by Anya Breton
He hauled her up by her forearm, smashing her lips beneath his before she could protest. His tongue smoothed over hers and then slipped away. She leaned after it, eager for more. Morgan twisted his head and then gave her what she’d craved.
Already his erection nudged at her belly. There was little doubt what would happen next.
Yet she was wrong. Morgan released her chin. Without the support Brook fell onto his naked chest. He grabbed hold of her waist and lifted her, sliding his hands down even as he pulled her forward. Her legs wrapped around his torso at his urging. Rather than carry her to a bed as she’d imagined he would, Morgan maneuvered her against a wall.
Her eyelids flipped open. He came up for air. His kiss possessed her chin, her neck and into the crevice beneath her ear. Brook shivered and gasped with each sinful pull of his lips. She rubbed her aching pussy along his pants—up, down, side to side—all motions meant to soothe. All failed.
Morgan reached her shoulder, tonguing the hollow where it met her neck. His fingers teased beneath her shirt hem. Brook sucked in a sharp breath as they grazed her bare midriff, sending out a torrent of shivers. He pulled back, whisking the shirt up and over her head. Briefly he possessed her nipples—one after the other. Then his mouth took hers.
Her breasts pulsed. Her pussy throbbed. Her brain howled—all for Morgan. She shoved her hand down his thin pants and curled it around his cock. A smile curved her lips at the hiss he let out. Brook massaged him, long and hard—exactly as she wanted him to do to her.
Morgan smacked a palm on the wall behind her. His breath came out in a fragrant rush of wine and spice that ruffled her hair. Eyes fluttered behind his closed lids.
“Brook,” he said, half sighing, half growling.
“Condom?”
His nod was jerky but a nod nonetheless. “Pocket.”
She checked the pocket he’d indicated with his chin. Her fingers closed over the cool foil packet. “You came prepared.”
“I was determined.” His eyes flicked open. No was about it. Determination hardened them still.
“But you only have one.”
“Neptune.” His groaned curse broadened her smile.
That determination had him unfastening her jeans even as she stroked him in between tearing the condom wrapper. His next incoherent swear must have meant he’d discovered today’s silky thong. Hastily he pushed at the denim with one hand while the other plunged south.
Brook found his lips, kissing the edges as they slackened. The fist massaging the soft sac beneath his cock was most likely the cause. She rolled the condom over his erection, thanking their patron god that Morgan had little dexterity when his balls were stroked. Otherwise she’d have been lost beneath his touch.
Somehow he rallied. Morgan deftly brushed her clit. Brook lost her rhythm after the first motion as heat swelled up her body. She forgot what she’d been doing after the fourth. She forgot far more at the next tease of Morgan’s lips.
He was going to kiss her again. She couldn’t wait.
Morgan would lose himself in her mouth if he wasn’t careful. She kissed with the full measure of the passion she hid behind her hard eyes and cool demeanor. He could tangle his tongue with hers all night long and be satisfied.
One deft squeeze of his erection called the thought into question. Perhaps he wouldn’t be content with only her kiss. Her hands were masterful all on their own.
“Brook.” He groaned long and loud.
She released him. His eyes snapped open for an explanation. Brook bent and shimmied out of her jeans. Upright she stretched—a perfect specimen of feminine strength. Proud. Beautiful.
“You are exquisite.”
Brook snorted. “I’m mannish.”
“You aren’t in the least mannish. Amazonian perhaps—a legendary warrior woman.”
Her slow blink implied consternation. A moment later her head dropped against the wall and she released a throaty laugh. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. More than that, Brook smiled. Had he thought she was beautiful before? Smiling, she looked younger than he did and her usually icy eyes sparkled like a lake on Christmas day.
Poseidon in the deep. He would do anything to keep her—both a terrifying and exhilarating realization.
She sent his thin pants to the floor. Brook’s palm formed over his cock. He let her tug him by it, biting back a grin at how easily she manipulated him.
His grin fled when she guided him inside her core and immediately squeezed her inner muscles. He surged forward until he could go no farther. She clenched as he withdrew as if punishing him for daring to leave her. His breath shook out jaggedly.
Morgan gripped her hips and lifted her to him. Brook slipped her feet around him for a closer fit. He plunged harder, pinning her to the wall behind. A choked noise lodged in her throat.
Had that been too much? He drew back in concern.
Brook blinked up at him. “More. Just like that.”
His own choked noise caught behind his teeth. He swallowed down the rising emotion. And then gave her more. Just like that.
If anyone had told Brook that Morgan fucked like a tiger, she’d have laughed herself breathless. As it was, she gasped in a lungful of air between thrusts. The once naïve and completely sentimental priest displayed a sweet aggressive side Brook never would have believed without experiencing it. She also wouldn’t have believed she’d enjoy it.
This was more than enjoyment.
He plunged harder, mercifully before she could follow that thought to its potentially disturbing end. The jolt from her core to her brain meant she could do little more than hang on and enjoy the ride. Morgan’s swirling gaze was a problem, however. She let her lids close, shutting him out.
He slammed his pelvis into hers. A demand? She dug her nails into his sides in answer, drawing a sharp exhale from him and a volley of thrusts. Brook failed to recognize when one ended and another began. Heat coiled, stealing within every cold, lonely space she had left. Muscles tightened to their absolute limit. Too soon the deluge of pleasure broke, sending a keening scream out of her throat.
Morgan fell atop her. Together they gasped against the wall. Brook didn’t try to move for several seconds. He’d been amazing—wild while still managing to be attentive. She’d never be able to smell the ocean again without thinking of Morgan.
How could any woman resist him? She couldn’t and she prided herself on her resistant abilities.
He was practiced, that much was obvious. Some female would have had to experience this and then let him go. Unless…
“How many broken hearts are in your past?”
“What?” he asked, a mumble into her shoulder.
“How many women have you loved and left?”
“Why do you think I was the bad guy?”
She opened her mouth to explain but fell silent. Her reasoning had been sound…until she recalled who she was talking to. There wasn’t a bad bone in Morgan’s body. He was all that was shiny and good in the world. Until recently that had been a fact to deride. Now she wasn’t so certain.
Morgan lifted his head until his face was visible. “Brook?”
She pushed out an annoyed breath. “You’ve obviously had some experience. What happened to the women who got you here?”
“Do you care?”
Yes.
Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. Why couldn’t she say the word?
Morgan’s nostrils flared angrily. “I didn’t break any hearts. They left before I could.”
Why would anyone leave him if given half the chance? It made no sense. Did he turn into a control freak after an initial honeymoon period?
“I get bored, disinterested,” he said bitterly. “They figure out I’m no longer into them. They threaten to break up with me. I don’t fight them. They go through the motions, hoping I’ll change their minds.”
“But you don’t,” she said.
“I don’t.”
“Then how do you know there were no broken
hearts?”
He lifted one shoulder. “They didn’t have to leave me.”
“You would have stayed with them indefinitely simply so you didn’t have to be the bad guy? How typically Morgan.”
“If it were typically Morgan then why did you have to ask?” He took a step back, easing her against the wall. A sneer distorted his gorgeous face. “You should have guessed it. After all, you know me so well.”
His emotions pressed against her, tightening her throat—anger, brooding, melancholy. What had she said that was so bad?
Perhaps it wasn’t what she’d said but what she hadn’t said. His mood had taken a turn the moment she’d neglected to tell him she cared.
In guarding her heart, she’d apparently taken a jab at his.
She doesn’t care.
Morgan exhaled moodily into the pillow in his chosen bedroom. He must be insane to leave a naked woman in a huff. Especially when he’d been determined to bring her around.
What was the point if she didn’t care?
He was nothing but a brief amusement for her—another stop on her nationwide tour of Water witches. She’d certainly punched her card at this station. Brook would go home with a brand-new souvenir—his battered heart.
And she had the nerve to ask how many he’d stomped on. None.
Mira’s faced flashed in his mind.
Perhaps none was a white lie. He’d never intentionally broken a woman’s heart.
Brook’s sexy, pouty lips replaced Mira’s face in his musings.
What made a heartbreak intentional or unintentional?
Brook had never said there could be anything more than sex. That had been a fantasy inside his mind. In fact, she hadn’t said there could be sex at all…until today. Today she’d suggested his single condom wouldn’t be enough.
And he’d stomped out like a child in his terrible twos.
Whatever constituted intention, Morgan was already dangerously infatuated with his Ranger. More intimacy was not what he needed. What he needed was to get back to the real world and hope she found the culprit behind his attacks. Fast. Before the cracks in his dam widened and love poured out.
Chapter Twelve
Brook deposited the last of the plastic bags in the back of the rented car. She balanced the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could speak to her boss at the same time. “We’re set. Priest Seaton called his uncle this morning, claiming he’d only just heard he’d been presumed dead. We’ve got an appointment with the fire inspector at the lake house at eleven. And then we’ll book rooms at the hotel that hosted Friday’s event.”
“Rooms?” Kyle needed to brush up on his faux nonchalance. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
“A front,” Brook said. “I’ll be sleeping on the priest’s floor.”
Or rather she’d be meditating…all night long.
Last night hadn’t been conducive to rest either. Not with Morgan’s mood sucking the life out of the entire cabin.
“He’ll loudly announce his intentions to rebuild the lake house,” Brook said. “And begin inquiries for builders to assist. Foster owns a construction company.”
“The floor?”
Brook’s lips puckered at Kyle’s lack of subtlety.
He explained himself a moment later. “Judy is usually spot-on—even without empathic links to help her.”
Judy’s intuition was frighteningly accurate even for a Water witch. But that was in cases other than Brook’s.
Brook wasn’t about to comment on any of that, not with Morgan within earshot. “We’re hitting the road as soon as I hang up.”
“You have the trackers for Ms. Fontaine, Mr. Foster and Irvin Seaton.”
She sighed. “Yes, but I still think this is too tidy.”
“Sometimes the tidy answer is the correct one.”
“Surely the villain wasn’t stupid enough to think making separate withdrawals alone would hide his plot.”
“Hopefully we’ll find out soon.”
Brook grunted despite agreeing. Yes, they needed to find out soon so she could move on to the next assignment—one where she wasn’t fantasizing about sex with the client every other minute.
Morgan appeared at the door, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. The mood clinging to him was still gloomy.
But at least he wore a shirt.
“He’s ready. Gotta go,” Brook said.
“Good luck, Calder.”
She’d need it if she was going to get Morgan back to Gary without pulling the car over for another quick fuck. The situation would be easier if that had been what he wanted. But Morgan seemed to want more.
Getting involved with anyone wasn’t a good idea. Though she’d have a home base, she’d still be expected to do jobs. Perhaps not as many as she was used to and perhaps the majority would be only a short trip away…but was that enough for someone? Would it be enough for Morgan?
He met her eye. “Do you need anything else from inside?”
Staring at the strained expression on his gorgeous face, the only thing she could think to respond was you.
Her stomach dipped as if she’d said it aloud.
That was the real problem, wasn’t it?
Morgan might reject her. He might break her heart. He might leave her like everyone else she’d ever loved had.
No. She’d finally created the life she’d always wanted—free from obligations to anyone but herself and her chosen profession. She wasn’t giving it up simply because Kyle had suggested she get cozy with the regional priest.
Brook would continue guarding her heart as skillfully as she guarded her client.
Morgan slumped into the corner of the car, avoiding his companion. He was exhausted. But he couldn’t nap. Not so close to her. Her beach-grass scent alone made him picture things he’d rather not.
She’d made it abundantly clear she wanted him only for sex. At least once a minute he wished he were the kind of male who could be happy with that. But he wasn’t. Not with her.
Morgan would have all of her or none of her at all.
A glance at her, alert, concentration fixed on the windshield, drew a silent sigh from him. If only he hadn’t given in to temptation, he might not be so in the doldrums now.
He’d vowed he wouldn’t regret what they’d done together. But he’d also vowed she’d change her mind. Perhaps in a few years the regret would fade. Until then, he’d finally become the client she needed him to be.
* * * * *
The vanilla human knew his explosions. Was that from practice in a crime-ridden city or because he was simply that good? Asking would offend him and the brooding Water priest beside him.
Brook restrained the urge to edge away from the duo. She would have known Morgan’s mood even without the empathy net stretched wide. He hadn’t smiled once. Nor had he spoken more than a few words since they’d left the cabin.
“It was definitely intentional,” the fire inspector said unnecessarily. “Hasty, but intentional. Whoever did this wanted to harm and had the money to pull it off.”
Three different accelerants and a brick of C-4? Yes, someone wanted to do harm. But who?
“So this was the third attack on you?” The inspector eyed Morgan up and down. “Why are they targeting you?”
Morgan shrugged a set of muscular shoulders—shoulders Brook shouldn’t stare at. “I guess being an environmentalist has its risks.”
Fury flared on the empathy net from feet ahead. Brook snapped to attention, whipping toward the emotion. The fire inspector hauled a weapon from his waistband, aiming it squarely at Morgan’s chest.
Instinct and training kicked in. Brook charged, knocking the inspector’s arm aside. The gun exploded. Muzzle flash seared. Pain bit into her side. But it wasn’t finished yet.
She threw an elbow, aiming it for his nose as she reached for the gun. The barrel burned her palm. Brook swallowed down a pained hiss and clenched tighter.
“Brook!” Morgan shouted from far too close.
&
nbsp; The inspector’s head snapped back from her blow. A low grunt sounded. And then he screamed—not in pain, but rather in fury. The inspector’s emotion ramped up a notch, his attention fixed on Morgan over Brook’s shoulder.
Brook twisted the gun, bending the inspector’s finger in the process. His scream this time was definitely pained. She ejected the cartridge and tossed the gun before it could do any more damage. Then she knocked the inspector out with an elbow to his skull.
Only when she’d made certain Morgan didn’t sport any wounds did she let herself drop.
“Brook!” Morgan shouted a second time as she sank to her knees.
Bright red seeped from her side through her T-shirt. She’d taken a gunshot meant for him. Yes, it was her job but that didn’t make his heart race any less.
Morgan caught her before she could do more than waver.
“He’s not dead,” she said. Pain broadcast clearly without an empathic link. “Only unconscious. You have to tie him up and look for other weapons he can use against you.”
“I’m not doing anything until I call for a Healer.”
Brook gripped his collar. “I will kill you myself if you don’t see to him first.”
He pushed out an annoyed puff of air. But she was right. The fire inspector could attack them both if Morgan didn’t do something while he could.
Still…the urge to kiss her was strong. Her narrow-eyed gaze implied now was the worst time for that. He eased her onto the gravel and forced himself away.
Morgan picked through the wreckage of his home for something to tie up an attacker. Half-melted nylon cord from mini blinds at the side of the house would do. He rolled the inspector onto his belly and then did an approximation of hogtying the guy’s limbs.
Morgan searched the debris for more restraints as he waited for the local Healer to answer his call. The Healer didn’t disappoint. No more than four brusque and cryptic phrases passed between them before help was on the way. Morgan stowed the phone.
Only when he’d trussed up the attacker three different ways did he return to Brook. She was awake but biting her lip as though trying to remain quiet. Emotion slashed his insides. This was his fault.
