In Her Boss's Bed (HQR Presents)

by Maggie Cox

  ‘Come in and shut the door,’ he told her.

  She didn’t protest, as he’d thought she might. Having done what he asked, Morgen moved towards him, carefully looping her hair behind her ear, her interested glance on the architectural plans spread out before him on the desk, the blue of his silk tie a vivid splash of colour against the black and white of the drawings.

  ‘Not finished yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’ve done all I’m going to do for tonight.’ Without further ado Conall rescued his tie, pushed it deep into his trouser pocket, then rolled up the drawings and stashed them by the filing cabinet behind him. His desk clear, he let loose a heartstopping grin that knocked her sideways.

  ‘Anyway, I hope you have a good trip. I’ll keep you posted if anything important comes up.’

  ‘Ever the efficient assistant.’

  ‘I try to do my best.’

  ‘I wish you’d said you aim to please.’

  ‘I do.’ Puzzled at his meaning, Morgen self-consciously tugged the sides of her jacket across her blouse.

  ‘Then if that’s true, please don’t do that.’

  ‘What?’

  His blue eyes slumberously dark, as if he had just woken from the most languid sleep, Conall rocked her world with the shocking sensuality of his hot direct glance.

  ‘Hide your body from me.’

  ‘I’m…I’m not.’ Dropping her hands to her sides, Morgen dragged her gaze away from his before she went up in flames. All of a sudden her limbs felt curiously slow and heavy, as if she was in one of those dreams where she wanted to run but couldn’t. Only this time she had no intention of running. Forcing herself to look at Conall again, she unwittingly moistened her lips with her tongue.

  For Conall, on the receiving end of that innocently erotic little gesture, desire was swift and merciless in its retribution. All his muscles bunched in an effort to maintain control.

  ‘I need you to take something down for me, Miss McKenzie.’ There was a husky catch in his voice that completely undid Morgen.

  ‘I thought you’d finished for the night…Mr O’Brien.’

  ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all day. Do you mind?’

  She moved slowly round to where he stood, and her breath stalled in her lungs when he guided her gently back onto the desk, then slipped off her shoes. His touch was warm and sure, and Morgen felt like a cat stretched out on a window ledge, waiting for the sun to come up and caress her with its rays.

  Truth to tell, she’d been wanting this all day too. It had been torment to watch him go about his business without being able to touch him. Ever the cool, polished professional, his slightly aloof office persona had tantalised her, playing on her nerves until she’d thought she might scream if she didn’t get some relief soon. Now there was no intention whatsoever in her mind to deny herself this sublime intoxication of the senses. She had been craving nothing else since he had stormed into her life, accusing her of not doing her job properly.

  Though her natural inclination was to wrap her arms around his waist, he moved his head, indicating that she stay where she was, smiled wickedly, then eased down her pantyhose and underwear with a shockingly erotic artistry that made her head spin. She was immediately damp and flushed. A wave of love consumed her, and carried her along on its crest.

  ‘You’re wearing too many clothes,’ he scolded softly, but before Morgen’s fingers could get to her blouse buttons he captured her hand, the corners of his mouth hitching up in one of the sexiest traffic-stopping smiles known to woman. ‘Let me.’

  Pushing aside the freed material, his mouth captured a breast beneath the thin silk of her lacy black bra, his heat scalding her nipple, making it surge into a tight peak and shamelessly arch towards him for more. Knowing what she needed, what she craved, he moved to her other breast to lavish the same treatment. The connection deep inside Morgen’s womb was electrifying.

  Excitement consuming her, she gasped as his hand slid up the inside of her thigh, stroking and kneading the soft smooth flesh he found there, while Morgen drove her fingers through the thick short strands of his hair and hungrily sought his mouth. When their lips met, hotly, desperately, passion ignited like an inferno, leaving them gasping and trembling in its wake.

  ‘Conall, please.’

  ‘What is it, Miss McKenzie?’ he teased, his voice a low, hungry rasp against her ear.

  ‘You know.’ Twisting her head, she claimed his mouth in another mind-blowing kiss, her tongue sliding in and out of his sensual heat, feeling the rasp of his unshaven jaw abrade the sensitive skin on her chin, her cheek—his male scent invading her everywhere so that her own body felt like a living extension of his.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Love me…please love me.’

  He gazed into eyes that reminded him of melting mint-green ice, framed with velvet black lashes. Her lush pink mouth was damp and slightly pouting from the passion of their kisses, and every other woman he’d ever felt desire for melted into oblivion, as though they’d never existed. On fire for her practically since the moment she’d walked into the room, Conall was inside her before he had his next thought. Her heat surrounding him, he felt her muscles flex and contract around him, all his desire, all his simmering frustration and longing for her finally crowning in his deep and voracious possession.

  Guiding her hips towards him, then burying her face in the hard strength of his massive chest, Morgen gladly accepted his passionate, urgent thrusts, her heartbeat galloping in her breast, the need in her spiralling swiftly into such profound tension that something had to give soon. It did. The walls of her muscles contracting almost violently around him, she gasped aloud, her nails biting into his back beneath the thin material of his shirt as one final thrust resulted in his own powerful climax and his liquid heat spilling deep into her womb.

  Overcome by their profound connection, Morgen lifted her head to gaze, stunned, into his eyes. The love she saw reflected there amazed and astounded her. Reaching up, she pressed a tender lover’s kiss on the side of his mouth, then another, then another. Still locked together, her skirt up around her waist and her legs around Conall’s hips, Morgen allowed herself to fully experience the sense of delicious wickedness that had invaded her for a little while longer. They’d made love…on Derek’s desk, for goodness’ sake! She’d never be able to look at that desk again without remembering.

  ‘Have I told you how gorgeous I think you are, Miss McKenzie?’ His hand sliding between them onto her milk-smooth white breast, Conall rubbed and squeezed her nipple inside her bra, making Morgen feel that heavy drugging sensation in her limbs all over again.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t think you have.’

  ‘Well, you are—and I’m crazy about you. That’s why I want to marry you.’

  Before she realised what he intended, he’d reached round to her back, tugged her blouse out of her skirt and unhooked her bra. Her breasts spilled freely and un-ashamedly into his hands as he shoved the material out of the way and lowered his mouth to each one in turn.

  ‘What about living for the—the moment…hmm?’

  But her barely gasped words were stolen away by what he was doing to her body. Tipping back her head, Morgen was swept away by the fierce ache that ruthlessly took hold of her, determined to give Conall loving like he’d never known before, so that there wouldn’t be one single minute while he was in New York that he wouldn’t think of her and long to be home.

  ‘What’s this? You doing a little freelancing on the side, Con?’

  Mike Brabourn, fellow architect and friend, directed a trained eye over the plans on Conall’s desk, then waited interestedly for his reply.

  ‘You could say that.’

  Inexplicably irked by his friend’s curiosity, Conall swiftly rolled up the plans and slid them expertly back into their cardboard tube. Picking up a pen, he tapped it on the blotter in front of him.

  Mike frowned. ‘So what gives? You still haven’t
told me the real reason you’re relocating back to England—and don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes either. I know when you’re being economical with the truth—I’ve known you too long, remember?’

  Conall remembered. He hadn’t shared the news that he’d fallen in love and planned to get married with anyone but Victoria—and even she didn’t know about the marriage part yet. He didn’t feel it was right, telling her his intentions when he still hadn’t had a proper answer from Morgen. They’d had never-to-be-forgotten sex on the desk in his office, but he still hadn’t got her to agree to marry him. She’d tantalised him with the promise that as soon as he got back from New York he could have his answer.

  So far, Conall had endured three agonisingly sleepless nights, wondering if she was going to turn him down after all. The traffic noise of one of the busiest cities in the world hadn’t helped either. He’d found himself lying awake in his plush high-rise apartment, dreaming of a place of his own in the English countryside, with Morgen and Neesha and maybe a puppy for Neesha to play with. The idea had made his imagination catch fire, and finally he’d been motivated enough to get up in the middle of the night and sketch out some plans for a house he suddenly wanted to build…

  ‘Conall?’ Mike waved a hand in front of his face, then stopped abruptly. ‘The penny’s just dropped. It’s a woman, isn’t it? You’ve gone and fallen for someone, haven’t you?’

  Pushing to his feet, Conall dropped his hands to his hips and grinned. ‘Is it so obvious?’

  ‘What else would have you staring off into space like you’ve been drugged? Right, spill the beans. Who is she? What’s her name and—more to the point—what does she look like? Is she a babe?’

  Conall dug his hands deep into his pockets, then walked slowly across to the huge plate-glass window. Staring out at the teeming city below, with its traffic fumes and furious honking drivers, he sucked in a deep breath. ‘She’s someone who works in the London office. Her name is Morgen and she looks like a raven-haired angel. Oh, and she’s definitely a babe. Satisfied?’

  ‘I would be if I was so lucky to meet such a dream!’ Rubbing his hand over his thinning brown hair, Mike shook his head in wonder. ‘The women of New York are going to go into mourning when they find out, you realise that?’

  ‘Can’t play the field for ever.’

  ‘No,’ Mike agreed, ‘but a man can have a damn good time trying! You sure she’s the one?’

  Conall had no hesitation in replying. ‘She’s the one, all right. From now on, my friend…I’m a one-woman man.’

  His flight was delayed. Delayed! Morgen stared up at the blinking green digits on the Arrivals board and bitterly swallowed down her rising frustration.

  Six days he’d been gone, and she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since. She’d been prowling the kitchen in the early hours of the morning, making tea, listening to the radio, painting her nails—anything to try and divert her thoughts from thinking about Conall. She’d known she had it bad when she’d put the jelly mould she’d filled with Neesha’s favourite raspberry jelly in the oven instead of the fridge, and thrown out her morning’s post with the rubbish. And only this afternoon her poor mother had told her to make an appointment with the doctor because she was convinced she was coming down with something viral!

  Pushing her fingers through her hair, Morgen sighed dramatically, then reluctantly marched over to a row of chairs and sat down. On one side of her was a youth dressed in a shiny tracksuit and a baseball cap, listening to music on his headphones, and on the other a middle-aged blonde woman in tailored black trousers and a boxy red jacket. Her long red nails fascinated Morgen as, momentarily distracted, she watched them dip in and out of her brown suede handbag for her make-up mirror, then her lipstick.

  Catching her glance, the woman smiled. Her make-up was picture-perfect, and her teeth very even and white. It made Morgen remember that she hadn’t been able to devote the time she would have liked to making herself beautiful for Conall. She’d had to rush to give Neesha her tea before driving her over to her mother’s, then dash back to the house for a quick change out of her working clothes into jeans and a cotton shirt before driving to Heathrow Airport to meet Conall’s plane. Truth to tell, she couldn’t remember if she’d even stopped to brush her hair.

  ‘Meeting someone?’ the woman asked her politely.

  ‘Yes.’ Her answer came out in a breathless rush, and Morgen willed herself to stay calm. Not easy when her stomach kept doing cartwheels every time she thought about seeing Conall.

  ‘Anybody special?’

  Only the love of my life, Morgen thought silently, her heartbeat going crazy. ‘Yes, he’s special.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Curious, Morgen tipped her head.

  ‘I’ve been watching you walk up and down with that look on your face every time you glance at the Arrivals board for the past half-hour now.’

  ‘Oh?’ Discomfited at the thought that her feelings were apparently transparent to a total stranger, Morgen twisted her hands together in her lap. ‘What look do you mean, exactly?’

  The woman’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted a little to accompany her gently knowing smile. ‘The look that a woman gets on her face when she’s in love and can’t wait to see the man she’s in love with.’

  ‘Oh.’ Morgen dropped her shoulders, untwisted her hands and looped her hair behind her ear. ‘Is it so obvious?’

  ‘Only to a kindred spirit. My husband Graham and I just celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary, and I’m still as head over heels in love with him as I was the day we met.’

  At Morgen’s interested glance, the woman introduced herself as Faye Mortimer, then confided that her marriage to Graham was in fact her second marriage—she’d divorced her first husband because he’d been a womaniser and an abuser. The fact was, she continued, she’d never dreamed she would get a second chance at happiness after everything she’d been through. It just went to show that if you didn’t allow yourself to become all bitter and twisted about love, love paid back your trust tenfold.

  An hour later Morgen had shared her own marriage disaster with Faye, right down to the revelation that Simon had walked out on her when she was pregnant, then blithely washed his hands of both her and their child because he was convinced he had married beneath him.

  For quite a while there, Morgen realised, she had been bitter and twisted. Right up until the moment she’d known she had fallen for Conall O’Brien, in fact. When that had been exactly she couldn’t rightly say, but maybe it was the time he had followed her and Neesha to the Tumble Drum, bought them drinks and sat with her watching Neesha play for the rest of the afternoon—the whole time looking as if there was nowhere he’d rather be on the planet than with them.

  Glancing at her watch, hardly believing that so much time had passed, Morgen turned apologetically to Faye. ‘I’ve got to see if there’s any more news about his flight,’ she explained. ‘It’s been so nice talking to you, Faye. I’d love to think that in twenty years’ time I’ll still be with the man I love, celebrating our wedding anniversary.’

  Faye smiled. ‘If this Conall of yours is anything like the way you’ve described him, I’ve no doubt you’ll be popping the champagne corks on your twentieth and looking forward to the next twenty years with your grandchildren. Take care, Morgen. It was nice meeting you too.’

  Twenty minutes later Morgen was peering over the heads and shoulders of the waiting crowd pressed round the Arrivals barrier, trying to catch a glimpse of the tall, broad-shouldered and devastatingly handsome man she loved. She spotted him straight away, excitement jamming her breath in her throat and making her heart pound. Head and shoulders above nearly everybody else who spilled onto the polished walkway, he was easily the most eye-catching male in the area, and Morgen couldn’t suppress the shudder of anticipation that shot through her at the thought of being alone with him later.

  Pushing her way through the throng of people at th
e barrier, she forgot that she usually liked to keep her emotions well under wraps, that in public she always liked to maintain a low profile, that in her book public displays of affection in general were undignified. She raced onto the walkway, calling his name.

  Stopping right where he was, the trenchcoat he’d worn in a cold and rainy New York before boarding the plane folded over his arm, and carrying his leather holdall, Conall could hardly believe his eyes when he saw Morgen hurrying towards him. Letting his bag drop to the floor, he simply stood and stared. She was dressed in faded blue jeans, a white cotton shirt and a black suede jacket, with her long dark hair flying out behind her, and she was everything he’d ever dreamed of finding in a woman and more. God how he’d missed her! He’d made the flight from New York to London many times in the past, but it had never seemed to take as long as it had today. Now he was back home, and Morgen was waiting to greet him. Just as he’d hoped and dreamed she would be.

  Sprinting the last couple of feet that separated them, without hesitation Morgen threw herself into his arms. Conall almost stumbled with the force of her embrace, the air suddenly leaving his lungs in a powerful ‘oomph!’ But still he held onto her tight, raining kisses down on her fresh sweet-smelling hair, then desperately seeking her mouth in a hard and hungry kiss that fuelled the longing inside him to fever-pitch and made him nigh on desperate to be alone with her just as soon as he could. The woman was temptation with a capital ‘T’, and Conall was helpless to resist such potent charms. He was only flesh and blood after all…

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘What?’

  Pretending not to hear, Conall stared into her beguiling green eyes, got lost in them for a second or two, then surfaced again with a grin.

  ‘I said I love you—and I want to marry you!’ Morgen was sliding her hand up his shirt, holding onto his waist with her free hand, careless that they were receiving highly interested stares from passing disembarking passengers, as well as the public awaiting their arrival. ‘I couldn’t wait to tell you.’