The Wedding Planner

by Millie Criswell

  “Rudeness of my—” She threw back her head and laughed, but there was no humor in it. Rather, the sound resembled nails raking down a blackboard. “That’s rich. You, of all people, calling someone else rude. How very novel.” Actually, she knew for a fact that Mrs. O’Connor was extremely rude to most everyone she encountered and was prone to meddling in matters that didn’t concern her, though she would declare otherwise.

  “I said I was sorry. I offered to buy you a new wardrobe to make amends.”

  “I don’t want a new wardrobe! I’m perfectly happy with the miserable one I’ve got.”

  Adam had never met a woman who didn’t like or want new clothes. His sister had purchased a new wardrobe approximately every six weeks, saying fashionable clothing lifted her spirits. Perhaps the young woman was spirited enough. Or perhaps she was just stubborn and opinionated.

  “My sister and mother always liked shopping for new clothes,” he explained. “I thought you might, too.”

  She heaved a sigh, for it was suddenly quite obvious that the man was totally clueless and had no idea he’d offended her.

  Where Adam Morgan came from money grew on trees, and the women in his life spent it freely, buying whatever they wanted with no thought to cost, designer label or starving children in India. Meredith, on the other hand, was on a fixed budget and spent only when it was absolutely necessary. Her business obligations came before her wardrobe, which admittedly lacked a certain flair and would probably have given Ann Taylor and Donna Karan heart seizures.

  “Sometimes, Mr. Morgan, it might be a good idea to stop and think before opening your mouth. Not everyone has had your advantages in life. And it’s not necessary to say every little thing that pops into your head.” She wanted to say “your thick head” but she refrained.

  He studied her. Meredith Baxter was quite different from any woman he’d ever known. She spoke her mind freely—albeit a bit too freely—was as organized in business as he was himself and didn’t mind going out on a limb if her instincts called for it.

  She’d so much as called him stupid over those wedding invitations. No one had ever dared do that before! But rather than be annoyed, he was impressed. He wondered if maybe he really was stupid.

  “Upon further reflection, Miss Baxter, that blue suit is very becoming with your red hair and green eyes. And it certainly fits you well.” Too well, as his body could amply testify. Only a surgical glove would have been more form fitting on her luscious body. “I shouldn’t have remarked on the frequency of its use. I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted.” She heaved another sigh, and his eyes followed her heaving bosom—up and down, making Meredith acutely aware that, though he was somewhat of a dolt, he was still all male. “Are we still on for tomorrow morning, then?” she asked. They had an appointment to review fabric samples. Adam Morgan intended to give input on the bridal gown and bridesmaid dresses, having apparently changed his mind about those seemingly trivial matters he’d spoken of previously.

  “Only if you promise to leave your water canister at home.” His lips twitched; her cheeks pinkened.

  “Two jokes in two days. My, my. I’m blown away by your sense of humor, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Adam. Please call me Adam.”

  She arched a brow. “You’re sure? Because—”

  “I’m sure.” He held out his hand, and Meredith took it. It was warm and firm, the knuckles lightly sprinkled with dark, masculine hairs. His hands exuded strength and confidence, maybe gentleness, and she was suddenly overcome with a pulsing sensation in her lower extremities that felt as if her heart had just gone into hyperdrive.

  Good gracious! she thought. I’m attracted to Daddy Warbucks.

  CURTIS TREMAYNE INHALED deeply of the cigarette clutched in his long, tapered fingers. His nails, once manicured religiously, were now jagged and dirty. He blew out a series of concentric smoke rings, then smiled sinisterly at the image projected on the TV screen—an image that provoked only one emotion: hatred for Adam Morgan.

  “Rich bastard!” he muttered, stabbing the butt out in a plastic ashtray that read Murray’s Roadside Garage, and rolling himself off the lumpy excuse of a mattress.

  The Howard Hotel wasn’t exactly the kind of accommodation he’d been used to frequenting. When he’d been married to Allison they’d only traveled first class, dined in gourmet restaurants and stayed in five-star hotels. His wife’s money had provided all the creature comforts a man in his position could want.

  Curtis liked only the best, which was why he’d chosen Allison Morgan, the darling of Morgantown society, the spoiled, pampered pet of her ruthless father Allistair Morgan, who’d been as rich as Croesus and as mean as a junkyard dog. Curtis had hated him on sight.

  Unfortunately, his wife was now dead, and he’d been cut off from all the Morgan wealth. Though he didn’t mourn Allison—he’d never been in love with the foolish woman—he did mourn the loss of his Hugo Boss suits and sleek black Jaguar, which he’d been forced to leave behind when fleeing his former home.

  It was a pity the way things had turned out. But, as usual, Allison had pushed his temper to the limit, always whining about his drinking, the women he fooled around with, the kids he never wanted and hadn’t paid attention to.

  Poor, love-starved Allison. She’d been such an easy mark for an experienced man like himself. A gigolo, they would have called him in the old days. He’d spent most of his adult life living off the largess of rich, lonely women.

  Curtis hadn’t meant to kill his wife, only to silence her. But once he’d started slapping Allison around, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t prevent himself from wrapping his hands around her slender throat. From squeezing it tightly to keep her quiet. From taking out his anger and frustration on a woman who’d never let him forget that he’d been born on the poor side of town and the wrong side of the blanket.

  Big brother Adam had been her hero. Allison had never grown tired of singing the creep’s praises, throwing his intelligence and business acumen in Curtis’s face, until he’d wanted to puke. And it’d been Adam who’d convinced Allison to make Curtis sign a prenuptial agreement, preventing him from gaining control of her money. Even after Megan was born she wouldn’t relent and discard it, or change her will to leave him as beneficiary.

  A man could take only so much abuse.

  Water under the bridge, he told himself with a shrug, lighting another cigarette. Damn things would probably kill him, if the police didn’t find him first.

  They were looking for him. He’d read the newspapers, seen the broadcasts and had reconciled himself to the fact that he would probably be profiled on America’s Most Wanted soon. His fifteen minutes of fame wasn’t quite what he’d expected.

  Curtis was surprised he’d been able to elude the cops this long. What with Adam’s vast resources and obvious hatred for him, he had expected to be caught by now. He’d been on the run for three months, practically living right under Morgan’s nose, and they were no closer to finding him, if the police reports could be believed, than they’d been right after the murder.

  But Curtis didn’t intend to push his luck. Time was running out. He could feel it in his gut.

  And so was his money.

  The kids were his ticket to freedom, and as soon as he could figure out a plan, he intended to get them back and gain his revenge on Morgan in the process.

  Chapter Five

  Adam paced back and forth across the expensive Oriental carpet of the formal living room—a room designed to impress, with its exquisite brocade-covered antique furniture and gold-tasseled velvet drapes that Scarlett O’Hara would have been proud to wear. But it wasn’t the richness of the furnishings, the Waterford crystal chandelier hanging from the hand-carved ceiling, or the Charles Wilson Peale portrait of Washington suspended over the marble-faced fireplace that impressed Meredith.

  It was the man who was doing the pacing.

  Meredith watched Adam eat up the space of the large room as he read over the lat
est schedule of upcoming media events, no doubt memorizing every detail.

  For a man who performed a majority of his work behind a desk, Adam was well developed in all the right places. His thighs were quite muscular, and she was particularly impressed with his tush, which was compact, muscular, and…cute. Yes, cute!

  Men probably didn’t have an inkling that women noticed such things. But then, Adam hadn’t bothered to hide his interest in her legs and breasts, so why shouldn’t she look her fill of his cute little behind and broad chest? Turnabout was fair play, after all.

  “These dates look fine to me, Meredith,” he said finally, drawing her attention to his face, which was even more distracting than his derriere. It was totally unfair for a man to have such long, sooty eyelashes, such mesmerizing eyes, she thought with a sigh. “But instead of flying to New York for the Today Show, have Peter arrange for a remote broadcast. We can do the interview from the mansion.”

  The smile she flashed sent his pulse soaring, for about three seconds, until she said in a breathless voice, “Will Matt Lauer be doing the interview?” The very idea produced an enraptured expression, which annoyed the heck out of Adam, who seriously considered selling his shares in the National Broadcasting Company.

  “Possibly. But he’ll be in New York City, and you and I will be here.” Thank God! He’d forgotten how shameless the woman could be. The handsome co-host wouldn’t stand a chance, married or not.

  “Matt’s adorable. And he’s got the cutest behind. Maybe not as nice as yours, but—” Realizing what she’d just said, Meredith clamped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks heating to infrared.

  Glancing in the general vicinity of his “cute behind,” Adam arched a brow and suppressed a smile. “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes, well—” Meredith prayed for alien intervention. Now seemed a really good time for a space ship to zap her up and make her disappear.

  Megan and Andrew bounded into the room at that moment, and she was so relieved and grateful she could have hugged them both. Their timing was impeccable. “Hi, guys!”

  They returned her greeting, then walked straight up to their uncle, and Megan tugged on his hand. “We’re bored, Uncle Adam,” she informed him, displaying a great deal of womanly exasperation for a six-year-old child. “You said you were going to plan stuff for us to do today, and we’ve been waiting a long time, like forty hours or something.” Her bottom lip jutted out, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Yeah. It’s our last day of spring break, and we’re wasting the whole day doing nothing.”

  “Don’t be petulant, Andrew. I must finish with Miss Baxter first. Work always comes before pleasure.”

  “With you, work comes first all the time,” the child remarked, rushing out of the room with his sister following close on his heels.

  Adam seemed oblivious to the problem, and that worried Meredith. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Now, where were we?”

  Not anyplace she wanted to return. “We can continue our discussion another time. I think your niece and nephew need you more than I do right now.”

  “I’ve tried to explain to them about my work,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, as if the whole situation with the children was stressful and more than he could cope with.

  “They’re kids. You can’t expect them to understand about deadlines and meetings. Work is boring to kids. They want fun, excitement. I was the same way when I was their age. And I hadn’t just lost my parents.”

  Her perceptive comment hit home, and Adam heaved a sigh. “I guess I could take them somewhere, try to cheer them up.”

  She flashed him a smile, saying, “That’s the spirit,” then began to gather her things, which didn’t sit well with Adam, who wanted her to stay. For some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, the woman intrigued the heck out of him.

  “There’s a golf tournament at the club,” he said, waiting for the horrified reaction he knew would be forthcoming. She didn’t disappoint him.

  “Golf? You want to take them to a golf tournament?” She rolled her eyes. “Boooorrrring. Why don’t you just anesthetize them?”

  He rubbed his chin, biting back a grin. “Hmm. I guess you’re right. Maybe a tennis match would be better. It’s a bit livelier and—”

  “Good grief, Adam! You’re hopeless. You can’t take kids to an event like that. They’ll be bored to tears in seconds. Surely you can think of something else. Something fun, perhaps.” Did the man even know the meaning of the word? Not likely!

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “’Fraid not. I’m not used to entertaining small children.”

  Her eyes suddenly sparkled with inspiration. “I’ve got it. What about a picnic? You could take them to the park. Let them go to the playground, run off some of that pent-up energy they’ve been accumulating all winter.”

  “Sounds intriguing.” He rubbed his chin as if contemplating. “I might consider it, if you’ll agree to go with us. I’m not sure I can handle them by myself.”

  Though the invitation flattered, it also alarmed Meredith. “What do you mean, you can’t handle them? You’re planning to adopt those kids. It’ll be your full-time responsibility to care for Andrew and Megan after the adoption becomes legal.”

  He led her to the Chippendale sofa and sat down beside her. “I haven’t told anyone this, Meredith, but the prospect of raising Megan and Andrew scares the heck out of me. I love them very much, and I want them with me—it’s what Allison wanted, too—but I’m not sure I’m qualified to be a parent.”

  His confession moved her. For the first time since meeting Adam he seemed real, vulnerable…almost human. Taking his hand, she patted it. “You’re going to be just fine. No one is born a parent. It’s something that has to be learned. Once you find a wife, you’ll settle into the role of husband and father in no time. I’m sure your instincts will prove as excellent in family matters as they do in business.”

  Her generosity warmed him. “Thank you. Now, say you’ll come with us. It’ll be far more enjoyable for the children if you do.” And for me, he wanted to add.

  She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, and it was all Adam could do not to draw her into his arms and smother her with kisses. A mouth that provocative should be outlawed!

  “I’ve got some jogging stuff in the trunk of my car. I guess I could change.” She glanced at her watch. “My next appointment isn’t until after four.”

  “Excellent. I’ll go and tell Megan and Andrew while you fetch your things. Mrs. Fishburn will show you to one of the upstairs guest rooms where you can change.”

  “Are you going to change, too?”

  He grinned, and two charming dimples creased his cheeks. Feeling suddenly oxygen deprived, Meredith sucked in some air.

  “You didn’t think I’d picnic in a suit, did you?”

  Yes, actually, she did.

  GARBED IN SHORT, WHITE jogging shorts, a shocking-pink elastic halter top that left little to the imagination, and sneakers, Meredith made her way back down the hall a few minutes later, hoping she could find her way downstairs without a tour guide.

  The enormous house had a dozen or more rooms upstairs. The one she’d been given looked like something right out of the Palace of Versailles, with ornate gold Louis XIV furniture and a swimming-pool-size sunken marble tub that Marie Antoinette would have found quite to her liking. Meredith sure did, and would have loved soaking in it for the next hour or so.

  The contrast of Adam’s mansion to her little abode was sickeningly striking, but she didn’t think she would change places with him. For all its glitter and glamour, the mansion was cold, austere and unfriendly, and looked more like a museum than a home.

  Turning down another hall, she found herself at the entrance to another library, only this one had more than books in it, this one held Adam’s model trains, complete with intricate scaled-down versions of towns, landscapes and miniature plastic people.

  It was obvious a lot of time, eff
ort and love had gone into creating the fantasy spread out before her, and she smiled softly at the notion that stern, autocratic Adam Morgan had a childlike side to him—a side he obviously didn’t show to the outside world—a side that had been buried beneath years of breeding, tradition and proper behavior.

  This new hidden facet of the millionaire intrigued her.

  For years she’d harbored some of the same resentment her mother had held toward the Morgans. Her father’d toiled for the wealthy family and had even died because of it. She’d been denied finishing college, her mother had cleaned other people’s houses, and all because they hadn’t had the advantages of wealth, like the Morgans. She’d been weaned on resentment and had thrived on it.

  But now Meredith could see that although she’d grown up poor she’d also grown up in a home filled with love, laughter and caring, while Adam had been raised in a mausoleum surrounded by servants and reared by parents who had obviously cared more about socializing at the country club than about nurturing two love-starved children.

  Lilah and Alistair Morgan’s warmth had been used up by charming their many society friends. There’d been little, if any, left over for their children.

  Adam’s inability to interact on a personal level with others, to enjoy the normal, everyday aspects of life around him, to relate to people as individuals pointed out that his upbringing had been sadly lacking in the areas that counted. Observing the Morgan life-style firsthand made Meredith better understand why he was the way he was.

  She entered the living room a few minutes later to find that Adam had changed clothes, too. Though the navy linen slacks, white polo shirt and black-tasseled loafers were very nice and had probably cost a small fortune, they were still unsuitable for a picnic in the park.

  “You’re not planning to wear that, are you?”

  He turned, about to respond, but the sight of Meredith’s smooth, naked legs and revealing, next-to-nothing top, which delineated her ample bosom to delightful extremes, had him gasping for breath instead.