The Secretary's Seduction

"Looking for you."

Her stomach did a somersault, her pulse leaped, and she felt like a teenager all over again. "I'm here."

"So I see," he said, advancing toward her and moving the box from her desk to the ground. He sat on the edge of the desk, facing her. "How are you?"

Her stomach flip-flopped again. He'd changed from his tuxedo, but even dressed down, casual in a black knit shirt and khaki slacks, he looked gorgeous. The black shirt made his eyes look bluer, his hair glossier, his jaw more pronounced.

"Fine." She swallowed convulsively, nerves and tears battling for each other. "How are you?"

"Fine."

The strained civility made her want to laugh. Or cry.

This had been one of the worst days of her life. She had no idea what would happen now.

Morgan hesitated, appeared to pick his words with care. "It was rather awkward with you leaving so suddenly."

She had a mental picture of him standing up front at the altar with the priest and the ring boy and the flower girl watching Winnie turn around, white skirts billowing, as she ran.

It was an awful mental picture and she pressed her nails to her skirt to erase it. "Was it that terrible?"

One of his black eyebrows lifted. "What do you think?"

So it was really terrible. No use kidding herself. He'd been humiliated. Winnie swallowed hard around the lump filling her throat. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Fortunately I've been through this before so I'm getting adept at handling high-strung brides."

Her eyebrows puckered. "Be serious."

"I am." He smiled faintly, but hard glints shone in his dark blue eyes. "Don't believe me? Ask my mother. Rose will tell you all about it. It was fifteen years ago. Her name was Charlotte and I thought we were deeply in love."

Winnie didn't know what to say. The office seemed too huge and empty, too silent. She flexed her fingers, knuckles aching. "Did she really leave you at the altar, too?"

A small muscle pulled in his jaw. "Not exactly. She gave me a little more notice-she was kind enough to cancel a week before. But that didn't make it less difficult. People want to know what happened. They don't want to ask, and most don't, but every now and then you get the daring few who do."

"What was her reason for canceling?"

His shoulders shifted and he walked to the window to gaze out at the enormous Federal Reserve Bank of New York. "It's complicated, but the bottom line was that she had concerns about my ... " He hesitated, searching for the correct words. "Family tree."

The Gradys were one of the oldest most-respected families in Boston. How could anyone have a problem with his family? "That doesn't make sense."

He looked at her over his shoulder, his expression almost mocking. "It does if you know my family tree. In terms of lineage, I'm an O'Connell, not a Grady. Charlotte didn't discover this until a couple weeks before our wedding and she panicked-" he broke off, wincing at the word "-changed her mind. She didn't want an O'Connell. She wanted a Grady. A real Grady."

Winnie struggled to assimilate his words, and the meaning. "You're not Rose and Reed Grady's son?"

"I'm their adopted son." His lips twisted tighter, his smile harder.

"Same thing."

"Not to Charlotte."

Indignant, Winnie rose from her chair. "Then she didn't deserve you! She doesn't have a heart and she never loved you-"

"Who are you to talk about love?" He interrupted, facing her. "You weren't marrying me for love, were you?"

Winnie turned away, she couldn't look at him, couldn't answer. She hated lying. Was terrible at lying. Her parents used to say she couldn't keep any wrong a secret.

"Do you love me?" he repeated, walking toward her, tension in every muscle of his body.

Winnie sat down again, still averting her head. But Morgan turned her chair toward him so she couldn't avoid his gaze.

She touched her tongue to her upper lip. "I-”,

'You what”

"I care about you. Yes, definitely, I care about you. I've worked with you for seven months now. We've worked closely together in the last month, too."

"But you don't love me. This was business, right?"

She slowly looked up at him, her eyes wide, her expression anxious. "Mmm-hmm."

"Say it. Tell me with words."

Winnie took a quick breath. "I don't love you," she blurted, but even as she said the words, her cheek tightened and her left eye twitched.

Morgan stood, backed away, forehead deeply furrowed. Winnie watched him cross the floor, rub his nape, ruffling his hair.

"Was it hard to get over her?" she asked softly, thinking of this beautiful but callous Charlotte.

He shrugged carelessly, broad shoulders twisting beneath the snug black knit fabric. "She was beautiful, elegant, graceful" His hard expression eased, turning rueful. "Yes. It was."

"I'm sorry she hurt you."

His smile faded. "It was a long time ago. I was just a kid." He took a step back, sat down again on the desk. "Fifteen years," he said softly. "Fifteen years and I'm facing the same problem. How ironic."

Yes, she thought, ironic was the word for it because seeing Morgan now, being alone with Morgan now, made her realize she'd made a huge mistake today, running away from the church.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"We can't stay here forever."

"No."

"We're going to need food, rest, a change of clothes."

That's right. Clothes. Winnie glanced down at her lavish wedding gown with the snug off-the-shoulder sleeves and the tiny crystals stitched across the fitted bodice. She could see the headlines in the morning paper: Bride-to-be Jilts Grady At The Altar. Man of the Year Claims Runaway Fiancée At The Office.

"Photographers outside”

He grimaced. "In droves."

Of course. When weren't there? Morgan Grady was still everyone's favorite bachelor. "I didn't bring anything with me."

"I've got some clean dress shirts in the closet in my office. You could wear one of my button-down shirts out with a pair of gym shorts. It's not high fashion but it's better than petticoats and silk."

Winnie changed in his office but needed his help to undo the endless little hooks hidden on the back of the dress.

It was strange having him help undress her. They'd never been so personal before, never dealt with much beyond contracts and copies, flight plans and schedules. His hands against her back, his fingers against her bare skin made her feel so much, made her want new things.

His hands, his mouth, his body, him ...

She was glad he couldn't see her face, glad he couldn't see her blushing. Winnie Graham, she silently lectured herself, you're not his type, you'll never be his type, and just because you've made a deal with him doesn't mean it'll ever be love.

Hooks unfastened, Morgan left her alone to f

inish undressing and Winnie slipped out of the white boned corset, unclasped the white garter belt and rolled down the white silk stockings.

She stepped into the gray cotton gym shorts he'd left on his desk and then slid her arms into his starched blue pin-striped shirt. The shirttail hung down to the middle of her thighs leaving just two inches of shorts peeking beneath.

Winnie buttoned the pin-striped shirt to her breastbone and rolled up the long sleeves so they no longer extended past her hands.