Fortunately, her boss was a man of reason. “So what do you propose I do?”
There was no stopping the smirk spreading across her face. “You do what we planned to do when we got here. Only instead of deflecting her, you make her jealous. Make her want you. Then she’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”
“Well, playing my fiancée hasn’t helped so far, so what now?”
Morgan arched an eyebrow. “You do what any fiancée would do: you kiss me…and then wait.”
Chapter Ten
CONOR SEARCHED MORGAN’S jade green eyes, assessing her intent. This was the kind of silly thing she’d say just to get him to fall for a joke and, when he agreed, she’d pull the rug out from under him—but he was seeing no sign that she was being a smart ass.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes, dammit. I’m dead serious.”
Before he could even decide how to make his move, Morgan wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled his face closer to hers. Why the hell had he never noticed how good she smelled up close before? Her perfume was reminiscent of cloves and cinnamon and other spices, almost making him want to take a bite out of her neck.
But she wasn’t giving him a chance.
Instead, she brought her lips close to his, near enough that he could feel little charges of electricity jumping from her mouth to his, pulling him in as if by some mysterious gravitational force.
It made his mouth water.
Made him forget everything else.
When she pressed her lips into his, he kept reminding himself that he was supposed to act like they did this all the time, like it was no big deal—and that should have been easy, considering Morgan was simply working for him.
Except this was so different.
Suddenly, as he inched his tongue inside her mouth, finding himself desiring her down deep in his loins, he had no thought of ex-cheerleader-what’s-her-face. Instead, it was all about the woman who was suddenly in his arms, pressed up against his body.
For the first time in his life, he felt like he had another purpose. Morgan was most certainly not the kind of woman who needed protecting, but he wanted to shelter her anyway. And she definitely wasn’t the kind of girl who would need to be told how beautiful and special she was—and yet he now had a deep burning desire to do just that.
In Morgan’s words, what the fuck was going on with him?
She tasted sweet and feminine, igniting a yearning deep inside Conor, one that made him want to taste every inch of her, explore her every soft curve.
Kisses were supposed to make women breathless, leave the man looking something like James Dean or Marlon Brando back in the fifties—and yet he felt as though she’d knocked him down with a bowling ball.
He opened his eyes, praying he looked like the man he’d become and not like nerdy fourteen-year-old Conor, the kid with the big glasses, shiny braces, and egg head. He hoped he now appeared like the confident businessman who knew his shit when it came to money and his ability to make small businesses stronger so they could focus on what they did best.
Morgan’s tiny smile injected him with a shot of confidence. But then she ran her hand down to his chest and patted it. “The one thing I hadn’t thought of was how to find out if that worked.”
Proud of how masculine his voice said, he kept his smile to a minimum. “Isn’t that what I pay you for?”
“Let’s just assume it did. And I’ll start being more handsy with you. If she’s hanging around you more tonight, we’ll know it worked.” Morgan dropped her hands from his chest, and he tried not to feel disappointed about that—after all, it was just a ruse, right? “And if she still seems like she’s plugged in somewhere else, I’ll start filling her head with all kinds of shit.”
“Like what?”
“Like telling her how good you are in bed and stuff like that.”
“What?”
“Just trust me.” Before he could say another word, Morgan started walking off, and Conor felt his kidneys and liver fall through his legs and into his feet, a feeling of nausea replacing the sickening sense of weightlessness—because he was certain she was going to start that crap right now. Instead, she walked over to the coffee urn and began pouring herself another cup.
But he was the one swallowing a large gulp.
* * *
Holy fuck. Was that chemistry or just something fucking strange going on? What in holy hell was wrong with her?
Morgan had kissed plenty of men in her day, but she could say none of them had felt or tasted quite like that. Was it because she’d taken control of that moment? Usually in the past, she’d acquiesced and waited for the man to make the initial move but, in this case, time had been of the essence and she’d been inspired.
And it had worked!
As she’d walked back from the coffee urn to their table, she’d caught Raquel’s eyes looking first at Conor and then at her—so, in typical Morgan fashion, she waved at the snatch. Ha.
But that kiss had been way better than it had had a right to be…and it was going to be hard to think of Conor in any other fashion now.
An hour later and the reunion folks were giving everyone a tour of the high school, showing them all the changes that had been made to the building in the past two decades. According to Conor, they now had a new auditorium and gymnasium, making him wonder why they hadn’t just built a new school altogether.
They hadn’t even moved into the new wing when Raquel and the quarterback joined them. Raquel started talking to Conor, wriggling her arm in his and just being all-around obnoxious. If Morgan had been a fighter, she would have pulled Raquel outside by her hair.
Instead, she decided that two could play that game.
“Jacob, right?”
Nodding, the older man gave her a slight smile. “Yep, that’s it. And you’re Conor’s fiancée?”
“I am,” she said, trying not to look at the Conor-Raquel pairing—and failing miserably.
“Not much longer, am I right?” Jacob’s stupid comment wouldn’t have been so bad had he not punctuated it with a jab in Morgan’s ribs with his elbow. Morgan glanced at him and gave him the best smile she could, but even without seeing herself, she knew it was pinched. The man she was stuck with wasn’t too terribly bad. He’d maintained an athletic body, even if his mullet-like haircut seemed a little dated. “I can show you a good time if you get tired of playing third wheel.”
She didn’t want this guy continuing to entertain the thought that she’d even consider him. “Look, dude, even if I’m pissed at Conor for the moment, he’s also my boss—so I can’t just dump him. Besides, they’re only catching up. It’s been ten years, right?”
As the crowd slowed so they could be updated on the financing of the newest wing of the school, Raquel moved her arm so she could rub Conor’s lower back. By now, Morgan was seething, but she couldn’t say shit about it. Out of the corner of his mouth, Jacob said, “Catching up on what?”
Morgan tried to keep her sigh as muffled as possible and pretended to be listening to the babbling up front. That was great that they got a grant so they saved a couple of mil on the addition. Now can we please move on?
As they started moving again—finally—Jacob asked, “So how long have you and Conor been together?”
Time for another lie that she hoped they wouldn’t get caught in. So long as nobody asked her and Conor the same questions—and, chances were, the curiosity would fizzle out once the reunion was over—she’d be fine. So she was going to make up a story that would be easy to repeat and hard to verify. “I’m not sure. I’ve been working for him for around five years now…and somewhere in the middle, we became interested in each other. I’m not sure when we actually started dating.”
“So you’re not one of these women who has a first-date anniversary?”
Morgan peered at a glass display they were walking past but knew she’d have to answer his question. Fortunately, she could utilize honesty here. “No, that’s asinine.�
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“I happen to agree. I can’t remember days like that—and I don’t need two anniversaries to forget instead of one.”
They continued walking down the hall, listening to Kendra and cohorts babble on about all the changes in the building, plus a long-winded discussion about how credit hours had changed over the years, and Morgan thought Jacob finally got the hint to leave her alone.
At least he’d distracted her from the mind-numbing school talk.
Out of the blue, though, Jacob got close to her again. “So where did you go to school?”
She could no longer hold her tongue. “You really wanna fuckin’ know?”
“Ah…I love a feisty woman.”
Morgan stopped walking and didn’t care that people were pissed that they had to walk around them. “Dude, you’re way too old for me, okay? So just stop hitting on me.”
The guy let out an embarrassed laugh and lowered his voice. “I’m not hitting on you. I’m just trying to be friendly. It’s not my fault that the person I wanted to catch up with has stolen your fiancé and isn’t giving me the time of day anymore.”
Jacob started to move away and then Morgan felt like a real asshole. He was right, after all. “Jacob…I’m sorry. I guess I am a little upset and was taking it out on you.” He didn’t look convinced and seemed like he was ready to give her a throwaway answer, just as she’d been doing to him moments before. “Friends?” Morgan thrust her hand out, waiting for him to shake it. God, why did some men seem to openly pout when spurned? But he finally took her hand. “You’re right. We have something in common—so maybe we can enjoy each other’s company.” Or flirt and try to get her pretend fiancée to give her the time of day…but she wasn’t going to hold her breath. Conor finally had Raquel’s attention and he didn’t seem ready to give it up anytime soon.
* * *
Conor had never liked golf, so why the hell was he here? He could play the game okay, but he hated the long boring periods of waiting, even though the walking wasn’t so bad. Some of the guys rode in the golf carts, but when moving your feet was the only exercise you got with the game, Conor figured he’d do better to walk when he had the chance.
What made it worse was that the women were playing their own game of golf on another part of the course—and he was certain Morgan was seething. She was all about equal rights, if nothing else.
As he watched his new buddy Jacob putt at the hole, he marveled at the afternoon’s events. Morgan, correct as always, had led Raquel straight to him. Well, indirectly, of course. Ever since that crazy kiss he and Morgan had shared after breakfast, Raquel had been hanging on his every word. In fact, he was surprised she wasn’t here now—but they had a separate women’s game, and she’d said she was going to take a nap to prepare for the evening’s festivities. He couldn’t blame her. Morgan had gone, even after complaining. “Yeah, sounds like great fun whacking a ball into sand pits and trees. I can’t wait.”
But something tickling the back of his mind kept him from being as thrilled at having Raquel finally, after all these years, interested—and that was thanks to Morgan. Yes, he’d been kind of seeing her in a new light over the past couple of days, but that kiss was supposed to be a throwaway, just for show. For Morgan, it probably hadn’t done a thing. And Conor could play along with that, but it had been more than just pretend—and he didn’t quite know how to deal with that.
For one thing, he was too old for Morgan. Seven or eight years might not seem like a lot to other people, but he’d always felt like the grouchy old man compared to her free and feisty foul-mouthed ways. Being her boss caused part of that strange dynamic, but the age gap didn’t help. As hard as it was to imagine Raquel by his side hanging on his every word, it was that much harder with a gal like Morgan.
And yet, ever since that kiss, the thought kept wafting through his brain like a persistent soft breeze through an open window. It tickled at the edge of his consciousness, enough that he kept turning it over, examining it like he would when helping a new customer figure out the calculation errors in their books.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Jacob said as they began walking en masse to the next hole.
No way was he saying a word to his new best friend, a guy he wouldn’t talk to again until the next reunion—provided Jacob even remembered him then. “Just coming to grips with why I never pursued golf professionally.”
“Yeah, you’re no Tiger Woods.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Jacob chortled, all but admitting he agreed. “So when’s the big date?”
Continuing to walk, Conor tried not to frown as he racked his brain to figure out what Jacob was talking about.
God, what a shitty fiancée, even in pretense.
But if he could sound casual, maybe Jacob wouldn’t notice the pause. “We haven’t set a date yet.”
“You’re a lucky man, Hammond.”
This guy didn’t know Morgan—not that she would be a bad wife, but he had his doubts if the two of them would ever be compatible. That was a moot point, though. “How so?” He made sure to stay one step ahead of Jacob so he couldn’t see his facial expression, but he was now dangerously close to his two rivals, Bullock and Mills. Jesus.
Jacob started laughing. “Is this a trick question? Lemme just say I’m innocent until proven guilty.” He let out an obnoxious chortle, but Conor couldn’t even manage to pretend to laugh with him. He was too busy keeping an eye on the other men. “She’s gorgeous. And sassy. I love that. She’s got a filthy mouth—I bet that’s awesome in the sack.”
He’d heard enough—even though the guy was right on all counts, and Conor was busy trying to figure out how to keep the employee-boss distance between the two of them. “All right. That’s enough.”
“But am I right?”
Conor turned. “Enough. That’s my fiancée you’re talking about there.”
Shit. He was even convincing himself. What the hell was happening to him?
Chapter Eleven
FOR THE STUPIDEST fucking reason, Morgan was excited about the evening’s festivities. She could honestly say she’d never participated in a masquerade ball, so this would be a first. Did all high school reunions do weird but fun things like this? And, unlike the other activities, they didn’t have to wear their nametags to this event. Maybe the organizers thought they’d rekindled friendships enough now that they didn’t need name reminders.
When Conor exited the bathroom wearing the tux he’d rented the day before, Morgan said, “Oh, my God. You looking fucking…dapper.”
“Dapper? What the hell are you even trying to say, Morgan?”
Giggling, she shook her head. “I mean that in the best way possible, boss. I mean…you look like James Bond or Christian Grey!”
“Who’s Christian Grey?”
“Never mind.” His bowtie was slightly crooked and she couldn’t help herself. She walked across the room and adjusted his tie—only to be assaulted by the scent of his spicy cologne, the one that had been making her mouth water since yesterday when she discovered she might have slightly deeper feelings for this man than she’d originally thought. “Better.”
“Thanks.” He tugged at one of his sleeves, too, making sure he matched.
Damn…he looked fucking hot, but no way would Morgan ever say that out loud. How the hell would she ever get over this newfound crush?
“You look great, too.”
“Like a respectable trophy fiancée, I hope.” She wore a sleek white gown with ruffles and sky-high silver pumps, courtesy of Conor’s credit card, and her brown hair was piled on her head with tiny wisps framing her face. She’d put on darker makeup as well and wore flashier jewelry than usual. Did Conor even notice?
Probably not. He was newly infatuated with Raquel. And why? Not that Morgan would resent him acting like usual, but the woman was a cast-iron bitch…and Conor didn’t seem to notice that, either. Or maybe he’d had a crush on Raquel for so long that he didn’t care. Or, perhaps, Raquel
talked differently to him than—
“Morgan? You okay?”
She’d been pondering a little too much, and even though she’d exited the elevator with Conor, she was looking at the ground, walking slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I think it’s down the hall this way and then to the right.”
Morgan followed Conor, loving how he took her hand in his to continue their ruse. Sure, it was just an act, but she couldn’t help but feel a little thrill about how he held her hand in his, as if he didn’t even need to think about it twice.
As if it meant something to him.
Around the corner, there was a big sign on an easel, letting them know that the masquerade ball was just ahead. When they got to a big table, their old friend Kendra stood there, manning the table. “Oh! Conor and…Morgan, right?” With a flair, she placed two checkmarks with a Sharpie next to their names.
“I’m impressed, Kendra.”
The woman giggled. “That’s my job.” Acting serious all of a sudden, she said, “So…ladies to the right and gentlemen to the left. You’ll get a mask before you go to the ballroom floor—and, for at least the first hour, we’re asking people to leave them on…for fun. After the hour, you can remove them, but we want everyone to mingle and just enjoy yourself dancing behind a disguise.”
Morgan wondered what was the purpose of being masked and secretive, but she thought it might be fun. She gave Conor a tiny wave. “See you soon.”
He smiled and nodded. At least he appreciated that she was a good sport. When she stepped in the little white room, she was struck by what felt like a lot of catty females. Raquel was there, of course, wearing red. Morgan could swear she felt snotty daggers coming from the woman’s eyes—not like she cared. A woman with long brown hair pulled back said, “Ah…let’s find you the perfect mask.”
The woman had three boxes on a shelf behind the table that she was rifling through. Soon, she turned around, holding a white lacy one. While Morgan wasn’t going to complain, she thought she’d be completely washed out with all the white. The mask matched her dress, but it felt like overkill. As she got ready to thank the woman, Raquel approached them. “Hey, Brenda, what do you think?”
Shenanigans (Pretense and Promises Book 2) Page 10
