Destiny's Hand. Lori Wilde

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Make that two,” Adam said.

      He would have preferred mineral water. He didn’t drink much. He felt that alcohol clouded his concentration. And when he did imbibe, he preferred beer to hard liquor. But liquor was an elementary ingredient in the art of sealing a deal. Adam had learned to drink whatever his client was having whether he liked it or not.

      “Your wife seems very nice,” Jacobbi said. “I liked her.”

      “She is wonderful and she’s unlike any woman I’ve ever known. Understanding, patient.”

      “And very sexy.”

      “Yeah,” Adam smiled. “That, too.”

      He thought of Morgan and his heart immediately warmed. Her features possessed plenty of character, with brown eyes too big for her face that underscored her natural curiosity about the world. Her bottom lip was full, but her top lip was so narrow it almost disappeared whenever she smiled, and he adored that sweet disappearing act.

      But it was her chin that Adam loved most.

      Small and rounded but prominent, and when Morgan hardened it, you could be sure you were in for a protracted argument. I might be all dainty and ladylike on the outside, but inside, I’m pure steel, her stubborn chin seemed to say.

      Adam remembered the first time he laid eyes on her. He’d walked into his senior-level economics class in business school and there she’d been. Sitting in the first row, where he preferred to sit. The other students were talking and joking, waiting for class to begin. But Morgan sat perfectly still.

      She was an island, untouched by the chaotic sea around her. Quiet, serene.

      Her calm reserve had captured him immediately. Adam was not a particularly deep or spiritual person. He realized this about himself, and his rather surface approach to life didn’t bother him. In fact, the trait was an asset in his line of work. But something about Morgan caused a voice inside his head to whisper, Here it is, the thing you never even knew was missing.

      He admired her neat and tidy methods. The way she preferred everything clean and organized. On the surface, she was very controlled, his Morgan, but underneath her composure, at times like tonight, he would catch a glimpse of her inner vixen.

      “To be frank,” Jacobbi commented, “if she were my wife, willing to dress up like that for me, I’d be spending every night of the week with her. But then, I shouldn’t be talking about your wife that way. Excuse me. It’s none of my business what shape your marriage is in.”

      “My marriage isn’t in bad shape,” Adam denied.

      “No?”

      Vehemently he shook his head. “No.”

      “So why are you here with me instead of at home with her?”

      “Because you asked for a late meeting.”

      “Ever consider telling me to shove it and meet at a time that didn’t disrupt your family life?”

      “Would you be my client if I did?”

      “Maybe not. The point is that you have to make choices in this world, Shaw. And it’s clear you’ve chosen business over family. Nothing wrong with that. Just make no mistake—you’ll pay top dollar for your sacrifices.”

      “Speaking from experience, Jacobbi?”

      “I’m on wife number three, my kids won’t speak to me, but I’m a millionaire several times over. You figure it out.”

      “Two scotches for the gentlemen,” the waitress said and settled their drinks in front of them.

      Adam signed the drinks to his hotel room. Pensively he sipped from his glass. Was Jacobbi right? Was he paying too high of a price for success?

      But I’m doing it for Morgan, so she can have her antique shop. For our home. For the kids we don’t yet have.

      He looked across the table at the older man and suddenly flashed fifteen years in the future. Would he still be doing this job at Jacobbi’s age—accommodating big-fish clients by meeting them late at night, even when it wasn’t conducive to his home life, simply to make more money?

      The thought unsettled him.

      So do something about it.

      Now?

      Adam glanced around as if someone was watching him, gauging his response, critiquing his choices.

      His heart urged him to make his excuses to Jacobbi, reschedule their meeting and go home to his wife. But he was so very close to being made vice president. If he pissed off Jacobbi, he could jeopardize the promotion he had been working his entire life to snag. If he was going to distinguish himself above the other VP candidates, he had to go above and beyond the call of duty, not wimp out at the last moment.

      Not even for the sake of your marriage?

      Come on. His marriage was fine. No matter what Jacobbi had said. Sure, maybe their sex life had slowed down over the years, but hell, he and Morgan had been married a decade. It was normal and natural for the excitement to wax and wane.

      Yet no matter how much Adam tried to convince himself that things were perfectly fine at home, he couldn’t stop remembering the look in Morgan’s eyes when he’d asked her what she was doing there. He’d hurt her feelings, and that had not been his intention.

      Should he stay or should he go?

      “Let’s get down to business,” Jacobbi said, rubbing his palms together and launching into details about his plans for taking his company public.

      The next thing Adam knew, he was caught up in the minutiae, talking shop. But in the back of his head he made a decision. He wouldn’t stay at the Grand Duchess tonight as he’d planned. Even if the meeting ran so late that he missed the last train out of the city, he would spring for taxi fare to Connecticut. One way or the other, he was going to make love to his wife tonight.

      He was determined to prove to them both that their marriage was one hundred percent okay.

      2

      MORGAN ARRIVED HOME TO find the green light on the answering machine blinking provocatively. Could it be Adam calling to say that he’d changed his mind and was coming home tonight after all? Her heart cartwheeled with hope.

      Please let it be him, she prayed.

      Unzipping Cass’s slut-puppy boots, Morgan kicked them across the entryway floor. She stripped off the itchy red wig, tossed it onto the foyer table and ran her fingers through her damp hair. She still wore Adam’s jacket, the sleeves dangling past her fingertips.

      While pulling up one sleeve, she reached over to press the play button on the machine. Blood drained from her legs and pooled throbbing into her toes. Whether from anticipation of the message on the machine or from spending several hours in those unaccustomed high-heeled boots, she did not know for sure, but probably it was a bit of both.

      “Hello, Morgan, this is Sam Mason returning your СКАЧАТЬ