by Lori Foster
What he wanted? Now that was a loaded question. From the second she’d taken his hand, he’d had a throbbing erection. Morgan seated himself, stretching out his long legs on either side of her, caging her in. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and her pale skin and the light color of her dress made her visible. She didn’t so much as move a muscle. He crossed his arms and considered her. “You’re different from Honey.”
“Night and day,” she admitted without hesitation, then explained, “we’re also very close. So what’s your point?”
“I wouldn’t want to see her hurt.”
Misty stiffened again, but the rigid posture just caused her breasts to be more noticeable. “Anyone who hurt her would have to answer to me.”
“Yet you think nothing of coming in here and flirting with my brothers, coming on to them—”
She suddenly inclined closer, and her voice was a near hiss. “I haven’t come on to anyone! I danced, but then so did everyone else at the reception. It’s what’s expected at a—”
Morgan leaned forward and caught her shoulders in his hands, keeping her bent close. Her skin was silky and warm, and he flexed his fingers almost involuntarily. “You also parade around the house all day without a bra, and barefoot.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he could feel her tremble. “It’s ninety degrees outside, Morgan! Most every woman I’ve seen since I arrived has been wearing a sundress or tank top without a bra.” She poked him in the chest, hard. “Maybe you should try wearing one to see how horribly uncomfortable they can be in this weather before you start judging me.”
Morgan thought that was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. He opened his mouth, but she quickly cut him off.
“And as for my bare feet, what of it? Don’t tell me you have a foot fetish?”
He hadn’t, not until he’d met her. He’d never even noticed a woman’s feet before. But Misty had small, narrow feet, and she painted her toenails a bright cherry red. They looked sexy as hell, and every time he saw her pretty little feet, he imagined them digging into the small of his back while he rode her hard, making her scream with intense pleasure.
He also knew in his gut he wasn’t the only male noticing. “You’re entirely too comfortable around my brothers.”
“Ha! I don’t think it’s your brothers you’re worried about at all.”
Because that was so close to the truth, even if he didn’t want to admit it, Morgan slowly stood. Misty tried to back up, but he had hold of her shoulders and she didn’t get far away from him. “You don’t think so?”
She hesitated, going cautious on him now that he was so close and towering over her. But then she lifted her chin with her usual bravado. “No. I think it’s…you.”
He nodded, and his pulse thrummed in his veins. “You’re right. It is me. But it’s also you.”
“No, I—”
He stepped so close her back came up against the smooth painted wall.
All the anger, all the frustration, abruptly shifted to pure sexual tension. Morgan couldn’t resist one second longer. With his fingertips, he touched her cheek, then her lips, gently, barely brushing, savoring her softness and the way she trembled in response. Touching her felt so right and made him feel downright explosive. She went utterly still, not moving, not even breathing.
In a raw whisper, he said, “There is absolutely—” he leaned closer “—no possible way—” her eyes drifted shut and she panted for breath “—I’m feeling all this on my own.”
“This?” The word was a mere whisper, sighed against his mouth.
“Lord, you make me hard, Misty.” And then he kissed her.
She held herself stiff for all of about two seconds before her mouth opened and her hands fisted on the lapels of his formal jacket. She moaned, a low, hungry, needy sound.
Morgan, who’d been successfully avoiding her for an entire week, was a goner.
2
INSANITY, Misty thought, feeling the hot delicious stroke of Morgan’s tongue, the slide of his large rough hands down her spine. He had her pulled so close, their bodies were practically fused together. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t known this even existed. Lord, the man knew how to kiss, knew how to move his hands and his legs and his…hips. Everything he did, every place he touched her, made her too hot, too hungry. Made her want more. And so far he hadn’t even let his hands wander that far.
But no sooner did that thought filter into her fogged brain than one of those large hands came up over her rib cage to close on her breast.
Her nipples immediately drew tight, and she pulled her mouth away to gasp at the incredible sensations his touch caused.
He groaned harshly, and a rough tremble traveled through his big body.
Stunned, somewhat disoriented by the unbelievable intensity, Misty whispered, “No…”
At that single word, not even said with much conviction, he froze. His hand opened slowly, as if it took great effort to get his fingers to obey. With his face pressed to the place where her shoulder and neck met, he struggled for air, and every muscle—pressed so closely to her—stiffened.
Then he stepped away.
The air positively throbbed between them, but still, he’d stopped the second she’d asked him to. The significance of that didn’t escape her; he was a remarkable man, very much in control of himself. Misty did her best to catch her breath, to stop staring at him in the darkness. She should leave, right now, but she couldn’t seem to get her feet to move. Every nerve ending in her body was still alive in a way she hadn’t known was possible.
“I won’t apologize.”
He sounded breathless, frustrated, on the verge of anger, and she swallowed hard, trying to calm her galloping heart. “I…I didn’t ask you to.”
Still without moving, he added, “This is going to be a problem.”
Again, she asked, “This?”
Several beats of silence passed, then suddenly he moved away from her and he actually laughed. “Come off it, Malone. You felt it as much as I did.” He turned back, looking for verification.
It she assumed was the incredible sexual pull. “If you mean…”
Through his teeth, he said, “I mean I touched you and you got so hot I feel singed. I kissed you and you sucked on my tongue and rubbed up against me and it was like throwing a match on gasoline. There’s enough goddamned heat in this room to start a bonfire.”
Misty sucked in her breath, shocked at the words, at the harsh vehemence of his tone, but unable to deny them. Part of her new determination in dealing with men was to be brutally honest—with herself and them. Sugarcoating things, faking things, had caused at least half of her present problems. Being too timid, too naive, had caused the other half. In order to get on with her life, she had to start facing things head-on.
A rough warning growl rumbled from deep in his throat. “Malone—”
“You’re right,” she hurried to assure him, unwilling to let him shock her with more of his brutal honesty. “And I’m sorry. You took me by surprise.”
“Bull.” He propped his hands on his hips and glared at her. “I’ve known from the day I met you how it’d be. Why the hell do you think I avoid you?”
Oh. That certainly explained a few things, she supposed. “I see. Well, I must not be as clever as you, because I thought you were a totally obnoxious, thoroughly unlikable jerk and I was thankful that you ignored me. I had no idea this—” she waved a hand, trying to come up with a word suitable to the loss of control and depth of sensation he’d sparked “—chemistry was between us. I wasn’t even aware something like this existed.”
He cursed again, but she didn’t let him interrupt her. “Now that I do know, trust me, I won’t let it happen ever again.”
Morgan seemed to measure her words. And then she saw his eyes narrow, his expression darken. He looked at her breasts, and she knew her nipples were still painfully hard. Without a word, he reached out a hand and gently brushed the backs of his knuckles across one s
ensitive tip, gliding easily over the satiny material of the dress. Misty drew in a sharp breath and felt a small explosion of erotic stimulation throughout her body.
Morgan whispered, “Oh, it’ll happen again, sweetheart, if you hang around. That’s why you need to finish your little visit and hightail it out of town just as fast as you possibly can. My control only goes so far, and it seems you have no control at all.”
The words were like a cold slap, reminding her of all her troubles, of how gullible she’d been, how utterly stupid.
She jerked away and bit her lip hard to keep herself from tearing up. No way would she let the big jerk see her cry. Much as she had hoped to regroup in Buckhorn, she could see that was now impossible. What she would do, she hadn’t a clue. But he was right, leaving was imperative. She had absolutely no desire to get involved with a man again, for any reason. Especially not a domineering, bullheaded behemoth like Morgan Hudson, a man who didn’t even like her, and in fact, seemed to disdain her.
Keeping her back to him, she drew a long, steadying breath. Then she reached for the door. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.” Despite her resolve, her voice quavered tenuously.
There was a slight pause. “Misty…”
He sounded uncertain, but she had no intention of discussing things with him. There was no one she could trust except Honey, and she wouldn’t ruin her sister’s current happiness for anything. After she got her life straightened out and made some plans that would hopefully carry her through the coming months, she could begin making confessions to her sibling.
The open door offered no relief from the heat; there wasn’t a single breeze stirring. Misty stepped onto the dewwet grass, then felt Morgan’s hand settle on her shoulder. “Wait a minute.”
She flinched at his tone but didn’t bother trying to move away from him. Just that simple touch, his hand on her shoulder, made her acutely aware of him as a man. She almost hated herself. “What now?”
She turned to face him, trying to look irritated when she was actually breathless. The moonlight was brighter. She could see his every feature—the strong, lean jawline, the harshly cut cheekbones. He was by far the most impressive male she’d ever seen, but then, his brothers were nothing to sneeze at. There must have been a mighty impressive gene pool somewhere to create all that masculine perfection.
He stared at her, not answering at first. He shook his head, distracted, and just when he started to speak, another voice intruded.
“There you are.”
Morgan looked up. “Casey. What in hell are you doing out here?”
Misty turned to see Sawyer’s son. At sixteen, Casey already showed signs of his own masculine superiority. He was tall, nearly six feet, and had the bone structure that promised wide shoulders and long, strong limbs.
“Dad wanted someone to find you and haul you back inside.”
Morgan shook his head. “And of course, you just naturally volunteered for the job.”
Casey chuckled. “Actually, Uncle Jordan and Uncle Gabe beat me to it, and they did seem pretty anxious to come out here and fetch you in, but Dad told me to go instead, on account of he said you wouldn’t slug me.”
Morgan threw an arm around his nephew, held him in a brief headlock and then started them all toward the door. “Don’t be too sure of that, boy. My affection for you is kinda thin at the moment.”
With a laugh, Casey said, “I’m not worried. I can still outrun you.”
“You think so, do you?”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m fast—and you’re getting old.” Casey ducked quickly under Morgan’s arm and came to Misty’s side. Walking backward, his grin wide, he said, “Dad also told me if you didn’t want Honey to get after you, I should walk Misty in and you should come in after.”
“He said all that, did he?”
“He said you wouldn’t want to shatter Honey’s skewed illusions, being as she doesn’t know the real you, yet.”
Casey was having a fine time of it, pestering his uncle. Misty smiled to herself, amused at their close camaraderie and a little wistful. Her own family consisted of Honey and her father, since her mother died when they were young. Her father had been overbearing and overcontrolling, cold, without the foundation of love that would have made those personality traits more bearable. If it hadn’t been for Honey, she didn’t think her childhood would have been at all tolerable.
Casey seemed to have a fantastic family foundation. It was easy to see why Honey had fallen in love with the whole clan.
Morgan stopped just out of reach of the patio, still in the shadows where the lights didn’t reach. “You go on in, Casey, and tell your dad I expect him to control his wife. We’ll be there in just a moment.”
“Dad said you’d say that, and then I was supposed to tell you he’s sending Uncle Gabe and Uncle Jordan out in two minutes.”
Morgan made a playful grab for Casey, but he jumped back, laughing. Holding up his hands, he said, “Hey, it was Dad, not me!”
Morgan reached for him again and Casey hurried to the door. After he opened it, he yelled back, “Two minutes, Uncle Morgan!”
“Damn scamp.”
Misty was still smiling, though she felt great sadness inside. “You’re all very close.”
“We helped to raise him. Sawyer got full custody when Casey was just a little pup, and between raising him and finishing med school, he would have been frazzled for sure if we hadn’t all pitched in. Not that it was a chore. Hell, Casey’s always been a great kid, even if his sense of humor is sometimes warped.”
Misty stared at him, dumbfounded. “You helped raise him?”
“Yeah, sure. Along with my mother and the others. What’d you think, that I was too reprehensible to be around a youngster?”
Actually that was exactly what she thought, but she kept the words to herself. “I was just…surprised. The idea of four men raising a baby…”
“Yeah, well, like I said, my mother taught us what we needed to know. But she felt real strong about Sawyer being involved as the dad, and that meant the rest of us just kinda chipped in. I was…let’s see. Nineteen at the time. I’ll admit, the diaper thing threw me for a while there, and having formula spit up on me wasn’t exactly a treat.” Then he grinned. “But the whole uncle bit really turned the girls on. Hell, every time I took Casey into town with me, they’d come on like a mob.”
Misty rolled her eyes. “What a lovely image.”
Morgan laughed, but then his laughter died. “Look, about what happened…”
“You already made yourself pretty clear, Morgan. I don’t think we need to beat it into the ground. I said I’d leave in the morning, and I will.”
He ignored that and sighed. “Malone, I care a lot about your sister. I wouldn’t want her upset.”
She could only stare at him. “You’re worried I’ll say something to Honey? What? Am I supposed to go tattle on you, is that it?”
Even in the dim light she could see the way he locked his jaw. “She wanted us to be friends.”
“Good God!” she exclaimed, and when he frowned she added, “All right, forget the disbelief. For your information, I happen to love my sister.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, and that includes disillusioning her about her new family.” She poked him in the chest, her frustration level going right out the window. Her entire life was presently in the toilet, and Morgan Hudson was worried about her discretion? Ha!
“As far as I’m concerned, Honey can think we got along like best pals. But until I can get out of here tomorrow morning, stay the hell away from me.”
She turned and stalked in, but at the door, she couldn’t resist looking back one last time at Morgan.
He stood there in the moonlight, head tilted toward the dark sky, eyes closed, jaw clenched. His big hands were knotted into fists on his hips. Misty felt herself shiver, even though the evening was oppressively hot.
She knew then that he was ri
ght. Tomorrow morning she would leave Buckhorn behind. Hopefully, she’d think of somewhere to stay in the meantime.
She’d spent all her savings fighting the criminal conviction, and lost. She was homeless, out of a job and with no prospects.
And that was the least of her problems.
IF MORGAN HADN’T been lying there awake, his body frustrated, his mind disturbed by sensual images, he might not have heard it. But he hadn’t slept a wink all night, too busy remembering the sweet taste of Misty, the way she’d felt pressed against him. Perfect. Willing. Hot. Though his head told him things had ended when they should, his imagination had insisted on conjuring up a different ending to the tale, and he’d been rock hard and hurting for more hours now than he cared to admit. It was like suffering the curse of wretched puberty all over again, and he had Misty Malone to thank for it.
The squeak came again, and Morgan recognized the sound as the porch swing that hung in the huge oak at the back of the house. Throwing off the sheet that covered him, he stalked naked to the open window and listened. His room was at one end of the house, opposite to Sawyer and Casey’s, with the entire living quarters in between so they all had privacy.
Morgan’s bedroom faced the lake, as did Sawyer’s. As did the porch swing.
Someone was out there and his gut instinct told him it was Misty. He felt it in his bones, by the way his heart beat faster, by the way his stomach knotted. Only Misty had ever had that intense effect on him, and he figured it was mostly because he had to deny himself. If she wasn’t related by marriage, if he could have spent a long, hot weekend with her, indulging all his cravings, he’d be able to get her out of his system.
But he couldn’t, and that was the only reason for his obsession. He was sure of it.
Morgan saw that the moon hadn’t completely set, even while dawn was struggling to break. He glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was barely five-thirty. What was she doing up so early, hanging around outside? Looking for more ways to torment him?
It took him a mere two seconds to decide to go see her. He knew all the reasons he shouldn’t, but something overrode them all, some basic need to spar with her one more time before the rest of the family would be there to pull him back.
