by Anya Breton
Her eyes went wide when she found herself straddling him on the floor. A bare moment passed while she considered the new pose before she took advantage of it.
Morgan’s groan echoed between the narrow walls as she bounced atop him, shimmering with sweat and pink with desire. He squeezed her breast in one palm and her ass in the other, etching the feel of her in his memory even as he memorized the visual.
The urge to speak sweet words was great. But this was Brook. Speaking the words would commit them to reality. He could pretend he wasn’t besotted with her—that he wouldn’t die a little when she solved his case and left him—as long as he didn’t have to admit it aloud.
His body was another story. Sex on the floor of the bathroom shouldn’t have been this good. And it wouldn’t be. Not without Brook.
The interior bathroom lacked windows. That made it the most secure space in the cabin. Shamefully Brook had recognized that when she’d left the door open and stripped.
Morgan had taunted her, dared her. She’d been justified returning the favor. However her failure to stop the dare from escalating wasn’t justified.
Disappointment threatened to consume desire. Brook stilled and caught her breath. Beneath her Morgan thrust and squeezed. He rolled his hips, catching her G-spot on his next motion. Pleasure whizzed through her thighs, weakening them. A strangled noise stalled in her throat. She smacked her palms atop his chest for leverage.
Morgan released her breast and dropped the hand to her pelvis. His next motion—a sinful clit massage—extinguished any lingering regret. Brook emptied her mind of all thoughts and concerns. She worked up to her original pace, ignoring the burn in her legs. Eyes closed and muscles working overtime, Brook chased the elusive peak.
Slick skin slapping against slick skin echoed in the narrow space. Riding him without having to see him should have made it easier to distance herself. But his cool scent enveloped her, invading her thoughts and marking her memories. No matter how many times she tried to blank his face from her mind’s eye, his gorgeous features returned the moment he voiced his pleasure with a moan.
Both of Morgan’s hands slipped behind her back as he sat up—an embrace that was somehow more intimate than the sex itself. His breath puffed against her cheek and aroma seized her senses twice as powerfully. Brook kept her eyes closed until he lifted her to her knees. Shocked that he’d stop in the middle of fucking, Brook snapped to attention.
Morgan balanced her upright while he reached for a towel. One-handed, he folded it in half and then half again, setting it on the bath rug beneath him. Had he been in pain? Maybe she should have gone easier on him.
A half-second later, Morgan tugged her thigh out, sending her onto her back. He bent her legs at the knees and settled between them. Morgan positioned his cock, sliding in as if there’d been no break. Two leisurely motions were all the warning she got before he increased to a pounding pace. The towel and bath rug cushioned her from the worst of the tile floor. She stared up into his glittering eyes as he drove into her, fascinated with the man who was at once considerate and rough. This wasn’t at all how she’d imagined he’d fuck.
Morgan wrapped her legs around him for a closer fit and then increased his pace even as he stroked a hand between their bodies to her sensitive breasts. He proved a talented partner with every flick, rub and thrust. But his kiss was her undoing. Morgan stirred more than her insides when his tongue glided along hers. She slid over the final edge, shouting into his mouth as the dam broke inside her and pleasure exploded outward. The flood burst against her eyelids and out of her lungs. If Morgan told her she’d shot flames from her fingertips, she’d believe him.
Brook went slack against the floor. He gripped her hips in both hands and broke into a spate of thrusts. Seconds later he came with a low groan.
Morgan collapsed atop her shuddering chest. The bathroom was silent save for their heavy breathing. And her inner monologue of regret.
Chapter Ten
No matter how much it hurt later, Morgan would never regret what they’d done together. She thought him a sentimental fool. About this she was right.
What they’d shared had been beautiful—a fluid meshing of souls. Brook had been his for a fleeting time. He would cherish the memory forever.
“You’ll really need that shower now,” he said lamely.
Brook popped to her feet beside him. She didn’t speak or look at him. Though she did turn on the water.
Along with the curling of steam, remorse flooded the room—hers. Most definitely not his. Though there was a pang of guilt for making her break her rules, he wasn’t sorry. She’d seduced him every bit as much as he’d seduced her.
He leaned onto one hip. “Fortunately that shower is big enough for the both of us.”
“We’re not showering together,” she said, terse and cool.
“Why?” Morgan wanted to hear the answer from her lips.
“That shouldn’t have happened. If we shower together, it might happen again.”
“It will happen again.” His assurance was firm and edged with anger. Morgan gestured at his erect cock. “All I needed was the suggestion of sex in the shower.” With her.
“Bravo for having a healthy witch’s physiology but as I said, you’ll be showering alone.” Though her drawl gave the hint of indifference, still she refused to look at him.
He’d thought her the bravest person he knew—standing up against all adversity. This reaction of hers was cowardly.
He got to his feet. “Brook, it’s already done. We can’t make it any worse.”
Without a word or even a sound of disapproval, she walked out on him.
Morgan stared at the empty corridor, listening as her feet slapped on the stairs to the second floor. A second stream of water began. His jaw set.
Brook scrubbed the heat off her skin but his touch was indelible. How had this happened? Morgan Seaton’s kiss should not have torn her apart from the inside!
It’s already done. We can’t make it any worse.
She gave a mirthless laugh beneath the water spray. It was done but it could get far worse. Brook needed out of the safe house before that happened.
Exhaling a healing breath, she closed her eyes…and imagined the rivulets wiggling down her back were Morgan’s fingers. Her teeth gnashed.
No. She’d never fantasized about real individuals. The faceless figure of her imagination had always gotten her off.
Now all she pictured was Morgan. What had he done to her? Was this high-level manipulation he’d snuck under her finely tuned senses?
Morgan was far too honorable to ever engage in anything that horrible.
Though he wasn’t too honorable to break the Rangers’ rules and go against the contract they’d signed. But she couldn’t be angry with him, not really. When it came down to it, she was the professional. Ranger regulation was her problem, not his. This was her fault.
So why now?
Why hadn’t they been drawn to each other during any of the numerous times they’d been forced together over the years? She’d improved her lot in life a great deal over the decades but surely he wasn’t concerned with that. And while she recognized she’d changed a good deal, she’d never expected to change enough for Morgan’s taste.
One thought overshadowed the questions flying through her mind, one she was resistant to entertain—how could she be falling for the worst possible partner?
In a perfect world with no rules and no murder plots, they’d still clash wills at every turn. They were too different—Brook with her realistic outlook and Morgan with his rose-colored view on life.
Not to mention in the real world she’d be called back to the Sierra Nevadas as soon as she resolved Morgan’s problems. A home life was impossible for a Ranger. No doubt Morgan still secretly wanted children—his own brood living in that picket-fenced house she’d always imagined he’d have by now. She was the last person who could share his dream.
But fate didn’t care about incom
patibilities and dreams.
Brook slid down the tile onto her ass. It was already done. They couldn’t make it any worse. Because one more kiss and she’d lose the only part of herself she couldn’t guard from Morgan Seaton.
* * * * *
Morgan sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Though he’d showered, the phantom scent of Brook lingered. She’d been evasive, spending more time outside the cabin than in. When she’d finally come inside, she’d avoided the TV room in favor of the bedrooms upstairs.
He’d had his pick of rooms with thick linens now covering the windows. He’d picked the middle size, citing anyone who attacked would assume he’d choose the master suite. Brook had merely nodded and then walked out. Apparently there was no rule about sleeping on the floor of the client’s bedroom while in a safe house.
The longer she went without broaching the subject of what had passed between them, the more his disappointment grew. The Brook he’d known wouldn’t have avoided conflict. Would the situation have been different if she wasn’t working for him and also toward her Master-level status?
Perhaps Morgan needed to give her the benefit of the doubt. Her avoidance could be an effort to maintain civility. But if that were true he’d have to acknowledge another factor—that her regret might have nothing to do with breaking rules. He couldn’t accept that.
A long sigh slipped from him.
Just beyond the wall she slept. On a bed. He’d heard the frame creak beneath her weight and several thuds of the headboard hitting the wall. He could have joined her.
He still could.
Morgan glanced at the barrier, picturing what she’d look like. Stiff as a board or posed as if in meditation? He’d not had the guts to look at her when she’d rested on his floor. But that had been before she’d responded like a woman desperate for his touch.
An erection threatened to make itself known as he recalled her riding him masterfully. He reached down but hesitated inches above his new cotton sleep pants.
No. He was tired of pleasuring himself.
Morgan would have none until Brook came to her senses. Even if he had to nudge her there.
* * * * *
The morning run around the lake had tired Brook without giving the usual runner’s high.
How could it when I’ve discovered a new high?
She gritted her teeth at the wayward thought. Running had to be the only high she experienced until she was on a new job.
Her phone vibrated against her hip. Fear spiked through her that something had happened to Morgan while she’d been out. She dug it out. Relief exploded from her when she noted Kyle’s name on the screen.
“Calder,” she said by way of a greeting as she started back toward the cabin. Guilt pooled in her gut. Would her boss guess her failure from her tone of voice?
“We found three bank withdrawals totaling thirty thousand dollars attributed to a Water witch within the Lakes Region territory,” Kyle said. “Name is Norman Foster. Does that ring any bells?”
“Yes. He isn’t part of the inner circle and all I sensed from him was lechery both times I saw him. What’s the date on the withdrawals?”
“Three different days. The first transaction was last week. The final was the day you arrived.”
The day two vanilla humans had turned up at Morgan’s lake house. Strange that the witch or witches would actually pay assassins they’d bullied into crime. Was this a setup? Or was Norman Foster truly the mastermind behind Morgan’s troubles?
“I’ll check with Morgan for additional information,” she said. “Can you get Foster’s mobile phone tracked?”
“Already on it. We’ll send you the link as soon as we get it. How is your client?”
“Upset.” She pushed out a blustery breath.
What she didn’t add was that Morgan had also been disillusioned on top of a heady kick of disappointment—emotions she’d sensed over her empathic net. Kyle could never know that.
“That doesn’t sound good,” her boss said. “I know you’re not the fuzziest of our Rangers but usually you don’t anger them quite as much as you have this one.”
Alarm stiffened her spine. “Has he called you?”
“Not apart from that first day while you were listening in.”
Brook fractionally relaxed.
“So why is he upset?”
She cleared her throat. Their situation had already gone too far. Perhaps Kyle could salvage it. “He seems to…have…feelings for me.”
There was no response at first. Brook froze, awaiting some sort of comment. He’d scold her for not demanding Morgan’s protection be shifted to a neutral party earlier—it’s what she’d do if she were in his place.
Kyle burst into raucous laughter instead. Brook scowled at nothing in particular. The longer his mirth went on, the darker her expression became. She resumed her walk back.
“I owe Judy twenty dollars,” Kyle said at last, interspersed with small chuckles. “She thought for sure that was why we had so much trouble initially.”
They were making bets? Wasn’t the Rangers’ corps supposed to be all about professionalism?
Memories of the pranks they’d played all through basic training reminded her that though they were grimly serious about protection, Rangers did allow themselves levity now and again.
Which was why Brook bravely asked her next question. “Is that why she booked us in this hidden cabin of love?”
“Why?” The answer was almost sly. “Has it worked?”
Brook stumbled to a stop. “You can’t be serious!”
“You’re going to find love and settle down eventually,” Kyle said. “I’d rather have you where I want you.”
“Where do you want me?” She winced at the unintended innuendo in her wary question.
“Master Dover is retiring next month. I need someone to manage the Great Lakes Region.”
Did he mean her? She wasn’t worthy of that honor. Brook primarily worked alone. She knew little about supervising people.
Perhaps it wasn’t an honor at all. Maybe she’d done something so wrong that Kyle wanted to take her out of the field and this was the least painful way to accomplish it.
Brook needed to know. “Are you implying you want to make me a desk Ranger?”
“I’m implying I want to make you Master over a seven-state region, Calder. Whether or not you shackle yourself to a desk is your prerogative. But it would be a damn shame to lose you in the field.”
Brook’s hands shook at the unbelievable opportunity. A promotion to Master level. Head of a seven-state region. And still working jobs. It was more than she’d set her sights on. It was the gig of a lifetime.
There was only one problem. “What about Morgan?”
“Seaton? You said he had feelings for you.”
“What if things go horribly wrong and the Master Ranger and the regional high priest are at each other’s throats?”
“You both have proven you’re professional enough to work together when needed.”
Had they proven that?
Brook faced the water’s edge. “Tell me this entire job hasn’t been an effort to fill your soon-to-be-vacant post.”
Kyle laughed. “I didn’t manufacture the threat but I did take advantage of it.” He cleared his throat. “Find the culprit. Keep Seaton safe without destroying the cabin with security measures. And the job is yours, Calder, regardless of whether or not you strike up a deeper relationship with the regional priest. I know you can handle it. Unfortunately I’ve got another call I have to take. Be on the lookout for this Foster character.”
Brook stared at her phone incredulously. That had sounded like her boss’s voice but little he’d said had made sense. A promotion even if there was no relationship? Had she misunderstood him or had he practically ordered her to woo the regional high priest?
If Kyle meant what he’d said, then she would be stuck in the same area as Morgan until another rare position opened up in the Ranger corps. A
s the head over the Rangers in the area, she’d be obliged to work with Morgan on occasion. Were they professional enough to make it work if this were a brief affair?
A different, far more difficult question was raised now that settling in one place became an option—could she be the settling kind? More importantly, could she be happy in Morgan’s picket-fence future?
* * * * *
The scent of eggs and bacon roused Morgan from a fitful sleep. He rubbed the crust from his eyes and stretched his limbs atop the sheets. An image of Brook in a tiny towel flashed in his mind—the wardrobe he now associated with bacon. It was an easy jump to the memory of what was beneath the towel.
His erection was swift. Morgan groaned into the pillow. Now he’d have to wait before going out or he’d be treated to several more hours of evasion.
A little cold water and concentrated tooth brushing eased his arousal. Morgan padded down the stairs, shirtless and foolishly hopeful for more than bacon.
Brook worked efficiently at the counter flipping bacon, stirring creamy eggs and brewing coffee in between reading something on her smartphone. He stood observing her. The skinny jeans were familiar but the pink baby doll T-shirt that clung to her curves was not. Morgan focused on the coffeemaker before he was forced to hide again at the glimpse of tan midriff.
“What can you tell me about Norman Foster?”
He drew upright at the question she’d voiced without turning—proof she’d known he was there.
“He’s a member of the Chicago coven,” Morgan said. “A friend of my un—” He halted upon considering why she’d ask about a man out of the blue.
Brook faced him. “A friend of your uncle?”
Hours of uncertainty fled in the face of the dread pooling in his chest. “Yes,” he said warily. “But Irvin wouldn’t try to kill me.”
She tilted her head to the side. Though her lips were no more flush or thinned than normal, they held the impression of condescension. Morgan’s perception might have tainted it.
“Irvin’s connection to him was the second detail you gave me,” she said in the neutral tone he began to think meant she was masking her opinion. “Are there any other details you can give?”
