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He smiled faintly, creases fanning from his eyes, making him even sexier than ever. "Hello, Willa."
"Winnie.'
"I know." His smile stretched and moving forward he took her travel bag from her and slung it on his own shoulder. "How did the interview go?"
"Fine." She frowned a little, realizing that he was here at the airport when he was supposed to be out to dinner with members of his board. "What are you doing here?"
"I came for you."
"Your shareholder's meeting-"
"Canceled." His mouth quirked but he wasn't exactly smiling anymore. In fact, he looked fierce, hard. "I was waiting at the gate but somehow missed you," he added, gesturing toward the terminal, black blazer falling open over his fine knit black shirt. He almost always wore black.
"Ah, there's my car now," he said. "We'll talk on the way."
She fell into step beside him. "Talk on the way where?"
"Dinner."
Nothing was making sense, she thought, reaching up to rub her temple, her thick hair falling forward against her cheek. She felt so tired and unkempt. Her hair down, her suit creased, her feet aching. And he wanted to take her to dinner now, like this?
She'd fantasized about having dinner with him but it hadn't been like this in her fantasy. In her fantasy she felt fresh, elegantly dressed, relaxed. In her fantasy she'd been in control.
That certainly wasn't the case now.
The limousine pulled next to the curb, black and sleek. Morgan opened the limo's back door. "Come," he encouraged. "I don't want to miss our dinner reservation. I've already pushed it back twice."
Winnie flashed him a worried glance before sliding into the back of the luxurious limousine. As the car pulled from the curb he pushed a dozen long-stemmed red roses into her arms, the stems perfectly straight, tied with a wide purple silk ribbon, arid the roses still in identically shaped buds.
He'd never given her flowers before. Not even on Secretaries Day.
Winnie's heart twisted, a jagged little pain going through her middle. She was surprised how much all this hurt. She'd always wanted this from him but now that it was happening, it was wrong. It felt wrong. Flowers were supposed to mean something, she thought wildly. Dinner was part of romance. But this wasn't romance. This was business.
He wanted her back. He was determined to get her back. She clutched the flowers so tightly they shook in her hands.
"He offered you the job?" Morgan's voice sliced through the dim interior, an edge to his voice-anger- too.
She jerked her head up. Her gaze met his. "Yes."
"Did you accept it?"
"Not yet," she answered, drawing a swift breath, drinking in the fragrance he wore. It was relatively light but on him it made her head swim.
She loved the way he smelled. He didn't always wear cologne, but when he did, it knocked her off balance, affected her coordination. Other men wore the same cologne but it didn't make her dizzy and hungry to bury her face against the neck and just breathe him in ...
"Good. Because I have something to propose to you. "
"What?"
"Let's wait until we get to the restaurant. I just ask you to keep an open mind."
An open mind? What did he mean by that? Nervous, Winnie drew the flowers up and sniffed the blossoms. Compared to him, they had no fragrance, no spicy or musky scent, nothing like the roses in her mother's garden.
She glanced at him and his blue gaze locked with hers. The intensity in his expression took her breath away.
"An open mind," he repeated softly as the limousine pulled off the interstate and made a series of turns before drawing up in front of a small rustic restaurant with a nearly deserted parking lot. "That's all I ask."
The driver parked in front of the restaurant, put the car in neutral, and hurried around the side to open the door.
"Where are we?" she asked, sliding across the leather seat and stepping out into the warm night.
"We're just outside the city. This is Franco's. It's a favorite place of mine."
As Morgan stepped aside to let her pass, a car pulled out of the shadows, headlights blinding, and drew next to them. Morgan muttered an oath and Winnie glanced at him in alarm. The driver of the car leaned out and a camera flash exploded in their eyes. Morgan's driver charged the photographer.
"Come on, let's get inside," Morgan urged her, shielding her eyes from the blinding strobe of light.
She wanted to move, but fear and too much adrenaline held her in place.
It wasn't until the photographer peeled out of the parking lot, tires screaming as the car rounded the corner that she let go of Morgan.
She drew a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself. She'd been so afraid. When the photographer had first pulled up, she'd thought it was a gun he held, not a camera, and she'd felt absolute terror when the flash exploded. All her fears about big city life and crime had come to life. She felt violated. Her safety stripped.
Trembling, she turned on Morgan. "What was that about?"
He shook his head, shadows in his eyes. "Just more of the same."
She drew another shuddering breath. "That was awful."
"I'm sorry."
"He had no right."
"They do it all the time, Winnie."
Morgan's voice was quietly apologetic, but she heard his frustration. He endured this on a daily basis lately.
She was beginning to calm down but she still felt chilled, and her nerves were jittery. "It's just such a shock. Where did he come from? How did he know you were here?"
"He probably followed the limo from the airport."
"You mean he's been tailing you this whole time?" He sighed wearily.
"Most likely."
Winnie was horrified. She glanced out, to the street and beyond. "They need to leave you alone."
"They will. Eventually." He reached toward her, placed a light hand on her back. "You're all right now?"
Her anger had dissipated, and the shock was wearing off, but she wasn't all right. She felt hot and tingly, and just the light pressure of his hand made her feel too sensitive. He'd never touched her in six months of working for him and his hand sent rippling shock waves through her middle.
"I'm fine," she answered, her voice huskier than normal.
The restaurant door opened and a gentleman in a red smoking jacket and black trousers stood in the doorway. "Mr. Grady, we've been expecting you. Welcome."
"Hello, Franco. Thanks for accommodating us." Morgan steered her up the three front steps. She felt his warmth and it was a tangible thing.
Franco led them to a table at the back. The restaurant was dark and dimly lit, with deep crimson cloths and lots of little votive candles on what would otherwise be empty tables.
Winnie slid out of her blazer and Franco took it with him. Winnie felt a little naked in the cream silk blouse but tried to focus on other things. "Is Franco's Italian or French?" What a dumb question. "I guess it doesn't matter," she added quickly. "It could be either. Italian or French."
She was babbling. She was barely coherent. This evening was going to be bad.
"Don't be so nervous. This is just me. Morgan Grady. That jerk of a boss you work for-"
"Don't," she wailed, slinking lower in her seat. "Please don't bring that up now."
He smiled. "I'm playing."
He played? That was a revelation. "Okay."
Morgan had been studying her. "Now I know why I missed you at the gate," he said, almost relieved. "You don't look like you. I was looking for the-" he pointed to his head, finger circling "-braids."
"Oh."
