Traci On The Spot

by Marie Ferrarella

  The evening stretched out endlessly before them. It reminded Traci a little of the first evenings she had spent here with her parents, when she’d bemoaned the lack of a television set and whined that there was nothing to do. But then at least there were other people to talk with and listen to.

  There was nothing to do now, either. Except to listen to the beating of her own heart and be acutely aware of the man sitting beside her.

  As if to deny his presence, or at least block it out, Traci pulled over her portfolio and took out her sketch pad. Maybe if she got a little more work done, the evening would melt away.

  She couldn’t think straight.

  Exasperated, after a few minutes she set the sketch pad aside on the coffee table. She could feel him looking at her. When she raised her eyes, it was to look directly into his.

  Morgan had contented himself with merely watching her; he hadn’t said a word. It was his impression that she was only going through the motions. He read between the lines and made his own interpretations.

  And came to the same conclusion he had earlier. She was nervous. Something was going on between them and it was barreling toward a showdown, and soon.

  It couldn’t be soon enough for him. He’d never cared for waiting.

  Morgan nodded at the portfolio as she shoved the last of the papers back into it. “I looked over your sketches earlier. While you were in the kitchen.”

  “Oh?” Belatedly, she remembered her latest sketches. Had he seen himself in the muscular VCR repairman? Traci braced herself for a smug comment

  If he were given to ego, Morgan would have said that the half-finished sketch of the man entering her apartment looked like it was a takeoff on him. But ego wasn’t his problem.

  She and the feelings she generated were. And he meant to do something about that.

  “They look like they have possibilities.” Then, because he felt stuck for anything else to say, he added, “I read Traci on the Spot every morning before I leave for work.”

  She really couldn’t visualize him taking the time to read a comic strip, at least not one without some sort of political satire attached to it. “Why?”

  He had a feeling that she thought he was putting her on. He wasn’t. “It helps me see that there’s still humor in the world.” Due to the nature of the crimes he was forced to face on an almost daily basis, finding humor was of vital importance to him. “And it gives me a little insight into what’s going on in your life,” he added.

  She wouldn’t have thought he cared about what was happening in her life. “Does that matter?”

  He shrugged casually. He didn’t want to admit too much, not when she hadn’t said anything yet about her feelings. Otherwise, the balance would be completely off. “Well, we’re friends. Kind of.”

  Yes, they were, she thought. Maybe they really had been all along. Feeling magnanimous, she decided to let him in on a secret “You’re the reason the strip exists, you know.”

  He didn’t see the connection. “Me?”

  “Yes.” Eager, warming to her subject, Traci moved closer to him. “Don’t you remember? I used to draw a little figure on the bottom of my Christmas envelopes, waving goodbye.”

  “That’s right.” He did remember that—a tiny, quick little sketch that bore only a slight resemblance to the familiar figure that graced his breakfast table every morning.

  “You said it would be interesting to see what she was capable of doing besides waving. So I took it a step further—”

  That was putting it mildly. He hadn’t thought of Traci as capable of modesty. But then, he hadn’t thought she was capable of burning his socks off with a single kiss, either.

  “A very big step. You’ve got calendars and T-shirts and Christmas cards—”

  The way he was rattling off the litany surprised her. “How do you know that?”

  He laughed shortly. “Hard not to when it’s staring you in the face everywhere you go.”

  Traci knew better. He wasn’t getting off that easily. “Not if you don’t go where they’re sold.”

  She had him there. He had been following the development of her creation with more than just passing interest “I suppose not”

  Traci tucked her feet under her on the sofa, settling in like a squatter. “So you have all this insight into me and I don’t really have any into you.” She cocked her head, her eyes holding his. “Don’t you think you should reciprocate?”

  “No.” He didn’t like talking about himself. His job, his career choice, was to listen and to plead other people’s causes, not his own.

  “C’mon, tell me something about you.” His reticence reminded her of the old Morgan. She tugged on his shirtsleeve. “How did you go from a skinny guy to a muscular backwoodsman who practices law on the side?” Her own words evoked a girlhood image in her mind. “Hey, that sounds a little like Lincoln.” She considered that. “Except he wasn’t so muscular.”

  Only she would reach for a comparison that far off. He thought for a moment. “I guess you’re partly to blame for that”

  Traci blinked, surprised. “Me?” She’d never made any suggestions to him, not ones that were constructive at any rate.

  “Yes.” He grinned as he saw the confusion in her eyes. She really did have a hand in his decision, though he hadn’t realized it consciously until now. “I figured arguing with you every summer put me in fighting condition to plead cases before juries.”

  Was it her imagination, or did he look even better by firelight? The golden glow from the hearth bathed his skin in deep, tanned hues. Just looking at him had her stomach muscles tightening until they were taut, like the head of a drum.

  She was more interested in the other aspect. “And the backwoodsman part?”

  That was even simpler to trace. “I started working out the fall right after you knocked out my tooth.”

  Traci frowned. “I thought we settled all that yesterday. You knocked out your own tooth.”

  Morgan wasn’t about to concede that so easily. “Which I wouldn’t have done if you hadn’t punched me in the stomach,” he reminded her.

  She grinned, amused. “You’re right, you were destined to become a lawyer.” She paused, her eyes skimming along the ridges of muscles that were firm and hard, even though they were relaxed. “So these are mine, huh?”

  He wasn’t quite sure what she was driving at. “What?”

  Lightly, she ran the tip of her finger along his biceps. “Well, you just said you wouldn’t have started working out if it wasn’t for me, so I guess that makes me partially responsible for them. Translated, that makes them mine.”

  He laughed as he shook his head in wonder. “I’ve never met anyone who thinks the way you do. Do you realize that your thought process is so scrambled that it seems to work almost sideways?” That was the best description for it he could come up with.

  The light in his eyes warmed her. As did his smile. If she were a cat, she thought, she’d be purring right now. “That’s what makes me unique.”

  He inclined his head. “If you say so.” Morgan paused. She didn’t shift her gaze. “You’re staring.”

  She was, she realized. Caught, she averted her eyes and looked into the fire. “Sorry, just thinking.”

  He’d embarrassed her, he thought Curiosity aroused, he prodded. “About?”

  No way was she about to tell him that she was wondering how those arms would feel around her just now. He could torture her and she wouldn’t admit it. At least, not without his giving up a piece of himself first.

  Traci waved her hand vaguely. “Just that I can’t wait for tomorrow, when this nightmare is finally over.”

  Her choice of words didn’t exactly please him. Morgan studied her face. “This has been a nightmare for you?”

  Instead of answering, she asked, “Do you like being stranded like this?”

  His eyes skimmed lightly over her face. “That depends on who I’m stranded with.”

  He couldn’t be thinking what she t
hought he was thinking. Nervously, she cleared her throat. “My point exactly. You probably can’t wait to get back to the city.” Holding her breath, she watched his face for a reaction.

  “Oh, I think I can wait”

  When he looked at her like that, she could almost feel his touch. Her breath caught in her throat, refusing to budge. “You mean you don’t like your work?”

  He smiled slowly as he began to toy with a button on her shirt. “I like my work very much, but I wasn’t thinking about that just now.”

  Breathe, Traci, breathe. She forced oxygen into her lungs—and felt light-headed. “What were you thinking about?”

  The smile had worked its way into his eyes. And her soul. “Guess.”

  She’d never been a coward before. But she was afraid to guess. Afraid of being wrong and looking foolish. “Morgan, you’re beginning to scare me.”

  This was something new, a Traci who wasn’t sure of herself. “Why, Traci?” he asked softly, his breath whispering along the planes of her face. “Why am I beginning to scare you?”

  She wet her lips. They seemed to dry instantly. “Well, maybe because I’m having the same kinds of thoughts that you are—and I shouldn’t be. I mean, this is us. You and me.” And it was so improbable.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Yes.” He pressed a soft, small kiss to her temple, instantly melting her. “It is.”

  It was hard to talk when her tongue refused to move. “We’re not supposed to feel—understand?” She couldn’t make it come out any clearer than that. She felt completely inept.

  “Probably, but right now, I am.” Very lightly, he feathered kisses along her forehead, even around the bandage. He felt rather than heard Traci moan. “I’m feeling a whole host of things that are confusing the hell out of me.”

  At least he was being honest. But then, this was Morgan. He would always be honest. That much she knew about him. It meant a lot.

  “Like?”

  “Like wondering what it would be like to kiss you again.” Deliberately, he avoided her mouth as he wove the wreath of kisses along her face. He was driving them both crazy. “Wondering what it would be like to hold you against me and feel your heart beating.” His hands slid down along her arms, his eyes holding her prisoner. “Wondering what it would be like to make love with you.”

  She really wished he hadn’t said that. It sliced apart the last of her resistance.

  “You, too, huh?”

  He felt as if he were looking into her soul and it was a mirror of his own. “Meaning you’ve thought about it, too?”

  She couldn’t give him that. It was too much. “No, I’ve tried not to think about it.”

  He grinned, his mouth grazing the side of her temple again. She could feel his smile seeping into her skin. “There’s that sideways thinking again.”

  Deftly, he worked his way down to the next button, removing it from the hole even more slowly than he had the first one.

  She felt herself sinking into an almost drugged state. Drugged and energized at the same time. How was that possible? “Crops up every time you’re around.” Every word was an effort for her.

  “I doubt that.” She probably thought like that all the time, he mused. He was beginning to get accustomed to it. And like it.

  “Don’t” When he stopped, his fingers releasing the button he’d been teasing out of its hole, Traci placed her hands over his and guided him back to what he was doing. “I meant ‘don’t doubt

  it,’ not ‘don’t do it.’“

  Two buttons were released. His fingers tugged on a third. “Then you want me to?”

  She didn’t ask what. She didn’t have to. She merely nodded.

  “That’s good. That’s very good.” Because if she’d asked him to stop, he wasn’t certain he could, not without sacrificing a chunk of himself in the process.

  Very slowly, he removed the rest of the buttons from their holes. All the while, his gaze was fixed on hers. He saw the excitement leap to her eyes as his fingers skimmed along the outline of her breast. It fed his own.

  “You know, if you were wearing my shirt, this would go a lot faster.”

  “You don’t like fast.” It wasn’t a guess. She knew. “If you did, you would have had this off me by now.”

  She was right. He smiled as he slid the material down her bare shoulders, anointing each first with a kiss. “Complaining?”

  “Noticing.” Nerves jumping, she bit her lip. “Being afraid.”

  He didn’t want her to be afraid, not of this. Not of him. “Of what?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “That I’ll get enough courage to make you stop.” His hands stilled for a moment. “Or that you will stop.”

  Only Traci. His thumb teased the clasp at her back. “Can’t have it both ways, Traci.”

  The bra slipped away from her breasts like a queen’s servant bowing his way out of a room. Her skin tingled as the cool air came in contact with it. Traci fell into his arms, pressing herself against him, her mouth sealing to his.

  “Yes, I can,” she breathed. “Don’t tell me what I can do.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Morgan murmured against her mouth. She was a constant source of surprise to him. A mystery box that defied opening.

  But he was bent on trying.

  His hands were hot upon her body, hotter than any flame could ever be, she thought. Excitement leapt so high within her that it made her dizzy. And everywhere he touched her, everywhere he brushed against her, was singed. Pulses were vibrating all along her body, anticipation within her mounted with every pass of his fingers, every movement of his hands.

  Every promise he silently made her.

  Eager to bring her flesh to his, Traci began taking off his shirt. She felt several buttons loosen as she mimicked his actions.

  And in between, they kissed. Kissed so that both were completely numb, operating on automatic pilot and needs that were far greater than any sense of order or logic could ever be.

  She wanted him. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone before. More, she knew, than she would ever want anyone again.

  Except for him.

  Guilt rose, distant, but hoary, to torment her. She struggled against it.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she breathed against his mouth.

  She didn’t mean it, he thought. But what if she did? “Want me to stop?”

  No! She fairly whimpered. The very thought of his stopping now weakened her knees. “If you do, I’ll be forced to kill you.”

  The laugh in his throat was deep, sensual. Almost primal. “Wouldn’t want that.”

  She stopped a moment, her lips blurred from racing along his face, and looked at him. “No, but I do want you. Am I crazy?”

  “Probably,” he guessed, framing her face so that he could kiss her again. “But so am I.” He couldn’t get enough, never enough. The more he kissed her, the more he wanted to kiss her. The more he felt her body rub along his, the more he wanted that body. “Traci, you turn everything inside out, including me.”

  He wasn’t the only one. “There’s a lot of that going around,” she murmured.

  Nude, with their clothes tangled in a hopeless heap, Traci and Morgan reveled in an exploration of tastes, textures and contours.

  Nothing was left untouched. Most especially not their hearts.

  Morgan gathered her close to him, his mouth drawing in sustenance from hers. And while he sealed his lips, his very soul, to her, his hands took possession of what already had been declared his.

  It humbled him. She was soft to the touch. Soft and giving and incredibly silken. She seemed to pour through his hands like a precious life force. The image of that laughing-eyed girl melted away in the heat of the passion generated by the ripe woman who twisted so urgently beneath his hands.

  Needs pounded against him. Morgan wanted to rush, to claim what he knew was waiting there for him. But he forced himself to take it slow, to give her every bit of her due.
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  And to imprint this night indelibly on both their minds.

  For he wasn’t about to let her return to Donald or Daniel or whatever the hell his name was, with her heart intact. Not after tonight Not after he’d had her like this. And not after she’d had him.

  Drunk, she was completely drunk, Traci realized. Far more drunk than she’d been on the wine last night. Drunk and empowered at the same time.

  Whatever he was doing to her was making her feel as if she were having an out-of-body experience. She delighted in his expertise on a dual level, both joining him and yet standing back and taking a reckoning of what was happening to her. To them. She wasn’t a novice, but this was an entirely new level of pleasure for her.

  Morgan? This was Morgan? When had he learned to be all things to her? To make her want to sob in sheer ecstasy even as she scrambled to grab a little more of the pleasure he was doling out to her so freely.

  Had she somehow missed all the signs? Or was this something he’d acquired of late? From Cynthia?

  Jealousy reared and then disappeared in the same instant. It didn’t matter what had come before. All that mattered was this moment, now.

  With him.

  Traci grasped his shoulder, tempted to bite down hard as his mouth seared her breast. She twisted and turned, eager to absorb more, as he trailed his lips along her body, grazing, teasing.

  He was making things happen to her she’d never thought possible. Anticipation rippled through her like a lightning bolt creasing the sky. She didn’t know if she could take much more of this.

  “Where in the world did you learn to do that?” she gasped. Morgan raised himself back up to her level. She wasn’t sure if she could move anymore.

  “Instinct.” He smiled into her eyes. “Pure instinct.”

  If there was a quip for this, she wasn’t capable of mustering it, not now. All she could do was raise her head slightly as she knotted her arms around his neck. With the last bit of energy she had, Traci brought his face down to hers.

  “There’s something to be said for that,” she whispered just before she kissed him. Draining him. Draining herself.