And now she was giving up on the one man she wanted.
Tonight Morgan appeared on her doorstep. He'd bought her a dress. He asked her to join him. Yet what had she done? She'd handed the dress back and said no.
She'd said no because she was afraid. She'd said no because she was terrified she'd love him so much and he'd love her not enough and in the end she'd just look like a fool.
How insecure was that? She cared more about her fragile heart than trying to make a relationship with Morgan work.
Far better to be the injured party. Far better to play victim. Far better to be a dreamy romantic than a confident woman willing to take a risk.
Grow up, Winnie. Stop wanting everything to be perfect. You already have the fairy tale!
Winnie stooped and picked up the garment box from the ground. Cradling the box on her lap, she opened the lid, pushed back the thin gold tissue paper and drew out a silk camisole the color of ripe bananas, and a lovely long narrow skirt of matching yellow silk with a pale gold overlay stitched with gold and purple jewels.
She blinked, tears starting to her eyes. The dress looked like a banana daiquiri on a sun kissed beach.
He'd given her a taste of paradise.
For a moment she couldn't breathe, concentrating hard on not blinking and keeping the tears from falling. She didn't want to get any tears on the silk fabric. Didn't want anything to ruin the most beautiful, magical dress she'd ever seen.
She had to go. She had to be there tonight. She had to show him she was ready for a real relationship with him. One built on friendship, honesty, admiration, and trust. Incredibly dull virtues on paper but extraordinary in real life.
Winnie carried the silk camisole with the beaded straps and skirt to her bedroom, held the two-piece dress against her as she looked at her reflection in her bedroom mirror. Beautiful. How had he known that this was absolutely the most perfect dress for her?
Because he knew her.
Because his actions spoke louder than words. Winnie pressed her forehead to the painted trim around the door and squeezed back the tears threatening to spill.
Actions, not words.
He'd proposed. He'd taken her to St. Jermaine's. He'd held her every night. He'd hired security for her. Bought her a house.
He was saying as best as he could that she was his, that he wanted her, that he needed her.
And for heaven's sake, wasn't that enough?
Need and want... how was it so different from love?
****
Morgan said the brief speech he'd prepared, a few positive words about the foster care system and a short but sincere thank-you to those who'd come that night and supported the program.
He was leaving the podium, shaking outstretched hands, and yet his gaze was never far from the door. He hated these things, hated the show and the dress-up and the facade he wore to keep everyone happy. People, he knew, preferred success.
People preferred handsome, rich, polished. Not that he felt that way underneath. Hell, underneath he was one lonely and very alone billionaire.
Almost done, he told himself, seeing a bit of space near the door. Shake a few more hands, pretend to get a drink, and then make a mad dash for the limo.
He was still moving forward, and nearly at the museum’s glass doors when he cast 'one last glance around the perimeter of the lobby, his gaze taking in the tuxedos and black sheath like dresses, before spotting canary yellow.
Yellow. His yellow.
Her back was to him. She was looking the other way. She'd pinned her long hair partway back, curled the rest, and a few soft tendrils framed her face. The purple beaded straps on her camisole glittered in the party lights and yet he knew the yellow because it was the right yellow, it was the yellow of sunshine, warmth and happiness.
Morgan stood transfixed, drinking her in. He felt the fullness of the summer, the sweetness of the island, and far from urban problems. He felt again the days when he'd just been adopted by the Gradys and he felt such gratitude, and hope.
Hope.
As he watched, Winnie's smooth brow creased. Her eyes narrowed as she searched the room, lower lip caught between her teeth.
She was looking for him.
His chest tightened and Morgan knew without a doubt that he'd never tire of the summer. Or the sun.
And he'd never tire of Winnie.
Quickly, he pushed through the crowd lining up at the bar, lifted a hand in acknowledgment as someone called his name, sidestepped a reporter interviewing a charity patron. Winnie was moving in the opposite direction, heading to the exit, out of the ballroom.
He reached her at the great stone archway, stretched out a hand, and touched the back of her bare warm shoulder. "Winnie."
Heat shot through her, heat and pleasure. Winnie turned, stomach knotting, lower lip raw from being anxiously gnawed. "I couldn't find you."
"How long have you been here?"
"A half hour. I couldn't find you, and then someone said they'd seen you head to the exit, that you were doing the usual Grady move of sneaking out."
"I was."
"I almost missed you-" She broke off, hazel eyes darkening with silent emotion. "I almost missed everything."
"You've missed nothing."
There was so much tenderness in his voice. Her lip quivered as she fought the intensity of her feelings. "I'm sorry I didn't come with you. I'm sorry I made this whole thing so difficult-"
"You're here now. That's enough. And you look ..." He shook his head, pride in his eyes. "Beautiful."
She touched her hips a little self-consciously. The delicate skirt hugged her curves and fell in a shimmer of yellow and gold to her feet. "It's the dress." But she liked the compliment, appreciated the compliment. He made her feel so incredible. "Do you still want company tonight?"
His blue eyes darkened, the navy almost ink. "More than ever."
****
His voice sounded low and husky. "I missed you."
Winnie rolled over on her side. They'd gone to bed last night with the doors open and now sunlight and fresh air filled the room. They'd left New York Sunday morning to spend a few stolen days on St. Jermaine's.
Winnie loved the feel of his hand on her breast, but more than anything, loved the warmth in his eyes. He did care for her. He cared for her so very much. "You missed me?" she repeated smiling faintly.
"Quite a bit."
"I guess in Morgan speak, that means the same thing as I love you."
His lips twitched. A day-old beard darkened his jaw.
His teeth flashed in an easy white smile. "Is there something wrong with Morgan speak?"
Her smile grew; the smile starting on the inside, in her chest, where her heart felt warm, where happiness was made. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with Morgan speak. You say as little as you want. I'll happily fill in the gaps."
He chuckled softly, appreciatively. "You're very funny."
"Absolutely hilarious. In my next career I'll be a standup comedian."
"You remembered."
"I remember everything."
His lips curved, his eyes smiled, a sheen on the gorgeous sapphire blues. "So let's see, regarding your grasp on Morgan speak, if I say, I love pancakes ... "
"It really means no one makes better pancakes than Winnie."
"If I say, I like spending time with you?"
"It translates to 'I can't imagine ever living without you.' "
His husky laugh filled the room and leaning forward, he kissed her very slowly. "I love you, Winnie."
Did he just say that? Did he say the words?
Her eyes burned and the ache in her chest was so intense she couldn't distinguish between joy and pain.
"So, Winnie, translate that one for me."
She couldn't. She, who had a million words at her disposal, couldn't think of one. He'd just blown her away.