked of some future catastrophe that may occur as a result of her behavior. This was the first time Kitty had said, “You are in deep shit.”
The distinction stopped Morgan in her tracks. Obviously Ally wasn’t her immediate concern. If she was, then she’d be getting the future-shit lecture. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I’m talking about that French floozy of yours.”
“Marie?”
Kitty nodded somberly. “You remember that phone call you made to her on the train?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she recorded it.”
“What?” Stunned, Morgan sat down heavily on Kitty’s bed. The conversation had been recorded? Jesus. She thought back to what had been said and realized that Marie now had a hold of the “undeniable proof” of her lesbianism that she had originally claimed. “And so she’s back in contact wanting money again?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Kitty took a step to the little table upon which her laptop sat. She pressed a key to reactivate the screen. “She didn’t bother keeping us in the loop this time.” She motioned Morgan over. “Look . . .”
Kitty remained quiet long enough for Morgan to sit in front of the computer screen and absorb the contents. She resumed talking as Morgan refocused on the headline of the scanned article: She Used Me and Then She Threw Me Away. Apparently Joseph, the executive producer of their show, had called Kitty nearly a half-hour previous, after repeatedly trying to get through to Morgan on her mobile phone. On arriving at work he’d been handed the just-released weekly edition of a nationwide tabloid by a representative from one of the network executives, whose message was an urgent “please explain.”
He’d quickly scanned the article and whisked it off in an e-mail to Kitty. And they’d been in almost constant phone contact since. Morgan balked at what might have been said between the pair, but for th
e moment she was more intent on reading the article for the second time.
Star of leading travel show spends a night of passion with young backpacker and then sends her packing, announced the subheading.
“I was just sitting in the train minding my own business . . .” began a quote from Marie as she described the circumstances of their meeting. The way it was written made it sound as if Morgan had targeted Marie for her amorous intentions and the “barely legal” traveler had little choice in the matter, being “persuaded” to join Morgan in her compartment.
“Jesus Christ!” Morgan exclaimed as time and again the words she used in her phone conversation with Marie were either twisted or taken out of context. To read the article one would think she was a sexual predator, using her influence and position to satisfy her “secret lesbian tendencies.” She’d been quoted as threatening Marie with her “powerful contacts” if she dared to tell anyone of their interlude and of trying to “buy” Marie’s silence by paying for her Sydney accommodations. The writer of the article was seemingly incredulous that Morgan, who “fetches one of the highest salaries in Australian television history,” offered Marie nothing more than hostel accommodation. Of course no mention was made that she’d actually been put in a very comfortable four-star hotel right on the doorstep of Circular Quay. The article concluded by telling how Morgan refused to see Marie again, despite her attempts.
“I feel totally used,” Marie was quoted as saying. “And I’m only going public with this because I don’t want other young women to fall into the same trap that I did.”
