by Anya Breton
It was an open invitation to touch her. And touch her he did, forming his fingers over her firm hip. Her breasts thrust between them, barely avoiding the brush of his chest. Morgan didn’t allow himself the pleasure of stepping forward to fix that.
“It means that you don’t like pretending,” he said when she cleared her throat in noisy impatience. “The old Brook Lochlan wouldn’t have said one thing and done another.”
“The old Brook Lochlan wasn’t a Ranger,” she said at a volume the vanilla humans wouldn’t hear. “She still doesn’t like pretending, but sometimes it’s required for the job. And what the crap am I doing speaking about myself in the third person? There is no Brook Lochlan anymore. There’s only me. Brook Calder.” Her profile swung away—an avoidance tactic.
“I never thought I’d see the day you’d be a married woman.”
Brook’s gaze snapped back, fixing on his probing eyes. Confusion. It wasn’t in her expression but he sensed it in her. He sensed everything—the frustration, the confusion, the resentment and the desire.
The link wobbled. Uncertainty. And then she opened her mouth. “I’m not married.”
Morgan experienced brief relief that he hadn’t been drooling over a married woman for days. Words tumbled from his mouth he’d not meant to ask her. “Is that against Ranger rules?”
She gave a mirthless laugh. “No.”
“Were you married?”
“Priest Seaton, the surname is my mother’s. I took it after my father died. You could have asked instead of fishing.”
“Fishing is what Water witches do best.”
“No, Water witches feel emotions best. And yours are all over the place. Focus on one. It will help you calm the others.”
“You don’t want me to focus on one, Brook.”
Her head tilted to the right, a weary expression that didn’t fit what he sensed from her. “You’re just going to have to fight it.”
“What if I don’t want to fight it?” He let his hand slip down her hip to her derrière. It clenched beneath his palm—a taut, wonderful bit of muscle he imagined gripping while he plunged into her repeatedly.
And then his hand headed up when he realized he’d brushed nothing beneath her gown. He searched for the band, for the line of elastic that had to circle her hips.
“What are you doing?” came her sharp voice when his fingers grazed up her hip to her waist.
Morgan leaned forward, setting his lips to her ear. “You wore panties, Brook, you had to.”
“In this thing? Are you crazy?” She tried to pull away but he clamped his arms around her waist, holding her where she was. “I didn’t have anything that wouldn’t show.”
Using her to hide the erection straining at his tuxedo slacks probably wasn’t the best of ideas. But it was her fault. “Neptune’s net, are you trying to drive me mad?”
“Of course not—”
He inhaled the brisk scent of her skin near his lips, barely resisting the urge to kiss the tender patch behind her ear. He believed her. It wasn’t simply that he experienced her indignation.
Brook wouldn’t intentionally try to seduce him. Morgan doubted she’d know the first thing about making a male lust after her. And that made him want her more.
“Next time you force me into formalwear, I’ll be sure to wear panties,” she said breathlessly.
“See that you do, or I guarantee you won’t be in your formalwear for long.”
Morgan shoved away from her, unable to stand her sweet heat, firm body and thrilling scent a moment longer. He didn’t look back no matter how badly he wanted to know if her nipples strained the fabric. Because if he did, he knew he’d drag her out by the hair exactly as he’d wanted to minutes earlier.
Brook always brought out the worst in him. The only difference now was the worst would end in emotional pain rather than the kind that left a visible mark.
Chapter Six
Every brush of the gown against Brook’s skin was a form of torture. Tender nipples were visible for the entire party to see. She only hoped she’d not stained the gown with the other reaction to Morgan’s proximity. Carefully she kept her thighs spread on the trip to the restroom.
He’d been bold. Morgan of old would have tried to soothe their discomfort away with white lies. This Morgan hadn’t hidden his desire.
But she had. Pretending his hands on her didn’t exhilarate was a kind of falsehood. Brook of old wouldn’t have pretended. Then again, Brook of old hadn’t found any need for boys. Certainly not the soft kind like him.
Brook discreetly cleaned up her body’s reaction with a little warm soap and water. A drop of water settled onto the satin. She called on magic to suck away the moisture from the tiny spot. And then she was on her way back to the party.
She found Morgan on the dance floor in the arms of the married woman, Henrietta. Her head was far too close, nearly nose to nose. He’d not drawn back.
Did he have a thing for married women? Brook shouldn’t have pondered the question. Especially not when the next inevitable point was to wonder if he’d left her on the dance floor because he’d learned she wasn’t married.
Whatever the case, Brook needed to set him straight.
She settled against the wall to be the vigilant guard she’d agreed to be. Her attentive scans of expressions and emotions turned up nothing beyond the usual crush of vanilla human drama. If Morgan’s attackers had put in an appearance, they’d kept themselves under control.
The same thing couldn’t be said of the high priest and his bodyguard.
* * * * *
“You signed a contract.”
Morgan allowed his head to fall away from the limo window. He’d stared at the tinted glass to avoid noting how the folds of Brook’s gown skimmed her thighs. They hid everything and nothing. It was terribly distracting.
“What?” he asked, because though he’d heard her words, he hadn’t the first idea what they meant.
“The Ranger-client agreement.” Her plump lips opened again when he said nothing. “Per the laws and codes of Neptune’s Rangers and the vow I gave, I must keep my interaction with you on a strictly professional level. You signed the contract. You agreed not to violate those laws and codes.”
He had.
But that was before.
Even now Morgan’s thoughts raced for a professional reason for why she ought to flick the slit along her thigh open. He needed to see the proof she’d attended that party nearly nude. Desire thundered in his ears, rumbling within his veins.
He turned his head from her again, gathering the control that had earned him his position.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan lied.
They were silent for several minutes on the trip to the lake house.
“Is there anyone we can call for you?”
He emitted a questioning grunt.
“A female?” she asked. “Someone to ease your…discomfort?”
“By the great blue sea, Brook!” He growled at the window. “You’re not helping.”
“So you’ll just take another cold shower. Take business into your own hands. And then plague me all over again tomorrow?”
That was exactly what he’d planned.
“There has to be someone—”
“There’s no one,” Morgan snapped.
She had an empathic link to him yet she persisted in jabbing at his last nerve. “What happened to you? Weren’t you the boy who insisted his children would live with both their parents?”
He was. He had. But then he’d grown up and recognized how the real world worked.
“I thought for sure you’d be married to some airhead with one of those picket fence houses and two dogs,” she said.
Morgan didn’t answer. She’d mock him for it. It was what she lived for.
“What about Mira?”
“No.” He’d barked the response before she’d finished her question.
“She wants you. You’re not too clueless to note it.”
“I
haven’t been the clueless one, Brook.”
“I can handle…”
Morgan’s head whipped toward her, shocked at what he’d thought she’d begun to say.
“Protecting you both for a few hours.” Her light eyebrows lifted at him. “You thought I’d say something different?”
Yes, he’d thought she’d say she could handle him being with Mira. Could she? Did he dare try it?
And why did he desperately want the answer to be no?
“I have no interest in Mira,” he said what she ought to know already.
“You’d better let her know it. She’s carrying a serious torch for you.”
He said nothing.
“There has to be someone else.”
Morgan’s jaw clenched as he stared at the beautiful woman blinking innocently at him. It was a killer—that she was actually trying to help even though her assistance tormented him further. He wanted to torment her back.
So he did.
“No one else is going to fix my need to bury my cock in you, Brook.”
Her lips parted in surprise. Color flared in her cheeks. The heavy lift of her breasts next was due to a gasp, not intentional torture. He knew that. But it didn’t stop his bad behavior.
“You could parade the entire female population of my region in front of me nude, and it still wouldn’t ease my discomfort.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Morgan nearly smiled at her breathless indignation. She didn’t see it, she didn’t understand she wasn’t just one of the guys to him. She could never be that to him.
“Only one contract stands between us,” he said.
“One contract and my permission.”
Morgan gave her a telling look. He dropped his attention to her chest, to the full nipples clearly visible under the gleaming navy gown. As if he’d need to ask.
“I haven’t given it,” she said.
He lifted his arm slowly, giving her plenty of time to protest. Though her mouth was parted, no words exited with her next exhalation. Morgan eased his palm over her breast. Carefully he squeezed the globe, reveling in the fullness that filled his hand. Her inhalation was a ragged draw of air. Brook shifted ever so slightly toward him—an instinctual move he doubted she’d noted. The motion brought her thighs closer. And parted them.
Morgan couldn’t keep his attention from dropping to the skirt. The slit had migrated to her inner thigh but had yet to show what he wanted to see. Would fixing that bring the protest she’d failed to give?
He found he didn’t want to hear it. If he could prolong this, he might persuade her to ignore the contract they’d both signed. No one need know.
Except he knew.
Morgan’s conscience flooded his mind. Sibilant whispers reminded him of this woman’s role. She’d been sent to protect him. Against her will, she’d agreed to take the job. Only the promise of a promotion had kept her in Indiana. And now he was going to violate the contract they’d both signed.
He’d been respectable until she’d arrived. She’d always brought out the worst in him. But he wasn’t going to fight it this time. His need outweighed concerns of morality.
Lifting his free hand, he allowed her to see it—to note his intention before he set his palm to her thigh. She drew in another ragged breath. But she didn’t protest. He swallowed down a groan, keeping the noise in the cabin to a minimum.
Her skin was silkier than the fabric covering it. She was made delicately for such a ball-breaker. His fingers splayed along her leg in his drive to feel her.
Morgan wanted to kiss her. More than anything. But instinct kept him aloof. She would fight the moment his head neared hers. Now, with her eyes locked on his arms, she could forget who he was and how wrong their actions were. His lips on hers would break the illusion.
It would increase the intimacy.
They might not have seen each other for years, but he could read her as easily as he had then. He had a deeper understanding of her than any empathic link could bring. And it had nothing to do with his skill as a Water witch.
Her lips parted wider, emitting a small, sexy sigh when his hand crept between her thighs. She adjusted her pose on the leather seat, giving him better access.
Brook allowed this. He was hyperaware of that. And also keenly mindful of her tendency to change her mind faster than the wind chose a new direction.
Before she did that, he had to see.
Cautiously he spread the skirt over her opposite leg even as he continued his slow, upward march. Though the cabin was dim, Morgan stared at the artful folds he’d revealed. Pink, fragrant and glistening. Brook was more feminine there than any female he’d ever looked upon. He barely kept himself upright when the urge to dive into her pussy was stronger than the ever-present need to dive into the nearby lake. He’d soak in her if he could.
Slow, he silently chanted.
A dozen different images rushed his mind, drawing his cock and balls painfully tight. Fantasies of shoving her shoulders to the leather seat, lifting her hips to his chest and feasting on her until she kicked out one of the windows plagued him. Or of wrapping her thighs around his waist so he could bury his cock in her lovely pussy while her head bobbed out the sunroof. He imagined taking comfort in her body heat in the cold lake. All night long. And then falling asleep tangled in the sand with her.
He knew she could sense his need. They’d shared an empathic link for hours. And he also knew his need would drown hers. Whatever illusion she clung to must have been strong to avoid acknowledginghe had his hands on her.
Finally Morgan’s fingers reached her mound. Her eyelids slipped shut. The cords in her neck tightened as her head fell fully against the seat. He imagined licking the soft column and then nibbling the delicate skin as she writhed in need. In real time he settled his palm atop her pussy, unmoving while he focused his attentions above.
With the same caution he’d employed all along, he released her breast and moved to the gown’s strap. Brook’s chest thrust high at the grazing of his nails along her shoulder. A small noise whistled between her teeth.
He longed to thrust his tongue where the air had recently left. Had he read her wrong? Would she allow it? Brook had already allowed much he never would have guessed she’d permit. But he didn’t dare push. Not yet.
Morgan concentrated on drawing the strap over her arm, on baring her breast rather than concerning himself with kisses yet. He bit down on a groan as he revealed the perfectly rounded globe. The dusky areola was a beautiful wrapper for the puckered bud begging to be licked. Likewise the skirt had revealed a nude sex ripe for invasion. And her neck was stretched like a sensual offering.
Neptune’s hidden depths, Brook was desire incarnate.
He abandoned caution in the face of the jutting breast. Morgan closed his mouth over her nipple, sucking the nub between tightly drawn lips. Her body arched. Brook’s hot folds slipped along his arm. He could no more resist that offering than that of her breast.
Morgan ground his palm against her damp skin. He groaned his pleasure into her breast when she thrust in return. Brook dug her fingers into his hair, as sure a sign to continue as any he’d been given. He curved his hand, careful to reach her entrance so he could coat his skin in her natural lubrication. Meanwhile his tongue flicked a tormenting path over her nipple in between tenderly nibbling the sensitive peak.
Brook rocked into his hand even as she clutched his head to her breast. He couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted. No sane male would have considered leaving her now.
No, any sane male would consider how to move this to the next level. And Morgan was definitely sane.
Brook’s every muscle quivered in anticipation of what the male would do next. Or what he wouldn’t do. Her nails sank into his scalp to keep him from slowing the attention he paid her breast.
A plea stalled on her lips as he stroked her pussy. It was good, so good, and yet she wanted him to finish this. Brook nearly released an arm from his head to guide him.
That would make this too real. She’d be an active participant rather than something he’d used.
And then he drew his rocking hand away. Brook couldn’t stifle her disappointed whimper. Her eyes fluttered to note why. The neglectful fingers sat atop her right shoulder where they drew down her remaining strap. He brought the fabric along her body until she was nude from the waist up. With the skirt spread wide, she might as well have been wearing a cape and nothing else.
He lifted his head to her neglected breast. She scrabbled at his hair without acknowledging why.
Her eyelids shot wide at the telltale snick of a zipper.
She exclaimed in horror upon noting him reaching within his black formal slacks. “Morgan!”
He jerked as if he’d been hit. His languid expression immediately twisted into something dark. Anger rose in the cabin, drowning nearly everything else she sensed—nearly everything but lust. He shoved himself into the farthest corner from her, clearly furious.
“I can’t,” Brook said even as he zipped his slacks. “I signed an agreement.”
He shot a look that said everything at her bare breasts. And simply so there was absolutely no question what that silent message was, Morgan then dropped his gaze to her lap. Brook quickly slapped the skirt over her thighs. She twisted away, fixing her bodice over her tingling breasts before he spoke the derisive words in his eyes.
Yes, she’d let him take it too far. He didn’t have to remind her.
Why hadn’t she stopped him? Would she have let him do anything short of intercourse? There was nothing in the contract about avoiding one and not the other. She’d been in the wrong on all of it.
It wasn’t the first time a client had made a pass at her. But it was the first time she’d wanted one to.
Why Morgan?
The thrill she’d experienced upon hearing him baldly profess his lust for her and her alone hadn’t been the cause. Brook wasn’t certain when she’d moved past derision to the land of need but it had been before that. Perhaps when he’d threatened to disrobe her the next time she was in formalwear without underthings.
