“Trust you!” Morgan hissed through her teeth, “You just tied me up! And if you think I’m going to ask you to do anything—“ she stopped scolding him for a minute as his teeth closed delicately on her earlobe, then trailed down the side of her neck. Oh. Oh, my. That felt surprisingly wonderful, considering how mad she was at the man.
He leaned over her, his bulk held up off of her body by one muscular arm. “Shhh,” he said, “You’re supposed to be relaxing.” His tongue slid down her collarbone and over the curves exposed by her v-neck shirt. She shivered at his touch, and he ran one large hand gently over her right breast.
Okay, this is ridiculous, Morgan thought. I don’t have a kinky bone in my body, and this is definitely kinky. His hand brushed down her arm. Okay, maybe that bone right there. Just a little. It was enjoyable not to have to be in charge of everything, for a change. But that didn’t mean she was going along with this nonsense. Arthur’s hand moved down a little further, caressing her hip. She shivered again with the unexpected pleasure of it. Maybe just for another minute or two.
“Are you cold, Morgan?” Arthur asked her. “I could pull the blanket up.”
His hands never stopped moving, touching her thighs, running lightly down to her knees and then back up the inside of her legs. Who knew that knees could be an erogenous zone?
“No,” she answered hoarsely, “I’m not cold.” She shuddered under his touch anyway.
“Are you feeling any more relaxed?” Arthur asked her, pulling her closer with the arm not occupied in exploring her body.
Tingling sensations ran from her head to her toes, distracting her as she tried to answer his question. Was she more relaxed? She was more something, but she wasn’t sure if it was relaxed. Her lips ached with wanting him to kiss her again and she pushed them firmly together so she wouldn’t ask him to, only to open them in a sigh as he slipped his hand up under her shirt.
“Morgan?” His hand moved slowly over her belly, heading upwards. “Was there something you wanted?”
She was sure she had wanted this all along, hard as that was to admit, even to herself. Maybe it was too soon, but how much time did they have left? It couldn’t hurt just to tell him to kiss her, could it? As long as he was clear on who was making the decision.
Morgan’s leg wrapped itself around one of Arthur’s without her conscious intention. “You should probably kiss me some more,” she sighed, “I think that was pretty relaxing.” She rubbed her body against his and enjoyed the sound he made deep in his throat in response. She was still in control of the situation, even if she couldn’t quite seem gather her thoughts.
Arthur kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding delicately over her lips and between her teeth. His breath mingled with hers. For a moment, he did nothing but kiss her, then went back to tenderly touching her body as his lips slid over hers. Her skin was so sensitive, it was as if his fingertips left a trail of fire behind them, and yet his touch was almost aggravatingly gentle.
Morgan writhed against him, wishing he would be just a little more forceful. Not that she wasn’t enjoying what he was doing, exactly. He just needed to do a little more. She sighed in frustration and Arthur moved back a bit so he could look into her eyes.
“You’re not relaxing,” he scolded, a grin tweaking the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps I should untie you so you can go back to the couch and sleep?”
Morgan tried to focus on what he was saying, rather than the sensations in her body. Her breasts ached so much it was hard to think. Go back to the couch? Not likely. She’d never be able to sleep now.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, entwining her leg a little tighter with his. “You need to do a better job of helping me to relax first. I’m tenser now than I was when we started.” She leaned forward and gently bit his lip. “You’re not very good at this, you know.”
Morgan got absurd satisfaction from the indignant look on Arthur’s face. Two could play at this game.
“Not very good at this!” He roared. “I’ll have you know that I am quite skilled at relaxing women.” He yanked her shirt up over her head, leaving it tangled around her wrists with the satin tie that stopped it from going any further. Then he bent his head down and began kissing and licking her breasts.
If she’d had any breath left after a few minutes of this, Morgan would have told Arthur that his skills were, in fact, quite impressive. But she’d stopped being able to form words about the time his lips closed over the tip of her right nipple, and at this point she wasn’t sure if she could remember her own name. Then his hand started moving back down her body and she wasn’t sure about his name, either.
This time he was not quite so gentle as he’d been before, and Morgan’s fingers wrapped convulsively around the posts of the headboard as one large finger suddenly slid underneath the elastic of her panties.
“Arthur!” she gasped, as the finger moved relentlessly in and out.
“Yes, Morgan?” His voice was husky as he lifted his head from the nipple he’d been lavishing such attention on, but his hand never stopped moving. He moved his body slightly, so more of it covered hers, and the weight of it felt heavenly.
“Arthur!” Morgan said again. It seemed to be the only word she could remember.
“Yes, Morgan?” Laughter tinged his tone, but he looked at her quite seriously with his brown eyes. “Did you want something?”
“Uh,” Morgan gasped as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Could you untie me now, please?”
Arthur looked pensive, although he didn’t stop what he was doing. Thank the gods.
“Are we done, then, Morgan?” he asked.
She wriggled against his hand, trying to get away. Or closer, she wasn’t sure which.
“No,” she gasped. “We’re not done.”
“Then I do not believe that I can untie you,” he said sternly. “We are still working on your trust issues.”
Morgan stopped herself from screaming, but just barely. “Trust issues!” she gasped. “I don’t have any damn trust issues!” Closer. She definitely wanted him closer.
“That’s good, Morgan,” Arthur laughed. “Then just tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it. Since you trust me.” His hand was moving faster now.
“Arthur!” Morgan leaned forward and bit his shoulder to make sure he was paying attention. The man was having way too much fun. Of course, she was getting a little enjoyment out of the situation too, but at least she wasn’t laughing at him.
“Ouch. Yes, Morgan?” One lock of hair flopped endearingly into his eyes, but he didn’t have a stray hand to move it. Thank the gods.
“I think—“ she gasped again, thrusting her hips against him.
“Yes, Morgan?” His hips moved against hers, trapping his hand in between them.
“I think you’d better take those damned shorts off now!” she demanded. “And be quick about it!”
Arthur chuckled and complied, rolling off of her just long enough to yank down his shorts and slide her panties down her legs. She tried to kick them off when they got stuck on her ankle, and accidentally knocked ET off his perch. Miffed, he thumped off the bed and into the other room. Just as well, Morgan thought. This was all kinky enough without an audience.
Then she stopped thinking altogether as Arthur’s heavy body covered hers. He moved her legs apart with one large hand, then slid himself into her waiting wetness. Morgan cried out with joy and relief at the feeling of him filling every inch of her.
“Arthur,” she whispered, kissing him everywhere her lips could reach, and reveling in the taste of him.
“Yes, Morgan,” he whispered back tenderly. “Yes, Morgan.”
His body slid back and forth, in and out, and he held his weight off of her with his arms, the muscles cording with the effort. Her back arched as she reached up to meet him, thrust for thrust, and she cried out as a passionate fire raced through her body, culminating in one fiery burst that seemed to envelope her entire body in quivering heat.
/> Arthur moaned back as he thrust into her one more time, then shuddered with his own release. He clung to her for a moment, then rolled over with a groan of enjoyment.
“Arthur?” Morgan said softly.
“Yes, Morgan?”
“I think you can untie me now,” she said. “I don’t believe I can get any more relaxed than this.” She let out a contented sigh.
“Morgan, darling,” Arthur said with a laugh.
“Yes, Arthur?”
“I untied you about ten minutes ago.”
“Oh.” Morgan gave a gentle tug and her wrists pulled free. “Well, that’s good.” She wrapped her arms around Arthur. “Because I have trust issues, you know.”
“Really?” he said. “I would never have guessed.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Arthur gazed at Morgan as she lay next to him in the diffuse early morning light. Asleep, she revealed none of the passion he knew was contained in her slender body. Her long dark hair curled atop the pillow and long lashes lay softly on her cheeks, concealing the green eyes that shot sparks of fury at him as often as they looked at him with affection.
After their tryst last night, Arthur felt he finally, truly knew the real Morgan. Not Morgan the witch who had so alarmed him, nor Morgan the friend who had done so much to aid him in his quest, but Morgan the woman. Morgan, whom he loved.
Arthur groaned quietly and rolled over on his back, trying not to awaken the sleeper who lay next to him. How had this happened? How was it possible that he had fallen so deeply, so passionately in love with this woman whom he could not have? Not only was she a witch (a fact which by itself would make her an utterly inappropriate choice as a mate), and stubbornly independent (which merely made her impossible), but she lived in a time which was not his own.
And he could not stay. Not now that they had found Merlin. They would travel to this far off land of California, and if necessary, they would battle the sorceress Fay LeBeau. If, heavens forbid, Fay should triumph, then Arthur would sacrifice his life to win the freedom of his friend and mentor. And if they won, his wizard would take Arthur back home where he belonged.
Alone.
Even if there were some way for Merlin to transport Morgan back as well, Arthur could not see her living in his time. The very spirit that made her so uniquely suited to her own time would make her miserable in his.
Arthur turned onto his side and encompassed Morgan gently within the circle of his arm. The tenderness he dared not reveal while she was awake could be safely lavished on her as she slept. And for these few minutes more, she would be his. It would have to be enough.
A little after nine that morning, the coven stood in line at the security checkpoint at the Albany International Airport, preparing to board a plane to Los Angeles. All of them.
When Morgan had called Davis to let him know that she and Arthur were going to California to try to get to Merlin before Fay did, he’d insisted on going along. As did Charlotte, Clarice, Lewis and Crystal.
Needless to say, that last one caused a bit of a problem.
The coven, hurriedly assembled at Morgan’s house before they all went to the airport, huddled in the kitchen as they tried to figure out what to do about Crystal and her ever-present companion, Mortimer, SUV Salesman to the Stars.
Clarice fell all over herself apologizing for letting it slip to Crystal that they were going, but the damage was done. (It wasn’t really her fault that she called the next person on the phone tree out of habit, everyone said so.) And since Mortimer already knew they were going, it seemed safest to keep him where they could see him.
So the eight of them waited in various states of discomfort for the plane to take off. Morgan and most of the coven members fretting about Fay, Merlin and Mortimer, Arthur worrying about his first plane ride, and Mortimer thinking his weasel-ly thoughts, whatever they might be. Only Crystal seemed at ease, content in her spellbound ignorance. So Morgan fretted about that, too.
The only upside, as far as Morgan was concerned, was that they had finally convinced Granny to stay behind, in charge of Young Angus, ET and the magical boundaries of the house. If things went badly in California, they might need to retreat to a safe place, and that meant someone had to mind the home fires, as it were. Besides, if ET missed a meal, there’d be no house left.
Absently, Morgan chewed at a cuticle as she tried to project calm reassurance in Arthur’s general direction. He’d been strangely quiet since they’d gotten up this morning and she was sure he was trying to conceal how frightened he was of the trip ahead. She couldn’t imagine how alarming the concept of flying might be to someone from Arthur’s time. And of course, being Arthur, King of the Britons, he couldn’t admit to fear, which only made it worse.
Not that he hadn’t been affectionate, in his own way. She knew Arthur well enough by now to interpret his unspoken gallantry. And she’d known better than to expect flowery speeches or declarations of love, even after their shared passion the night before. But she did wish, just a little, that they’d had more time by themselves to deal with the shifting ground of their relationship. (Although at least she’d been able to reassure him that she was on the pill—although explaining that had taken up quite a bit of their morning.)
Instead, they were boarding a sardine-can of a plane with five of their closest friends, a bunch of strangers and the son of their mortal enemy. Dating could be so complicated.
Not that they were dating, exactly. In truth, Morgan didn’t know what they were doing. Besides flying across country to rescue a mythical wizard. And after that…well, there wasn’t likely to be an after that, not for her and Arthur.
She looked over at her red-haired lover, who was watching the planes outside the window with studied unconcern. Morgan felt a wave of affection engulf her at the sight of the warrior king. No doubt he would be happier if he was wearing a sword, although they never would have gotten it through security.
Morgan sighed deeply and went back to gnawing on her fingernail. After last night, she should be happy, but instead, she was miserable. It wasn’t that she wanted Arthur to stay, exactly. It was more that she wanted him to want to stay. Wanted him to want her enough to give up the idea of returning to his own time and the kingdom that awaited him there.
The ragged end of a cuticle started to bleed where she’d been worrying at it, and she stuck her hand guiltily into her pocket. She hadn’t chewed her nails since she was in grade school. And she wasn’t a child anymore. She was an adult. And adults not only didn’t chew their nails, they didn’t ask the ones they loved to give up everything that mattered to them. That would be unspeakably selfish. And she loved Arthur too much to ask him to make that kind of sacrifice.
There. She’d said it, even if only in the privacy of her own mind. She loved him. And she was going to help him find his wizard and go back home, if it was the last thing she ever did. Even if it was the very last thing she wanted to do.
Sometimes being an adult sucked.
As soon as they landed in LA, Morgan called Michael. She’d tried to contact him earlier, to let him know they were all coming, but she’d just gotten the voicemail on his cell phone. Now, standing outside the airport, she tried again for the fifth time, with equal lack of success. She was starting to get worried.
“Still no answer?” Davis asked, concern wrinkling his brow up to his receding hairline.
Morgan shook her head. “Nope. Still going straight through to voicemail.”
“Maybe he’s on the set and can’t answer,” Crystal said with cheerful lack of concern, peering around her at the abundant traffic in case there was someone famous nearby. She’d practically given herself whiplash in the airport when she thought she’d spotted Jennifer Aniston.
“Right, that’s probably it,” Morgan answered reassuringly, not really believing herself. After all, she’d left her first message at what would have been five in the morning, California time. Surely he wouldn’t have been on set that early and even if he had, he
would have checked his messages by now. Something was wrong. And she had a nasty feeling that something was named Fay LeBeau.
Speaking of which, where was Mortimer? He wasn’t glued to Crystal’s side the way he usually was, although she was still acting goofy, so he couldn’t be too far away. After looking around for a few minutes, Morgan finally spotted him skulking behind a post a few yards away, whispering into his cell phone. Telling his mother the evil sorceress that they were here, no doubt. Damn.
Mortimer finished his call and made his oily way back to Crystal and the rest of the coven.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked in his best innocent impression, which wouldn’t have fooled a five year old.
Davis glared at him and Charlotte bit her lip to keep from blurting out something rude about spies. Morgan smiled a wide fake smile at the weasel to remind everyone that they weren’t supposed to know he was ratting them out to Fay, but it was becoming more of a strain to keep up the pretense, especially now that she was afraid something had happened to Michael.
“I guess we’ll go drop off our things at the hotel and freshen up a bit,” she said. She clenched one hand into a fist at her side, where Mortimer couldn’t see it. “And keep trying to get in touch with Michael.”
Since they’d had to tell Mortimer something to explain their rushed trip out to California, Morgan had told him that Michael had spotted the show with Merlin and Morgan Fairchild. The coven had figured that, since Fay LeBeau already know about the discovery, it couldn’t do much harm to let Mortimer in on that part of the “secret.” Of course, he didn’t know that Michael was here spying for them—unless Fay had found out somehow. Morgan was increasingly worried that this was the case.
Even worse, or maybe just additionally bad, Michael was supposed to be their connection to Morgan Fairchild. If they couldn’t find Michael, how on earth were they supposed to track down the other Morgan and her new friend Merlin? Somehow, Morgan didn’t think they were going to find the answer by buying a “Map to the Stars’ Homes.” Although Crystal had insisted on purchasing one from a guy selling them outside the airport, just in case.
King Me! Page 19
