Secrets & Seductions (2 page)

“M
r. Davis asked me to convey his apologies for running late. He'll see you just as soon as he finishes his call.” The assistant adjusted her headset and smiled at Emma Wright, who was seated in the small waiting area.

The brass nameplate resting on the corner of the desk next to a potted plant with purple leaves read Cora Hanson. Behind her blond head, the tall windows framed a summer sky that was the same intense blue as the most precious turquoise jewelry.

“Is there anything I could get you?” Cora asked. “Coffee? Some water?”

Emma shook her head. “No, thank you. I'm fine.”

Actually she had been anything but fine since first learning about Children's Connection, an adoption agency associated with Portland General Hospital. Coffee would only make her more jittery. As for water, well, she didn't want any interruptions once she got in to see Morgan Davis, the agency director.

Scarcely able to contain her impatience after waiting a week for her appointment, Emma had arrived early at the sprawling medical complex. She was meeting a friend for lunch afterward and hoped to have some startling news to share.

After parking her car in the garage, she'd followed the signs directing her past lawns that were still green despite the dry July weather and well-tended flower beds exploding with color.

Now she flipped through the pages of a travel magazine without the slightest idea of what she saw there. Her hands shook with a combination of nerves and anticipation, her palms damp and her heart thudding.

She hadn't seen it coming, the bomb her parents dropped that shattered Emma's life as she'd known it. She hadn't suspected a thing, not until she looked into her mother's eyes and saw the lie. In just a few minutes, though, she would finally have what she needed to begin piecing the scattered bits of her life back together.

“Ms. Wright?” The assistant had sneaked up without Emma's notice to hover expectantly. “If you'd come with me, Mr. Davis will see you now.”

Emma shot to her feet so fast that she actually felt dizzy. Refusing to give in to the momentary weakness, she clutched her purse tightly as she followed the other woman down a short hallway. Ahead of her was an imposing set of double doors. One of them stood open.

Cora stepped aside and motioned for Emma to go on in.

A handsome black-haired man in a gray suit stood in front of a massive, heavily carved desk. The formality of his appearance made Emma feel slightly self-conscious about her own casual summer top and tan skirt.

“Ms. Wright? I'm Morgan Davis.” He extended his hand, his grip warm and firm. “Won't you come in and have a seat?”

He nodded to his assistant, who shut the door quietly behind her. Emma took one of the purple tub chairs in front of the desk and the tall windows. Willing herself to be calm, she drew in a deep, slow breath.

Instead of returning to his black leather throne, the director surprised her by sitting in the chair next to hers. He was startlingly attractive, with deep blue eyes and cheekbones that would make a photographer weep. His dark tan was emphasized by his white shirt and maroon tie.

Ignoring the awareness dancing across her nerves, Emma stayed focused on her mission. She glanced over at the folder lying open on the desktop behind
him. Did it contain the information she had come here to find?

He turned his head for a moment. His profile should have been on a stamp. His jaw was strong, his nose straight and his black eyelashes were as thick as the bristles of a paintbrush. Before she reeled herself back in, Emma wondered if the honey-gold tan of his face and hands extended to the rest of him.

“How can I help you?” he asked, lifting his brows. As he rested his hands on his thighs, a gold ring glinted on one finger.

Thank God he couldn't read her mind.

Emma crossed her legs, trying not to fidget, and moistened her suddenly dry lips. She'd planned so carefully what she wanted to say, but now her mind threatened to go blank.

“I just found out that your agency handled my adoption,” she finally blurted out, lacing her fingers together tightly. “Is that my file on your desk?”

“That's right,” he replied without turning his head. “As you can imagine, our records go back many years.” He folded his arms loosely across his chest. His smile flashed even white teeth. “I hope there isn't a problem.”

Sitting rigidly, she lifted her chin. The sense of injustice and pain still raged inside her. “The problem is that I wasn't told about it until a very short time ago.”

He frowned, clearly puzzled. “About this agency?”

“About being adopted,” she clarified. “I had no idea until now.”

His expression softened as he leaned forward. “I'm so sorry.” His voice was husky. “After all this time, the news must have come as quite a shock. I expect it's been difficult for you.”

“Yes, very.” She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her voice wobbled. “That's why I'm here, to find out what I can.”

His frown returned. “I'll help in any way that I can, of course,” he replied, “but I'm not sure what you're asking.”

“I need the names of my biological parents,” she said firmly. The Wrights had claimed not to have that information, but her faith in their honesty had taken a major hit and she wasn't sure that she believed them.

“If you don't mind my asking, how did this all come about?” He spread his hands wide. “After keeping your adoption a secret for all this time, what made them suddenly decide to tell you, do you know?”

His sympathetic smile and his show of interest threatened to shatter Emma's composure. Afraid she might break down and start sobbing, she clenched her teeth and stared down at her toes, painted red to match her shirt.

No one else except her parents—her
adoptive
parents, she reminded herself—knew the situation. Since she was no longer speaking to them, she'd had no one to confide in. She hadn't even told her close friend, Ivy Crosby, who'd been out of the country on business.

Ivy had been supportive throughout every bad thing that had happened to Emma, who was beginning to feel like a drama queen. Maybe she'd bring Ivy up to speed on her latest disaster over lunch.

Deliberately Emma stiffened her spine. “I found out just recently that I have a medical condition which is usually considered to be hereditary,” she began.

His eyes narrowed with concern. “I hope it's nothing serious.”

“Well, I'm not dying or anything like that,” she said quickly.

He made a noncommittal murmur of relief.

There was no point in telling him about her endometriosis, a condition in which cells similar to those found in the uterus formed lesions in other areas of the body. It was a condition that sometimes caused a woman to miscarry.

“It's just that when I talked to my mother—” Emma shook her head and corrected herself “—my adoptive mother, it became obvious that I didn't inherit it from her.”

Emma swallowed hard as she recalled her feeling of relief that Sally Wright hadn't had to suffer even the minor discomfort associated with the condition. Her reluctance to discuss it and her uncharacteristic nervousness hadn't raised Emma's suspicions until later, when she went back over everything she could remember about their conversation.

“I assumed then that I must have gotten the problem from the paternal side of the family,” she continued, “but I was wrong.”

“You discussed it with your adoptive father?” he asked.

“With my grandmother the next time I visited her. It was obvious from what she said that she never experienced any of the symptoms.”

Emma swallowed the bitter taste of regret. “Sometimes I wish that I had let the subject drop, but I can't go back, can I?” she asked the man seated across from her.

“If that were possible, I'm sure there are things in all our lives that we would change.”

Was that sadness she heard in his deep voice, or merely empathy? With his looks and his position of authority here, plus whatever else he had going, did he still have regrets?

“What did you do after that?” he prompted her gently.

“I did some research on the Web,” she admitted grimly, “and then I hotfooted it back to the Wrights' house with a couple of real burning questions.”

“The Internet may not be the best place to get medical information,” he reminded her. “There can be many different ways to interpret whatever you might find there.”

“Oh, I know.” Emma had been bluffing when she brought the subject up again. “I tried not to jump to
any conclusions, but there was a look that passed between my parents—”

This time she didn't bother to correct herself as she bowed her head. The habit of more than a quarter of a century wasn't going to be changed in a matter of weeks, no matter the sense of betrayal burning in her heart.

“Anyway,” she continued, blinking hard, “a red flag went up and I just knew.” She looked back at him. “At first they denied everything, but I kept pushing. Finally the whole sordid story came out.”

Since he'd read Emma's file, he knew more about her right now than she did. “Are you sure that it's sordid?” he asked.

“That's what I'm here to find out.”

His expression changed, becoming more wary. “What do you mean?” He touched the knot of his tie, as though it had suddenly gotten too tight. The flash of gold she had noticed on his hand earlier looked like a college ring.

Emma rolled her eyes. “After the big confession, they actually expected me to accept their apology, let the subject drop, to go on as though nothing was any different.” She waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “But of course I can't do that.”

It had been painfully clear to her that her adoptive parents had never intended to tell her the truth at all. Thank God the subject was no longer shrouded in secrecy.

“So that's why I've come to you.” Emma gave him what she hoped to be a beguiling smile. “I'm here to find out about my real parents.”

When he remained silent, a sudden feeling of panic gripped her and she couldn't resist glancing over at that open folder on his desk. What if it was incomplete? What if part of her file had been somehow lost, or destroyed in a fire or a flood?

“You do know who they are, don't you, the people who gave me up?” she demanded, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Whenever possible, we do like to have the records of both parents.” The frown was back, causing a crease between his brows. If he kept it up, he'd be looking at Botox injections someday. “If you need another copy of your medical history, we'll be happy to provide one. My assistant can give you a form to fill out.”

Suddenly breathless with anticipation, Emma pressed her palm to her heart. “I guess I didn't really take the time to make myself clear,” she said. “It's not just the medical information that I'm after, it's everything.”

His expression shifted, his frown lines deepening, and he seemed to lean away from her in his chair. “What exactly do you mean by
everything?
”

Emma balled her hands together in her lap. She wasn't going to give up now. “I need to know the names of my biological parents so I can find out if
they're still alive.” Her voice rose. “I might have siblings out there, family I never knew existed.”

Contacting them would be a huge first step in taking back control of her life.

He had already started to shake his head before she finished speaking. “I'm sorry, but what you're asking is impossible. This agency can't help you.”

Emma's mouth fell open as she stared at him, stunned into momentary silence.

“What do you mean?” she finally croaked as his refusal sank into her consciousness. “You just admitted that you have their names.”

He spread his hands, palms up, in a helpless gesture. “That's true,” he agreed, “but your file is confidential.”

“Okay, I understand.” Quickly Emma unzipped her purse. “I've got picture ID.”

Before she could open her wallet, he surprised her again, this time by resting his hand lightly on hers. His touch was warm, but something about his gesture made her shiver as an icy chill slid down her spine.

“I'm so sorry,” he said again as he let her go. “It's not just
your
confidentiality that our agency is sworn to protect.”

His gaze held hers. “This was not an open adoption, so the only thing I'm allowed to share with you is your medical history.”

Emma stared at him blankly. “But they're my parents. They'd
want
me to know who they are!”

Intellectually she knew that wasn't always true, but her emotions wouldn't let her believe it could apply to her. She wasn't going to be stonewalled! Panic shot through her. If she lunged across his desk and grabbed the folder, would she be able to read its contents before he got it away from her?

“Emma,” he said quietly, startling her with his use of her first name, “I've read your entire file very carefully. There were no provisions made to give you contact information if you were ever to ask. Quite the contrary, there is a statement insisting on absolute privacy. I'm sorry.”

She wasn't willing to give up, but she could tell by the set of his jaw that threats or pressure wouldn't change his mind. He appeared to be giving her time to absorb her disappointment.

“I see,” she said, trying to sound reasonable.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Would you like some water?”

“Yes, please.”
Think,
she commanded herself while he went over to a sideboard and poured a glass for her. Frantically trying to come up with something to change his mind, she stared with fascination at the large blown-glass vase sitting proudly on a side table.

Talk about ugly!