“Live for the moment, Morgen. Hmm?”

His arms sliding seductively round her waist, Conall wished fervently that he could banish every trace of sadness from her beautiful green eyes. He couldn’t ever remember feeling that way about any other woman, and he’d dated many.

“So, Miss McKenzie…where do we go from here?”

It was difficult to think straight with the sudden rush of blood to her head. Her expression revealing her anxiety more candidly than she knew, Morgen glanced nervously up at Conall. “Where do you want to go from here?”

He overwhelmed her with another sexy smile, and the strong arms around her waist tightened a little. “Want me to be frank with you?”

Morgen nodded.

“Your bed would be good.”

For several years MAGGIE COX was a reluctant secretary who dreamed of becoming a published author. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t have her head in a book or wasn’t busy filling exercise books with stories. When she was ten years old her favorite English teacher told her, “If you don’t become a writer I’ll eat my hat!” But it was only after marrying the love of her life that she finally became convinced she might be able to achieve her dream. Now a self-confessed champion of dreamers everywhere, she urges everyone with a dream to go for it and never give up. Also a busy full-time mom, who tries constantly not to be so busy in what she laughingly calls her spare time, she loves to watch good drama or romantic movies, and eat chocolate!

In Her Boss’s Bed
Maggie Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my wonderful brother Billy, loved but not lost.

I will hold you in my heart forever.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

THE voice in her head seemed to come from far away, and had a sense of urgency about it. Irritated at the interruption to her dream, Morgen mentally willed it away, longing for the dream to come back. But to no avail. It was gone, like leaves scattered by the wind. As the fog in her head began to clear it became painfully apparent that she had pins and needles in her hands—the same hands that her head was resting on, on her desk.

‘Oh, my God!’

Lifting her head, she briskly rubbed her palms together, then flexed her fingers, her heart racing slightly as the blood began to circulate again. It started racing even more when she saw the stony-faced expression of the man standing on the other side of the desk, disapproval bracketing a mouth that looked as if it smiled just about as often as Morgen had dinner at the Savoy.

She started to rise to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

‘Was wasting the firm’s time? By my calculations it’s at least another hour until lunch, and I’ve been told that most of the staff in this office grab a sandwich and eat it at their desk. Obviously you have other, less strenuous ideas for using your desk, Miss…?’

Hateful man! For a couple of moments Morgen struggled to get a handle on her anger, not to mention humiliation, but then, taking a deep breath and tucking her hair behind her ear, she straightened her shoulders and rallied. How dared he cast aspersions on her character by insinuating that she fell asleep at her desk on a regular basis? And who, in God’s name, was he anyway?

‘My falling asleep like that has never happened before, Mr…?’

‘You first.’ He ran an impatient hand through hair the colour of rich dark caramel, and Morgen couldn’t help noticing that he looked in urgent need of both a haircut and a shave. Besides that, there was an edge about him that made her stomach knot. This was a man who would never suffer the indignity of being ignored, she concluded, not in this life. And it wasn’t just because of those jaw-dropping good looks, either.

‘McKenzie. Morgen McKenzie.’

‘And—apart from being employed by this firm to do apparently not very much—you work for Derek Holden, is that right?’

Swallowing with difficulty, Morgen felt the slight burn of heat in her cheeks. ‘I’m his assistant, yes.’

‘Then where the hell is he? I had a meeting booked with him in the conference room at ten-thirty. I got an earlier flight back from the States to make sure I was here on time, I’m jet-lagged, in dire need of a shower and something to eat, and there’s no sign of your boss anywhere. Care to tell me where you think he is, Miss McKenzie?’

Right now, what she actually cared to tell Mr High-and-Mighty-I’m-so-much-better-than-you standing in front of her was probably unprintable, but she was equally angry with Derek. Why hadn’t he briefed her on the fact he had a ten-thirty appointment with this man, whoever he was? She’d checked the diary thoroughly before she’d left last night, as she always did, and there had been no meeting in the conference room at ten-thirty pencilled in then. What the devil was he playing at?

Her heart sank at yet another painful reminder of her boss’s slow and steady decline. Once a smart up-and-coming young architect, since his divorce Derek Holden had turned more and more to the bottle in search of comfort. In the past six months Morgen had seen him turn into a sad, shambling wreck of his former self. It was a good job that she was quick-witted and smart herself, because she had saved his bacon on more than one occasion—taking over work that was definitely not in the province of a mere personal assistant. She concluded that Derek must have known about the meeting for a while but had forgotten to tell her about it.

Now, as her fingers turned over the wide pages of the desk diary, hovering over the blank space next to ten-thirty, Morgen frowned down at it, rapidly scanning her brain for the best excuse for his absence she could possibly come up with. Sensing the man’s irritation grow more acute as the seconds ticked by, she reflected that this handsome Goliath in front of her was going to take a heck of a lot of convincing.

‘Unfortunately Derek has been taken ill,’ she explained smoothly, assuring herself she wasn’t too far off the mark. He usually didn’t show up until around ten most days anyway, but because it was now almost eleven-fifteen she assumed he must be feeling even more the worse for wear than usual. He probably wouldn’t show up today at all—which might be for the best, considering the glowering face before her.

‘Really? Then why in hell’s name didn’t someone let me know?’ The deep, resonant bellow almost made Morgen jump out of her skin. ‘Why didn’t you let me know, Miss McKenzie? Isn’t that what you’re paid to do?’

‘If you’d care to tell me who you are, I might be able to—’

‘Conall O’Brien. Obviously you weren’t even aware that your boss and I had a meeting, were you? Care to explain why?’

Her head hurt at the relentless barrage of questions, but her pulse nearly careened to a halt like a car coming upon a sudden hairpin bend when he said his name. Conall O’Brien. The charismatic head of O’Brien and Stoughton Associates—premier architects with offices in London, Sydney and New York. Although Morgen had worked for the London office for just over a year now, she had never set eyes on the man himself. However, his awesome reputation preceded him.

It was well known that he took no prisoners and showed little leniency to anyone having personal problems—a fact that had been made abundantly clear to her already. He absolutely hated tardiness and expected one hundred and ten per cent from the people who worked for him. He mostly worked out of the New York office, and occasionally Sydney, but she had never known him to come to London in all that time—he had always sent a representative. How on earth could Derek have forgotten to brief her on something so important? His love for the bottle might have finally put both their jobs in jeopardy.

A single mother with a six-year-old daughter and a mortgage to pay, Morgen couldn’t afford to lose her job right now. Her day had started badly, because she’d been up all night nursing Neesha’s cold. Then falling asleep at her desk due to exhaustion—could this day get any worse? she wondered. While she was contemplating this, eyes the colour of a freezing Atlantic Ocean in a squall bored unmercifully into hers, and Morgen knew she had a long way to go to redeem herself in front of this man.

‘I know this doesn’t look good, but Mr Holden has been working terribly hard lately. Yesterday he definitely looked under the weather. I’m not surprised he isn’t in today.’

‘Never mind that. Why weren’t you aware that we had a meeting? Dammit, it was arranged only last week. Presumably you and your boss do communicate?’

To Morgen’s alarm he shrugged off his trench coat and threw it on a chair beside the window that reflected the impressive high-rise vista of the city of London. He was dressed from head to foot in bespoke tailoring that screamed quality and money. The suit was a deep dark blue with a very faint pinstripe, matched with a royal blue shirt and silk tie, and its wearer exuded the kind of power that mostly only those born to wealth and privilege could effortlessly carry off. Coupled with that watchful intelligence in those ‘I’m not missing a damn thing’ arctic blue eyes, and those intimidatingly broad shoulders, he clearly wasn’t a man to be trifled with. Though right now Morgen wasn’t trifling at all. She was fighting for her life in deadly earnest.

‘Of course we communicate. Derek—Mr Holden obviously meant to tell me to put it in the diary, but because he was so busy he unfortunately forgot. I can assure you it’s very unlike him, Mr O’Brien. Why don’t I pour you a cup of coffee and maybe send out for some food, if you’re hungry? And in the meantime I could ring Mr Holden at home and tell him you’re here. He could jump in a taxi and be here in about twenty minutes or so, I’m sure.’

‘From that comment I take it that he’s not exactly at death’s door, then?’

Feeling her face burn, Morgen dissembled. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any details at present.’

‘So go get the coffee, then get me Holden on the phone—I’ll talk to him myself. Don’t worry about food—I’ve got a lunch appointment at one, so it will keep.’

Pulling out a chair from the wall, he dropped down into it opposite Morgen’s desk, his impressive frame all but dwarfing it. Yet she would swear there wasn’t so much as an ounce of superfluous flesh on that awesome physique. Intensely aware of every single thing about the man, she didn’t miss the yawn he swiftly suppressed or the faint look of weariness that briefly glimmered in those quick-witted blue eyes.

She couldn’t help but be relieved when she escaped from the room into Derek’s office, to pour some coffee from the percolator that was always kept on simmer. As far as Morgen was concerned the air around Conall O’Brien was far too rarefied for her liking, and she wondered how the people in his office coped with the man. When Conall said ‘jump’, did they all jump automatically? Probably…either that or risk being fired.

Crouching down in front of the cabinet where she kept the best crockery, only used when Derek was in conference with VIPs, Morgen cursed softly as several empty whisky bottles fell out onto the thick grey carpet and rolled towards her feet. As she quickly started to gather them up the door opened quietly behind her, and she found herself in the humiliating position of being caught red-handed.

‘Very unlike your boss to “forget” our appointment, you say, Miss McKenzie?’ His voice dripping with icy disdain, Conall fixed his unforgiving gaze on Morgen. ‘I guess if I had a belly full of whisky I’d be inclined to forget my commitments as well…wouldn’t you agree?’

Her startled green eyes widened as she glanced up at him, and her stomach turned decidedly queasy at the fact that poor Derek’s unhappy drinking problem was no longer exclusively their little secret. ‘If you’d—if you’d like to wait outside I’ll just get rid of these and make your coffee.’

‘Leave them.’

‘It’s all right. It will only take a minute, then I’ll—’

‘Leave the damn bottles, Miss McKenzie, and get that feckless boss of yours on the phone, pronto!’

Morgen’s knees were shaking as she got to her feet. Her lips pursed, she turned away from the accusing glare of a pair of wintry blue eyes and went to reach for the phone on Derek’s desk.

‘Wait a minute.’

‘What?’

‘On second thoughts, right now I need a caffeine fix more urgently than I need to tell your dear Mr Holden his services are no longer required.’

Her heart sinking, Morgen replaced the phone shakily back in its cream-coloured rest. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘What?’ A briefly amused quirk of perfectly sculpted lips brought the first glimpse of a smile, but Morgen steeled herself against falling into such a trap. He wasn’t going to lure her into any sense of false security so easily. ‘You don’t believe I need a caffeine fix?’

‘It’s not that. I just—I mean, you can’t fire Derek! He’s a good man. Honestly…he’d do anything for anybody. His wife left him recently, and he hasn’t coped with it very well. I’ve no doubt he’ll turn things around, given the chance.’

‘Spoken like a loyal and true assistant. Is that all you do for your boss, Miss McKenzie? Help him in the office?’

The insinuation was so blatantly obvious that for a moment Morgen was dumbstruck. Then, with trembling hands, she drew the black lapels of her suit jacket together over her blouse and, with all the dignity she could muster, raised her gaze to look Mr High-and-Mighty O’Brien straight in the eye.

‘I don’t care for your crude implications, Mr O’Brien. If you knew Derek Holden then you’d know that he only had eyes for Nicky, his wife. And if you knew me then you’d also know that I make it an absolute rule never to get involved with anyone at work.’

‘Never?’ The brief smile suddenly became teasingly wider, revealing perfectly white teeth against his tan, and Morgen had to concentrate hard so that she could think.

Folding her arms across her chest, she deliberately didn’t smile back. How dared he? How bloody well dared he make casual sexual insinuations when she was in fear of losing her job as well as her boss? But then she guessed that not many people would dare stand up to this man without fearing the consequences. Well, perhaps he’d met his match in her. Because, as much as she needed this job—and God only knew how much—she wasn’t about to cower in a corner because this man had the power to intimidate.

‘Absolutely never, Mr O’Brien. Now, if you’d care to wait in the outer office, I’ll get you that coffee you’re apparently so desperately in need of.’

For a long tension-filled moment, during which Morgen would swear the only thought in his mind was to give her the sack on the spot, Conall treated her to one of his hard, unrelenting stares, then surprisingly turned away to move towards the door.

‘Strong and black, Miss McKenzie—no sugar. You don’t mind if I use your office to do some work?’

‘Go ahead.’

Feeling like a deflated balloon, she almost sagged against the desk when he’d gone. When she next saw Derek…she couldn’t decide whether she’d read him the Riot Act or simply wring his neck.

Conall drew out a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and rubbed at the pain throbbing in his temple. If he didn’t catch up with some sleep soon they’d have to carry him out of there on a stretcher. It wasn’t because he was unaccustomed to a long working day, or even working seven days a week—it was all grist to the mill as far as he was concerned. That was how he’d built up the business when his father had retired to ‘let his son take the reins’. But, having had non-stop meetings five days running and then two consecutive long-haul flights—one from California to New York, where he’d touched base at the office, then from New York on to London—his body needed sleep like a prisoner on Death Row needed to stay awake.

Taking another mouthful of the strong black coffee Morgen had brought him, he stopped reading the writing on the page in front of him and thought about the woman he’d just met. Where he lived they used the expression ‘hot’. As far as her figure and her face went, Morgen McKenzie was on fire. Even though his rage at her boss’s ineptitude, as well as finding her asleep at her desk, had almost made him lose it big time, his hormones wouldn’t have been in prime working order if he hadn’t reacted to the beautiful girl in front of him. And, God knows, he’d reacted.

When he’d discovered her on her knees in Holden’s office, trying to hide the blatant evidence of the man’s drinking problem, it had taken just one dazzling glance from those big green eyes of hers to almost make him forget what he was there for. It hadn’t helped matters either when the vee of her blouse had gaped a little, unwittingly giving him a very sexy glimpse of her gorgeous cleavage, white lace bra and all. He’d received a sexual charge so acute that for a moment his thoughts had been scrambled to the four corners of the earth.

Of course he couldn’t help being angry that she’d been asleep at her desk. He had a reputation for being hard but fair to his employees, and could be generous to a fault to the people who deserved it, but he absolutely deplored slackers—workers who didn’t pull their weight. One look at Morgen and he’d hazarded a guess that the lady had been burning the candle at both ends—no wonder she was tired! With looks like hers she doubtless had a queue of admirers going round the block—what reason would she have to stay home and mope when she could be out on the town every night? Never mind the effect it had on her performance at work. The thought made his blood boil. Who would blame him if he gave her her walking papers along with her boss?

Conall sighed and rubbed a hand round his beard-roughened jaw. Trouble was, Derek Holden had been a rising star amongst the young architects in the UK office. Up until recently Conall had only received the best reports. One of the main reasons for his visit—apart from appeasing his mother—was to find out what had been going wrong. Of course he wasn’t about to reveal as much to the provocative Miss McKenzie. He decided he’d let her stew for a little while—keep her guessing as to whether she or her boss were about to lose their jobs. That at least ought to get some proper work out of her.

‘Can I get you some more coffee?’

She breezed into the room, a flush on her pretty face that was immediately arresting and her dark hair floating loose from its fastening. Conall sensed straight away that she’d been up to something.

‘Who were you phoning?’ he asked smoothly, using the time to make another leisurely inventory of her face and figure. ‘Could it be the hapless Mr Holden, by any chance?’

Guilt was written all over her face as plain as day, and Conall wondered if her feelings were always so transparent.

‘If I’d spoken to Derek I would have told you,’ she replied testily. ‘If you must know I rang my mother—to let her know that I’d probably be home late.’

‘You live with your mother?’ Now she had really surprised him. Conall studied her features with renewed interest, momentarily mesmerised by her sexily shaped mouth with its highly desirable plump lower lip. He put down his coffee cup and made a discreet adjustment to his sitting position.

‘She’s staying with me at the moment because she hasn’t been very well.’

Morgen hesitated to reveal that the real reason her mother was staying with her was that she was looking after Neesha, her daughter, who had been poorly these last few days. Her stomach tightened at the thought of her little girl suffering in any way, but she couldn’t afford to take time off when Derek was absent from the office more often than he was in. Especially not now, when she had the big boss breathing down her neck, probably looking for any reason—however trivial—to sack her. She didn’t want him automatically assuming, as so many employers did, that if she had a child she would be somehow less reliable or committed to her job. The truth of the matter was that she was even more reliable and committed to her job because she had responsibilities at home.

Frustration bit along her nerves. She wished he wouldn’t look at her so closely, as if she was some sort of interesting foreign object beneath a microscope. Ever since that remark earlier, about what she did for Derek, she’d been feeling extremely self-conscious. If only he would go! Why was he hanging around in her office when he could surely hang around with the VIPs upstairs? Was he laying some sort of trap to catch poor Derek out?

‘I’m sorry to hear that, but if you think I’m going to be more lenient with you because you’ve got troubles at home, then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed, Miss McKenzie.’

Was he going to sack her? A wave of anger washed over her at the thought. It was so unfair! She hadn’t had one day off since she’d started this job, and she stayed until at least six or six-thirty most nights. Just her luck to doze off at her desk and for him to walk in right at that moment! She’d even given up several Saturdays to accompany Derek to site meetings and take notes, but what would Mr Big-Shot know about that? No, he’d simply taken one look at her and assumed the worst. Well, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight, that was for sure!

‘Are you threatening me, Mr O’Brien?’

‘I found you asleep at your desk, Miss McKenzie. In my book that’s a sacking offence.’

His jaw was very square and very hard-looking, and right now Morgen wanted to punch it and knock him off his chair.

‘And does the concept “innocent until proven guilty” ring any bells with you?’ She was shaking so hard that she was barely able to get the words out.

Conall leaned forward to lay his sheaf of papers on her desk, then leaned back again with his hands behind his head as if amused.

‘What’s to prove? There is no doubt in my mind that you were asleep when I walked into the room. Unlucky for you the last time I had my eyes tested I was assured I had twenty-twenty vision.’

‘There was a perfectly good reason that I fell asleep—and it was for all of five minutes, if that!’

She heaved a breath that strained at the buttons on her blouse and Conall became transfixed by the sight. He wanted to ask her to have pity. It seemed the lady just had to take a breath and lust took the place of the cool professionalism he usually maintained. His gaze drifted back to her face and those flashing green eyes of hers. He had no intention of sacking her, but he wasn’t averse to playing a little cat and mouse either.

‘Okay. Convince me.’

He was just so smug and self-righteous sitting there that suddenly Morgen lost the urge to prove anything. Let him think what he damn well liked, for all she cared! There were other jobs besides this one. She’d just have to temp for a little while until she found something more permanent. Though the thought didn’t hold much appeal, and she was genuinely upset at the idea of leaving Derek in the lurch. Particularly now, when he needed all the support he could get. Still…

‘I’ve changed my mind.’ Smoothing down her skirt with a trembling hand, she turned on her heel and stalked back into Derek’s office with her head held high.

Stunned, Conall pushed himself to his feet, loosened his tie and followed her. He found her pulling files from a tall mahogany cabinet and laying them out on the desk.

‘I said convince me, Miss McKenzie.’

‘Go to hell! And if that’s a sacking offence too, then I’ve well and truly been given my marching orders, haven’t I?’

‘It would mean so little to you, losing your job?’ Frowning, Conall watched her stalk to and fro from the cabinet, somehow deflated that he had pushed her too far. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was a little niggle in the centre of his chest that told him he might just be wrong about Morgen McKenzie. That being the case, he didn’t want to lose someone who might turn out to be a valuable employee.

‘There you go again, making assumptions about situations you know nothing about!’ She stopped her agitated stalking and dropped her hands to her hips. ‘My job is very important to me, Mr O’Brien, and if you’d care to ask around in the office you’d more than likely find out that I do it well—at least, I haven’t had any complaints so far. Unfortunately Derek isn’t here right now to corroborate the fact. Perhaps when he does come in you can ask him.’

‘And do you really believe his good opinion is honestly worth having?’ Raising his eyebrow, Conall waited with interest for her answer.

‘If you’re referring to the bottles…’ Morgen’s eyes drifted towards the now closed cabinet and a tinge of pink highlighted her beautiful cheekbones. ‘The fact that he’s got a problem with drink doesn’t make him a bad person, or a man whose opinion doesn’t count. He’s won awards for this company, Mr O’Brien, as I’m sure you must be aware. He’s a talented architect with a bright future. Right now he needs help and support. He doesn’t deserve to lose his job because his world suddenly fell apart when his wife walked out.’

‘And what about what this firm deserves, hmm?’ Rubbing at the smooth tanned skin between his brows, Conall frowned. ‘We have our reputation to think of…clients who expect a first-class service. If that level of service starts to suffer because of individuals like Derek Holden, who can’t cut it when their personal lives start to encroach on their work, then I’m sorry—but we’re not in the business of extending patience indefinitely. If he can’t get his act together pretty soon then there are plenty of other ambitious young architects waiting to fill his shoes.’

Several thoughts jumped into Morgen’s head at once, but one inched ahead of all the rest. The man was ruthless…unbending. He didn’t care if Derek was suffering the torments of hell. All Conall O’Brien cared about was that right now Derek wasn’t ‘cutting it’—ergo, he wasn’t making any money for the firm. It would serve him right if she walked out right now in protest. Nobody was indispensable, that was true, but he was going to have a hell of a time making sense of things without her around to explain them. Especially when all the other secretaries were run off their feet as well. She was tempted to do it, too.

Seeing the conflict in her troubled green eyes, Conall feigned a look of boredom, wondering what she’d do if he called her bluff.

‘So, Miss McKenzie…are you staying or going?’

‘I won’t let Derek down.’ She was fidgeting with her hands, and her angry glance slid away from Conall’s un-flinching stare. Her emphatic statement made it quite clear that it was Derek she owed her allegiance to—not him or the firm.

He wanted to admire her loyalty—no matter how misplaced, in his opinion. After all, hadn’t her boss let her down too, leaving her to face the music while he drowned his sorrows at home? But Conall found he couldn’t. It irked him immensely that she insisted on trying to protect a man who clearly didn’t deserve it.

‘Good. Now that we’ve established that you don’t want to make yourself unemployed, perhaps we can get some work done around here?’

The expression on Morgen’s face told him she wanted to throw something at him. The fact only hardened his resolve to deal with the situation in his own inimitable way—the way that had turned his father’s business into the successful firm it was today. Conall gestured at the unopened files on the desk. ‘Are these current projects?’ When she nodded mutely, he slipped behind the desk and sat down in the big leather chair that Derek Holden usually occupied. ‘Bring me some more coffee and I’ll take a look while I’m here.’

Biting back ‘I’m not your servant,’ Morgen swallowed her pride and reluctantly returned to the outer office to fetch his cup. As she poured coffee with a shaking hand, she couldn’t help wondering for how long she and her boss would keep their jobs now that their dictatorial senior partner had made his ominous presence felt.

CHAPTER TWO

THE ringing of the phone on her desk made her jump. She snatched it up guiltily, wondering if Conall was straining an ear to keep tabs on her movements. Glancing at the door to Derek’s office, and seeing it closed, she breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Morgen McKenzie.’

‘It’s Derek.’

‘For goodness’ sake! Where are you?’ Cupping the mouthpiece with her hand, she turned her head again, to make doubly sure the door to the other office was shut.

‘I’m at home. Where do you think I bloody am?’

As Morgen had expected, he sounded irritable and hung-over. Her stomach knotted with deep apprehension.

‘Do you know who you missed an appointment with this morning?’

‘Don’t play games with me, Morgen, I’m not in the mood. Whoever it was I’m sure it will keep. Thankfully, you always come up with the perfect excuse to explain my absences. That’s what makes you such a priceless assistant.’

‘And that’s supposed to be a good quality? Lying?’

‘What?’

She heard the chink of glass, then something heavy thud to the floor. Instinct and experience told her that he had already been drinking this morning and probably still was. If Conall caught so much a whiff of the fact they’d both be for the high jump.

‘Your meeting was with Conall O’Brien, Derek. Does the name ring any bells?’

‘Oh, sh—!’

‘My sentiments exactly. However, that doesn’t do either of us any good. He’s still here in your office, waiting to see you. First impressions predispose me to believe that he’s prepared to wait quite a while until you show up.’ Though he had mentioned to Morgen that he had a one o’clock lunch appointment, she remembered. Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was a little after twelve-thirty. Thank God the man would be leaving soon—but, more importantly, how soon would he be back?

‘Have pity, Morgen! I’m in no fit state to deal with that man. I can’t possible—possibly come in today. You’ll have to tell him I’m ill or something.’

Gritting her teeth, Morgen glared at the phone. ‘I’ve already told him that, Derek, but quite frankly I don’t think he believed me.’ Now wasn’t the time to reveal that Conall had wandered into his office the very moment Derek’s empty whisky bottles had rolled out onto the floor in front of him. If he knew that he’d been rumbled—by the head of the firm, no less—there was no telling what Derek might do in his present state of mind. ‘You’ll just have to try and come in. Make some coffee, then grab a quick shower. I’ll order you a taxi and meet you downstairs in the lobby.’

He sighed noisily in response. ‘I can’t do it. I feel like death, if you must know. You’re asking me to do the im-impossible.’

Damn Nicky Holden for leaving him in the lurch! But what was the use of blaming his wife? It was Derek’s reaction to the whole sorry mess that was making things worse. Who would have thought that a successful, confident, bright young man who designed major projects worth millions of pounds would fall apart like a house of cards because his marriage hadn’t worked out? Morgen could only wonder. It wasn’t that she was unsympathetic. She had been through a similar scenario herself, and been five months pregnant to boot when her husband Simon had walked out. The difference being that she just hadn’t had the option of falling apart. Not when she had a baby to take care of and a widowed mother who constantly looked to her for support.

Sighing now, she scraped her hand through her hair and completely dislodged the little tortoiseshell comb that held it in place. The dark silky strands of her shoulder-length hair escaped to slip round her face.

‘There’s only one thing for it, then. I’ll come to you and help you sort yourself out. I’ll be with you just as soon as I can order a cab. For God’s sake, stay put—and, Derek…?’

‘Yes, Morgen?’

‘Don’t drink any more. If you want to make yourself useful put the kettle on and have a bite to eat. Got that?’

At the other end of the phone the receiver clattered down without a reply.

Morgen was just grabbing her coat off the chrome coat tree when the door swung open and Conall strode back into the room. His sudden appearance put the fear of God into Morgen, and she hated the fact he could so easily intimidate her. His arms folded across that impressively wide chest of his, he eyed her consideringly, like a big cat about to play with a mouse. Damn, damn, damn! Wasn’t she allowed any luck today? It seemed not.

‘Going to lunch already, Miss McKenzie?’

‘I’ve got an appointment. I’ll only be about an hour, if that. I was just…I was just coming to tell you.’

‘Were you, indeed?’

Was the man always so untrusting? Morgen huffed an exasperated breath and tried valiantly to meet his gaze. No easy undertaking when those cold blue eyes looked as if they would spear shards of ice into her body at any moment.

‘I know you don’t believe me, but I really have to be somewhere right now. I promise I won’t be long, and if you need me to stay late tonight I’ll be only too happy to do so.’ It almost killed her to say it when she knew Neesha was probably pining for her. Her little girl loved her nana, but it was Morgen she wanted when she was feeling poorly. Still, she would do all she could right now to keep her job. She only prayed that Neesha would be feeling much better by the time she got home.

‘Would you be going to meet your boss, by any chance?’ Intently studying the suddenly surprised green eyes, Conall knew he had struck gold. Loyalty in general he admired—but subterfuge to dig her boss out of a hole? Well, that was a whole different ballgame in his book. He didn’t know whether to be more furious with Morgen, for thinking she could pull the wool over his eyes, or the errant Derek, who had let himself slide from grace so ignominiously.

Worrying at her lip, Morgen swept back her hair with her hand. It drew Conall’s appreciative male gaze to the luxurious glossiness of it.

‘He’s going to come into work. He just needs to freshen up a little and sort himself out.’

‘And you’re going to help him? What are you going to do? Hold his hand while he gets into the shower?’ The very idea of this raven-haired temptress and a shower did things to Conall’s libido that could be constituted as sexual torment.

Morgen didn’t think it would do her case any good to confess that it wouldn’t be the first time she’d gone to Derek’s house with rescue in mind. She was practically as familiar with the layout of the once swish Westminster apartment, with its stunning Thamesside view, as she was with her own small terraced house in Lambeth. Only the inside of Derek’s once lovely home was no longer quite so lovely, due to neglect. Even his cleaner had quit, telling Morgen that she was tired of disposing of empty bottles of booze at every turn.

‘Like I said before, he just needs a little bit of support through this difficult time. We can’t just abandon him.’

‘We?’ Conall’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

‘The firm…me. Don’t you want him to get better?’

She frowned, like a little girl who didn’t understand some particular adult peculiarity, and something told Conall that she was too damn caring for her own good. However, it wasn’t enough to make him restrain his temper. ‘I’m running a business here, Miss McKenzie, not a care home.’

He saw her blanch. Did Derek Holden in his alcohol-ridden state know that his beautiful raven-haired assistant was championing his cause while he was away? Probably…no doubt the man was using that very fact to what he hoped would be great advantage.

‘Don’t bother calling a cab; I’ve got a car downstairs. I’m coming with you…to see if I can’t help to talk some sense into him. Lead the way.’

‘But what about your one o’clock meeting?’

‘I’ve already postponed it. Now, let’s go and discover what kind of condition your boss is in.’

Derek’s already pallid face turned deathly white when he saw the visitor Morgen had brought with her. Stumbling back inside the wide hallway, with its once shiny parquet floor, he drove his hand through his dishevelled brown hair, desperate to regain some composure but failing miserably.

The air smelt old and stale, as if nobody had opened a window for a very long time. Morgen took one look at her boss and wished she had a magic wand so that she could put all that ailed him right in an instant. Turn back the clock to the time before Nicky had walked out on him, when he’d been a man who was very clearly steering his own ship, carving out a name for himself in what could be a highly competitive cut-throat business and acquitting himself with distinction.

‘Hello, Derek. Why don’t I make us all some coffee? Have you eaten?’

When he mumbled incoherently in reply Morgen slipped past him, reluctantly leaving him to deal with Conall alone. In the huge fitted kitchen, where there was every modern convenience known to man but not so much as one clear work surface to stand a cup on because dirty crockery was everywhere, Morgen rolled up her sleeves and got stuck into some of the mountain of washing up. She doubted there was a clean mug or cup in the whole place, never mind a clean percolator, and she couldn’t make coffee without it. From experience she knew that Derek wouldn’t give house-room to the instant stuff. At least, he wouldn’t if he were sober…

Finding herself too interested in the now raised voices, Morgen turned on the hot tap to full flow to drown out the sound and grimly occupied herself with the task in hand. She knew instinctively it was little use praying that Conall would go easy on Derek—in terms of possibility that would be akin to expecting a boa constrictor to go easy on a mouse. Going easy on him would probably not get them very far, anyway. She’d tried the softly, softly approach herself, and Derek had merely laughed and told her that he definitely had his drinking under control and not to worry.

Five minutes later, sensing movement behind her, she turned to find Conall in the doorway minus his jacket and tie. He was a big man—strong and fit—and looked as if he could take on a whole army and emerge victorious. With his hair slightly disarrayed, and his hard jaw unshaven, there was something dangerously compelling about him that couldn’t be ignored, despite her silent vow that his good looks cut no ice with her.

‘He’s going in the shower. Can you have that coffee ready when he comes out?’ His keen-eyed gaze moved curiously round the room as he spoke, and when he brought it back to Morgen he was shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight that confronted him.

‘If we pay the guy enough to live in a place like this, why the hell doesn’t he employ a cleaner?’

‘He did.’ Touching her cheek unknowingly, Morgen left a small trail of soapy suds on her skin. ‘She walked out.’

‘Why should that surprise me?’

About to turn away and return to see how Derek was faring, Conall found himself walking towards Morgen at the sink instead. Without a word, he reached down to gently stroke away the suds from her face. Up close, he saw that her green eyes were flecked with intriguing hazel lights and her dark lashes were long and luxurious—without the benefit of mascara, as far as he could detect. Her scent enveloped him for a moment—something warm and sensual, like a sunny day on the Cote D’Azur where he occasionally liked to holiday. His stomach muscles clenched iron-hard in response and a throb of heat went straight to his groin.

‘You had some soap on your face.’

‘Thanks.’

She turned away, clearly flustered. Smiling to himself, Conall walked back to the doorway. He liked the fact that he could ruffle her feathers. Truth to tell, he liked it a lot.

‘How are you feeling now?’

Studying the pale, heavy-eyed features of the man before him, Conall wondered if there was really any point in dragging him back to the office for a meeting today. The hour in his office had given him enough time to brief himself on the current details of the big Docklands project Derek was presently in charge of, and he’d already rung the site manager and arranged a four o’clock meeting with the contractors and the client. He’d give Derek a day’s grace to get his act together, and tomorrow morning first thing they’d have a meeting of their own, when Conall would lay out the options as he saw them before him.

Basically, the man had to agree to professional help or walk. There were already outrageous sums of money being wasted on this project through one discrepancy or another, as far as he could see, and Conall was damn sure his firm weren’t going to help his client lose any more. Apart from that, they had an international reputation to protect—and protect it he would.

‘Some more coffee would be good.’ Feebly, Derek smiled and held out his mug.

Morgen relieved him of it and turned back into the kitchen. As she poured strong black coffee near enough to the brim her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten a thing since dinner last night. Right on cue, her head started to throb. Too much coffee, not enough sleep and no food were not the best of combinations to aid health and vitality, she thought wryly, wondering when she’d find time to even eat the tuna sandwich her mother had put in her bag that morning. She prayed it would be soon, or she wouldn’t be much help to anyone.

Poor Derek. ‘Dreadful’ didn’t even begin to describe how he looked. ‘Walking dead’ was possibly more apt. Like a made-up extra in one of those old Hammer Horrors. There was no way he’d be any use in the office today; surely Conall could see that?

Hovering in the doorway while Derek manfully drank down his coffee, Morgen felt her nerves bounce badly every time her gaze connected with Conall O’Brien’s. There was no doubt he was a formidable man, but he’d actually been much more lenient with Derek than she’d expected. She could have sworn she’d even glimpsed sympathy in his eyes every now and then as Derek had fumbled and stuttered an explanation as to how he had got himself into such a sorry state—but perhaps her senses had been deceiving her. Conall and sympathy just seemed to be the complete antithesis of each other. The man clearly judged having personal problems as some kind of major weakness.

Finally, glancing at his watch, he reached for his jacket on the back of the sofa and addressed Morgen directly. ‘We’d better get back. I think Derek would be best served by sleeping off some of his excesses for the afternoon and coming into the office tomorrow instead. I’ve booked a four o’clock meeting with the contractors at Docklands, and you can come with me and provide back-up—fill me in on anything I’m not familiar with. You okay with that, Miss McKenzie?’

Normally Morgen wouldn’t be fazed by such a prospect—she often accompanied Derek to site meetings—but this one was a biggie, and Derek had left the firm wide open to criticism by his absence and unwillingness to return phone calls. Consequently, as his assistant, Morgen had taken most of the flak. She’d been fending off irate telephone calls for days now, and she was certain it would become quickly evident to the gimlet-eyed senior partner of O’Brien and Stoughton Associates that a lot less had been accomplished on the project than he had a right to expect.

Suddenly a cuddle and a bedtime story with her lovely Neesha seemed even further away than it had this morning. Something told Morgen that this particular meeting would stretch well into the evening.

‘That’s fine with me, Mr O’Brien.’

‘Leave the booze alone, Holden, and get an early night. If you want to keep your job, be in the office at nine tomorrow morning and we’ll talk.’

Getting unsteadily to his feet, Derek threw a panic-stricken glance at Morgen as he followed them out into the hall to the front door. He was like a little lost boy, she thought, looking for her to save him. She turned away at the too familiar feeling, resenting it suddenly, but Conall didn’t miss the brief warm smile of consolation she flashed back at the man.

He imagined what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of one of those gorgeous smiles himself. Pretty damn good, he reflected as she breezed past him out onto the stairwell, leaving a trail of her mesmerising scent. As she marched ahead of him back to the car his gaze locked onto those trim sexy calves in pale stockings and low heels and he knew he had a bad case of lust at first sight. The problem, as he saw it, was: what did he intend to do about it?

‘I’m going back to my sister’s place to get a shower and a shave. Can you hold the fort until I get back?’

Her backbone stiffening, Morgen flashed Conall an irritated glance. What did he think she’d been doing for the past six months while Derek slid further and further down the slippery slope of depression? Hiding in a cupboard?

‘I’m sure I’ll manage somehow.’ Ripping her gaze away from his unwanted scrutiny, she wished she wasn’t so acutely aware of the intimate confines of the luxurious car, with its cream leather upholstery and connotations of wealth and power.

‘Why did his wife leave him?’

Conall’s question took Morgen completely by surprise. Her hand was on the door handle beside her, but she withdrew it onto her lap, tucking her hair behind her ear as she spoke.

‘He said she couldn’t cope with his success. She was trying to forge her own career as a singer and felt that Derek didn’t support her enough. They came from very different backgrounds, and in the end I suppose they just wanted different things. The differences just became too much to withstand—for Nicky anyway.’

Shrugging, she stared down at her own ringless hands, fighting off the unexpected sense of failure that suddenly descended on her out of nowhere. She didn’t want to think about Simon, her ex-husband, but her last two sentences might have been describing their own disastrous union—brief though it had been. He had been an ex-pupil of Eton, one of the foremost public schools in the country, then gone on to medical school. When Morgen had met him he’d just been promoted to a registrar’s job at Guy’s Hospital, and his charm and total self-confidence had swept her away.

His parents were wealthy and his father, an eminent heart surgeon, had been knighted in the Queen’s honours list. Morgen hadn’t exactly received the red carpet treatment from his family, and straight from the off she’d known she wasn’t good enough for their darling Simon. How could she be? She’d gone to a mixed comprehensive in South London, then trained as a secretary at a local technical college. Her father had been a bricklayer and her mother a school secretary. It went without saying that her family had hardly moved in the same illustrious circles the Vaughan-Smiths had frequented.

‘These things happen.’ Not taking his eyes from her, Conall wondered what she was thinking. ‘He’ll have to get over it soon. Especially if he wants to keep his job.’

‘Derek isn’t deliberately sabotaging his future. The man is in a lot of pain, for goodness’ sake!’

Fielding off the frosty stare that accompanied Morgen’s words, Conall knew she was probably thinking he was a hard bastard—someone who didn’t give a damn about the people who worked for him as long as they helped the firm turn a profit. The truth was that he cared passionately about bringing out the best in people, and was only too happy to share the fruits of his own success with them when they did. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be tough when he had to be…ruthless, even.

As far as he could see Derek Holden had wallowed in his own self-pity long enough. If something were not done about that soon, it wouldn’t just be the man’s job that went down the pan, it would be his life. O’Brien and Stoughton could easily hire another architect, but Derek couldn’t be brought back from the dead.

‘I’m well aware that the man needs help—professional help. In the meantime I’ll be taking over things for a little while. You’ll be working directly for me, Miss McKenzie. Think you can handle that?’

He couldn’t help needling her, if only to see her react. Her captivating face instantly revealed her unhappiness. Her emotions were laid bare, and Conall realised it wasn’t easy for her to don the civil mask of control that professionalism required. Not when in reality she was in turmoil. Inexplicably he felt himself warm to her in a way he hadn’t warmed to a woman in a long time. And the prospect of being ‘hands on’ in the office while Derek took a necessary sabbatical—with Morgen as his assistant—suddenly appealed much more than it probably had a right to. As soon as he got back to his sister’s flat in Highgate Conall would telephone the New York office and let them know he was extending his stay in the UK indefinitely.

‘I can handle anything you care to throw at me, Mr O’Brien. Why don’t you try me and see? Part of my secretarial course curriculum was how to deal with difficult people. In fact I specialised in it! See you back at the office.’ And with that Morgen slipped out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

Conall laid his head back on the cream rest and mused that her hostility was probably a bonus. It would make it all the sweeter when she finally decided it was worth her while to be nice to him. Priding himself on knowing women as well as he did, and having personal experience that wealth and status in life were powerful aphrodisiacs—especially when it came to attraction—Conall didn’t doubt that that would soon be the case…

CHAPTER THREE

AT THREE-THIRTY that afternoon Morgen made her way to the ladies’ washroom to freshen up. Staring at her reflection in the bank of mirrors, she frowned at the soft bluish shadows beneath her eyes. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge she looked just about as tired as she felt, but her spirits were lifted a little despite the tension of the morning because she’d heard from her mother that Neesha was more or less back to her old self today.

Reflecting on that fact now, she let her shoulders drop a little with relief. That meant that her daughter could go back to school tomorrow and her mother could go back home. Relationships were strained between them at the best of times, but none more so than when Morgen asked her to take care of Neesha for her when she was sick. Lorna McKenzie did not approve of women working full-time when their children were small. Truth to tell, Morgen might have shared the same conviction if Simon hadn’t walked out on her less than a year into their marriage, drastically diminishing her options.

For a man who’d initially been over the moon to hear she was pregnant, he’d soon changed his tune as his wife’s pregnancy had advanced. He dealt with sick people all the time, but he had professed he was unable to cope when Morgen was wretched with morning sickness. That, coupled with her lack of desire to socialise with his friends and never seeing eye-to-eye with his parents, had been good enough grounds for him to end the marriage as far as he was concerned. Besides, he really hadn’t liked the idea of being ‘tied down,’ he’d explained as he was leaving. His career came first, and he really hadn’t been sure whether fatherhood was for him after all. He was willing to help support her and the baby, but only until Morgen could return to work full time, at which time his future contributions would be for the child only.

‘The child.’ Simon still rarely referred to his daughter by her given name. She didn’t see him from one month to the next anyway. By now Simon had made Specialist Registrar, and was on the fast track to becoming a consultant. He worked long hours and in his free time liked to play sport and socialise with his well-connected friends. As far as Neesha’s grandparents went, Elizabeth and Terence Vaughan-Smith wanted nothing to do with their grandchild—they hadn’t agreed with the marriage in the first place, so why should they acknowledge a child of that union?

Morgen stared hard into her own eyes and bit back the overwhelming desire to cry.

‘Don’t you dare, Morgen McKenzie!’ she whispered harshly through gritted teeth, returning her pale rose lipstick to her make-up bag. ‘You didn’t cave in when the bastard walked out on you; you’re not caving in now!’ Her defences were low because she was tired, that was all. But her heart ached just the same for Neesha, because her father and his family had more or less rejected her.

Oh, well. Such was life. She wasn’t the only one who’d had hard times and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Look at poor Derek. What would become of him if he were unable to turn his addiction around? At the thought of her boss she glanced down at her silver-linked wristwatch, noted the time, then grabbed up her bag from beside the sink.

Hell’s bells! She didn’t dare be late for Conall O’Brien—not when they had a four o’clock meeting to get to at Docklands. The man already thought she was lazy and incompetent—why make life even more difficult for herself by compounding that impression?

As she hurried back along the thickly carpeted corridor to her office, Morgen prayed she’d get there before Conall. She wasn’t craving his approval, but neither was she courting his disapproval—and if he started to have a go at her, the mood she was in she’d probably tell him to stick his job where the sun didn’t shine, and then where would she and Neesha be?

But luck, it seemed, wasn’t on her side today. Standing by the window, gazing down at the London traffic through the slats in the blind, Conall turned as she entered, causing Morgen’s heart to flutter like a moth flying too close to a flame. Newly showered and shaved, and wearing another impeccably tailored suit—this one a dark charcoal-grey matched with a pristine white shirt and burgundy-coloured tie—he looked like a man who meant business. He was clean-shaven, tanned and gorgeous, with piercing blue eyes that had her cornered the instant she set foot in the room, and it seemed that the world tilted more than a little when Morgen gazed back at him. The sensation made her strangely angry, not to mention defensive as hell.

‘I haven’t kept you waiting, have I? I literally just popped out to the washroom for a minute. Are you ready to go?’

‘You look tired, Miss McKenzie. Are you sure you’re up to this?’

Now he was casting aspersions on the way she looked, as well as her ability to do her job! Striding across the room, Morgen deliberately ignored him. Instead she gathered up the papers and plans on her desk, slid them into a large manila envelope, tucked it under her arm and walked back to the door.

‘Shall we go, Mr O’Brien? It’s already twenty to four. I just hope the traffic is in our favour.’

She’d tied back her hair, Conall noticed, almost as if trying to regain some lost control. The idea intrigued him, made him wonder if there were areas of her life where she willingly gave up the desire to stay in control. Like when she was in bed with a lover, for instance?

Although personally he preferred her beautiful hair left unconfined, however she wore it she would command attention—because Morgen McKenzie was not a woman who could pass unremarked. Her fitted suit accentuated a figure that veered more towards the voluptuous than the fashionably thin, but because she was tall as well—at least five eight, by his calculations—she could wear a black polythene sack and still look amazing. But he hadn’t missed the dark circles beneath her lovely eyes either, and he was sure she was ready to kill him for noticing. Was his first impression of her right? Was she a party girl burning the candle at both ends most nights after work? And—more to the point—did she have a man in her life?

‘That’s what I like to see—enthusiasm for the job. It’s going to be a long afternoon, by all accounts. I’ve already spoken with the client. Have you met Stephen Ritchie before?’

‘We’ve only spoken on the phone,’ Morgen replied, tension edging into her shoulders as she reflected on the irate telephone calls of the past week, not to mention the threats to sue the firm. All in all, Mr Ritchie did not sound like the kind of man she was eager to meet.

‘Well, it’s no exaggeration to say he’s baying for our blood—or Derek’s blood, at least. We’re going to have to jump through hoops to come out on top. Think we can save the day, Miss McKenzie?’

He paused in the doorway, crowding her with his impressive physique. His expression seemed to increase in intensity, causing a sudden outbreak of goosebumps beneath Morgen’s clothes. Trouble was, the sexy fragrance of his cologne—along with the highly alluring and more subtle scent of the man himself—kept drifting in and out of her nostrils, making it hard to think. Unable to wrench her gaze away from his, Morgen sucked in a shaky breath. His seductive blue gaze had become a perilous ocean, and she was in mortal danger of becoming irrevocably lost at sea.

‘I wish you would stop using my name as a means to taunt me, Mr O’Brien. I don’t like being intimidated.’

‘Is that what I’m doing? Intimidating you?’ Frowning, Conall let his gaze sweep her features with genuine surprise.

Morgen couldn’t find the words to answer him—not even a simple yes or no. Her senses were too besieged by his nearness.

‘Would you prefer it if I called you Morgen?’ he asked evenly, his voice dropping down a sensual octave or two.

Taken aback by his unexpected concern, she stepped hurriedly ahead of him into the corridor to cover her confusion. ‘That is my given name.’

‘Then Morgen it is.’

Easily falling into step beside her, Conall mused how well her name suited her. Morgan Le Fay sprang to mind—the legendary dark-haired enchantress in the tale of King Arthur. There was certainly something bewitching about her, that was for sure.

‘Got everything we need, Morgen?’ he asked conversationally, referring to the large manila envelope under her arm.

Her green eyes briefly met his. ‘I’ve got everything you need, Mr O’Brien.’

Sweet heaven, he couldn’t argue with that… ‘Call me Conall,’ he said brightly, just about getting the words out past the sudden aching dryness in his throat.

It was raining when they reached the site, where two new luxury apartment blocks were being erected. The rain had quickly turned the dry sand of the ground into a river of mud, and as Morgen donned the compulsory hard hat the site foreman gave her she wished she had had the foresight to bring some Wellington boots. Derek normally kept his in the boot of his car, and she had enough experience as his assistant to know that she should have done the same. As for Conall, he didn’t seem to notice the fact that his black hand-made Italian shoes were quickly sinking into a quagmire of mud and sand.

After shaking hands with the stocky foreman, and introducing both himself and Morgen, he followed the man to the nearby planning office that had been erected to monitor progress on the site.

Inside, three other men—one of them suited—were seated round the long rectangular table. The smell of brewing coffee and cigarette smoke immediately enveloped Morgen’s senses as they entered. All the men glanced at her with wary gazes, as though an alien had suddenly wandered in amongst them. Clearly some men still had old-fashioned views about women on a building site, she thought irritably, concluding it was about time they got over it.

‘Miss McKenzie is my assistant and will be taking notes,’ Conall explained, before pulling out a chair for her to sit down. ‘Unfortunately Derek Holden is on sick leave, so I will be taking over the project until his return.’

From the first few minutes, as plans were laid out on the table and one of the men got up to pour the coffee into waiting mugs, it was evident who was in charge and why. Conall O’Brien’s expertise in smoothing ruffled feathers and executing the necessary action to bring things back on course was a master-class in skill, diplomacy and people management bar none. Morgen saw and heard Stephen Ritchie’s initially hostile reception to Conall melt like snow beneath a sun lamp.

Previously sluggish and tired, she straightened her back, sat up and listened in awe as the man finally had both the client and the contractors shaking hands and inviting him for drinks later on in the week.

Back in the car at ten to seven in the evening, Morgen swept a shaky hand through her hair and sighed as if she’d been let out of prison. The business of the day taken care of, she was more than a little anxious to get back to her little girl, and then for a hot bath and a stiff drink. Stealing a glance at the man beside her in the driver’s seat, she was amazed that Conall O’Brien was showing no signs of fatigue or jet-lag whatsoever. Instead he was smiling as his big hands curved round the steering wheel, as if all was right with his world and everything in it.

‘I thought that went well. How about you?’

The fact that he’d asked her opinion when it was glaringly obvious that things had gone more than well—he’d practically had them eating sugar out of his hand, for goodness’ sake!—threw Morgen for a moment.

‘I thought it was an exercise in damage limitation par excellence. Remind me to get you on my side when I’m next negotiating my car insurance.’

‘Most people are driven by fear, Morgen. As soon as you come to realise that you’re halfway there. You’ve got to get past your own ego to soothe theirs, and once you can do that—you’re home free. You can get practically anything you want.’

She said nothing. The fact that he was willing to get past his own ego to soothe someone else’s fears was enough food for thought for one day, she decided—even if there was an ulterior motive.

‘I’m not rushing you, Mr O’Brien, but—’

‘Conall.’ There was mischief in his gaze, and it momentarily banished every coherent thought from her head.

‘Fine. I don’t want to rush you, but I’d really like to get home if we’re finished for the day now. If you could drop me off back at the office I’ll pick up my car and go.’

‘Going out somewhere tonight?’ he asked, expertly steering the big car smoothly away from the kerb.

‘No.’ Her answer was accompanied by a loud sigh. ‘Definitely not. All I want to do right now is cuddle up on the sofa with my favourite person and relax in front of the TV.’

Her favourite person? Jealousy sliced through Conall’s gut like a knife heated over a red-hot blaze. So there was a man in her life after all? He’d been stupid to hope there wasn’t.

It was because he hadn’t been in a relationship for a while, he reflected moodily as he drove through London’s crawling traffic. A man had needs, and the delicious Miss McKenzie was a provocative reminder that his weren’t being met. There was something singular about her that completely tantalised him. Hooked him up and reeled him in. Something in that slightly aloof façade of hers which could just as suddenly reveal her anxieties as candidly as a child’s that made him want to get to know her better. Okay, so he badly wanted to get her into bed too. It was just his bad luck that she was already spoken for.

‘What about you?’

‘Excuse me?’ Stealing a glance, he saw that she seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

‘Have you any plans for this evening?’

Yeah. After he’d popped one of his sister Teresa’s home-cooked meals in the microwave to heat he intended pouring himself a large glass of wine, then catching up with everything that had been happening in the New York office in his absence.

Unfortunately he did not have a favourite person to cuddle up to on the couch and watch TV with. It was just a shame that Teresa had been called away on business just before he’d caught his flight to Heathrow and would be gone indefinitely. She’d left her keys with a neighbour for him, but right now he could do with some company. He supposed after his transatlantic phone call he could ring his mother and speak to her, but he really didn’t feel like listening to one of her lectures telling him it was high time he came back home to England for good.

‘I’ll probably be working.’

Shrugging, Conall made the necessary right turn, then reached out to switch on the radio. As a beautifully articulated voice announced the seven o’clock news from the BBC, he couldn’t deny he was suddenly ridiculously glad to be home again—even if he was staying at his sister’s and not a home of his own. There were definitely some things about the mother country that he missed.

‘Mummy, why did Nana make you angry?’ Her brown eyes pensive, the little girl with bobbed dark hair slid into bed and waited anxiously for an answer.

Morgen bitterly regretted that she’d given way to temper where her mother was concerned. But all she’d needed after a day fraught with tension—because of the arrival of Conall O’Brien, the sorry state they’d found her boss in and the anxiety of the site meeting—was for Lorna McKenzie to verbally demolish her as soon as she walked through the door.

Fingering the vee of her blouse, Morgen reached out to drop a tender kiss on Neesha’s pink cheek, happy beyond measure that the child appeared to be so much better than she had been for the past few days.

‘Nana and me just had a little difference of opinion, sweetheart. Sometimes it’s hard for her to understand that I need to go out to work to support us both. But if there was any other way I could arrange things differently, believe me, I would.’

‘Nana thinks you drove Daddy away because you were too stubborn. She thinks if you were nicer to him he would have stayed.’ Neesha was biting her lip, and her expression was all eyes.

Feeling as if she had a lead weight in her stomach, Morgen clasped her daughter’s small plump hand in her own and forced a smile.

‘Nana had no right saying such a thing to you, honey. She doesn’t want to accept that your daddy was scared about being a father. She thinks there must have been something I could have done to make him stay.’

No matter how ‘nice’ she might have been to Simon, he wouldn’t have stayed. She knew that for a fact. Now there was a lump in her throat too. Not because she pined for him, but because she could see the confusion on her child’s face. Why had her daddy abandoned her? How was a child supposed to understand that? Oh, how could her mother have been so selfish and stupid to say such things to her?

‘Some people just aren’t cut out to be parents, darling. It’s a hard fact of life, but true, I’m afraid.’

‘Then why did you and Daddy have me?’

‘We made you because we wanted a baby—even if Daddy got scared later on and couldn’t stay. And when I held you in my arms that very first time I thought you were the most beautiful, most perfect, most amazing little person that I’d ever seen in all my life, and I loved you with all my heart and always will.’

Clutching the child to her breast, Morgen breathed in the fresh clean smell of her hair, the impossibly soft black silky strands tickling her nose while the heat and softness of the sweet little body pressed fiercely against her own.

‘I love you too, Mummy. You’re the best mummy in the whole world and the prettiest. When I grow up I want to look just like you!’

Gently tucking her back down into her bed, with its quilted pink counterpane, Morgen smiled. ‘You’re good for my morale, you know that?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Morale means your confidence—the way you think about yourself. You make me feel good when you say such sweet things to me. That’s what I mean.’

‘Good. I want you to feel good. I hate it when Nana makes you sad. I’ll say goodnight now, Mummy, I’m feeling rather tired.’

‘Okay, gorgeous. You snuggle down now, in your cosy bed, and I’ll see you in the morning. You don’t mind going back to school tomorrow?’

‘I’m looking forward to it. I miss my friends.’

‘I’m sure they’ve missed you too, poppet. Goodnight, angel, God bless.’

Back in the living room, Morgen stooped to pick up a purple stuffed elephant and an anatomically unlikely Barbie doll from the carpet, along with two dog-eared storybooks that were Neesha’s favourites. Straightening the soft velvet cushions on the couch, she flopped down wearily, at the same time reaching for the remote and flicking on the television.

The choice of viewing was pretty dismal. Between a documentary on car crime, an awful soap whose soundtrack instantly depressed, football and one of those mindless reality TV programmes where members of the public were only too eager to humiliate themselves in front of the viewing masses, there was nothing to remotely tempt her. Pushing herself to her feet again, Morgen rifled through the bottom drawer beneath the television for a video.

When her hand settled on a much-loved romantic comedy, she knew that if the trials and tribulations of the perfect couple onscreen couldn’t capture her attention then nothing would. Slipping the film into the VCR, then making a quick detour into the kitchen for a bag of crisps and some cheese, Morgen tucked her feet beneath her on the couch and settled back to enjoy the film.

When ten minutes had passed, and she realised she’d barely registered any of the action unfolding before her because her mind was unwittingly preoccupied with Conall O’Brien, she frowned deeply, then turned up the volume on the film to drive any further troublesome thoughts away. There was nothing about him she liked, she decided. Just because he was too handsome for his own good and was impressive under fire didn’t mean that she was going to join his fan club. Along with his assets he was autocratic and domineering, and clearly possessed of a heart made of stone or something equally unbreakable. Thank God he was in the UK on a purely temporary basis, as far as she knew, and as soon as either Derek was back or they found a suitable replacement, Conall O’Brien would be back on a plane to America.

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