Mr. Right Next Door Read online

  “Okay.” His voice now seemed laden with promise. It made her shiver with anticipation. “But I have to warn you,” it went on. “If we sit here much longer, I’m going to have to kiss you.”

  Her lungs stopped working, her breath trapped in her chest. Kissing. She tried to think when she had last been kissed and flashed on the day of her wedding to Derek, but something told her that this would be nothing like that cool, practiced, showy meeting of lips. Something told her this would be unlike anything she had ever before experienced. In the darkness she could almost make out his features, not that she really needed to see him. Morgan Holt filled her every sense, his image permanently emblazoned on her memory’s viewfinder. Oriented by the faint silvering at his temples, she focused on his mouth and waited for it to happen. To her frustration, he took his time.

  His hands went still at the back of her neck. Then, slowly, one hand lifted to brush her cheek lightly and finger a strand of hair wafting about her face before traveling to her shoulder and pulling her forward slightly, so that the hand at her nape could slip down and around, coming to rest at her side beneath her arm and several inches above her waist. Once positioned, he simply folded her close and put his face next to hers. He probed gently with his nose, nuzzling and teasing, until his mouth brushed hers and finally, oh, finally, settled into place.

  For a long moment out of time, his mouth held hers in thrall. And then someone moaned. Whether it was him or her hardly seemed to matter, only that it proved the catalyst to something far deeper and stirring, something that caused him to slide his arms fully about her and pull her tightly against his chest, his mouth widening hers, opening her for the thrust of his tongue and the scalding, searing ignition of pure desire.

  Suddenly she was needy. Every pore and cell yearned for skin against skin, for hands that molded and smoothed, for the sharp edges of teeth that ground against her own, and the probing, stroking, filling stab of a moist tongue. Desperately she pushed her arms up and wrapped them tightly around his neck, pressing herself against him. She needed a male counterpoint, hardness where she was soft, heat where she was cold, certainty where she was unsure, and she needed it inside, battering, pounding, demanding for entry and jointure. She needed sex, hot, mindless, elemental, and she needed it with him, with Morgan, only Morgan. And the very thought of it scared her sober.

  She jerked back, wrenching her mouth from his and gasping for breath. The sharp physical need did not abate. Frantically she grappled with the door handle and nearly tumbled out of the car when the door swung open. If not for his hands on her body, she would have. Yet, he did not hold her when she struggled for release.

  “Denise, wait!”

  “No!” She swung her feet out and literally jumped, staggering as she rose.

  “Be careful! Damn!”

  Her head swam, and she grabbed for something to steady her. Her palm grazed the wall, and she flattened herself against it. She hadn’t even caught her breath when strong hands seized her and turned her around.

  “Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t swallow, let alone speak, and she was freezing for some reason. She was freezing and he was warm. Gratefully, frantically, she pressed against him, aware that her actions made no sense, that she was asking him to protect her against himself. He locked his arms around her, crooning soothingly.

  “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. You’ve just had too much to drink. I won’t take advantage of that again, I promise. Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

  She nodded and allowed him to carefully tuck her wrap about her, her hands clutching his lapels. Just the caring, gentle movements of his hands woke in her needs she had thought long buried, to be cared for, to be wanted. The thought floated through her mind that tomorrow would be too late, for some reason. This was the only moment of cosseting and treasuring that she would have. Panicked, she whispered his name, and without even meaning to, without even knowing that she was going to do it, she pressed her mouth to his again.

  He, too, seemed to sense that it was the only moment they would be allowed, for he tightened his arms about her and quite thoroughly tasted and explored her mouth. He pressed her back against the wall, fitting his body to hers, skimming her with his hands from face to thighs and upward again to her breasts, cupping and lifting them, while his hips held her in place and his mouth mated with hers. Ah, heaven. Had she ever felt this good? Had she ever wanted a man’s hands on her more? His breath came in hard pants, while hers seemed caught forever in her chest, making her head swim and her heart hammer. He moved against her, rocking his hips, and the need flared so hot that she keened with it, breaking her mouth from his and turning up her face. He skimmed kisses along her jaw to the hollow behind her ear and went very still. His hot breath painted her skin. Slowly, carefully, he began to move away, his body easing back, hands sliding to her waist. Finally, he lifted his head.

  Sweet, clean breath filled her lungs. She was torn between relief and disappointment, between shoving him away and pulling him close once again. She could do neither. Weakly, she began to tremble with very real cold and opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. He took his hands away and pushed them through his hair, one after the other, breathing deeply.

  “I knew it,” he said to no one in particular. “I just knew it.”

  She wanted to ask what he knew, but suddenly she was just too tired, too drained. Her teeth chattered. He laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled her easily away from the wall.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you inside. The temperature’s dropping like a rock in a well.” He stepped to her side and wrapped a bracing arm about her waist.

  Resigned to doing as she was told, she laid her head on his shoulder and allowed him to usher her through a side door and out into the night. He- wasn’t kidding about it getting cold. It seemed to batter her with tiny pinpricks of icy discomfort, or was that sleet? She shivered, and he wrapped both arms around her, hurrying her across the ground. She bowed her head to keep the ice from stinging her face. When they stopped and she looked up again, they were standing at her door. He slipped her tiny purse from his jacket pocket and opened it. Finding her keys, he extracted them, pushed the purse beneath his arm and opened the door.

  He practically lifted her over the threshold and closed the door behind them. Smithson darted between their feet, but when Denise looked down she couldn’t find him. Morgan seemed uninterested in returning the greeting her cat had given them. Denise frowned. She always returned Smithson’s welcome. It was the only one she ever received. She thought of telling Morgan that, but her tongue simply wasn’t working and he was hustling her through the apartment so quickly that it took all her strength just to stay on her feet.

  Before she knew what was happening to her, they were standing in her bedroom, and Morgan was slipping her wrap off her shoulders. Quickly, he turned her, and she felt his hands in the center of her back. Then suddenly his hands were at her shoulders and her dress was sliding down her body to the floor, pooling at her feet. She swayed gently, aware that she was standing before him in nothing more than a strapless teddy, her shoes and sheer black stockings. Her hands moved uneasily over her body, as if hunting for something that needed shielding and finding nothing actually exposed. Oh, well. It was too late now at any rate.

  He shoved her down on the edge of the bed and knelt beside her, lifting her feet one by one to skim off her shoes. Then he pulled back the covers and pushed her down against the pillow, lifting her feet and tucking them away. The covers folded over her, surrounding her in soft warmth. She sighed as he tucked them beneath her chin. He turned away, bending to pick up her dress and drape it over his arm. For some reason that seemed an especially sweet thing to do. She made up her mind to tell him so.

  “Morgan.”

  “Hmm?”

  But she had already forgotten what she wanted to say. She rolled onto her side and sighed. Her eyes drifted shut. “Jus’, Morgan.”

  Something fe
athered across her temple, and then her hair tumbled down around her face. Darkness slid over her, and with it, sleep. Consciousness spun away, until all that was left was his mouth on hers, his hands skimming her body, and an unanswered need throbbing deep inside her. Morgan.

  Morgan.

  Chapter Four

  Moaning, Denise let her head fall forward, catching it in both hands just to be certain that it didn’t fall off. What on earth was wrong with her? The only other time in her life when she’d had too much to drink was at her wedding. As a result, she remembered hardly anything at all about her wedding night, a fact she no longer regretted. Unfortunately, she feared that she’d forgotten nothing about last night. Truthfully, she remembered only too well. She seemed to have relived that kiss over and over in her dreams all night long. So vivid had the memories been that she had awakened this morning expecting to find Morgan there, and only the pain in her head had felt sharper than her disappointment when she realized that he was not. That in itself was enough reason never to see him again. The fact that he’d caused her to get drunk, she told herself stubbornly, was another.

  She’d conveniently forgotten how very nervous she had been in the early part of the evening, and how her glass had never seemed to empty. She chose not to recall that it had been Chuck buying the drinks early on, or that she had taken specific note of the fact that Morgan was not drinking and had decided that she could, therefore, afford to indulge just a bit. The stark facts were that she had had too much to drink, and Morgan had taken advantage of that.

  Friendship, obviously, was no longer a possibility between the two of them. They, he, had stepped over the line last night when he’d kissed her. If she’d kissed him back, well, she had the alcohol to thank for that. It certainly wasn’t because she was ready to let another man into her life. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever be ready for that. Her career took center stage for now and the foreseeable future. That’s what last night had been about, after all-business, not romance. Morgan had ignored a promise to keep things light between them. He had turned a favor between friends into seduction. Well, she wouldn’t let herself believe that he was harmless again. She would darn well keep her distance from now on.

  Smithson meowed and rubbed insistently against her ankles, demanding breakfast. Denise frowned, but she got up and shuffled over to the pantry for the cat food. Bending over to fill the dish was an indescribable agony, but Smithson was grateful enough to rub her ankles again, purring, before attacking the food. Denise leaned over the counter and laid her cheek against the cool top, waiting for the aspirin she’d taken earlier to go to work. When the doorbell rang, she moaned and covered her head with her arms, the sound lancing through her skull like white lightning.

  The bell chimed again before she could make her way through the dining and living area to the small entry and the door. Consequently, she was scowling when she pushed open the door to find Morgan’s smiling, handsome face.

  “What?”

  He blinked at the sharpness of her tone, then smiled apologetically and lifted a white paper sack. “Thought you might be able to use some coffee and a Danish about now.”

  “No, thanks,” she said curtly and yanked the door closed. Guilt immediately swamped her, and she was reaching reluctantly for the doorknob again when it turned and the door opened seemingly of its own volition.

  He thrust the paper bag at her, saying, “You might as well take this. I hate to waste my money, especially after I’ve wasted so much of my time.”

  The bag dropped toward the floor. Gasping, Denise managed to catch it, but when she looked up again, the door was closing in her face this time.

  On Monday morning Denise strode toward the office door, smiling as Betty rose from her desk. “Do you have something for me, Betty?”

  “Mr. Dayton wants you in his office first thing.”

  Denise sighed and glanced at her wristwatch. Nodding briskly, she pushed through her office door and went straight to the desk, where she placed her handbag in a bottom drawer before picking up the file she’d carried in and leaving with it. She paused once more at her secretary’s desk.

  “This may take a while. If my eight-thirty gets here before I get back, ask him to wait, then let me know. All right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You know where to reach me.” With that she strode off in the direction of Chuck’s office.

  When she got there, she found the secretary’s desk unoccupied and the door standing open. Shrugging, she walked through. Chuck wasn’t at his desk. She turned toward the sitting area where he often entertained clients and bigwigs, just in time to see Chuck slide his hand up under his cute blond secretary’s short skirt as she bent forward to pour him a cup of coffee. She giggled, the airhead, and he moved his hand under her skirt.

  Denise tamped down her distaste and cleared her throat, loudly. Little Miss Idiot straightened with a jerk, and Chuck snatched his hand back, turning a look over his shoulder. When he saw who it was, he relaxed and patted his secretary on the bottom reassuringly. It took all of Denise’s self-control not to roll her eyes. Chuck signaled her over with a wave of his hand. Well, well, so she rated the sitting area now. Why didn’t that make her feel better?

  “Hey, how was your weekend?”

  “Fine. And yours?”

  “So-so.” He patted his secretary again and said to her, “Pour Ms. Jenkins a cup, too, sweetie.”

  Sweetie gladly complied. Apparently she considered serving coffee while the boss mauled her a legitimate, perhaps even preferred, job description. When she was through, she set down the coffee decanter and quickly retreated, saying that she’d be right outside if they needed her. Chuck ignored her. Out of reach, out of mind.

  He crossed his legs, fixing Denise with a benign gaze. “Do I have to tell you how high your stock’s gone around here?”

  never turn away praise.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, then maybe I ought to tell you that I called the Big Guy this morning.” He meant the vice president of operations, his direct supervisor. “Baker had already beat me to it. Your name is now on the A list. If you weren’t on the fast track before, you are now.”

  Smiling, Denise took a deep breath. She felt a good deal of satisfaction—but not the elation she had expected. She pushed that thought away and reached instead for her coffee cup, while Chuck talked about the possibilities suddenly available to her. She might think about concentrating on contract negotiations or tailored market studies. The implication was that a promotion of some type was imminent. Denise found herself listening with only one ear, her thoughts straying yet again to Morgan Holt.

  As badly as she hated to admit it, a lot of the credit for her latest coup went to Morgan. His support had allowed her to make the deal with Baker and kept her from becoming prey to Chuck’s lascivious inclinations. She felt lousy about the way she’d treated him on Sunday morning, but she couldn’t find any way to undo it without encouraging him. If only he hadn’t kissed her. If only she hadn’t kissed him back. She really would have liked to have had him as a friend. Chuck seemed to be reading her thoughts. His mention of Morgan’s name snapped her back to full attention.

  “Not that Morgan’s exactly the type I’d have expected you to go for,” Chuck was saying. “Sort of possessive, isn’t he?”

  Denise schooled her face into blandness. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  She smiled secretively. “Not in the least.”

  “Jealous, is he?”

  She fixed her gaze on his face. “Not without reason.”

  Chuck waggled his foot nervously. “Strikes me as the kind who could get real worked up.”

  “Does he?”

  “Got a bad temper, I’d say.”

  She let a grin break out across her face. “And the muscle to back it up.”

  “You can handle that type, can you?”

  “What do you think?”

  He ignored that and
said, “You’ve always struck me as the sort to put ambition first. This Morgan fellow doesn’t seem to fit with that.”

  “Morgan knows how I feel about my career,” she said Hatly, her tone making it clear that said feelings were not negotiable.

  “Hmm.” He uncrossed his legs and changed the subject. “What do you want to do about the Anthony proposal?”

  Denise reeled inwardly. Suddenly her opinions were worth something? She actually had some say around here? Smoothly she sat forward, quickly marshaled her thoughts and said, “We don’t want to give away the store on that one. I think we should just sit tight for a day or two. Let Baker pass the word around, then go back with a similar proposal.”

  He nodded and reached for his coffee cup. “Good thinking. You’d better nail the proposal yourself. I’ll sound out Anthony and get back to you.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Okay.” Chuck leaned forward and clapped his hands together. “I don’t have anything else just now. How about you?”

  She started to shake her head, then a particularly thorny problem that she’d seen coming for some time popped into mind. Did she dare? And why not? It was well within her scope. She made an offhand gesture. “Actually, there is something. A member of our sales staff is pregnant.”

  Chuck made a face. “Hell. Maternity leave tears up a quota schedule.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Find some way to get rid of her.”

  Denise pursed her lips, her heart beating like a kettle drum. “Actually, that could be trouble.”

  “How so?”

  She decided on a self-deprecating approach. “Well, I could be way off base, but she strikes me as the sort to go straight to her lawyer. We could be looking at a discrimination suit. Now, I may be worrying over nothing, but I’d prefer not to take chances.”

  “So what do you propose we do?” he wanted to know. “Hold her hand during labor?”