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Amii Lorin - Morgan Wade's Woman

Amii Lorin - Morgan Wade's Woman

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Published by JaneGirl80

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Published by: JaneGirl80 on Jul 15, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Sam pushed through the doors of the tall building thathoused the offices of Baker, Baker, and Simmes, Attor-neys-at-law, and stood tapping her foot impatiently on thesidewalk. Where was her driver? She was only vaguelyaware of the admiring glances turned her way by men passing, both on foot and motorized. She had only to steponto a public street at any time to receive these glancesand, quite often, to her disgust, remarks as well.That Samantha Denning was a strikingly beautifulwoman there was no doubt. She stood five feet eight inchesin her slim, stockinged feet. She was very slender, withlong perfectly shaped legs and softly rounded curves ex-actly where they belonged. Her face was a perfect oval, theskin fair, with creamy pink cheeks, and a short, straightnose above full red lips that covered perfectly shapedwhite teeth. Dark brows arched gracefully over large,deep-green eyes, the lids heavily fringed with long, dark lashes. But what one saw first was her hair. Thick, long,wavy, not quite red, but more the color of highly polished,expensive mahogany. It seemed, when it hung loose, tohave a will of its own. Subdued now in a coil around her head, it offset perfectly the severely but expensively cuthunter green suit she wore. With a large leather shoulder  bag, snug leather gloves, and high-heeled boots, all black,
her somewhat somber look was the only concession shewould give to mourning clothes. They were none too effec-tive, however, as a few curly tendrils at her temple and infront of her ears had escaped their pins and danced merri-ly on her face in the soft spring breeze, defying the impres-sion of the dark suit and black accessories.Samantha tapped her foot even more impatiently as,glancing at the narrow platinum watch on her slim wrist,she thought,
Damn, where is that man?
Looking up, shesaw the long, midnight-blue Cadillac glide to a stop oppo-site her at the curb. Before she took the few steps requiredto reach the car, the driver had jumped out of the frontseat and was holding the door to the back open for her.As he touched her elbow lightly to help her enter, she saidcrossly, "Where have you been?""Sorry, Miss Sam, but the traffic's pretty heavy," hemurmured. She glanced out the window to note the truthof his excuse, realizing she had been so deep in thoughtwhile she waited she hadn't even noticed."Yes, I see, I'm sorry I snapped, Dave. I'm going homenow."Dave smiled to himself as he pulled the big car into thestream of traffic. It was like her to apologize for snappingat him. She was self-willed, haughty, and imperious mostof the time with her family and friends, but rarely ever didshe speak sharply with the employees.Dave had been with the Dennings fifteen years now, heas chauffeur and his wife, Beth, as a cook. They respectedMr. Denning, liked his petite, delicate, second wife, andwere fond of her young half-sister Deborah. But they bothadored Sam, this rebellious, redheaded firebrand, from theday she had come to the big house on Long Island to stay.Dave smiled again as he drove the car expertly through
midtown Manhattan toward home, remembering that dayseven years before.What an uproar the house had been in, Mrs. Denningwanting everything perfect for the first meeting with her stepdaughter. Even Mr. Denning's normal reserve seemedabout to crack as he and Dave waited for her plane to land.They had expected a shy seventeen-year-old and whatthey saw walking toward them was a queen.She had said lightly and unselfconciously, kissing hischeek, "Hello, father," and then had turned as Mr. Den-ning said in introduction, "This is our driver, Dave Zim-mer."He had been wearing the usual gray uniform and hechuckled to himself now as he remembered the way her eyes had looked him up and down."Not mine, not dressed like that at any rate. I'd as soondrop dead as be seen being driven by a liveried chauffeur."That said, she'd given him the most beautiful smile he'dever seen and added, "Please, Mr. Dave, could you notwear your everyday clothes if you have ever to drive me?"He had been lost from that moment. It had been aboutthe same when they had reached the house. Within tenminutes she had overawed her tiny stepmother and equal-ly small halfsister and enslaved the rest of the employees.She had ruled the roost ever since.He had heard the story years ago, how the quiet, re-served Charles Denning had gone to England on a busi-ness trip and returned four months later with a ravishingly beautiful wife from a wealthy British family. Being awealthy man himself, he had bought the huge house onLong Island for her. But nothing seemed to content her,not her husband or the house or even the daughter she bore eighteen months after their marriage. She missed her friends at home and refused to make new ones in her 

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