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There. No longer a bride. Just plain old Winnie in Morgan's blue-striped shirt.
They rode the elevator down together, and Winnie spotted the cluster of photographers outside.
"I can't do this," she whispered, panicked all over again. "I know what the papers are going to say and it'll be horrible."
"Pretend then everything's fine."
"I can't, Morgan. That's the problem, I can't fake anything important-"
"Relax," he said as he wrapped an arm around her and brought her close against him so that her cheek nestled against his chest. She could feel his warmth and smell his skin and she felt comforted. "Take a deep breath."
She did. She stood there, close against him, and just breathed him in. Oh, heaven. This was heaven. His hand gently rubbed up and down her back. His voice was firm, soothing. "We'll go out, we'll smile, we'll act like everything's fine. You can do that."
Immediately she stiffened. "I don't know-"
"Sure you can. You're with me, and you trust me, right?"
She looked up into his eyes, those amazing dark blue eyes, and his gaze was steady, his expression warm. He made her believe she could do anything. "Right."
They exited the lobby through a side door, but the photographers rushed toward them as the limousine pulled up at the curb.
It was still hot outside, the air heavy and sticky, and the flash of camera strobes blinded Winnie. The chauffeur had opened the back door but Morgan paused for the cameras, slid his hand low on Winnie's back and smiled.
And then the panic struck. "This isn't going to work," she choked, turning her face away from the cameras, her mouth pressed close to his chest.
"You just have to stop thinking. Let it go. Have fun," he answered, his lips against the curve of her ear.
"How?"
"Like this," he said, his voice dropping lower, deeper as he tilted her face up to his.
He was going to kiss her.
He was going kiss her here? Panic flooded her, drowning all rational thought. She jerked as his head dropped, but he held her firmly, his palms flat against her middle, one at her back, one at her belly.
"Relax," he repeated, just before his mouth brushed hers. "It's just a kiss."
Just a kiss, she silently repeated and then gave in to the incredible sensation of his lips slowly, very slowly covering hers.
His mouth felt cool against her hot skin, his lips were firm and he drew her closer, bringing her snugly against the hard plane of his chest and the roughness of his jaw and chin. He was built so much bigger and harder and it crossed her mind that he knew everything about making love and she knew absolutely nothing.
But expertise seemed inconsequential as his mouth moved leisurely across hers. He was doing something to her, making a deep dormant part of her come to life. The touch of his mouth against hers was about as wonderful sensation as she could imagine, and as his breath fanned her skin, she shuddered, her body rippling in a series of explosions, nerve endings bursting into flames.
Winnie forgot everything but touch, and the newness of his touch, sighing with pleasure as the pressure of his lips increased. She welcomed the heat and the flick of his tongue against the inside of her lower lip.
Her mouth felt warm, she felt warm, she felt wildly alive. Heat coiled in her middle, heat and urgency and something so physical she craved more of him but didn't know what. Tentatively she touched his chest, fingers splaying against the thick band of muscle.
"See?" he said, his head lifting just enough to gaze into her eyes. "Kissing's easy."
The photographers got their shot, she thought numbly, as the limousine sailed through Manhattan traffic. He might hate the media attention, might dread the photographers, but he always managed a smile and a civil word.
He was amazing that way, she thought, glancing at him in the deepening twilight. Back there, at the Tower's building, one of the reporters had asked Morgan how it'd felt, being left at the altar, and Morgan had grinned, flashing white teeth.
"Felt a little awkward," he answered with the easy confidence that charmed even tabloid journalists. "But I have her now, and that's all that matters."
She turned to look out the tinted window at the flicker of light and shadow, the moon beginning to peek between skyscrapers and glimpses of water. No wonder people loved Morgan. He was everything the public admired-intelligent, articulate, insightful-and he broke hearts.
"You do that so well," Winnie said. "You're a PR dream."
"I don't feel like it."
"Then you fake it well."
"Learned early."
She felt cold on the inside, empty on the inside. She'd loved the kiss but it'd just been good PR for him. Everything about them was just appearances. "How did you learn to fake it?"
He shrugged. "Rather Darwinian. Survival of the fittest, I suppose. People don't want to know about problems and troubles. They want success stories. I try to give them a success story."
"So you do what you have to do?"
"That's right."
Her emotions felt dangerously unhinged. "Including kissing me."
He turned, stared at her, his gaze unflinching. "It wasn't exactly a chore."
She took a moment to answer, wondering why her heart was beating so fiercely and why she had this odd weak sensation in her tummy. "I know you're not attracted to me. You prefer models. Tall blond supermodels, preferably from Sweden."
"I liked kissing you."
"No, you didn't."
"And I'd like to kiss you again but I think we have a few things to straighten out first. Our relationship, for example."
Winnie was growing increasingly uncomfortable.
"We don't have a relationship-"
"We do. We had one at the office and we came awfully close to getting married today so obviously there's something here, even if it's just friendship, and that alone deserves discussion."
"It's going to be hard to discuss anything right now. Emotions are running awfully high."
"Which is why we need some time. I think it'd be wise if we both went away for a few weeks, put some distance between us and the gossip columnists and figure out what we're going to do next."
Truthfully, she'd love to get away for a few weeks. She felt trapped right now, trapped and claustrophobic.
Winnie chewed on her lower lip. "Where are you thinking of going?"
"St. Jermaine's."
His island off the Berry Islands in the Bahamas. She thought longingly of turquoise water and sandy coves and the shade provided by coconut trees.
"I guess I could go home," she said slowly, trying to figure out her best escape plan. "Mom and Dad will be upset but I can't imagine them kicking me out."
Morgan muttered an exasperated oath. "I'm not leaving you here to face the media alone. The pressure will be intense. If I head to St. Jermaine's, I'm taking you with me."
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY weren't flying out until the morning and Morgan spent much of the night sitting in a leather chair in his living room staring out at Manhattan's sparkling skyline.
She did love him.
Damn. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't want her emotionally involved. He knew what it felt like to love someone and not be loved in return. It hurt. It was miserable. He wouldn't wish that kind of feeling on his worst enemy and Winnie was definitely not his enemy.
Hell, he liked her. A lot. And she'd looked pretty today, almost glamorous, although part of him preferred her without the eye makeup and hair goop. Winnie didn't need cosmetics to cover her up or try to improve her. She was great just the way she was.
Everything was great until today.
What had happened at the church? What scared her? Sighing, Morgan rubbed his jaw, the bristles of his beard scraping his palm. She loved him. Fine. He liked her.
In fact, he'd really liked kissing her. She had a great mouth, incredibly lush lips, and sex would be just as pleasurable once they got past the early, awkward stage.
The ear
ly, awkward stage.
