Destiny's Hand

“Eight o’clock right on the money, punctual as always. But you look as if you’ve been caught unaware.” Robert stared at Morgan with frank approval.

Dammit. That’s the way she wanted her husband to look at her, not this overweight, middle-aged stranger.

Adam cleared his throat, rubbed the flat of one hand against the back of his neck again. “Um, Robert, this is my wife, Morgan. Morgan, this is Robert Jacobbi of Jacobbi Enterprises.”

Pasting a civilized smile on her lips, Morgan shook the man’s hand.

“So this is your wife.” Jacobbi wriggled his eyebrows. They were so thick and bushy they looked like gray caterpillars dancing the conga. “Shaw, if you don’t mind my saying, you’re one lucky guy.”

“If you could give us just a second, Robert, I’ll be right with you. Have a seat. Order a drink.”

“You’re not joining us, Morgan?” Jacobbi’s eyes glistened as he settled himself into the seat she had just vacated.

“I was on my way home.”

“Well, it was my absolute pleasure to have met you, Mrs. Shaw,” he said.

Adam took her hand and guided her out of Jacobbi’s earshot. His eyes held hers, his body stiffened, his whisper was rough. “What’s going on? Where did you get those clothes?”

“Cass.”

“Ah, so that explains it.”

“This isn’t Cass’s fault,” she snapped. “I had a silly idea that it would be romantic to spend the night with you in the city, and my sister loaned me something sexy to wear.”

His hand stole along her bare arm tenderly and his tone softened. “And you look exceptional, but you know how it is. You’ve been through this before. If I ace this deal with Jacobbi I’m a shoo-in for my promotion. But if I blow it, I’ll be passed over.”

“I realize that. It’s just…” She stopped, at a loss as to how to tell him how much she missed him, how afraid she was that the magic had gone out of their marriage and how terrified she was that they were on the verge of losing each other.

But this wasn’t the time or the place. She had embarrassed them both enough for one day.

“Just what?” he asked, sounding impatient.

“We’ll talk later. Go back to your client.” She waved a wrist, trying not to let him see her eyes, trying not to reveal her fragility.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” There was real concern in his voice. “This is totally out of character for you.”

I know! she wanted to scream.

Didn’t he get it? That was the point. To step out of character. To be someone else, someone new, someone wild and adventuresome and sexy.

Adam took off his suit jacket and held it out to her. “Here, you can’t go walking around the city at night alone dressed like that.”

She slipped her arms through the jacket. He hadn’t criticized her, but the expression on his face seemed to say it all: I hope this behavior isn’t going to become a habit. I chose you as my wife because you’re calm and reliable and sensible. Don’t go pulling any purple rabbits out of a hat on me at this late date.

“Jacobbi’s waiting,” she said, her chest squeezing sorrowfully.

“You be careful going home.” He gave her a perfunctory kiss.

The brushing of his lips against her skin felt so damned brotherly she could barely stand it. Quickly she turned away, glad that she wasn’t the kind of woman who cried at the drop of a hat.

Her humiliation was quite complete enough without tears.

WHAT THE HELL HAD THAT been about?

Stunned by his restrained wife’s unexpected conduct, Adam slipped into the booth across from Robert Jacobbi. He was rattled, thrown off his game and fretful at the thought of Morgan taking the train home dressed in those high-heeled boots and skimpy clothes.

At least she had on his coat. He used the rationalization to placate his concern, but his gut torqued.

His gaze lingered on the exit where Morgan had just disappeared. He wished he’d handled things differently, wished he hadn’t been so worried that everyone in the bar was thinking that he had ordered himself up a high-class escort.

“I’ll have a scotch, no ice,” Jacobbi told the cocktail waitress who wandered over.

“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?”