Secrets & Seductions (15 page)

 

“I'm not looking forward to this,” Emma admitted to Morgan as she clutched her notes and clipboard to her chest.

The two of them were on their way to one of the rooms used for the many meetings and workshops sponsored by the agency.

Emma had really enjoyed her first few days of
work, especially since the initial awkwardness with Morgan had begun to fade. He was the consummate professional, treating her exactly the same as he did the rest of the staff. So far she liked everyone.

This morning he had sprung the news on Emma that she would be attending a meeting of the support group he'd mentioned at her interview, Parents Adoption Network. One of the other counselors would moderate.

“We're early.” He opened the door to the room and glanced up at the round wall clock. Chairs were stacked against the wall next to several long tables, one of which held water pitchers, cups and a coffeemaker.

“You should have the list of profiles from Cora,” he added. “The group pretty much runs itself, so you won't ever have to worry about helping to present a program. All the moderator does is to make sure that everyone gets a turn to talk, that no one dominates the discussion and that no fist fights break out.”

He flashed a grin that weakened her knees. “If you run into trouble you can't handle, either call security or grab the fire extinguisher out here in the hallway.”

“Funny,” she said dryly. “I'm not worried about that.”

He searched her face, and she had to swallow the surge of attraction his gaze always stirred in her. The downside to the tension easing between them was the constant need to remind herself that he was her boss, not her boyfriend.

“Then what's the problem?” he asked with seemingly genuine concern.

“Dealing with adoptive parents is just a little too close to home,” she admitted reluctantly. How could he understand the gaping need inside her when he was so darned well adjusted to his own past?

He considered her comment for a moment. “What's the situation between you and your parents? Still not speaking?”

“Actually I saw them not too long ago,” she admitted. She and her mother had talked on the phone several times since her visit. By tacit agreement, they were taking it slow.

“Really?” he exclaimed. “Hey, I think that's terrific.”

His approval made her feel as though someone had just pinned a medal to her chest. The warmth of his smile sent a rush of color to her cheeks that she prayed he wouldn't notice.

“It's still kind of rocky.” She felt compelled to be honest. “We have a lot left to work out.”

“But you've taken the first step.” His tone brimmed with more confidence than she felt.

The sound of voices came from down the hall. They turned toward the doorway as several people appeared.

“Quit worrying,” Morgan said in an undertone. “You'll be great.”

 

After the other counselor introduced Emma to the mix of couples and singles, they all filled out
name tags, arranged their chairs in a circle and sat down to talk.

One by one, they brought the group up to speed about what had been happening in their lives. Several of them discussed problems that had come up. As a group, they offered support and shared their feelings.

Emma wondered whether her parents had ever felt the need for a support group like this. Would they have been willing to open up with their feelings as these folks did? Twenty-seven years ago, would a group such as this one have even been available?

Someone coughed, making Emma realize that her attention had wandered.

“Nick's been having these awful nightmares,” said a woman with long, light brown hair. “I'm really getting concerned.”

Emma glanced down at her notes. Sydney Aston, age twenty-seven, advertising executive, single. Son Nicholas, age five.

“All kids have bad dreams,” said a big man with a florid complexion. His tone was gruff and he kept shifting in his chair as though he was in a hurry to leave. His wife, sitting next to him, seemed to shrink back every time he spoke, as though she was embarrassed.

“What are the dreams about?” Emma asked Sydney.

“Nicky doesn't like to talk about them, but he did say that they're always about somebody stealing him away from me.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I've tried to reassure him that dreams aren't real. I
tell him that I won't let anything happen, but of course he gets frightened. When that happens, I let him sleep with me.”

“I agree with Gil, much as I hate to,” said another man, eliciting several chuckles from around the circle, which in turn caused Gil to turn bright red. “It's probably just a stage that Nick is going through. Sooner or later he'll calm down.”

“I think you're doing all you can to assure him,” said another woman with Jenny on her name tag. “The important thing is to let him know he can talk to you about anything.”

Again Emma took a peek at her list. Jenny Hall, attorney, age twenty-six and single. She had a son with special needs.

“Thanks, everyone,” Sydney said quietly. “I appreciate your comments.” She and Emma exchanged glances. “That's all I have,” Sydney added.

Several other parents spoke. Most of the group listened with apparent interest. Sometimes suggestions were made. Once, when a father named Chuck described his son's temper tantrum and his own frustration, Jenny, who was seated two chairs away from him, reached over to pat his knee.

“You're doing a good job,” she said.

Chuck bowed his head and took a shaky breath, but not before Emma saw the sheen of tears. While he mopped his eyes with a handkerchief, she glanced over at Morgan, seated by the wall. She was startled
to see that he was watching her instead of Chuck. When he caught her eye, he winked.

The moderator cleared her throat and glanced around the circle. “As you all know, PAN is organizing a bachelor auction as a fund-raiser. Let's have a report on how it's shaping up so far.”

“We've had a lot of response from the singles we contacted,” replied a young woman whose tag Emma couldn't read. “Micah Burke from the Trailblazers is interested, as are Jon Hopkins, the computer games guru, and two hockey players.” She glanced down at her notes. “Oh, and just the other day I heard back from Eric Logan.”

A soft thump distracted Emma. Jenny's daytimer had slid to the floor.

“Excuse me,” she murmured as she bent to pick it up, her hair completely hiding her face.

Emma wondered if Eric Logan was related to Leslie. His name sounded vaguely familiar, so Emma filed it away to ask someone about him later.

“If you all don't recognize who that is,” the speaker continued excitedly, “Eric Logan is one of Portland's most eligible catches.” She fanned her cheeks with an exaggerated hand motion. “He's a major hottie and we're lucky to have him.”

“I've seen his picture in the newspaper,” Gil's wife chimed in. “He's very attractive.”

Gil turned in his chair to give her a disapproving look. Blushing, she shrank away.

“Everything else is running right on schedule,” concluded the speaker. “We're going to need someone to get the catalog ready for the printer. Other than that, I'll keep you all posted.”

“Don't be afraid to ask for more help if you need it,” the moderator said before she glanced up at the clock. “Let's take ten minutes,” she suggested to the group. “The coffee's made, Jenny brought cookies and the rest rooms are in the same place they were last week.”

Several people laughed as they got to their feet.

Morgan squeezed Emma's elbow gently. “You're doing fine,” he said in a low voice. “I think you're a natural. Would you like some coffee?”

“In just a moment, thanks. Excuse me.” She was feeling slightly overwhelmed by the emotions that had been expressed so far. These people had opened their homes and their hearts to children in desperate need of both. They had shown Emma a side of the adoption issue that she hadn't really considered. Before the meeting reconvened, she needed a moment of privacy in order to absorb everything she had learned so far.

W
hen Emma came out of the stall, the only other woman left in the rest room was Jenny Hall. She was the one who had been so good about reassuring the man who had been worried about his child's tantrum.

“Hi,” Emma said with a smile.

To her surprise, Jenny glanced at her in the mirror with suspiciously red eyes as she busied herself washing her hands. Her voice quavered slightly when she returned Emma's greeting.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked.

Maybe Jenny had an issue of her own that she'd not yet had the opportunity to bring up. Emma's
notes indicated that her child was handicapped. That would be especially stressful for a single parent.

Jenny's chuckle was unconvincing. “I guess. I'm just being silly,” she said with a sigh.

Emma wasn't sure whether to pry, but it sounded to her as though the comforter needed a little comforting herself. With their coffee and cookies, the group could manage without the two of them for a few more minutes.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, touching Jenny's shoulder. It vibrated with tension.

The other woman shut off the water and reached for a paper towel. “Have you got a magic wand you could wave to get me out of attending the bachelor auction?” Her tone was rueful.

“Why don't you want to go?” Emma asked. “I've never been to one, but it sounds like it would be a blast.” Perhaps she would bid on someone, just to prove to both Morgan and herself that she was so over him!

“I'm sure it will be fun,” Jenny said as she turned and leaned against the counter. Her blue eyes looked sad and her mouth turned down at the corners. “Just not for me.”

Emma folded her arms. “Want to talk about it?”

“We should get back.” Jenny glanced at the door. Obviously she was the kind of person who was more comfortable giving to others than receiving attention for herself.

“In a minute.” Emma recalled that Jenny had
dropped her notebook when Eric Logan's name was mentioned. “Should I assume that you won't be bidding on ‘Portland's Most Eligible Bachelor'?”

Jenny's face flushed and she looked away, biting her lip. “Was I that obvious?”

“I don't think anyone else noticed,” Emma replied. “I don't know anything about this guy. Is there a history between the two of you?”

“Not really,” Jenny replied with another self-deprecating chuckle. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Absolutely.” Now Emma was really curious.

“I may be too old for crushes,” Jenny continued, almost whispering, “but Eric has been my secret love since we were children.”

“So you do know him?” Emma probed.

Jenny's gaze shifted to the wall behind Emma's head. “Knew him, but that was a lifetime ago.”

 

By the time Emma came out of the rest room with Jenny Hall, Morgan was seriously considering asking one of the other women to check on them. His gaze met Emma's and she smiled reassuringly.

The silent communication between them alarmed him. He didn't want to feel anything special toward her, but he did.

He was also both proud and relieved over how quickly she had adapted to the job here. Despite her not having access to her own records, he had taken a risk.

Even though they had only spent that one night
together, he couldn't get the memory out of his mind. The two of them had shared more than simple passion. It was a daily struggle for him to keep his distance when he wanted so badly to take her into his arms, to explore that connection and see where it might lead.

The other counselor whispered something to Emma, patting her shoulder. Morgan felt like a proud mentor as he watched his protégé call the meeting back to order.

“Who's next?” she asked when everyone had returned to their seats.

 

A couple of days later, Morgan stood in the lunch line at the Portland General Hospital cafeteria, his mind on the budget meeting he'd just left. Emma, Jenny Hall and one of the other counselors, Laurel, walked by with their trays.

“What looks good today?” Morgan asked after they'd all greeted him.

Laurel leaned toward him. “Not the chicken,” she whispered loudly, making the other two women laugh.

“You're only saying that because I grabbed the last plate that was dished up,” Emma protested with a grin that lit up her face. She seemed to be fitting in well and making friends.

“You're welcome to join us,” Jenny invited Morgan shyly.

“Thanks, but I'll have to take a rain check.” The less time he spent around Emma, the less chance of anyone noticing the mooning glances he sent her way. “I've got paperwork to do.”

As the food line crept forward, he watched the three of them join two women from Accounting. In his mind's eye, he pictured Emma seated across a candlelit table from him. She wore a low-cut dress as they shared an intimate dinner—

“Who's the new babe?”

Rescuing his tray from near disaster, Morgan frowned up at one of the doctors from the hospital staff. Although Stevens was a gifted surgeon, he had a reputation among the nurses as a skirt-chasing jerk. It was a reputation he wore like a merit badge.

“I beg your pardon?” Morgan longed for an excuse to break off the conversation.

Instead the other man cut deftly into the line behind him.

“The sweetie in green.” Stevens gestured in Emma's direction with his bottled water before downing a hefty swallow. “She must be new. Is she single?”

“From what I've heard, that's not a big consideration of yours,” Morgan replied dryly.

He had no respect for someone who used his position at the hospital as a way of running his own personal dating service.

Apparently the surgeon was too arrogant to notice
that Morgan had turned away from him. “Don't get your shorts in a knot,” he drawled. “Just tell me.”

Morgan's resistance would probably spike Stevens's interest even more, he reasoned. He couldn't resist looking over his shoulder. “And you'd back off?”

Dr. Stevens leaned closer, his fancy cologne making Morgan want to sneeze. “Hell, no. I'd just know my competition.”

Morgan was saved a reply by one of the nurses, who had a reputation of her own. Thrusting out her chest, she gave him a smoldering glance through her bright-green eyes framed in black.

Her expression altered to one of pleading when she turned to Stevens.

“Are we still on for tonight?” she purred with a flutter of her eyelashes.

The line moved forward, so Morgan didn't hear the doctor's reply. With a quick glance at Emma, who was still seated at the nearby table, Morgan slid his tray up to the cashier's station. As soon as he'd paid for his lunch, he went straight to the bussing station and dumped it.

The image of Emma spending time with someone like the playboy surgeon had completely spoiled Morgan's appetite.

 

In another part of the cafeteria, Everett sat at one of the small tables with Nancy Allen, the nurse who
worked in the emergency room. He hated the idea of trying to take advantage of her, but Charlie had been pressuring him for names.

Everett was a little afraid of him. Charlie had a ruthless side that Everett hadn't noticed when they first met at his favorite hangout. Charlie had a plan to make some easy money and he'd been willing to include Everett. Now he had to do his part.

It was easy to steer Nancy around to what he needed to know. She liked talking about the babies.

“I've been blabbing your ear off,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It can't be very interesting for you to hear about all the time I spend in the nursery.”

Everett couldn't figure out why a woman as friendly and nice as Nancy would look twice at someone like him. He never knew what to say or how to act, but she seemed to like him anyway.

“I'm not bored,” he protested. “It's nice that you like babies. You'll be a good mother.”

She wouldn't get angry and slap her kids, just because they were cold or hungry. Not like Joleen, who only cared about her next drink.

Nancy's smile widened in response to his comment. Her cheeks turned pink. “I've always dreamed of having a family of my own,” she said softly. “Not right away, of course, but someday in the future.” She fluffed her hair with her fingers. “What about you?” she asked. “Do you want children?”

“I haven't thought about it.” He must have
sounded too impatient, because her blush deepened and her smile faded.

Nervously he stirred the bowl of turkey noodle soup in front of him. He was no good at interrogating someone, but Charlie had been insistent.

“Tell me again about that woman you were talking to,” he urged, nearly stuttering, “the one who told you her boyfriend took off right after she said she was pregnant. What was her name?”

“Jane Bryson,” Nancy replied, her smile returning. “Jane already has two other children, but her new baby girl is just precious. She already has a few wisps of hair, so I just know she's going to be blond, like her mother.”

A wave of relief washed over Everett. Charlie would be pleased. He said Caucasian babies were worth the most money because so many people wanted them.

 

“I'm probably not the best person for you to be talking to,” Emma said to the tall, tanned doctor. She recognized him from the cafeteria. He had spoken to her a couple of times there.

Now Dr. Stevens stood in her office doorway in his scrubs, leaning against the jamb with his arms folded across his chest.

“I disagree,” he replied with a smile that showed off his dimple, as well as his even white teeth. “You're exactly the person I should be talking to.”

His skin and hair had the look of being well maintained, making Emma suspect that he might be older than he first appeared. The long-fingered hand resting on the door frame sported a college ring with a dark stone. His other hand was bare.

“I've only been working here for a couple of weeks, so I don't know a lot about the adoption process yet,” she explained. “I'd be happy to give your friend's name to one of the other counselors, if you'd like.”

Except for being mildly flattered by his attention, she hadn't given him a thought until he showed up full of questions.

“Maybe I don't want to ask one of the other counselors,” he drawled as he turned up the wattage of his charm.

Understanding dawned slowly, along with the realization that the handsome doctor didn't tempt her in the least. What was wrong with her?

“Maybe you and I could discuss the subject further over dinner this evening,” he pressed. “What do you say?”

“I'm afraid I can't.” She didn't have to think about it. “I've already got plans.” No reason to elaborate and tell him they were nothing more than going home to feed her cat.

“Tomorrow night?” he asked. “After that I'm jammed up.”

Was that a not-so-subtle hint that he was giving her one last chance? God, she hoped so.

Suddenly Morgan appeared in the doorway behind the other man. “Harassing my staff during work hours, Stevens?” he asked lightly.

Unfolding his arms, the surgeon turned abruptly. “Just getting some info for a friend.” His tone was less charming, more businesslike.

Morgan looked past him at Emma, making her wonder if she looked as uncomfortable as she felt. How much had he overheard? Did he think the tête-à-tête was
her
idea?

“Something I can help you with?” he asked Stevens. “Emma's pretty busy.”

The doctor gave her a long, slow wink. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Okay.” She couldn't very well tell him not to bother when her boss was standing by wearing a disapproving scowl.

After he left, Morgan walked into her office. Dismay coursed through her. All the attraction that had been missing when she looked at Dr. Stevens sizzled through her now. It was a struggle to hide it behind a professional smile.

“What can I do for you?” she asked brightly, tucking her tightly clasped hands in her lap.

“Dammit, Emma,” he responded through clenched teeth before he broke off abruptly to rake a hand through his hair. “I'll talk to you later.” Without giving her a chance to say another word, he spun on his heel and stalked out of her office.

What had just happened here, she asked herself silently. Was she in some kind of trouble?

She took several calming breaths. Of course not. She had done nothing wrong.

 

Morgan walked past Cora's desk without even glancing at her. What he needed was a hard workout in the exercise room, but there was too damned much work piled on his desk for him to take the time.

What he needed, really needed, he thought grimly as he closed the door to his office behind him, was either a lobotomy or a night with a thousand-dollar hooker. Neither one, he knew in his gut, was going to do a damn thing toward erasing his feelings for Emma.

He threw himself into his leather chair. His choice was a simple one that he'd realized when he saw Stevens sniffing around her like a bull elk in rutting season.

Either Morgan controlled the urge to erect a razor-wire barrier in front of her door and accepted the fact that all the single men who worked here were going to notice her, or he went after her himself.

He'd better damned well make up his mind, which he was going to do before he blew it completely and beat the crap out of someone for looking at her.

He was still in a foul mood the next day after tossing and turning most of the night. At lunch he sat down at an empty table with a sandwich he didn't want. Halfway across the room, Emma was eating with a small group of women.

Feeling like a damned stalker, Morgan kept sneaking glances at her. In a room filled with attractive women, she was the only one who interested him.

Was the small group talking about the men in their lives? His own prurient interest made him cringe. He was a sick, sick man.