Nancy Holland - Found - One Secret Baby

“No problem, Ros—, er, Ms. Walker. You’ve been under a lot of stress, I’m sure, with all these rich and famous strangers staring at something as personal as your mother’s paintings.”

Disarmed by his empathy, and by the way her body zipped to attention at the sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne, she looked down at the empty glass in her hand and nodded.

A long moment passed. She cursed herself silently for falling back into the shy little girl she usually kept hidden behind the lawyerly façade, but she still couldn’t find anything to say.

When it became clear she wasn’t going to hold up her end of the conversation, he asked, “Have you had dinner, Ms. Walker?”

“Rosalie.” She was rewarded by a smile that sent butterflies right to her core. “And, yes, we … I ate before I left home.”

A momentary frown creased his forehead before he said, “Well, I haven’t eaten. Would you like some dessert and a cup of coffee while I have a quick meal?”

The gallery was emptying out. A bored waiter wandered by and offered them the last of the wine in the bottle he held. She shook her head. She’d had enough already. Maybe more than enough, because coffee and something to eat before she drove home sounded like a good idea.

Except, the invitation had come from Morgan Danby. She should say no. He could take everything that mattered away from her.

But he didn’t know that. He wanted to give her something.

What harm could there be in taking another hour to cherish the evening’s celebration of her mother’s work? To learn more about this man before he walked out of her life. An hour she could remember and smile to herself about when she was back in her real world.

“Sure. Where were you thinking about going?”

He grinned and something twisted deep inside her. “Trust me.”

The expensive sports car the valet brought around when they stepped out of the gallery was bright red this time. The young man gave it a longing look as he handed Morgan the keys.

“I have to work tomorrow, so we can’t go far,” Rosalie cautioned in a wistful voice.

“Oh. I was thinking of a place out on the beach near Malibu. We could walk along the sand afterwards, and …”

“No,” she said with real regret as she climbed into the low-slung car.

By the time he was seated beside her, his grin was back, but he didn’t say anything.

He’d driven around the same block twice in search of a parking place before she realized where he was taking her.

“An all-night deli?” Why would a man with Morgan’s money eat at a deli, albeit a world-famous one?

“Why not? Incredible cheesecake for you, better pastrami for me than any place I’ve found in Boston.”

Why not? The words buzzed through her mind. Why not let all her responsibilities go, for once, and simply enjoy?

Even if it was the wine that made spending more time with Morgan Danby so appealing, that was only more evidence that she needed time to sober up a bit more before she drove home.

She’d worried about going to a deli dressed up the way she was, but she shouldn’t have. Half the women wore dresses fancier than hers, or designer slacks and tops that probably cost ten times as much as her off-the-rack-on-sale best black dress.

The cheesecake was perfect. And after an awkward moment or two, the conversation flowed from topic to topic, light and amusing, although afterwards she couldn’t remember exactly what they talked about.

What she did remember was how happy it made her just to be with Morgan, to have him smile at her as if they shared some wonderful secret. Not that they agreed on everything they talked about, but even arguing playfully with him was a joy.

The mood shifted as they lingered over a last cup of espresso.

“Tell me about your mother,” Morgan said.

Rosalie closed her eyes and smiled. “She was a free spirit. She loved flowers.”

“No surprise there.” He chuckled.

“And she loved me.” That love had been Rosalie’s rock through everything that happened, but the simple words brought a dark shadow to Morgan’s face.

“Did she look like you?”

“She was tall, slender, fair. I look more like the women on my father’s side of the family.”

Morgan’s voice was gentle as he asked, “When did he die?”

She stared at the dark liquid in her cup. “He didn’t. The day the wheelchair arrived, he left.”

Morgan tensed, then let out a long breath. “How long was your mother ill?”

“About fifteen years. That’s pretty average for the progressive form of MS she had.”

“It must have been hard.”

Rosalie shrugged. “We got by. I had to live at home while I was in college and law school, but she made sure my studies came first. We managed pretty well, until …” She cleared the tears from her throat. “Until we didn’t. I hated it when she had to move to a care facility. She loved her flower garden so much. But she made the best of it. She made the best of everything.”

Her tone must have told him she didn’t want to go any further down that road, because he let a long silence fall.

As they’d talked, their bodies had shifted until they sat so close together their shoulders touched. Rosalie didn’t quite know when during their conversation Morgan had put his hand on her knee, perhaps to emphasize a point he was making, but the weight and warmth of it felt right, as if it belonged there. Being with him, sharing her memories with him, felt right, as if she belonged there.

Then he turned more toward her and the hand moved a few inches up her leg. Closeness became intimacy, warmth became heat, heat became need. Her face almost touching his, she became aware that they were alone in their corner of the dining room.

Something inside her melted. It had been so long since she’d allowed a man to hold her, kiss her … Her hands flowed of their own accord to his shoulders and her mind emptied of everything except the hope that he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him.

Morgan was mesmerized by the woman beside him and the sad story she’d told. This woman might understand the sadness that haunted him. More, she had the heart to care about that sadness. He looked into her eyes, surprised to discover the little specks of brown were gone, leaving a pure sea-green a man could drown in.

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