Part 8 (1/2)

”Dinner, then?”

”Sure.”

She's been in town just about long enough to know her options. She offers a steakhouse, and he accepts. Which is progress for her. Real progress. Nervous energy surges through her.

She should be happy. She should be ecstatic. Instead, she's got a stomach that's twisting itself in knots and more worrying than it's worth. Why the sudden change of heart?

Is there something wrong? And if there is something wrong-which there almost certainly is-then is it alright to exploit someone's personal problems for her own gain?

The answer is more or less obvious. Whether it's alright or not, she's going to G.o.d d.a.m.n do it. Because this isn't about doing the right thing, it's about doing what will help her business succeed.

The little thought in the back of her mind, the worry that Callahan's in trouble-it's got nothing to do with business. It's got everything to do with her, and her feelings.

Feelings that she shouldn't be having.

So she's going to treat this like a business dinner. She's going to think of it as a business dinner. No doubt, he will too.

She'd told him that's what it was. After all, he wasn't going to come if she said that she wanted to go out socially. She'd come off as weird, too. No doubt about it.

He wouldn't be interested in a woman like her. He probably thought she was a conniving b.i.t.c.h, just out to steal his land.

She didn't want him to think that way about her. She wanted him to look at her as a woman.

Morgan's mind races with possibilities. What is she supposed to wear? What is she supposed to do? What if things get... friendly, like they did last time? What if- A thousand what-ifs. And above it all, a little voice in her head repeats, over and over. Don't get involved, because he's not for you. It's just a temporary thing.

Don't get too excited and don't get too involved. Because if you do, all you're really going to get is hurt.

Chapter Nineteen.

It's been a long time since Philip had any real reason to dress up. Church on Sundays. He'd even worn that stupid s.h.i.+rt for the meeting at the Lowe build site. Should've known that he'd be better suited to wearing the same clothes he wore on the ranch.

The place was there to do hard work. Just like everything that he was used to. So in a sense, he shouldn't have been surprised to find that Morgan Lowe was a worker. She was surrounded by hard-working men all day. How long would it stand if she couldn't pull her weight?

But a dinner-that's a different story. A little voice in the back of his mind tells him that it's just a business meeting. They're meeting to talk about what happens if the deal with Glen falls through.

What if he needs a bunch of money, and he needs it right on the spot-how much can he hope for. That's what they're going to dinner to talk about.

But when a man and a woman go to eat dinner together, well... it's got certain cultural connotations, doesn't it? It's hard not to think of it as a date. It's very hard.

Which is why, in spite of it just being a business meeting, a chance to talk numbers, he's wearing this stupid d.a.m.n monkey suit. A tie, even.

Callahan feels out of place, dressed like he is. He looks like a d.a.m.n idiot. He shouldn't even be here, not really. But he is, for reasons he doesn't even want to think about trying to unpack right now. There's plenty of other bigger problems than whether or not he's at a dinner with a woman.

Or why. Or how he feels about it. Or why he feels that way.

Instead, he just takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. No problems. No reason to concern himself with how much he must stand out. As long as he doesn't bring it up, n.o.body else will say anything.

A familiar voice greets him from the corner as he walks in.

”Mr. Callahan?”

He turns. She looks d.a.m.n good. The dress must have cost a pretty penny, but it was worth every cent. The neck-line plunges just enough to give a tantalizing glance, the hem of the skirt just high enough to imply that the legs keep going.

It's conservative enough to be taken out to a business dinner in a pinch, but fancy enough-and, Callahan thinks to himself, s.e.xy enough-to serve as evening wear. In his gray suit and his best tie, an embarra.s.singly plain blue-on-blue, he looks like an idiot next to her.

”You look good,” she says. Her eyes linger on the clothes for a minute, looking him up and down. A little fire inside Callahan lights. That a woman could be looking at him so intently seems impossible. He's past that age.

”I should be the one saying that. You look incredible, Miss Lowe.”

”Please. Morgan.”

”Well, my point stands-Morgan.”

”Thank you.” She smiles and a little tinge of red reaches her cheeks. She looks good when she smiles. Even better than when she scowls, and that expression alone would have brought stronger men than Philip Callahan to her knees.

”You talk to the lady at the front?”

”Ten minutes,” she says. She flips her wrist over to check a watch face. ”As of five minutes ago. So who knows.”

He settles in beside her. How long are they supposed to make small talk, before they get down to business? He'd rather just keep talking to her. Keep her in his mind as a woman, not as a potential future business partner. Not as the woman who's planning on buying up his land at the first opportunity, and skipping town the next moment after that.

But if that's the reality of the situation-and, whether he likes it or not, it is-then at some point they're going to have to get down to business.

She's the expert, though, and she doesn't start talking about business just yet.

Phil smiles and settles into the seat, waiting for the meeting to start. Waiting to be called to their table. The table that they'll share, just the two of them. He shouldn't be letting himself get any ideas. It's far too late for that now, though.

The ideas are already there, and he's already having them.

It's a little bit late to start worrying now about whether or not he's going to be able to stop them. Especially when, every time he closes his eyes, all he can think about is what she'd look like if she wasn't wearing those clothes.

Especially when the last time they'd sat down to eat like this, he'd had every chance in the world to find out.

Chapter Twenty.

Morgan knows what she's done, and what she's done specifically is drink more than what might have been altogether wise. The bigger part of her really doesn't mind, because it makes this next part quite a bit easier.

Her lips are sensitive. In fact, her entire body aches. And yet, something calls out to her, some need that she can't begin to name. Something between desire and something else entirely.