by Naima Simone
Anger firmed his mouth into a grim line, the emotion flashing in eyes so like the ones he shared with his son and daughter. But ever the consummate and gracious host, he quickly hid the irritation under an affable, if tense, smile.
“I wasn’t aware you and Kimberly had become close,” he murmured in a pale imitation of an apology. She caught her snort before it slipped free. Somehow, she doubted Malcolm had ever issued an apology to anyone. “Dinner should be served shortly, but, Morgan, let me introduce you to everyone.”
He grasped her elbow and gently guided her across the room. But she didn’t release Kim, tugging her along. And when they sat down to dinner in the dining room that wouldn’t have been out of place in a castle, she ensured Kim sat next to her at the long table that easily fit the thirty guests. Malcolm held court at the head of the table with Alex on his left.
She couldn’t help but study him. Alex was a…conundrum. A puzzle. With his masculine beauty, wealth, cultured demeanor, and reserve, he easily fit in this setting. But he didn’t blend in—he would always stand out, and not just because of his height or wide-shouldered frame. The same thing that prevented him from disappearing into a crowd was also the same reason the fit didn’t appear…right. While others around him laughed and chattered and drank, making merry, Alex seemed removed, distant. As if he were an observer but not a participant, although he did speak with his father and the woman next to him. The woman who couldn’t seem to not speak without brushing her fingertips over the back of his hand or his arm.
As crazy as it seemed, in a roomful of people, he appeared alone.
And she wanted nothing more than to ease the loneliness, break through the barricade of aloofness.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he shifted his attention away from Handsy Hannah and met her contemplation.
She’d read about the phenomenon described in countless romance novels where the world faded for the hopelessly enamored heroine, and only the hero existed. She’d always chalked that up to a literary device. But that was before. Before now.
In this moment, she fully understood how noise, a room, the whole world could disappear, leaving only the one person who commanded so much energy and focus. When nothing was as important as the heat and damn near visceral vitality that emanated from the other person. How that heat and vitality could reach you from across a table and stroke your skin and invade your body until the same energy vibrated inside you.
She blinked, breaking the connection. Exhaling, she leaned back in her high-backed chair, grateful for that scant half an inch more of space between them. She blamed the kiss. Ever since his tongue had been inside her mouth, the attraction—what a pitiful word to describe the relentless, primal urges he incited inside her—had squared.
I want your mouth on me, squared. I wonder what you look like naked, squared. I want to know what it feels like to have you fill and stretch me, squared.
Yep. That damn kiss.
“So, Morgan,” Malcolm said, interrupting her session of self-flagellation. “You still haven’t told me the story of how you and my son met. I’d heard a rumor that it was at a bachelor auction. That you bid on Alex and won him.”
Maybe her imagination taunted her, but she caught a calculating glint in the man’s eyes. Did he not believe their story? Did he suspect the truth, that this engagement was a charade for his benefit?
“Now the part about bidding on him and winning is true. And I’m thinking Punta Mita, Mexico, is a fabulous place for a honeymoon.” She tilted her head to the side. “After all I won, fair and square. But no, we didn’t meet there, but a couple of weeks earlier.”
“Are you referring to the Rhodonite Masquerade Auction?” Handsy asked, touching her fingers to Alex’s wrist. Of their own accord, Morgan’s fingers curled into a fist under the table. A defense mechanism against reaching across table settings and snatching the grabby woman’s hands off Alex. The man was engaged. Damn. Bitches be trippin’. “I’ve attended it before. How could you tell it was Alex if all the bachelors wore masks?” One of Handsy’s dark auburn eyebrows arched in question. Or at least it tried to arch. Botox probably prevented any substantial movement.
Okay, that was mean. True, but mean.
Still, she’d called him Alex as if they were bosom buddies. And while the redhead’s bosom might want to be his buddy, she didn’t get to be so familiar. Damn it.
Oh fuuuuck. Morgan was jealous.
Reaching for her glass of wine, she took a much-needed sip before replying. “Yes, they all wore masks. Tuxedoes, too. But little details like that couldn’t conceal his identity. At least not from me.” She set the flute on the table and absently toyed with the stem, switching her gaze from Handsy to the man under discussion. “I knew him as soon as he walked out on stage. Since I’ve met Alex, I’ve made a study of the way he moves. It’s confident, but so much more. It’s powerful, commanding, like he owns the world and everything in it. Sexy. No one could mimic that. And no mask could hide it,” she murmured.
For one hot moment, the world did that vanishing thing again, but before she could get sucked in, she returned her attention to the redhead with a forced smirk. Pretending a simmering need hadn’t replaced the blood flowing through her veins.
“And then there’s that body,” she added. “No, I recognized my pumpkin as soon as I saw him.”
Kim’s low chuckle reached Morgan’s ears, and her smile widened when Alex narrowed his eyes across from her.
“Does she seriously call you that…nickname?” Malcolm asked Alex, disbelief rife in his tone.
Without removing his hooded stare from her, Alex drawled, “Believe me, it’s preferable to the others. Cuddle bunny. Pookie bear.” He paused. “Hufflepuff.”
Swallowing a crack of laughter, Morgan tried to ignore Kim, whose shoulders had started to shake with the hilarity she seemed to be having a tough time containing.
But the redhead wasn’t through. “I have a good friend who lives in Boston, so I spend some time there. I do believe I heard about a Lett being engaged to a Worthington?” She frowned, and Morgan’s chest tightened. “Was that you, Morgan, or another Lett?” The avaricious gleam in the woman’s eyes clearly telegraphed that she had full knowledge of Morgan’s failed relationship.
An uneasy silence tumbled like dominoes over the table, punctuated by hushed whispers. Pain and humiliation slapped at her, and she couldn’t dodge the blows. Beneath the table, Kim slid a hand over hers and clutched it. But Morgan could barely feel it, numb except for the mortification and needle-like stares from the other guests. And here she’d thought suffering through the worst of it right after her ex’s defection had hardened her some. No. Her underbelly was still soft and vulnerable.
She inhaled, struggling to maintain her composure when inside, she shook like a storm-whipped leaf. Parting her lips, she prepared to—
“I apologize in advance if this sounds rude, although you don’t seem too concerned with manners,” Alex said, his voice hardening on the admonishment. He didn’t bother glancing at the woman seated next to him as her outraged gasp echoed in the room. “But I’m ashamed to admit I’m one of those annoyingly jealous men who don’t want to hear or discuss another man. So while some people might find the topic fodder for ignorant gossip, I had a hard enough time convincing Morgan to take a chance on me when another person hadn’t valued the beautiful woman he had.”
The breath rushed out of her on a low exhalation, and the trembling she’d managed to hold off worked a path through her body. Emotion—shock, sadness, gratefulness, God, even delight—lodged in her throat, preventing any further air from entering or escaping her lungs.
Not only had he turned the tables so he appeared flawed instead of her, but he’d… He’d championed her. Had anyone ever done that for her before?
No.
No one had.
Except for Alexander Bishop. Her so-called nemesis and partner-in-crime.
Conversation continued to flow around them, and she even eng
aged in it, but the rest of the meal passed in a fog. When the last course ended, she gratefully stood from the table, intent on escaping the room and the increasingly cloying sense of being boxed in.
She’d been doing so well, playing her part to perfection. But one mention of Troy, and she’d slipped up. How could Malcolm believe she was in love with his son when just the topic of her ex had sent her reeling? He would assume she still loved another man, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. Was she hurt, angry, embarrassed? Yes, but her love for Troy had vanished when he’d betrayed her.
Does that mean you really loved him, then?
That’s it. She was buying her subconscious a mental muzzle and throwing away the damn key. Nosey bitch.
Still, as she followed Kim out of the dining room and into another, smaller living room, she couldn’t evict the thought from her mind, either.
If she had loved Troy—enough to pledge the rest of her life to him—would she have been able to stop loving him so quickly?
Had she loved him? Or the idea of him? Of being married with a family?
Had he shattered her heart…or her dreams?
Oh shit. It was all too much to think about without wine.
And with enough alcohol, she didn’t have to think at all.
Chapter Nine
“Son, I’d like a word with you.” His father’s request reached Alex seconds before his hand settled down on his shoulder, preventing him from following Morgan.
For an instant, he didn’t turn around to face Malcolm, instead taking that extra moment to study the woman who deserved an Academy Award for her stellar performance all evening long. If he hadn’t been aware of the truth, he would’ve believed the sultry glances, the gentle teasing, and flirtatious words. The way she’d looked at him at the dinner table…how she’d described his walk, for Christ’s sake.
He’d heard plenty of compliments and come-ons from women: about his looks, his body, hell, his dick. But none of them had ever described how he walked. It’d been more erotic and arousing than the filthiest dirty talk. It’d taken every ounce of control not to shove his chair back, stalk around the table, and pull her up and against him…take another taste of the mouth he’d forbidden himself from having again.
Only he didn’t want to stop with her mouth.
Though he longed to deny the truth about his body’s reaction to Morgan, he couldn’t. Damn, that low, husky voice alone was oral sex. His gaze dipped over her slim back and hips, and perfect ass. The ivory sheath hugged her curves without crossing the line into cheap, and the mid-thigh hem showcased those sexy, endless legs while never verging into street-walking territory. Morgan Lett was the ultimate temptation, and now that he’d surrendered to it once, he craved more. Her mouth, breasts, the curve of her waist, flare of her hips…the crease where her torso met her legs. The soft, swollen flesh between her thighs where her earthy, vanilla, and sandalwood fragrance would be strongest. Especially the wetter and hotter she became.
Yes, he wanted her. Under him. Over him. On top of him.
But that didn’t mean he could have her. If there was one woman completely off-limits to him, it was Morgan. She was that tree in Eden, but unlike Eve, he understood perfectly the consequences of touching and feasting on her.
Didn’t mean his body wasn’t flipping him the finger for denying it.
Tearing his scrutiny from the sensual sway of her hips, he nodded. “Fine.”
Without any further instruction, he headed in the opposite direction of the guests toward the library and study. Since he was younger, whenever his father issued a command to “talk,” the conversations had taken place in the study. As a child and teen, the topics had been Alex’s misbehavior, his grades, anti-social tendencies, and later, Kim.
He had a pretty good idea what this discussion would entail.
They entered the library, Alex’s favorite room in the huge mausoleum that was his ancestral home. Hell, how pompous did that sound? He shook his head, following his father into the room off the library. And had a case of déjà vu as Malcolm rounded his desk and settled in the chair behind it.
Alex remained standing, sliding his hands in his pants pockets.
“Well, Alex, I have to admit I’m surprised. Pleasantly so, but still…surprised,” Malcolm said, his gaze inscrutable.
“I don’t know why,” Alex replied, keeping his tone calm and even. “I assured you Morgan was perfect, and you would like her.”
“She definitely is everything you described—beautiful, witty, smart, independently wealthy. I also did some investigating of my own. Aside from the messy, recent business with her engagement, her reputation is impeccable. She comes from a good family with an equally unblemished reputation. I couldn’t have chosen a better wife for you.”
“But…” Alex added. With his father, the “but” was inevitable.
“But,” Malcolm added, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the desk top. “The timing seems awfully convenient. Only weeks to go before the deadline, and suddenly you have a fiancée that you’re in love with? Even with a woman like Morgan, it just seems…coincidental.”
Uneasiness crowded in his chest. Maybe his father hadn’t been the best steward over the family company, but no one had ever accused him of being dumb. Quite the opposite.
Alex had prepared himself for this, though. If he didn’t convince Malcolm about his relationship with Morgan, then all their efforts up until now would be worthless.
He shrugged a shoulder. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I fought against this asinine idea of forcing me into an engagement and marriage. Especially when you haven’t adhered to the same standard you’re trying to hold me to.”
His father’s body stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Watch your tongue, Alex. I was married when I took over Bishop Enterprises.”
Alex grunted. “To wife number three, and you were divorced a couple of years afterward. Marriage has nothing to do with successfully running a company. And we both know it.”
“It’s the image,” Malcolm snapped. “Of stability, family, and duty. Image is everything, and we both know that,” he said, tossing his words back at him.
Unfortunately, Alex did. He didn’t believe in burying his head in the sand; he fully grasped how the board viewed Malcolm’s philandering and merry-go-round system of wives. Usually, it was the playboy, rebellious son who ended up in the gossip section of society columns with various women hanging from his arm, not the father. Compared to Malcolm, Alex was a goddamn monk. His father’s behavior was even more glaring when held up against Alex’s grandfather, Richard Bishop’s, sterling reputation. Alex took after Richard, both in an instinct and passion for business and discretion. It’d been Malcolm’s decisions and investments that had almost sent Bishop Enterprises into financial ruin. That coupled with his active social life hadn’t endeared him to the board…and those bastards had long memories.
“Yes, I do get it,” Alex said in agreement. “Which is why I gave in and decided to find a wife. I was just as surprised as you to find Morgan. But… Well, you’ve met Morgan. And while the timing might seem suspicious to you, it’s a sign to me. That this was meant to be; it’s right. And after Lisa, I didn’t think I’d ever want to marry again. Morgan did the impossible.”
His words echoed in the silence, as did the sincerity that rang in them. Hell. Maybe he deserved an Academy Award, too. Because he would’ve believed himself.
After several long moments, his father nodded. “Okay. I’ll accept that.” He leaned back in his chair, a smile spreading across his face. “Well done, Alex. I’m proud of you. Morgan will be a wonderful addition to our family.”
“Family,” Alex drawled, the anger kindling in his chest belying the casual tone. How could he sit there, smug and self-righteous? He was so quick to accept a stranger but not Kim, his own flesh and blood. The hypocrisy disgusted him. “You mentioned earlier about how we need to project an image of family. Which part? Loyalty? Acceptance? Or how about lov
e?” He snorted. “You blackmail the one child you have a relationship with and refuse to acknowledge the other. What family values are we portraying again?”
“I won’t talk about her with you,” his father stated in a voice cold enough to compete with an arctic, winter night.
“Of course you won’t.” Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re my father, and in spite of your many comments, I do respect you. But with Kim?” He shook his head. “You’re wrong and mean-spirited. And stubborn as hell. She. Is. Your. Daughter. A Bishop. Just because you refuse to recognize that doesn’t make her cease to exist. One day, you’re going to wake up, old and lonely, and recognize what a fool you’ve been. Maybe she’ll forgive you. I don’t know. But me? You pull any more shit like you did tonight, and I won’t be forgiving. And this family that you’re so intent on pushing me on? It’ll be a memory, a figment of your dreams of grandeur, because you’re going to lose me. I won’t recognize you.”
Pivoting sharply, he stalked from the study, rage propelling him from the room.
He needed to get out of there before that future became their present.
…
Morgan exited her hotel bedroom and entered the suite’s main living area. Automatically, she glanced across the room toward the second, closed bedroom door. Had Alex decided to retire already? It was only a little after ten o’clock, but he’d been very quiet on the drive home from his father’s home a half hour earlier. Well, quieter than usual. She’d expected a critique of her performance that evening, but…nothing.
As a matter-of-fact, his whole demeanor had changed after dinner. More specifically, after he’d returned from momentarily disappearing with his father. And the tension that seemed to hum under his skin had remained the rest of the evening and the ride to their hotel. What had been discussed to place him on edge? The only thing she could assume was Malcolm had grilled him over their engagement. And his father hadn’t been convinced.
