Naughty By Nature. Jule McBride
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Vanessa Verne was rich, smart, gorgeous and played with fire, something that could cost Morgan the job he loved. Just as he swung open the door and realized Bjorn hadn’t brought his car around front as he’d promised, the senator’s bass voice sounded behind him. “You won’t be needing your car.”
Morgan got a sinking, no-way-out feeling. Two minutes later, he was ensconced opposite Vanessa in a leather armchair in the late Nora Verne’s study, and his worst fears were realized. His eyes trailed from floral draperies to peach walls lined with photographs of the nationally renowned socialite who’d befriended countless dignitaries and achieved fame for her tastefully lavish parties—and then to Vanessa.
She’d inherited her mother’s looks. Her father, who was pacing between them in front of a teak desk, was a full five inches shorter than she. He was known for his taciturn manner, and he had heavy sagging jowls and watery dark eyes that hid in the fleshy folds of his eyelids. If it weren’t for the navy suits that barely buttoned over his portly girth and the conservative ties he favored—this one printed with sailing ships—Ellery Verne would look more like a Mafia don than an aging, eccentric, retired U.S. senator.
Bjorn, a big blond with a Swedish accent, was lingering by the door looking confused, still holding the keys to Morgan’s car. Lucy, doubling for Mrs. Bell, was hustling into the study, setting down a tray of drinks.
“Lucy, you’d better stay.” Senator Verne spoke so thunderously that the chairs seemed to quake, making it easy to imagine him commanding voters to the polls. “I know how close you and Vanessa are, and I’m worried.”
“Worried?” Lucy sidled next to Bjorn, and even though they were trying to be discreet, it was no wonder the senator suspected the affair. Even from here, Morgan felt the sparks. He hoped the senator didn’t pick up on the flares between himself and Vanessa.
“Mr. Fine,” the senator said, “you’ve met my daughter during your brief stay in our home, of course?”
Thinking of how shamelessly she’d flirted with him and about last night, Morgan couldn’t help but seek her gaze, feeling more in control now that they were dressed. “We’ve…” He let the pause linger. “Met.” He wasn’t proud of it, but given how thoroughly she’d unsettled him last night, it felt good to tease her, to wrestle back some of the control.
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