by Holly Jacobs
Profusely.
And this time it had nothing to do with Conner's good looks, and everything to do with almost getting found out.
This would teach her to take a walk on the wild side. As soon as she finished this brief little foray, she was heading back to safety. No more fantasies about nice-smelling men.
She found him by the cake.
"Did you get the picture before more roses were eaten?"
"The little scamp got another one, but I managed to find an untouched side to photograph, and simply twisted the cake topper for the shot, so we're fine." He gave Morgan a long, hard look. "Speaking of fine, are you? Fine, that is?"
"Yes. Of course." She paused and added, "Why?"
"You seemed a bit. . .well, not quite fine a few minutes ago."
"Sorry." She tried to think of an excuse. "Ah, one of the men was flirting with me, and I wasn't quite sure how to get out of it without offending him."
Another lie.
She was really racking them up.
Conner's expression darkened. "Want me to talk to him?" His voice was lower than normal and there was a hint of danger in it.
Morgan felt warmed and flushed at the sound. "No. I told him I was involved with someone else, but appreciated his interest. I let him down easy."
"Oh," Conner said. "You have a boyfriend?"
Could that be disappointment in his expression? Morgan hoped so.
"No," she assured him. "It was a fib." Now she was lying about lying? "I didn't want to tell him he wasn't my type."
"Just who is your type?" Conner asked, as he took a roll of film from his pocket.
Just a week or so ago, Morgan could have answered him without a moment's hesitation. But now? Maybe her taste was changing, or maybe there was something about Conner that made her want to break from her type. But either way, she didn't have anything definitive to say, so simply shrugged. "My type changes at whim."
"So you just made someone up?"
"Well, sort of. I mean, it's not like I'm dating this fictional boyfriend, but the man does in fact exist. You see, I told him I was dating the photographer."
"Oh." Conner's lips curved slowly, his smile spreading like butter on warm toast. "And this photographer? Is he good-looking?"
"Not wanting you to get an inflated ego, I'll just answer that I'm sure some women think so."
"How about you?" he asked.
"Well, I'm dating him, aren't I?" she teased.
"That doesn't really answer my question, does it?"
"I'd love to continue our verbal Ping-Pong match, but don't you have a reception to photograph?"
"Yes. But this reception won't last forever. I'll ask you again."
"You can always ask."
He laughed. "But you won't always answer? Is that what you're saying?"
"I like being a woman of mystery." She was flirting. And she was enjoying the experience.
CHAPTER EIGHT
E.J., if you'd asked me a few months ago I'd have assured you that I didn't know how to play those man-woman games you're so good at. But I find myself blatantly flirting with Conner, and as surprising as that seems, it's even more surprising how much fun it is. . . .
MORGAN WAS STILL ENJOYING flirting with Conner as the reception wound down.
It was out of character for her.
Way out of character.
She'd dated Thomas for years, then left and sort of fell into a relationship with Marvin. Neither had required much in the way of effort on her part.
If something developed with Conner it would be because she actively pursued it.
She felt. . .maybe empowered was the right word?
And maybe a bit victorious. Nikki and Tessa had left with no one the wiser. Now that they were gone without having revealed her plot, Morgan couldn't wait until breakfast to hear all the details.
She wasn't sure where Gina had been last Sunday, or would be this Sunday, but hadn't asked because mainly she didn't care.
She was way beyond her old friend's betrayal, and simply didn't want to spend time with her.
"Hey, you did great," Conner said, coming up behind her and setting his camera on the table. "We're done for the night. I sure appreciated the help."
"I gathered up all the disposable cameras." She nodded at the box she'd put them into.
"Great. I'll hold on to them." He started gathering his equipment. "Ready?"
"Yes. I don't know that I ever realized how grueling taking pictures at a wedding could be. I'm beat."
"Too tired to grab a bite?"
She was about to say that she'd love to get something to eat when she remembered Gilligan. "I have a dog, and though my mom promised to let him out this afternoon, I bet his bladder is probably bursting."
"Oh." Conner looked disappointed.
"But. . ."
He jumped on the word. "But?"
"But we could grab something and eat it at my place, if you don't mind."
He was grinning. "Sure, that sounds great."
Morgan paused a moment. Though she might lust after Conner a bit—more than a bit—taking a man home on a first date wasn't her thing. Not that this was a date, but still, there had been that brief flirtation. He could have unrealistic, and not-gonna-happen at-least-not-tonight ideas about the evening.
"Uh, I don't want you to think I'm inviting you to my place to. . . well, to do more than have dinner. I mean—"
"You're not that kind of girl." It was a statement, firm and filled with certainty.
"Yes. I mean no." Morgan was pretty sure she was sweating again. There were times like this that she wished she were that kind of girl. "I mean, yes, you're correct, I'm not like that."
"I already knew that, Morgan." His voice was a whispered caress. "If I thought you were, I wouldn't want to have dinner with you. I guess you could say I'm not that kind of a guy."
"Then, dinner—just dinner—it is."
If she were that kind of girl he wouldn't be interested. He'd just admitted as much. What would he think if he knew she had, in fact, blatantly chased him?
It didn't matter, because he'd never know.
They gathered up the rest of Conner's equipment, stopped at a store and bought two subs and a bottle of wine, then headed to Morgan's.
"I'd have invited you to my place," Conner said, "but my brother lives with me."
"That wouldn't have bothered me. I'd love to meet him."
"Maybe next time, then?"
Next time. There was going to be a next time.
Morgan felt warm all over.
"I'd like that. . . . This is it," she said.
He pulled into the drive. "Nice. You have classy taste."
"The taste was my uncle Auggie's. I inherited the place earlier this year."
"Still, I like it. It looks homey."
Morgan realized that it was indeed homey. Maybe that was why, despite her best intentions, she hadn't changed a thing.
She opened the door, flipping on the lights as Gilligan bounded toward her. Well, waddled was more like it. He seemed happy to see her.
And when the dog spotted her guest, he immediately began sniffing Conner's leg, his doggie hips wiggling.
"I think he likes me," Conner said, leaning down to pat his head. "What's his name?"
"Gilligan. My uncle had a thing for the show," she answered before he asked. "The dog's ancient. Fourteen. That's like ninety-eight in doggie years. Back in his heyday, he was a humper. But now arthritis has set in and he just wishes he could. See his hips moving?"
"Uh. . ."
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She was babbling about her geriatric, wannabe-humping dog because the realization that she had Conner at her house was sinking in.
"I'd better let him out," she said, anxious for a bit of respite. "The kitchen's this way."
She led Conner and Gilligan down the hall, then flipped on the overhead light and thanked the kitchen gods that she wasn't a cook. The room was pristine.
"Make yourself
at home," she said as she unlocked and opened the back door. "Come on, Gilligan."
Conner set their subs on the counter. "Where are the glasses?"
"They're in the right hand cupboard over the sink."
She was just shutting the back door when a shadow moved into her line of sight.
"Hi, honey," her mom said cheerily.
Morgan gave a little squeal. "Mom? What are you doing skulking in the backyard at this time of night?"
"I don't skulk, Morgan Elisabeth. I saw a car pull in and thought I'd come see what you were up to tonight." She walked into the kitchen. "Why, hello." There was appreciation in her voice.
Appreciation Morgan shared, although at the moment her annoyance with her mother overrode it.
"Hi," Conner said.
"I'm Morgan's mom, Annabelle Miller." She laughed and quickly launched into the spiel she used whenever meeting someone new. "And yes, I know I don't look anywhere near old enough to be her mother. I was practically a baby myself when I had her. And you are?"
"I'm Morgan's. . .friend. Conner. Conner Danning. We were just having an impromptu dinner."
"Don't let me interrupt." Annabelle turned back to Morgan and winked in obvious approval of finding a man in her kitchen. "Honey, I just stopped by because Nikki called. She's worried she's in trouble for crashing—"
"Crashing her car. Yes, I know all about it, and she's an adult, so she doesn't need to worry about a lecture from me." Hands on her mother's shoulders, Morgan steered her toward the still-open back door. "You just rest easy, and tell her to do the same. I'll call her myself after my company leaves."
"Her car? But—"
"Really, not to worry, Mom." Morgan eased her outside. "It's all good. But right now, I have a guest, so let's talk later."
"But—"
'"Night."
Annabelle finally took Morgan's not-too-subtle hint and left, passing Gilligan as he came back into the house and flopped on the mat in front of the door.
"Is he okay?" Conner asked, eyeing the old dog.
"Going to the bathroom tires him. Walking tires him, too. Actually, I'm discovering pretty much any type of movement tires him."
"Discovering?"
"I inherited him along with the house. . .and two cats, supposedly."
"Supposedly? You have supposed cats?"
She laughed. "That's about the size of it. I'm pretty sure they're here in the house somewhere. I mean, Mom brought them over when I arrived, but when she opened the crate, they streaked out in a blur. I haven't seen them since. But their food's gone every day and I've never seen Gilligan eating it, so I'm pretty sure they're around. I just think they miss Uncle Auggie. He really wasn't my uncle, just our lifelong neighbor. After his wife died, Mom and I were all the family he had left. She's worked for him forever."
Morgan was babbling again. That was almost as bad as sweating. Maybe worse. After all, people might miss the fact that you were sweating, but babbling sort of announced itself and was hard to miss.
What on earth was happening with her? She was a grown woman who'd been in relationships before. The fact that she didn't want this to be a relationship should make it easier.
She opened the bottle of wine, thankful for a distraction.
"Your mother worked for your uncle at the Chair and Dish Rental?"
"Yes." There. That wasn't babbling. She set the wine on the table as Conner passed her a sub.
"And now that she owns it, she's thinking of expanding."
Morgan took her seat. "She's thinking about a number of options." That was true as well. "You see, Mom doesn't have much of a head for business. She's asked me to help while I'm home."
"Home from. . .?" He took a bite and made an appreciative groaning sound.
Morgan filled him in on all the gory details.
"Working for your mom, helping her find ways to expand the company." He smiled. "Spending time helping me so you can do some market research. That's very nice of you."
Nice wasn't quite the word to describe how she felt.
Slimy.
Underhanded.
Conner saying he believed she wasn't that kind of girl. Ha. If only he knew.
She should just tell him now. Confess the whole thing. Tell him she'd embellished the notion of expanding the store just to get to spend some time with him, because she thought he was hot.
She realized that confessing would show him she was that kind of girl.
"No, I'm not that nice, I promise."
Okay, that girl or not, she was going to do it. She was going to admit that she'd made up the story in order to see him. He might be flattered. "Conner, I wanted to say—"
But it was hard to say much of anything, much less have Conner hear it. A yowl that seemed to originate in the hall drowned out the rest of her sentence and also woke Gilligan, who lumbered to his feet and started barking maniacally.
"The cats?" Conner asked loudly.
"I'd have to say yes. Do you see them?"
"No."
"Here, Thurston and Lovey. Come here, guys."
There was no more yowling, but Gilligan didn't seem inclined to stop barking.
"Maybe the dog is why the cats hide. He doesn't seem overly fond of them."
"Maybe. I don't know. I'd barely pulled into the driveway when my mother came marching across the yard with a cat carrier in one hand and Gilligan's leash in the other."
"So far this has been an interesting first date." Conner chuckled.
Date.
The word hung there between them for a pregnant moment.
"I—" They both started to talk at once, but were interrupted by Conner's cell phone.
He glanced at the display screen. "Sorry. I have to take this." He flipped open the phone and walked out the back door to escape the noise.
"Look what you all did." Morgan scolded Gilligan, because the cats were still hiding. "Nice manners."
Gilligan gave one more loud bark and then, having used up all his energy chasing the phantom cats, plopped onto the linoleum and gazed at her balefully.
"I don't know if your apology is going to work this time."
"But an apology is all I have to offer," Conner said, coming back in. "You were talking to me?"
"No. The dog."
"Well, I hope my apology is greeted with a more favorable result."
"And just what are you apologizing for?"
"I've got to go. But I'd like to pick up this dating thing again another time."
Her brazen ability to flirt seemed to disappear, and Morgan was left feeling suddenly shy. She nodded. "I'd like that."
"Are you up for another wedding next week? I have one on Friday night. I mean, if you have enough information now I understand. . . ." He let the sentence trail off.
"Another wedding would be great." It wasn't the wedding, but just seeing him again would be great, yet she didn't say that out loud.
"Great," he said, echoing her. He took a step toward her. "Thanks for the help today."
"Thanks for letting me."
"If this was a date, there's a ritual for saying goodnight."
"Yes, if that's what this was, we should follow it. I think it's pretty much a jinx if we don't." She wondered if kissing Conner would be everything she thought it would be. She didn't have long to wonder as he drew nearer and their lips finally met.
It was everything a first kiss should be—soft, not demanding, an introduction of possibilities, of what could be. Of what they might have.
"So, I guess it was a date," Conner said, smiling.
Morgan knew she was grinning like crazy, but she couldn't help it. For the first time in a very long time, she felt completely happy. "I guess it was."
"I'll call you next week, if that's okay."
"It's more than okay." She walked him to the front door, Gilligan padding along dutifully after her.
She opened the door, but rather than go through, Conner hesitated.
"Maybe we should say goodbye again. Aft
er all, we were together on that long walk from the kitchen," he said, trying to appear the soul of seriousness.
"You do have a point," she said, playing along, since to be honest another goodnight seemed like a pretty good idea to her.
This time she took charge, leaning into him, pressing her lips firmly against his. But control didn't last long for either of them. The kiss quickly deepened, intensified. . .all but burned.
"The perfect second kiss," she murmured.
"Pardon?"
"Well, I thought the kiss in the kitchen was a perfect first one and. . ."
"This was the perfect second." He reached out and lightly ran a finger down her cheek. "My thought as well. But I really do have to go now."
"We'll talk next week," she said, though there was an underlying question, even a need to be assured that this interlude wasn't a fluke.
"I don't want to wait until the wedding on Friday to see you. What about dinner? Tuesday night? My place. I'll introduce you to my brother."
"And cook?"
"Maybe. If it doesn't work, which my cooking frequently doesn't, at least we can order takeout."
She felt giddy with success. Her plan had worked. Immediately after, she felt another pang of guilt. She should just confess to Conner that she'd made up the ploy in order to see him again.
After all, she was giving her mother an option to selling. Her work with Conner was useful.
So she forced a hopefully guilt free smile and said, "Yes. I'd like that."
CONNER LEFT MORGAN'S HOUSE AND was driving toward his place when he realized he was humming. He wasn't sure what song it was supposed to be, but he realized it had been a long time since he'd felt happy enough to hum.
Dinner with Morgan on Tuesday.
Yes, his life was coming back together. Slowly but surely. He stopped humming as he wondered what was up with Ian.
Conner frowned, realizing he'd all but forgotten his brother while he was kissing Morgan. Though the moment had only lasted a few brief seconds, he felt guilty.
To be honest, he'd almost forgotten his own name while he was kissing Morgan.
But he wasn't kissing her now, and he wasn't forgetting anything, either.
He wasn't forgetting the call almost two years ago. That one call had changed everything.
