Secrets & Seductions (11 page)

As soon as he had finished, he lunged to his feet. “My God,” he burst out, towering over her, “I can't believe you'd stoop so low.”

“I was feeling desperate.” She scrambled up so she could look him in the eye. Her legs trembled and she felt a little dizzy. “You wouldn't listen to me.”

“Oh, well, that justifies everything.” His voice was edged with sarcasm. “What did you think, that I would shout out their names as I climaxed?”

“Of course not! I told you—”

“—that having sex with me wasn't part of the plan. It just happened.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, I forgot. You changed your mind, right between the fake injury and peeling off your clothes. Technically you didn't seduce me. I get it.”

She didn't think it was the time to remind him that they'd both been willing. Any more willing and they would have burned down the shelter.

“It's the truth!” she exclaimed.

He turned away, raking a hand through his hair, then spun back around. “What were you going to claim that I did, in order to blackmail me into telling you?”

“What?” she asked. Then his meaning became
clear. “No, I wouldn't do that!” Her voice rose. “Obviously I didn't think it through. I just—”

“You counted on me not using my brain, and obviously I accommodated you,” he shouted. “I can't believe I was so damned gullible.”

She reached out to touch his arm, but he yanked it away. “I said I was sorry. Look, I know you're upset and that we have to start walking back, but can we talk about this?”

“I don't think so.” The distaste stamped on his features cut her to the quick.

As she stood facing him, clenching and unclenching her hands, her doubts grew stronger. Why had she assumed, based on a few hours in the sack with her, that he would believe her?

“I assume you can pack up while I call the guys back at camp.” Picking up his cell, he stepped around the pallet. “I don't want them wasting their efforts on a phony rescue.”

He jerked open the door, making it squeak in protest. “You'd better get your butt in gear. If you aren't ready the second I get back, I swear I'll leave you here.”

 

The sun had cleared the jagged edge of the mountain ridge as Morgan stalked through the wet grass. For once the sight of the fiery ball failed to lift his spirits.

How could he have been so wrong? He felt like a
fool. Not only had he ignored his own personal code of conduct, he had completely misread Emma's character. It had been a long time since he had been so wrong about a woman. In addition, his inability to keep his pants zipped could put both the summer camp and Children's Connection in serious jeopardy if she decided to make a stink.

And to believe that just a couple of hours ago he'd been thinking that he might finally have met “the one.” It just went to show how badly a few months without sex could impair a man's judgment.

When he reached the area of the clearing where he'd managed to call from last night, he switched on his cell and stared hopefully at the screen. Thanks to the vagaries of a technology he didn't completely comprehend, the phone failed to connect to the signal. Given his present state of mind, Morgan wasn't at all surprised.

Swearing under his breath, he moved closer to the lake. At his approach, a pair of geese took flight, their wings beating madly as the water sprayed off them. When the droplets caught the light, they looked like jewels.

Several ducks paddled away as they quacked their complaints. Their escape left a wake that scrambled the lavender and peach reflection of the sun-streaked sky.

He tried the cell phone from several more locations, all without success. Disgusted with both the phone and
himself, he cut back across the field. He hardly noticed the weeds slapping wetly against his bare legs.

When he got to the edge of the clearing, Emma appeared from around the other side of the shelter.

“Did you reach anyone?” she asked, handing him his pack.

Silently he shook his head as he donned it. He would have liked to start down the trail without speaking, but she stood rooted to the spot. Her cheeks were pale and she looked as though she might burst into tears.

Normally he hated seeing anyone cry, but right now it was impossible to work up a shred of sympathy. He was the victim here, dammit, not Emma. She had played him like a cheap guitar.

“Are you ready?” He clenched his teeth, ignoring her stricken expression. Was she acting again, playing on his sympathies? Looking back, he had to admit that her trap had certainly worked. He'd walked into it as cluelessly as a rabbit into a snare.

What Morgan hadn't been able to figure out was why, after all that, she had told him.

“Can't we talk?” she pleaded, her gray eyes filling with tears.

He was out of patience—with both her and himself. “I'd advise you to save your breath. You'll need it to keep up with me.”

“You're being unreasonable,” she cried as he headed down the path into the trees.

Morgan didn't bother to reply. Despite everything
that had happened, the accusation stung. He was an even bigger fool than he'd first thought.

 

Morgan set a brisk pace, but Emma was able to keep up with him despite the dimness of the early-morning light through the forest. And the growling of her stomach. She stared holes into his back, willing him to turn and talk to her. A couple of times he glanced over his shoulder, presumably to see if she was still following him, but that was all.

She had blown it but good by trying to clear her conscience. Why had she thought a straight-arrow like Morgan would forgive her for lying? Her brain must have been on vacation. She should have allowed their relationship to develop naturally and to grow stronger, so he knew her better first.

Instead she had deceived him. Basically she, too, was an honest person. Not that he'd ever believe that of her now.

They had been walking for about half an hour when he came to a stop. “Need a break?” he asked.

Emma lifted her chin, debating whether to apologize again. His profile could have been chiseled from a block of granite as he stared in the direction of a downed cedar.

“I'm good if you are,” she replied.

“Great,” he grunted as he resumed walking.

Two spirits uniting, she thought remorsefully. Apparently the intimacy they had shared wasn't
strong enough to withstand a kick from her feet of clay. Perhaps she was better off finding out now rather than later.

Silently she carried on her one-sided conversation with herself as they passed the same huge cedar tree she had gawked at on the way up. Had it only been a span of hours ago? Looking back, it seemed like a week.

“Hey, guys!” Morgan called out, waving at their would-be rescuers as they appeared on the trail ahead.

Emma's face went hot when she saw the surprise on their faces and realized theirs would no doubt be only the first of a slew of awkward questions she would have to answer.

“Looks like we won't have to shoot her after all,” Jeff exclaimed with a big smile when he saw her behind Morgan.

“Hey, Emma!” Derrick said, setting down the portable stretcher he'd been packing. “How's the ankle?”

Before she could speak, Morgan turned and sent her a warning glare as cutting as a laser.

“Lucky for us, she just twisted it.” His voice had lost its chill, but not for her sake. “I couldn't get through to you on my cell,” he added, “so we figured we'd meet you partway.”

Derrick's smile transformed his homely face. “That's great. Emma, you want to keep walking or do you need a lift?”

The weight of her guilt doubled. “I…I'm fine,” she stammered. “Thank you so much, though, for coming up.” She barely glanced at Morgan, but she could feel the waves of disapproval coming off him. He practically glowed with it.

“Yeah, you owe us.” Jeff elbowed Derrick aside on the path. “Because of you, we missed Cookie's French toast.” His grin took most of the sting from his words.

“Don't listen to that hound,” Derrick drawled. “We're family here.” He extended his hand to Emma. “I'll carry your pack.”

“That's okay. I'm fine.” Fighting a fresh wave of emotion, she gave him a hug. “Thanks,” she mumbled into his shoulder as he patted her back.

“No problem.”

Jeff opened his arms and she hugged him, too. Had she really thought no one would notice if she and Morgan just didn't show up last night? She owed the entire staff an apology, one she could never make without embarrassing him even more than she already had.

“Let's get moving,” he said with a touch of impatience. “We've got a full day.”

Derrick lifted his brows and Jeff glanced at Emma, as if to gauge her reaction. He gave her a reassuring wink and she dredged up a smile.

“Morgan's right,” she said, fighting tears. “I've taken up enough of everyone's time.”

During the remainder of the hike, she focused on putting one foot in front of the other while the guys chatted about football, work and the remaining activity schedule. In the full daylight, she stared at Jeff's broad shoulders without a speck of interest and tried not to think about Morgan's blue eyes boring holes in the back of her head.

When they topped the last rise going into camp, Jeff and Derrick both stepped aside as though they wanted her to take the lead.

“They're back!” screamed one of the older kids who had apparently been posted as a lookout.

When Emma saw what awaited them in the clearing, her eyes widened with dismay and her face turned hot with embarrassment.

“Oh, no,” she muttered, wishing more than anything that she could run back into the forest and hide.

 

Morgan nearly plowed into Emma when she stopped in the middle of the trail. As he put his hand out, his first thought was that she had spotted a skunk up ahead.

“What is it?” He peered over her shoulder.

She didn't reply, but he saw a banner strung between two trees. “Welcome Back Emma” in uneven black letters was surrounded by colorful blotches. Handprints, he realized when he narrowed his eyes, no doubt painted by the kids.

As if an alarm had sounded, the campers and staff
came hurrying from all directions. They cheered and clapped as though Emma had just been pulled from a mine shaft.

Derrick and Jeff were grinning like jackals as they, too, began to applaud. Morgan leaned closer so he could speak directly into the ear he'd nibbled like a chocolate truffle only a few hours earlier.

“Hope you've got a speech prepared.”

H
ands jammed into the pockets of his shorts, Morgan stood back and watched as Emma accepted the tide of good wishes from the kids and the rest of the staff. Deftly she fielded questions about her ankle, pretending relief over recovering so quickly.

He hoped she felt guilty as hell, but he doubted she was capable of that much sensitivity. She had certainly fooled him.

Pretending for the rest of the week that nothing was wrong between them wouldn't be easy, but he was used to keeping his feelings under wraps. Perhaps Emma would have the good sense to avoid him as much as possible.

He realized with a scowl that doing so after openly seeking him out up until now was bound to whip up some speculation about the real reason they'd stayed together at Johnson Lake. Emma might not care about her reputation, but Morgan couldn't afford gossip to reach the ears of their more conservative patrons. He had no choice but to continue treating her the same as he had before.

Before what had possibly been the best and worst night of his life.

He had to keep his hands off Emma—whether to kill her for putting him in this position or to kiss her again and find out if she tasted as good as he remembered. With that directive, the rest of the camp session was going to drag like the broken muffler on his high school Chevy.

 

Emma was taking her turn at kitchen KP, spreading peanut butter on enough bread for thirty PB&J sandwiches. Heidi had offered to fill in this morning so that she could rest, but of course she had refused. If Heidi knew the real story, all she would have felt toward Emma was scorn.

She dug another scoop of peanut butter from the huge jar. All she wanted to do was to hide under her bunk until it was time to go home, or at least until the campfire signaled the end of the day so she could go back to her room and wallow in guilt for letting down everyone, especially Morgan. Instead she had
to keep a smile plastered on her face, focus on the children and their needs instead of her own shaky emotions and answer endless questions about her so-called adventure in the great outdoors.

“The worst thing would be getting hungry,” Cookie exclaimed as he peeled carrot curls for a huge salad. “Did you have to eat any berries or grubs?”

He was a big man with a toothy grin, tattoos covering both arms and a small gold hoop in one ear. There was whispered speculation among the children that he'd been the cook on a pirate ship. When they dared to ask him, the laugh rolled up from his gut like thunder on the high seas. He never denied it.

“We took a picnic lunch,” Emma reminded him, dealing another row of bread slices like playing cards. “We weren't gone long enough to resort to eating grubs.”

Franny stuck her head in the doorway. “Emma, Morgan wants to see you in his office.”

Cookie made a kissing noise with his thick lips. “He misses you,” he cooed, waving the peeler.

“You couldn't be more wrong,” she said dryly. She couldn't blame Cookie for leaping to the wrong conclusion after she'd chased Morgan all last week. Why hadn't she realized the others would notice her interest and draw their own conclusions?

Franny slapped the doorjamb with her hand. “He's waiting,” she said pointedly.

Emma gestured at the bread with her butter knife. “Tell him I'm a little busy, would you please?”

Was he going to kick her out? Since everyone had ridden up here together, he could hardly expect her to leave before the session was over in a few more days. Until then, they were stuck ignoring each other.

“He said for me to take over for you,” Franny replied.

Emma clamped her mouth shut before she could say something she would regret. The situation wasn't the other woman's fault. Franny was only doing what she'd been told.

“Don't you have kids to look after?” Emma asked on a last desperate attempt to stall.

Cookie was studying her with a frown. “Don't worry,” he said, reaching over to pat her arm. “I'm sure you're not in trouble. Even if you were, Morgan is very fair. I've never seen him lose his temper, so he's not going to blast you.”

Cookie hadn't seen the icy blast of his temper after her confession, she thought ruefully. Giving up, she untied her apron and handed it to Franny.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Emma told her. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Oh, don't worry,” Franny replied, laughing lightly. “Take a nap before lunch, if you feel like it. You could probably use one.”

Because of the bags under her eyes? Was everyone here conspiring to make her feel even more
guilty, she wondered as she walked slowly down the hall. If so, they were succeeding big-time.

The door to Morgan's office was open, but still she hesitated on the threshold. His head was bent as he wrote something on a yellow legal pad, making her wonder if he missed his computer.

A wave of longing swept over her as she watched him. Not only had she messed up her chance to find out about her parents, but she had also hurt a man she had come to respect. Beyond that, she refused to analyze her feelings.

“Is there a reason you're hovering in the hall like a truant called down to the principal's office?” Morgan asked without looking up. “Guilty conscience, perhaps?”

There was that word again.
Guilt, guilt, guilt.
He didn't know the half of it.

She lifted her chin. She had apologized profusely back at the shelter, as well as humiliated herself by crying all over the place. She didn't normally wave her feelings around like a flag at a parade and she hated losing control of her emotions the way she had.

Don had told her once, during a fight, that she didn't “cry pretty.”

She stepped over the threshold, forcing herself to let her hands relax at her sides.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she asked, ignoring the sharp jolt of dismay that pierced her chest when he looked up, his face blank.

“Shut the door and sit down,” he said as he slid aside the legal pad.

She closed the door but remained standing. “You sound as though you're about to fire me,” she blurted.

He narrowed his eyes and folded his hands neatly in front of him. “Oh? What makes you think that?”

Blocking the memory of how clever those hands could be, how devastatingly intimate, Emma forced her attention to stay on his face. It, too, brought back painful memories of all the expressions she'd seen there when his privacy screen was lowered.

Desperately she focused on his question. “Believe me, I've been to those kinds of appointments with the boss. My radar can pick up the vibes.”

“I'd forgotten about your recent layoff,” he said with a frown. “It's never pleasant from this side of the desk, either.”

“So you've had to fire employees before?” she asked curiously. He cared about people, so that must have bothered him.

“Of course. As the director, it's my responsibility.” He spread his hands wide. “Did you really think I'd turn you out and expect you to thumb it home, just because of what happened?”

She shrugged, pressing down the bubble of annoyance at the way he dismissed the experience. Just a blip, no big deal. “Why did you want to see me?”

He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Other than a declaration of love, it was probably the last thing Emma would have expected him to say.

“A favor, from me?” she echoed, caught totally off guard by his request. Was it possible that he was no longer angry at her, that he might actually be willing to listen?

“Sit down, won't you?” His face was set in stone, impossible to read.

He'd be one hell of a poker player, she thought ruefully as she flopped into the chair. She was glad she'd taken the time to clean herself up. After their hike back from the lake, she had showered, shampooed her hair and changed into fresh clothes.

Morgan's jaw was freshly shaved, his hair still damp, and he was wearing a striped shirt. If he had deliberately set out to erase the image of her impetuous lover, he'd done an outstanding job.

“I know that I made some bad choices.” She swallowed hard past the lump threatening to block her throat. “You have to believe that I changed my mind before we—” She dropped her gaze to her tightly clenched hands. “What happened between us wasn't part of some grand scheme to manipulate you, I swear.”

“We have four more days to get through before the end of the session,” he continued, as though she hadn't spoken. “We got along fine before we went to Johnson Lake. If we act like something is wrong
now, the rest of the staff is going to start speculating about what really happened up there.”

He jerked his head in the general direction of the path to the Alpine meadow. “I like to think that this program that we put on every summer actually does some good. You may not have realized it, but we depend largely on private donations to keep the program going.”

“I know that.” Emma wanted to duck her head, but she kept her gaze on his blue eyes instead.

“Some of the people who give us money have a pretty conservative view of right and wrong,” he continued, tapping his finger on the scarred surface of the old desk, so different from the one in his office at the agency. “I don't think they'd be the least bit entertained by gossip about the camp director and a staff member disappearing overnight so they could roll around together in the woods. Do you think so?”

Nausea slid around in Emma's stomach like cooling grease. She hadn't thought through all the repercussions and whom they might affect. She hadn't thought at all.

“Do you want me to leave?” She hated the idea of running away from the situation like a coward. “I suppose I could plead a family emergency or something. That shouldn't raise any suspicions.”

If she could hitch a ride to Sisters, perhaps there was a bus she could take back to Portland.

Morgan was already shaking his head before she was done forcing out the words.

“That won't work,” he said. “Jeff has already made a couple of his joking comments about your fake injury and our real reason for going off alone together. He was just razzing me, of course, but your sudden disappearance would only add fuel to the fire.”

Deep down inside, Emma had hoped that her offer to leave would spur Morgan into admitting that he didn't want her to go. Instead he had just made it clear as crystal that his sole reason for keeping her around was to prevent any threats to the camping program.

Emma struggled against the selfish disappointment that tightened around her throat like a steel band, making it difficult for her to reply. She longed to reach out and touch his hand, to see for herself if he was as cold as he appeared or warm, the way she remembered.

How could he think of the intimate connection they had shared as just a nasty little tidbit for gossip? His entire demeanor seemed so unapproachable as he sat across from her that she didn't quite dare open herself up to more rejection.

“So what do you want me to do?” she asked, making her tone as devoid of emotion as his had been.

He put his elbows on the desk as he leaned forward. “I don't think either of us has a choice. Try to act the same way toward me as you did before we
took that damned hike. Just dial it back a bit, so no one thinks we're actually flirting. Think you can do that?”

Her face went hot with embarrassment. Her subtle approach had made her a laughingstock.

“Okay. I'll try to control myself.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Pretend we're still friends.”

She wanted to say something sassy, like “I'm not that good an actor,” just to shove some of the mortification she was experiencing back onto him. Instead she locked her hands together in her lap and tried once again to get through to him.

“I've seen how much the kids love coming here, and how good it is for them to feel special, even if it's only for a few weeks,” she insisted. “The last thing I would ever want would be to cause problems for your program.”

She wished desperately that her sincerity would pierce his armor of icy indifference. She'd seen it earlier—that he felt a connection deeper than mere lust. She knew it!

His face remained immobile, his gaze flat.

“You may not think much of me,” she added, her eyes filling with tears that she refused to let fall, “but I'm good at my job. I can talk to kids and I care about them.”

“No one's saying that you aren't,” he replied, sounding weary. “It's your morals I find troubling.”

She felt as though she'd been slapped.

His chair squeaked as he shifted restlessly. “What's your answer?” he demanded.

“I'll do whatever you want.” She conceded defeat. “I can pretend that we're friends.”

 

Two long days later Morgan was making a pretense of checking that the boats down at the dock were properly secured. He desperately needed the few moments to himself where his only company was a family of ducks swimming among the cattails.

The strain of pretending a casual friendship with Emma along with the nights spent tossing and turning because he couldn't stop thinking about the feel of her wrapped in his arms were taking a toll. More than once since their return to semicivilization, he'd barely stopped himself from tearing someone's head off when a joking remark was made.

One of the older boys got a laugh at the campfire when he walked behind Emma with an exaggerated limp. The rush of anger Morgan felt at the boy's clowning was a dismaying surprise.

Normally he handled pressure well. But lately it had been coming in droves. A possible huge threat to the agency's reputation had been eating at him since before he came to the mountains. Children's Connection worked with an orphanage in Russia to place babies with American families. An attempt had
been made very recently to abduct one of those babies right from the adoptive parents' hotel room.