In Her Boss's Bed. Maggie Cox
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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