Naughty By Nature. Jule McBride
added, watching Morgan pull on gray suit slacks that were wrinkled beyond repair. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure which was the worse of two evils this morning—Morgan or her father. “Just stay another minute,” she whispered to Lucy, tightening her grip and trying not to notice how desperate she sounded. “Please, Luce.”
Lucy looked torn. Vanessa only used the nickname when things were serious. “This is how you repay me?” Vanessa asked, uncharacteristically stooping to guilt tactics. “I slept here so you could go out to the garage and see Bjorn.”
“This is not my fault,” replied Lucy.
Morgan had stopped zipping his pants. “Bjorn?”
He wasn’t supposed to overhear, but at least the conversation was taking a rational turn. “Bjorn and Lucy are engaged,” Vanessa explained.
At the news, the sexiest mouth she’d ever kissed compressed into a grim line. “She’s engaged?” Morgan’s zipper continued its upward trek. “To Bjorn? Your father’s chauffeur?”
Vanessa was wishing Morgan didn’t look quite so shocked about Lucy’s engagement and wondering what he’d think if he knew Lucy was also pregnant when Lucy started in with her own apology. “I’m sorry, Morgan,” she began. “I know I’ve been flirting with you. Pretty shamelessly, I admit it. But ever since we got engaged, Bjorn’s become distant, and he never gave me a ring, just a promise, so I’m worried. You see, something’s happened that will change my relationship with him forever, and so I need to feel closer to him before I tell him—”
“You were flirting with Morgan?” interjected Vanessa.
“Yes,” admitted Lucy. “But it didn’t mean anything, Ness.”
Because Vanessa wanted to preserve any remaining dignity, she didn’t glare at her friend. She did, however, use her eyes to ask, How could you? As soon as Morgan arrived, Vanessa had shared her intentions about getting to know him. “Some friend,” she whispered.
“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Lucy said.
“Let me get this straight.” Morgan was glaring at Lucy, and Vanessa felt a rush of pleasure she wasn’t proud of, since it was probably what Lucy deserved for her disloyalty. “You were using me to make your boyfriend jealous?”
“Fiancé,” Lucy corrected him as if it should change matters. “And not jealous,” she clarified judiciously. “Just more attentive. He loves me, and I know it, but as I said, I don’t have a ring. I’m afraid he’s getting cold feet. He hasn’t been…”
The flash of Morgan’s eyes stopped her. Seeing how it made him look as swarthy as a pirate, Vanessa suddenly felt bad for Lucy, and even though she was angry at the betrayal, she softened and decided she’d better smooth things over. After all, Lucy was right. Lately, Bjorn hadn’t been paying enough attention to Lucy, and after much discussion, she and Lucy agreed things needed to be on track before he was told about the baby. “Lucy and Bjorn have been together for some time,” Vanessa said, “and because my father suspects they’re sleeping together—”
“They are sleeping together,” Morgan interjected, sounding uncompromising, just as a government agent should, something that sent a thrill through Vanessa.
“The senator calls my room late at night.” Lucy picked up the thread. “Just to make sure I’m really in bed, because he’s afraid I’m sneaking to Bjorn’s apartment—”
“Which you are,” clarified Morgan.
“See?” Vanessa managed to muster a bright smile. “It’s all so simple. I sleep here sometimes and answer the phone, pretending to be Lucy. That’s how you and I wound up, uh, uh—” Her words stuttered to a halt, and she settled her gaze on the bed, which, she decided, said it all.
Morgan held up a staying hand. “I get the picture.” As graceful as a panther, he dropped to his flat belly and swept a long arm under the bed, looking for his shoes.
All conversation ground to a halt.
“Anyway,” Vanessa continued lamely, watching wistfully as he rose, sliding huge bare feet into polished black oxfords. Vaguely, she wondered what had happened to his socks. “I…” Staring at him, she forgot what she’d been about to say, mostly because she was vowing never to think again of the criminal lengths to which she’d gone to get him into her bed. Lucy’s bed, she corrected.
A rumbling bass, her father’s voice, suddenly cut through the silence. “Lucy? Are you up there?”
“Two words,” muttered Morgan, looking none too happy.
When his dashing eyes fixed on hers, Vanessa croaked, “Which two words?” And then prayed her father wouldn’t venture upstairs.
Morgan mouthed, “I’m fired.”
“Three words.” Vanessa couldn’t help but reply, unable to stop herself from pointing out his self-centeredness, given what was starting to feel painfully like rejection. “So is Lucy.”
Morgan’s gaze traced her bare shoulders, and sparks of awareness came into his eyes. “You’re safe.”
“No,” said Vanessa. “If my father finds me here, naked with you, he won’t fire me, he’ll kill me. I’m his daughter.”
Before Morgan could respond, Lucy called, “I’m on my way, Senator!” Her eyes bugging a final time, she stared around—at the evidence on the floor, at Vanessa, who was still clad in a sheet, and at Morgan, who was seated on the bed’s edge in wrinkled pants, a shirt without buttons and shoes without socks. “I know Mrs. Bell called in sick.” Lucy continued in nervous falsetto, prying Vanessa’s fingers from her arm so she could go downstairs. “And I’m on my way!”
“Hurry up,” intoned the senator, adding one of his usual aphorisms. “He that riseth late must trot all day, Lucy.”
As soon as Lucy was gone, Vanessa realized the sheet wasn’t adequately covering her. Her bare behind was facing the stairs her elderly father had just threatened to climb. Reaching behind herself, she grabbed a flap of the sheet and fashioned a toga. Her eyes settled on Morgan’s fingers, which were lacing the left shoe, and she steeled herself against memories of those fingers gliding along her bare thighs, parting them, stroking between them. Straightening her shoulders, she could only hope she didn’t look anywhere near as humiliated as she felt.
He must have read the lift of her chin as haughty, because he glanced up and cautioned, “Don’t look at me like that, Ms. Verne.”
His not calling her Vanessa was driving her crazy. “Look at you like what, Mr. Fine?”
“Like I’ve done something wrong.”
Actually, she thought with a shudder, the problem was that Morgan had done so many things just fine, and during the long seconds they eyed each other, she dwelled on each and every one of them. From the moment she’d watched him drive up to the house, she’d decided he was her dream man. His easy humor and air of quiet competence had impressed her, and soon enough she’d decided the competence would extend to the bedroom, which it had. His rejection was nearly killing her. “Maybe next time—” she couldn’t help but speak stiffly, wishing they weren’t alone “—you should check to see who’s in bed with you.”
For the endless moment his gaze held hers, she tried not to notice the sleek black curls dancing around his face and how sharp his cheekbones looked under taut skin. “I thought it was Lucy.”
“It,” she whispered, wishing she didn’t sound so miserable. “Do you think I’m an it?”
He blew out an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Do you really like Lucy?” It was horrible to ask, but after feeling how he’d made love, Vanessa had to know. Hovering by the door, she held on to the toga knot and waited.
He gave a very male grunt. “No, I don’t like Lucy.”