“Hah. Not at this point in the game.” She stretched herself out on the sofa, her wavy hair spreading across the far armrest. “I’m surprised you were willing to change horses halfway through the ride.”
This kicked him in the gut, being the point of contention that caused pretty much this whole debacle of his being twenty-two and still not done with his undergrad. He frowned. “It didn’t make my family too happy, either.” What did he go saying that for? It wasn’t anyone’s business, not even his faux-wife’s.
“Don’t tell me that’s what the wedge is.” Morgan said this sleepily.
“What wedge?”
“Between you and your dad.”
His inner shell opened a crack. “Maybe,” leaked out through the crack against his will. He never meant to admit to her or anyone this was the source of his conflict with old Bronco. If he could hit the rewind and erase his answer to her right now, he would. She was only a business partner (who he sometimes kissed on command of strangers), and he didn’t have any obligation to go telling her all his issues, especially when he hadn’t even confided them even in Brielle, the girl he planned to spend the rest of his life with. He couldn’t tell Brielle she was the reason Bronco had sent him packing or he’d drive one of those wedges Morgan mentioned between his family and his future wife that could never be gouged out. Brielle didn’t understand how volatile Bronco could be, and the one time he’d dropped a hint of his dad’s displeasure at Josh’s change of course after meeting her, Brielle had been so upset he decided to drop the subject, go ahead with his plans, and just let time eventually take care of the problem—which it hadn’t, and now the rift between father and son, between father and future-daughter-in-law, was wider than ever.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Bronco’s non-acceptance of Brielle was part of the reason she’d jetted off to Germany, taking a part of Josh with her.
Josh had tensed up, and it looked like Morgan could sense it. “Hey. Sorry. I won’t pry. Husband or not, you’ve got your stuff, and you have a right to keep some of it all to yourself. Just, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”
“Thanks. I just don’t like talking about my dad. He’s pretty hard to deal with sometimes. It’s his way or the highway.”
“Do what he says or be a plumber. I get it. Parents are great, but they can also be a pain in the neck. At least your dad isn’t out appearing on national television spouting poetry about frogs and sand.”
“At least there’s that.” Josh let a little laugh slip out. Morgan could be pretty cool and put things into perspective for him, but he loved that she didn’t push him all the time to discuss. Nothing irritated him more about Brielle than when she insisted he tell her what was bugging him when he hadn’t worked it all out yet mentally. Morgan, though? She was easy. It was nice. He reached over and patted her knee, leaving his hand there for maybe a moment too long. “Bronco Hyatt is definitely not a poet, but that’s all I can stand to say about him tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it. Boundaries, right?” Morgan uncurled her legs out from under her and stretched them across his lap, her pink-painted toenails and smooth-skinned feet on his thigh, the pressure of them making him suddenly more aware of her than he should be this time of night.
“Yeah, boundaries.” Boundaries. Some were crumbling. And he’d better rebuild them—fast.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Morgan rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. A ray of sunshine filtered in to her between the white cotton panels of the curtains. What a beautiful room! Even if it wasn’t as lovely as the master bedroom down the hall, she couldn’t help loving the soft cream of the walls and the white accents of wood and furniture everywhere. And it was so clean, just like these crisp sheets she’d slept in, her bare legs sliding against their thousand thread count.
How did she get so lucky?
With a yawn, she padded down the wood planks of the corridor to the master. Even if she couldn’t bear to sleep in there, beneath that suggestive photograph, she wouldn’t skip the luxury of the jetted tub or the long counter in front of the vanity to use for doing her hair and makeup. Josh was gone—probably early to work and class—and she could relax. For the first time in months, she could see well enough to put her mascara on, thanks to the perfect lighting around the large mirror.
Bliss.
After a ridiculously hot bath, she stood at the counter in her thin robe, putting the last touches on her lashes, just about to try to do something with her hair. The waves were a constant struggle. Maybe she should take the time to straighten it. She slid to the door to glance at the large wall clock on one of the bedroom walls, when—
“Oh, my goodness!” There stood Josh. He was in a lab coat. But his eyes weren’t part of his head, they were climbing up and down her half-clad body. “I thought you were at class. Or work. Or—” Morgan clutched the folds of her robe together, re-tying its belt. “Sorry. I thought since you were gone I could use the master bathroom.”
Josh’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. He was gulping. “Uh.”
“I’ll do my hair down the hall in the guest bathroom.” She turned and bent over to the basket on the floor to collect her supplies, but he interrupted.
“No. Uh.” He collected himself. “I—it’s—I just got off work. I overslept this morning and couldn’t shower before my five a.m. shift.”
“Of course!” Morgan’s arms were full of her makeup bag, her hair dryer, a straightening iron, her razor (which had been fantastic to use on her legs in that deep tub), and assorted other things. She clutched them to her chest, but that made her bereft of a hand to keep her robe closed. “You want to shower before your class.” She hustled out of the bathroom, practically running, her feet making the wood floor in the hall sound hollow.
“Morgan. Wait!” Josh followed her, but she slid into her bedroom and dropped all her things on the bed.
“I’ll just get dressed,” she called to him down the hallway, taking off on a babbling rampage. “Then we should maybe discuss a schedule. Because even if neither of us sleeps on that incredible mattress in the master, we absolutely both need to be taking advantage of that jetted tub. It felt like a dozen heavenly angels were massaging my skin. I refuse to give it up, but I refuse to keep it all to myself. It’s too perfect.” She shut the door and pressed her back against it, sliding down to the floor.
Her heart pounded. Why have such mixed feelings about Josh’s eyes on her bare knees and collarbone? He hadn’t caught sight of her just now in anything more revealing than when she’d worn her wrap dress to sit beside him in church on Sunday, but somehow it felt more intimate—a lot more intimate—and it drew her to him in a way she should resist, even though day by day she was finding him more and more irresistible.
Morgan grabbed a hair clip from her pile. Today was a ponytail day. Totally.
Then she looked around for the clothes she’d lain out to wear, and realized she’d left them on the floor of the master closet where the rest of her things were.
Great.
Pricking up her ears, she listened for the water to start running in Josh’s bath, but the house was too well-insulated for plumbing sounds down the hall to carry this far. For a few minutes, she paced, deciding what to do, but one look at the alarm clock on the nightstand alarmed her—her Business Practices test in Professor Wyeth’s class was in fifteen minutes, and it was a nine minute walk from here.
Man, she’d been in that tub a while.
This was not good. She could not miss that test—it was worth a huge percentage of her total grade. And she couldn’t go to class in just her robe and her nothing-else, obviously, although it might get her extra credit in that old lecher’s class. Not worth it.
Why! Why hadn’t she grabbed her clothes out of the closet as she ran away from Josh in her towel?
Sigh. She had no choice: Morgan had to go back in the master bedroom, even if it meant risking seeing Josh again before she was dressed. Geez. When she’d agreed t
o this—well, agreed to be bullied into this by Mr. Seagram—she hadn’t thought she was signing up for heart-pounding stress over the simple task of putting on her jeans and sweater in the morning.
She creaked the door open. The hallway was clear. With ears open, she listened for Josh (she hoped) downstairs in the kitchen rummaging for breakfast. No such luck. The water in the bath wasn’t running, as far as she could hear. And his car would be parked in the garage, so she wouldn’t be able to peek out a window and see if he’d left.
The minute hand on the clock on the bedroom wall ticked loudly. Ooh, another reason not to sleep in that room. With a trembling hand, she pressed the master bedroom door open. Please don’t see me, please. No Josh. She tiptoed in as softly as possible, a cloud of steam from the open bathroom door moistening the air. Just ten steps to the closet…
There! Triumphant she stepped inside the closet, and she bent over to the floor where she’d lain her underthings, her jeans, sweater and shoes.
“Boo!”
Morgan jumped, her heart lurching into near cardiac arrest, and a little shriek escaped her mouth.
Josh loomed over her from deeper in the long corridor that served as their closet. Morgan’s heart raced, and she colored and snatched at her gaping robe at the same time. Her eyes focused. His hair was wet, and he stood in just his jeans, with his t-shirt hanging at his neck, his arms not in it yet. Nice upper arms.
“Thought you could sneak in on me, eh?” He stepped a little closer to her. “Couldn’t keep away?” He inched even closer, and Morgan’s heart revved even more. He kind of glistened. Yikes—she’d better get away from him right now.
“Oh, stop.” Morgan grabbed her things—again—and used them to cover herself as much as possible. “I just left my clothes in here and have a test in about ten minutes. You sure shower fast.” Her mouth was running as fast as her heart did from the scare.
“Well, then you’d better hurry. Put those on right now.” He arched a brow, as if waiting for her to obey while he watched.
“As if.” She waved him away and darted back down the hall.
Moments later, she was dashing out the front door and jogging toward the Villers Building, face still aflame.
No question, Josh’s attractiveness level was climbing every time she saw him. And it wasn’t like she’d forgotten how good his kisses felt. They induced the same feeling as having him look at her the way he had a few minutes ago. If he had a girlfriend, he didn’t act like he even remembered her name at that point.
Tory’s words bounced through Morgan’s head. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. That’s bull. You’re right beside him day and night. You’re married to him, for heaven’s sake. Make the guy know you’re here.
He’d better stop flirting with her, or she might just stomp down some boundaries and actually take Tory’s advice.
Josh Hyatt probably didn’t realize he was playing with fire.
***
Josh sat on the bottom step to tie his shoes. He’d had a huge appetite for breakfast when he walked in the door after work, but seeing Morgan sent his appetites shooting in another direction. That girl was beyond gorgeous. He’d watched out the window as she ran across their front lawn toward campus and liked every curve and bounce. It made him feel a little voyeuristic, even if she was his wife.
Wife. Moments like this morning in the closet made him consider turning Morgan into his wife for real, forgetting Brielle, and just charting a totally new course for his life. Not that he’d actually do that—to himself, or to Brielle. Or to Morgan, for that matter. She was a really nice girl. He liked her too much to drag her into the swirling cesspool that was the extended Hyatt family—with its dysfunction since Mom died, and with the cameras popping up to catch one Hyatt heir or another doing something salacious.
Luckily, Josh had gone totally off the tabloid news radar as soon as Bronco disowned him. He’d become a regular guy. And he’d been way off radar at Estrella Court. Now, with the whole Seagram fiasco going on, there was a slim chance he’d be rediscovered by the press.
But only slim. Nobody cared about a poor, disinherited son, especially if his destiny according to the patriarch of the family was to become a plumber.
Meanwhile, he’d better take Morgan up on her offer to schedule bath time. No sense repeating today’s accident. Because it could turn into more of an accident for him.
Focus. He had to focus. Maybe he should arrange to take a night shift at the water treatment plant instead? Truth was, this morning in the closet felt like just an extension of last night on the couch. Too close for comfort—and too far for other comfort at the same time.
Distance. Distance was key here.
The doorbell rang. Josh crossed the flagstone entryway to answer. It almost seemed like he should have a butler.
But instead, there stood a maid. “Hi. I’m Svetlana. I’ll be cleaning today.” She was a heavyset woman of around forty with an Eastern European accent. “Please, do not mind me.” She bustled in, and Josh dodged her like he would a steamroller coming down new asphalt at him. In a moment, she’d disappeared into the upstairs, and he heard singing in another language. She might see that a couple of the rooms were being used, but Josh had made his bed this morning while trying to cool off after seeing Morgan, so the woman would probably never be the wiser that he and Morgan weren’t sharing a bed.
Nice. Having a housekeeper was awesome. He’d almost forgotten. And it was great that Morgan wouldn’t have to divide her attention from her studies, either. Because if he understood her personality like he thought he did, she was the type who’d feel guilty about dust or crumbs and spend all Saturday blitzing the house when she had a test to study for. He liked that, in a way, because it reminded him of how his mom had kept things so orderly when he was growing up, but he also knew it would be defeating the purpose of all the stress they’d endured moving in here.
Morgan. How was her test going? He hoped she’d ace it. She’d studied late enough last night, putting in time on the books. Now that she didn’t have to roller skate around The Grand Old Okra, she’d probably put his grades to shame.
Josh snagged an apple from the refrigerator to take to class. When his chemistry realigned after the Morgan-in-only-a-robe incident, he’d probably be hungry again and need this.
The doorbell rang again. Josh would catch it on his way out. Maybe it was the gardener.
In the doorway loomed the most unexpected person.
“Dad?” Josh dropped the apple, likely bruising it into oblivion, and putting it to waste, which Morgan would be sorry about. “What are you doing in here?”
If Svetlana had seemed like a steamroller, Bronco was a Sherman tank. He crashed through the entryway and stomped so hard across the flooring he might have cracked some of the flagstone.
“Joshua John Hyatt. What in the name of Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Morgan’s running endurance was pitiful. She’d barely covered the space between the mansion and the Student Life Center before she was out of breath. It’d been too long since she’d had time to exercise, like since summer break, what with waitressing taking up all her time. Maybe she’d be able to carve out time for a workout now.
Still panting at an embarrassing rate, she came to the Quad, and across it lay the Villers Building. The bells in the Old Main clock tower chimed. She was late, but she might still make it before Dr. Wyeth shut the door and wedged it closed against her with a stack of textbooks he’d authored himself and charged students hundreds of dollars per copy to purchase.
“You.” Narrowed eyes of an already pinched face popped up just feet in front of Morgan. She’d seen this girl before, but she didn’t know where.
“Hi. How’s it going?” Morgan tried not to slow down. She could not miss this test. Averting her glance from the apparent stink-eye coming from this girl, she kept up her pace.
“Uh, I don’t think so.” The woman stepped directly in
to Morgan’s path, and then she put out a hand and caught Morgan by the shoulder.
“Oh, hey. I’m so sorry. I’m really super late for my test, and I’ve got to run.”
“Not a chance, girlfriend.” She caught Morgan’s sweater and snagged it between her fingers. Her grip was surprisingly firm. Morgan lurched backward, pulling to a halt. It was either that or lose her top, not really an option. “You’re the girl who won’t leave Josh Hyatt alone. I have a few words to say to you.”
“Can we meet for a bagel later? I’m seriously late.” Morgan started walking, but the girl still had her by the sweater and didn’t appear to be letting go—of the sweater or of Morgan’s attention. “Tell me your name and number, and I’ll put it in my phone and give you a call after my test.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie—she’d at least consider calling the woman.
“I’m Claire Salazar, and you’ll stay right here and hear me out, you home-wrecking interloper. My lifelong best friend Brielle Dupree said nothing to me about any breakup with Josh before she left for Germany, and she tells me absolutely everything. If there had been anything other than wedding bells chiming in their future, I would know, believe me. We are like that.” She held up her index and tall fingers, crossing them. “When Josh dropped her off at the airport, just minutes before you usurped her, there were things understood between them, and there’s no way she broke any of them, and no way Josh would dream of breaking a promise—not to the one and only Brielle Dupree. Do you have any idea how brilliant she is? She’s a rising star in the State Department, a potential ambassador to almost any foreign nation, and a serious catch, even for Joshua Hyatt.” She huffed and tugged at the sweater in a threat.
Legally Wedded (Legally in Love Book 3) Page 16
