Found: One Secret Baby (8 page)

“So this is all about Joey, huh?” Vanessa’s tone was skeptical. “Then why does this guy want to have dinner with you?”

As if Rosalie hadn’t already asked herself that a thousand times. “I don’t know.”

“It couldn’t be because you’re an attractive, intelligent woman with a warm heart and a great sense of humor?”

“Maybe.”

Vanessa gave a un-supermodel-like snort. “Dress up so you look great, but are still comfortable. Relax and try to have a good time. Don’t let the man steamroller you. Do you think you can do that?”

“Probably.”

“Only probably?”

It was an old game from their law-school days, invoked whenever one of them had a big exam or a paper due. It’d gotten them both through the bar exam and sped Vanessa through her CPA exams.

“Definitely. I can do that,” Rosalie replied with a laugh.

I can do that, she repeated to herself as she ironed around the buttonholes on the blue chambray dress on Wednesday evening, but the images of Morgan undoing all those buttons to expose the sensitive flesh of her breasts teased at the edges of her mind.

She grabbed the dress and turned off the iron. When she glanced into the living room to check on Joey in his playpen, the half-deflated yellow balloon on the mantle nodded at her, a cheery reminder of Morgan’s kindness, his sensitivity to what she wanted, needed …

Not a good thing to remember right now. She needed to stay focused on Joey and the custody battle.

But the image of Morgan’s hands on her body followed her into her bedroom.

In the end, the practical white bra went back into the drawer. Instead she pulled out the pale-blue lace one she’d bought on a whim the same day she’d bought the sundress. To bolster her ego. After that it was easy to put on the matching lace panties. She added a simple white half-slip and buttoned herself into the dress. Morgan was due in less than five minutes.

Morgan arrived at Rosalie’s house five minutes early. He sat in the car and wondered why until it was time to walk the flower-lined path to her door.

Through the wide windows to the dining room he saw Rosalie in the kitchen doorway talking to someone. She wasn’t wearing a flowered dress this time, but a blue one that outlined the soft curves of her body.

A wave of primal emotion demanded he take his time with this woman, make her completely his at the slow, deliberate pace she deserved.

But Lillian had taken the time he needed away from him.

He stepped back and pressed the doorbell. Rosalie frowned as she crossed the dining room, both cats in her wake. Would she try to back out at the last minute?

Before he could come up with a Plan B if she did, she swung the door open, a bright smile on her face.

Startled, he took a moment before he grinned back at her.

“Hi.” With practiced expertise she lifted one foot to block the cats.

He focused for a moment on the bare toes revealed by her sandals before he traced a leisurely visual path up her legs to the billowy skirt of her dress. His body jumped to full attention when his gaze moved higher to all the little buttons that shaped her lush breasts.

“Come on in and say hello to Joey.”

The breathless, wispy quality in her voice made his heart pump. He looked into her eyes, amazed to see the same kind of heat there.

The kid. Think about the kid. The flowery scent of her perfume made it difficult, but he fixed his mind on the long-term goal and followed her through the kitchen to the breakfast room.

The small room’s wide bay window opened on the backyard, where a grassy space had been cleared for a toddler play set between the driveway and another lavish garden of flowers. An evening breeze stirred the swing that hung from the branch of a large pepper tree.

The older lady from across the street sat at the round breakfast table next to the highchair. Apparently it did take a village to raise a child, at least for a single mom.

The spoon the older lady held stopped in midair at Joey’s joyful cry of “Mawg!” Her bright-blue eyes peered up at Morgan through trifocal lenses, then moved to Rosalie’s face. The woman gave a nod—of approval, he hoped—and stuck the spoon in Joey’s open mouth.

Rosalie made the introductions. When Morgan sat on the other side of the highchair for a moment to talk to Joey, the cats took their guardian positions on each side of him.

“Hey, kid, how was your day?”

“He had a very good day,” Rosalie answered. “He had fun at day care, and I got home early enough for a walk before dinner. Now he has Mrs. Peterson to spoil him.”

The older woman’s back straightened. “I do not spoil him.”

Rosalie smiled. “No, of course not.” She stepped closer, too close to Morgan to whisper loudly enough for the sitter to hear her, “She lets him watch cartoons until he falls asleep.”

Mrs. Peterson reddened as she spooned what looked like stew into Joey’s mouth.

Morgan worked to keep his mind on the byplay between the women despite the fact that every nerve in his body had gone on alert the moment Rosalie’s breath tickled his ear.

He swallowed and stood. “I’m afraid we have to go. Our reservation’s for eight.”

Rosalie bent to give Joey a hug and kiss goodbye. To Morgan’s surprise, she led him at a quick pace to the front door.

“The sooner we’re gone, the less time Joey will have to decide to fuss,” she explained in a low voice and shut the door quietly behind them.

He gave what he hoped was a knowing nod and took her arm below the light shawl she’d thrown around her shoulders. The skin-on-skin contact seared and comforted him at the same time. Which made no sense, but felt right.

So far so good. If he kept his mind on the plan …

It could be a long evening.

It promised to be a long evening. Morgan had on a tailored white-linen jacket with a pale-green shirt and a plain pair of black trousers. Despite her best efforts, Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder how he would look shirtless, how his muscles would feel if she touched them, how his skin would feel if she kissed it. Not a good sign.

Why did Morgan Danby have to be the one man who filled her mind with images of naked bodies tangled on pristine beaches and branded her body with X-rated wants and impulses?

He clicked open the doors of the upmarket German hybrid he’d rented this time and helped her in before he went around the front to climb in beside her.

During the ride out to the beach they discussed the famous sights they passed. She was surprised by how well he knew L.A. He even seemed to share her enthusiasm for the city, despite its less-than-stellar reputation as a place to live or raise a child.

When they reached the restaurant, the gorgeous blonde at the desk inside the door told them they’d have a half-hour wait for their table, despite their reservation.

Morgan started to protest, but Rosalie saw the hottest couple in Hollywood sneak past them—dark sunglasses still in place in the dimly lit restaurant—and elbowed him into silence.

“What was that about?” he asked after they ordered drinks in the restaurant bar.

“It’s Malibu. The very rich and very famous get priority over the merely very rich.”

“In Boston, we have proper respect for sheer wealth.”

“In Boston you don’t have to live in a fish bowl like those people do.”

The server brought a single-malt whiskey, neat, for Morgan, and a ruby-red Cabernet for her. She held the fruity richness of the wine on her tongue for a moment before she let it slide down her throat, lighting tiny flares of delight on the way.

Morgan took a healthy drink of his whiskey. “So, how did court go today?”

“Pretty much the way I expected.”

She looked at him for signs he wasn’t interested, but his eyes stayed on her face and he nodded to encourage her. So she sketched him an account of how the case had played out, then filled it in as he asked all the right questions. She stumbled over some of her words, unused to sharing the ups and downs of her day with anyone except Joey, but Morgan showed none of the signs of impatience his young nephew usually did.

Eventually they were shown to a table near the window, not far from the Hollywood couple, who talked in low tones over their food, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

After they ordered, Rosalie asked about the L.A. start-up Morgan wanted to acquire.

“You can’t really be interested in that.”

“If I wasn’t interested, I wouldn’t have asked.”

He shrugged and launched into a summary of why his company had its eye on this particular technology.

The server brought their food half-way through the story. Rosalie inhaled the sweet-tangy steam hovering over her bouillabaisse. Morgan’s mixed seafood grill added an earthier undertone that reminded her how long it’d been since she’d gobbled a sandwich outside the courthouse.

They ate in companionable silence at first, but once her initial hunger eased, she asked Morgan all the questions she’d thought of while he talked about the start-up.

She’d never wanted a career in business law, but had enjoyed the mergers and acquisitions course she took. To hear how the theories she’d learned worked in practice was an eye-opener, especially given Morgan’s insight and enthusiasm, and his willingness to answer her questions.

Every now and then she’d remind herself to take a bite of her meal and get distracted by the little explosions of tomato, herbs, and perfectly cooked seafood on her tongue.

Once the topic of the start-up was exhausted, they moved on to other business deals he considered key to his company’s success and the other cases she was working on. The conversation had all the excitement of the best late-night sessions from law school, with the added spice of the simmering sexual attraction between them. She wasn’t sure she’d ever enjoyed a conversation more.

By the time they’d finished the restaurant’s signature low-fat dessert of lemon-ice sorbet and angel food cake, she looked up to discover the place was half empty.

“What time is it?” She reached into her purse for her cell. “Ten-thirty! Mrs. Peterson will think something awful has happened.”

Morgan smiled. “Call her and tell her you’re having a wonderful time and will be home later than you expected.”

Mrs. Peterson didn’t sound surprised at all when Rosalie called.

“I’ll bed down on the couch if I get sleepy. Stay out all night, if you like.”

Rosalie felt color creep up her cheeks. She asked how Joey was and added, “Call me if you need me,” before she hung up.

Morgan shifted his gaze from the waves on the beach below them. “You are having a wonderful time, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Are you terribly bored?”

Morgan couldn’t have been less bored. Or more frustrated.

The frustration wasn’t just sexual, although that was there in spades. Every time Rosalie took a bite of her bouillabaisse and her face went soft with sensual pleasure, his body throbbed.

At the same time, his mind rebelled against the need to rush past the unexpected delight of exploring this woman’s mind. If he moved too fast with her, he’d put whatever might have naturally grown between them at risk. He hadn’t accomplished what he had in life without a few major risks, but he wasn’t sure this one was worth the price. Except Joey would be the big loser if Morgan didn’t act fast.

“No, I’m not bored,” he said. “How about a walk on the beach?”

Rosalie blinked twice and opened her mouth to say no, Morgan was sure, before she closed it with a soft sigh. “Okay.”

Afraid she’d change her mind if he gave her time to think, he set his napkin on the table, picked up the receipt the server left after he paid the bill, and rose to pull out Rosalie’s chair. She stood and looked up at him, then ran her tongue across lush lips that had lost all trace of lipstick.

He suppressed a moan and stepped back as he fought the urge to throw her down across the table and do unspeakably erotic things to her.

Instead, he took her arm like the gentleman he’d been raised to be, despite the jolt of lust down below when the mere touch of his hand on her bare skin made her gasp.

Rosalie fought to control her breath. The sparks set off by Morgan’s hand on her arm lit tiny fires inside her.

Joey, she reminded herself. They’d hardly talked about him, or his future, over dinner. She needed to use this time with Morgan to get him to help her win custody.

He led her down a wooden staircase onto the beach. She stopped on the bottom step to slip off her sandals, shivering in the cool, damp wind that blew in the smell of salt and fish. Before she could stop him, he’d slid out of his jacket and put it across her shoulders, which enveloped her in the very different salt and tang of his body.

She shivered again, but not from cold. He put his arm around her waist while they walked down to the flat stretch of solid sand left behind by the tide. The moon left a trail of light across the water. To the south, the land and its lights curved out into the sea. To the north, the dark mass of the mountains showed only an isolated light here and there. Behind them sprawled a huge metropolis, but it felt as if they were all alone in the world on the moon-lit beach.

They walked north in a comfortable quiet after the pleasant intensity of their conversation over dinner. She tried once or twice to mention the custody battle, but the rhythmic rush of the waves lulled her into silence. Finally she let her thoughts scatter like the reflections on the ocean.

When they reached the edge of a private beach, Morgan stopped and turned her toward him to hold her in his arms.

She wasn’t sure how she realized he meant to kiss her, but one moment they were two people who’d shared a pleasant conversation and the next moment the air between them had become an oven of desire and need, despite the fog creeping in around them.

She gave a tiny nod. He lowered his head slowly, as if afraid he might startle her. Unable to raise her arms to his shoulders because of the coat, she wrapped them around his waist and pulled him closer. His half-closed eyes sprang open and he smiled.

His lips touched hers and the world spun away. All that existed for her was the warmth where their lips touched, explored, nibbled, but still she smelled the sea and felt the damp sand under her feet. Flames swept down to her toes and settled in her breasts, low in her belly.

He slid his tongue across her lower lip, and she opened for him. She wanted more, too, wanted all of the delicious sensations he sent cascading through every barrier to free a person inside of her she’d forgotten existed.

She pushed up to her toes to be closer to the solid heat of his body. The brush of his hardness against her made her hesitate, test how it made her feel.

She almost laughed with surprise to find it made her feel sexy, powerful. She wiggled against it and he groaned.

How long they stood lost in each other, she couldn’t have said. It might have been days, might easily have been all night. But after a while he pulled away, then nipped at her eyebrows,

the line of her cheek, before he rested his forehead against hers and muttered a low oath that made her laugh in spite of herself.

She sank back to her heels, hands at his waist. He put his fingers on each side of her face and tipped it up to look at him.

“Rosalie?”

She closed her eyes, the spell of the kiss unbroken but now the colors behind her eyes were midnight blue instead of hazy purple.

“Rosalie, do you want to go back to my condo with me?”

Do you want to have sex with me?
Her heart lurched. But the idea of ending this magical night now caused a pain deep inside her and overrode all caution.

This evening she’d learned Morgan was more than a man who reminded her what it meant to be a woman. He was a man she respected, liked, cared about. Which made it easier to admit she wanted the pleasure his kiss promised more than she’d ever wanted anything before.

One night. She owed herself one night.

She opened her eyes to find his still fixed on her face. She couldn’t see love there, but she saw more than bare desire, so she whispered, “Yes.”

He gave her a kiss so tender her heart nearly wept.

They strolled back in silence. She heard the crash and sweep of the waves, each thunderous beat of her heart, maybe the beat of his. But her hand in his felt right, the occasional bump of their hips as they walked a rhythm she recognized from some ancient dream.

Once they reached the wooden stairway back up to the restaurant, he steadied her with his hand while she brushed sand off her feet and slipped on her sandals. When he released her hand to brush the sand from his elegant shoes she suppressed a whimper of need.

She stood in the circle of his arms to wait for the valet to bring the car. When Morgan slipped his jacket from her shoulders before she climbed in, she shivered with more than cold.

The thunk of the door the valet closed behind her had a ring of erotic inevitability that tingled through her body and made her heart sing.

Morgan pulled onto Pacific Coast Highway, his mind almost as troubled as his body was aroused. This plan had to work. If it didn’t, Lillian might get custody of Joey.

Worse, Charlie’s father could still decide his latest wife’s youth might play well in court if Lillian was the alternative and sue for custody after all. Morgan had tried to persuade him he didn’t have much chance, but Paul Thompson never backed down from a fight.

Maybe the best idea was to explain it all and lay out his plan to Rosalie, make the case to her directly. That’s what he’d planned to do when he asked her to dinner.

But Morgan knew her better now. Logic alone would never break through the walls of distrust she’d built around herself when it came to men.

He needed to engage her emotions, her passion, if his plan was to have any chance of success. His passion was already plenty engaged. And he’d enjoyed their conversation over dinner enough that someday his emotions might come into the equation too, once he was sure she couldn’t walk away from him the way his mother had.

Rosalie began to tense up, maybe change her mind.

The seats in the damned hybrid were too far apart for him to put his arm around her, so he clicked on the sound system to distract her.

He was in luck. Mozart danced out of the speakers, light and airy, with a subtle sexual undercurrent. From the corner of his eye he saw her smile as she loosened her hold on her shawl and sank back into the comfort of the leather seat.

“How come you’re such a classical music fan?” he asked.

“It’s what I grew up with. Mother always painted to it. By the time I was old enough to be exposed to the music other kids listened to, it seemed flat and way too simple to me.”

“I bet the other kids loved it when you told them that.”

She gave a low laugh. “I wasn’t very popular, anyway. Everyone was too busy pitying me because my mom was sick to be my friend.”

“Everyone knew, even in a big city like L.A.?”

“I went to the local school and my mom was very active in the parent-teacher organization. I guess you went to private schools, huh?”

Private schools, where they were only allowed to listen to classical music. Schools where it took lots of As and good behavior to convince the teachers he wasn’t like his step-brother. Most of the kids never got past the stories they’d heard about Charlie Thompson. And some of them got a thrill out of bullying the kid brother of the school’s most notorious bully.

He put his hand on Rosalie’s knee, half to erase the memories, half to comfort her, but the feel of her skin pushed the heat out of the comfort zone and into lust.

She didn’t shy away from his touch, as he might have expected, but gave a soft gasp instead and shifted her body toward him in a probably unintended invitation.

A horn honked. He was stopped in the middle of Sunset Boulevard with a green light overhead. Cars swooshed past him on both sides.

So much for his attempt to multitask his plan, sex and driving. He pulled his hand away and refocused on the traffic around him.

Rosalie had let herself sink too deeply into the music. She sat up with a start when Morgan drove into an underground garage and switched off the engine.

Contentment became excitement in a heartbeat. Tiny flashes of anticipation battled with more familiar clouds of doubt while she waited for him to open the car door for her.

Then her hand was in his. He smiled at her with such an intense look her insides leapt into flame. She was out of the car and in his arms before she was aware she’d moved.

He claimed her mouth with impressive expertise, her arms around his neck, her hands buried in the thick, black hair that curled around the collar of his jacket.

The night, the wine, the conversation had filled her with a need, a hope she couldn’t deny.

He must have nudged the door, because it fell shut. She leaned back against the car, her breasts hot with need and raised into his chest.

He took her face in his hands and deepened the kiss, plundered and teased her mouth until she moaned. Her arms dropped to his waist to draw his hardness tighter against her. He shifted closer still and ran his hands slowly down her neck, her shoulders …

Her whole body trembled when he caressed the sides of her breasts. The lace bra, already pulled tight against her nipples, teased them now in a heady pleasure-pain. She rubbed against the warm wall of his flesh, so close and yet still not close enough.

He groaned and rocked against the vee of her thighs. His thumbs reached out to caress her hard nipples.

All the desire she’d bottled up since she met him spilled out and transported her to the first moment she’d looked into his eyes and knew he was all she’d ever dreamed of in a man.

His hands dropped to her thighs to tug up the full skirt of her dress. She lifted her hips from the side of the car in a wanton invitation that made her want to laugh with joy.

Morgan had both hands fisted in Rosalie’s skirt before he remembered she wasn’t the kind of woman to have rough sex shoved up against a car.

She seemed fine with it, more than fine with it right now, but as soon as it was over he suspected she’d regret it. And regret was not what he wanted her to feel.

Her tiny gasp when he let her skirt drop echoed his body’s more vehement protest. He hesitated, but the image of the shame on her face after the lust wore off gave him the strength to put some space between them. He dropped kisses of regret on her face while he eased away.

“We need to take this upstairs,” he whispered.

She blinked owlishly, like a child awakened from a dream, which made him chuckle and kiss the corner of each eye.

Before either of them spoke, the metallic growl of the garage door opening echoed off the concrete walls around them.

Rosalie’s eyes went wide and a rosy flush crept up her cheeks.

“I guess I sort of lost track of where we were.” She looked away

He tipped her chin up with one finger and gave her a quick kiss. “We both did.”

He held his breath. Now her head was clearer, there was always the chance she’d change her mind.

Instead, she took his hand in hers, which immediately rekindled the banked fires inside him. He kissed her hand before he tucked it under his arm and led her to the elevator.

The whisper of the elevator doors closing behind them sent alarms bells off in Rosalie’s head. But the moment she tensed, before the thought of changing her mind could even form itself, Morgan swept her up in his arms again for a kiss as sweet as it was passionate. The sound of the alarm bells melted into the Mozart they’d listened to in the car.

One night. One night to make up for the boyfriend who wanted her to put her mother in a “home,” sell the house, put the money in a joint account, and move in with him. To make up for the law students who lost interest in her because she had the top grades in her class. To make up for grown men too focused on their pleasure, their needs. One night for her.

When the elevator doors opened again, he released her and crossed the private foyer to unlock the double door.

“Why do you own a condo in L.A.?” she asked in the almost palatial quiet despite the busy city far below.

“I don’t. My company does. It’s a first move toward a second office here, for better access to the Asian markets. That’s another reason the L.A. start-up is attractive to us.”

He opened the door and Rosalie stepped through, stunned into silence. The sheer opulence of the condo was beyond anything she’d ever seen before.

When she stepped into the huge leather, glass and chrome living room, her feet sank into the carpet. Fresh roses scented the air. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled one wall.

The penthouse condo sat atop the canyon of condos and luxury office buildings along Wilshire Boulevard, so the city lights spread far below them were like gems on black velvet.

Morgan pushed a button and the curtains swung closed. She was about to protest when she saw the painting over the fireplace.

“A Martha Ritchard.” The huge canvas was painted with thick slashes of vibrant color on black. The sheer emotional impact of it staggered her. “She was one of my mother’s teachers.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that.”

Morgan slid his coat off and loosed his tie. He looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know what to do or say next. Unlikely, given he must have had dozens of women up here before. Still, the touch of awkwardness made her smile. And made her brave. She dropped her shawl next to his jacket on the back of the gray-leather sofa and walked over to him.