“Who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anything but money. And Sammie, because he wants to know that Sammie isn’t going to blow everything my father has worked for his whole life. He wants control of Sammie so he knows that Sammie is well trained to take over for him someday.”
She wasn’t over it yet, the anger her father instilled in her.
“I can’t speak to his caring,” Cal said. “But I know that you care about him. He’s your father. You care. That’s enough for me.”
“After what he did…the way he manipulated me…I—”
“He’s family. He has faults, but we’re on to him. And he did apologize.”
Morgan could still hardly believe that George had actually called to apologize to her. It was only because he’d done so that she and Cal had agreed to her parents’ request to give them a wedding, one befitting George Lowen’s daughter, with all the requisite guests invited.
“I want nothing from him,” Morgan said now. “He can leave everything he has to Sammie, but I wish he wouldn’t do that, either. I want my son to earn what he has. To understand the value of money, which means understanding that there are things in life that are far more important than money.”
“I think Sammie’s already ahead of you on that one. He turned down Hayward.”
“Because he couldn’t play basketball there.”
Taking Cal’s hand, Morgan led him back out to the living room. She had to work in the morning.
And he was far too much of a temptation.
“When did you say Sammie was staying with your folks again?” Cal kissed her long and deep.
She kissed him back until her knees were about to give out on her. And then, at the last second, she dragged her mouth away from his.
“Tomorrow night, and you know it.” Her chuckle was a bit rough. She didn’t want to make love with Cal while Sammie was home until after they were married. But that didn’t make her immune to his ability to make her crazy with needing him.
“We still on for steaks and wine in bed tomorrow night?” he asked, a warm smile on the lips she so craved.
“The wine and steaks are negotiable,” she told him, smiling, too.
Her response earned her another long kiss at the front door. “It won’t be long before you won’t have to go,” she told him.
“It won’t be long before we move into our new house, you mean.”
A home she and Cal and Sammie had all chosen together. The home he was buying for her as a wedding present. It was centrally located between Sammie’s school, the day care where Morgan had been officially promoted to full-time teacher and Wallace. Cal had grabbed the resignation letter from his outbox and shredded it.
“Your mom called my dad today.”
Morgan’s stomach dropped. “She did?” What was her father up to now? Or more accurately, what had he put her mother up to?
“Wipe the frown off your face, worrywart,” Cal said, running his finger along her lips. “Grace seems to be a new woman now that she’s learned to stand up to your father some. She called to apologize for any stress or discomfort they’d caused him and to ask him if he’d like her to help him plan our rehearsal dinner.”
“Frank’s giving us a rehearsal dinner?”
“He is now. She also wanted to invite him over for Sammie’s birthday dinner.”
“His birthday isn’t until November and we can have our own birthday dinner.”
“Which we will, but we’ll still have to have a dinner with them.” With his arms around her, his hands locked at her back, he grinned down at her. “She also invited him for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner.”
“She’s afraid she’s going to be cut out, but if she gets your father on board…”
“Kind of what I was thinking.”
“She’s as bad as my dad, trying to manipulate us.” She’d never, ever seen her mother be that way, though.
“I think she’s desperate. She can’t bear the thought of losing you and will do whatever it takes to be a part of your family. Truth be told, I feel kind of sorry for her.”
With her mother’s voice in the courtroom still ringing in her ears, Morgan wasn’t as ready to forgive. But… “I’m not going to cut her out. I’m letting Sammie go over there, aren’t I?” Because it was right. They were his grandparents. “It’s just going to take some time, Cal.”
“I understand. I just don’t want you to fall into my trap and close your heart. People aren’t perfect. They get hurt and make mistakes and—”
“So you’re ready to let your dad call Rose Sanderson, then? You’re ready to forgive her?”
Her response was a tight hug from her future husband. And then, a barely discernible whisper in her ear, “Thanks to you, I might be willing… .”
“Soon?”
“I want to give them some time to contact us first. I really believe it’s the right thing to do, considering the circumstances.”
And because she didn’t disagree with him, she let the subject drop. For now. But she wouldn’t let it go indefinitely. Cal needed to come to terms with his past.
To let hurts heal.
And she loved him enough to help him get there.
Just like he’d helped her.
She pulled back, staring up at him.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost. Just my father in me.”
“What?”
“I was just thinking that I wasn’t going to let you off the hook over Rose and Emma Sanderson because I know you still have healing to do and…oh, my gosh, Cal, am I just like my father? Controlling and manipulative and—”
“You, my sweet, are just you. A piece of your father and of your mother, and mostly just the unique human being you were born to be. As to the rest, we all step into the lives of those around us, if we care enough. If we think we can help. Like I did with my dad all these years.”
“And like Frank did when he came to see me.”
“Right.”
“So, maybe, in his own way, my dad cares. A little.”
“I think he does.”
“Okay, we’ll go with that. Makes putting up with him easier.”
“We’ve already won where your father’s concerned, Morgan.”
“How’s that?”
“By agreeing to let him pay for our wedding.”
“And how does that make us victorious?” They’d wanted a very small, very quick exchanging of vows that was private to them and Sammie and Frank and made everything legal as quickly as possible.
“Because by agreeing to the wedding, he’s going to be there.”
“And?”
“He’s giving you away to me, and what more could either of us want from him?”
Morgan laughed. And hugged him. And knew, as she pressed her lips to his, that her professor had not only become her intended, and her lover, but he’d also become her very best friend.
* * * * *
The next book in Tara Taylor Quinn’s new trilogy,
IT HAPPENED IN COMFORT COVE,
takes you to…Comfort Cove, the Massachusetts town rocked
by a crime twenty-five years ago.
A crime some people have never forgotten….
A DAUGHTER’S STORY will introduce you
to Emma Sanderson. She’s the older sister of Claire,
the child who went missing—and daughter of Rose,
the still-grieving mother. Emma, too,
/> is looking for answers. What she isn’t looking for is love,
not after her fiancé’s bitter and profound betrayal.
And yet she finds it…in the most unlikely place
she could have imagined.
A DAUGHTER’S STORY by Tara Taylor Quinn
will be available in October 2012.
Keep reading for an excerpt of Unraveling the Past by Beth Andrews!
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Superromance.
You want more than just romance! Harlequin Superromance stories are filled with intense relationships, real-life drama and the kinds of unexpected events that change women’s lives—for the better—forever.
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CHAPTER ONE
WHEN JESSICA TAYLOR lost her virginity three months and six guys ago—after fiercely guarding it for fifteen years—she’d been stone-cold sober.
She hadn’t made that mistake again.
Her stomach rolled. From the Jack Daniel’s, she assured herself. She should’ve stuck with beer. It always gave her a nice, mellow buzz without making her want to puke. Mostly because she knew her limit. Whiskey was a new beast, one she hadn’t figured out her tolerance to yet.
But Nate had been so sweet when she’d arrived at the party a few hours ago, teasing her into trying J.D. and Diet Coke, making sure her glass was always full, adding more soda when she choked, her eyes watering at the first taste.
Yeah, he was a real prince.
A cold sweat broke out along her hairline. Her stomach churned again. Because of the alcohol. It had nothing to do with her being on her back in the middle of the freaking woods.
She stared up at the moon peeking through the branches of the trees and pretended she was somewhere else, anywhere else, doing anything except what she was doing. That she wasn’t wasted—yet again. And that Nate Berry, with his floppy, pop-star hair and tight circle of friends, really liked her. Cared about her. That he wasn’t using her.
That she wasn’t letting him use her.
Her skin grew clammy. Prickled with the cold. Nate’s fingers clenched her hips, his face pressed against her neck. He was just another boy. And this was just another meaningless, drunken hookup in what was quickly becoming a long line of meaningless, drunken hookups.
Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. No feeling sorry for herself. She had every right to have sex with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. It was her body after all. Her choice to give it to some guy or not.
She was in control.
Her back and butt scraped against the rough earth. Her neck was stretched back, her hair caught between the crown of her head and the ground, pulling painfully each time he moved. She just wanted it to be over. Wanted to pretend it had never happened in the first place. Just like all the other times.
Clutching his arms, she lifted her hips to keep from getting the mother of all brush burns, to stop the contents of her stomach from sloshing. She inhaled deeply, breathed in the scent of Nate’s cologne and the pungent smell from the bonfire in the clearing outside the trees. His grip tightened, his nails digging into her skin as he groaned hoarsely and shuddered then finally—finally—stilled.
Thank God.
He collapsed on top of her, surprisingly heavy for a guy who looked as if he’d never heard of carbs, let alone ate any. His heart beat frantically against her chest, his breath hot and ragged against her shoulder. They had connected in the most elemental way. And still she felt alone. Always alone.
Her throat closed. Without a word, without a kiss or a murmured endearment or even an outright lie about how fantastic it’d been, how fantastic she was, Nate climbed to his feet. He turned his back and adjusted his clothes.
The cool night air washed over her bare skin. She shivered but couldn’t find the energy or the care to cover herself. After she’d lost her virginity to a smooth-talking college freshman, she’d stopped believing guys’ lines. Had quickly learned they’d do and say anything to get into a girl’s pants.
Yeah, she’d learned. But she hadn’t stopped hoping, couldn’t stop wishing that each time would be different. That, when it was all over, the guy she’d been with would think she was…special. Instead, once she gave them what they wanted, they all thought she was trash.
She was starting to wonder if they were right.
As she yanked up her jeans, shouts of excitement from the party still going strong reached them. The bonfire illuminated the colorful graffiti on the huge rocks that formed a barrier between the woods and what passed for civilization around here. Flames shot high into the air—probably from someone tossing gasoline onto the fire.
What a bunch of idiots.
“Come on,” Nate said, facing her as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “Let’s go. Sounds like the party’s getting wicked wild.”
Jess snorted. “Yeah.” She lurched to her feet and swayed. He held out a hand to steady her but she slapped him away. She didn’t want him touching her again. “I’m sure it’s a crazy wild time,” she continued, her words slurring. “At least by this town’s standards.”
“Mystic Point not good enough for you?”
Okay, so she’d pissed him off, either with her comment or her slap. Good.
She rolled her eyes—and immediately wished she hadn’t when she almost tipped over. “Relax. God, why is everyone so defensive about this place?”
“Maybe we don’t like outsiders slamming our town.”
Outsider. That was her. And she was glad. She didn’t want to belong here. She just wanted to go home.
“There’s a whole big world out there,” she said, waving her arms. “Places where parties are held in actual houses instead of in the middle of nowhere surrounded by some stupid rocks.”
She’d much preferred last week’s party at the secluded part of the beach. The one and only thing she liked about Mystic Point was its proximity to the water. She loved the sound of the waves crashing on shore, the smell of salt water, the power of the ocean. But word had spread that the local cops had gotten wind of the underage drinking going on there and were going to increase their patrols of that area.
Which is how she ended up at some old quarry at the edge of town.
“If you hate it here so much, why don’t you go back to Boston?” Nate’s tone was snide, superior, as if he knew damn well why she was stuck here.
He thought he was better than her because he had a normal family, a mom who didn’t spend all her time so strung out she barely remembered she even had a kid. A dad who not only acknowledged him, but spent time with him.
Jess’s mom couldn’t even say for sure which of her lowlife boyfriends had knocked her up.
Her hands curled. He was right. She did hate it here. And she hated Nate, too. Him and all his friends with their small-town attitudes and stupid cliques. They’d all heard about her past—nothing was sacred in a small town, after all. They’d discussed her. Judged her. And found her lacking. Even if she’d wanted to fit in, she’d never had the chance.
Several car headlights flashed twice then remained on, the brightness cutting through the trees. Jess squinted against the glare.
“What’s the matter, Nate?” a male voice called. “Having problems…performing?”
“Dude, I bet she knows all sorts of tricks to help with that,” another guy yelled.
“S
he should,” a girl added gleefully, “she’s had enough practice. She spends more time on her back than her feet.”
Laughter erupted and a moment later, the lights shut off. But not before she saw the grin on Nate’s face. Saw how little he really thought of her.
Bastard.
With a low growl that, if she wasn’t careful, could easily turn into a sob, Jess picked up his sweatshirt and threw it at his face.
He caught it before it could make contact. “What’s your problem?” he asked. “They’re just joking around.”
“I don’t have a problem.” But everyone else did. They were too small-town boring and uptight. She started walking deeper into the woods.
He grabbed her arm, stopping her so fast, the entire world tilted. She clamped down on the urge to vomit.
“The party’s this way,” he said.
Once the trees stopped spinning, she jerked away. “Get off me.” No one touched her unless she wanted them to, and he’d lost that right. “I’m leaving.”
Her voice broke and she prayed he didn’t notice.
“All right,” he said slowly, as if trying to calm her down, “if that’s what you want.” This time, he reached for her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
She crossed her arms. “Why?”
He sighed heavily and glanced back at the party. “Because you’re drunk and shouldn’t be wandering around the woods at night.”
“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll die of exposure or get attacked by a wild animal and you’ll be blamed?” Though she gave him plenty of time to deny it, he didn’t. All he cared about was getting into trouble if something happened to her. “Go back to the party. I’m sure you’re dying to tell everyone what a stud you are.” She raised her voice. “But you might want to leave out the part about how it lasted a whole five minutes.”
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