She jogged up the stairs to her bedroom, kicked off her shoes, and stripped away her clothes. She threw on her two-piece and tied a wrap at her hips. Simply walking through the house barefoot—feeling the oriental carpeting on the stairs under her toes, then the cold tile of the foyer, and finally the warmer hardwood of the kitchen—soothed her frayed nerves and made her feel grounded. By the time she strode through the door leading out to the back gardens with a tall glass of iced water in one hand and a beach towel in the other, she felt steadier if not entirely at peace.
Morgan put her glass down on a small table at the side of the pool. She draped her towel and cover-up over the back of the lounge chair next to it. Then she turned and dove cleanly into the refreshingly cool water.
Twenty minutes later, she stood poolside. The exercise had quieted her troubled thoughts. She considered how fortunate she was to call Seascape her home.
With her towel draped around her neck, she absently finger-combed her hair while appreciating the rear view of the house. She had come out through the French doors which, when opened, connected the solarium, with its walls of floor to ceiling windows, to the outdoor living area. The two story turret housing the staircase split the rear façade in half. It was capped by a railed widow’s walk which afforded breathtaking ocean vistas for those without fear of height. The other side was occupied by an oversized bay window which allowed light to flood the kitchen on clear days. The clapboard siding was meticulously painted in subtle shades of yellow which emphasized different architectural features. The intricate trim work coated in pristine white. The effect was beautiful, a classic seaside New England home.
Morgan pivoted, turning her attention to the grounds. The property-lines were delineated by eight-foot fieldstone walls which ensured complete privacy. The half-acre between those boundaries and the pool area had originally been left undisturbed until Aaron had approached his talented son. Philip had transformed the untamed space with verdant plantings of indigenous species and meandering paths leading to unexpected alcoves. Each of these private spaces was furnished with a bench or cluster of seats which encouraged quiet contemplation, something Morgan often felt in need of lately.
She had something else in mind, though. Although Seascape was, in fact, next to the sea, it had no beach. Unlike many other New England towns which took their name from the fancies of their often-homesick settlers, Rock Bluffs earned its designation because its shoreline was, literally, made up of rocks and cliff faces. True to form, Aaron had no intention of allowing such an inconsequential detail to stand in the way of his wife, Mary’s, dream of enjoying her own private seashore. A ten-foot swath of land surrounding the patio for the free form pool was painstakingly cleared of plants and rocks. They were replaced with truckloads of white sand.
Morgan stood on Mary’s beach, luxuriating in the feel of the fine granules between her toes. She took her towel from around her neck and spread it out before sitting on it. Angling back slowly, she indulged in the shifting surface beneath her, wriggling in until every bump and curve was snug and secure.
The surf surged in the distance. Mindlessly, she traced her fingertips through the sand at the side of her towel. The sun’s warmth caressed her skin making her limbs feel deliciously heavy. A wicked thought presented itself.
What would it be like to feel that everywhere?
Morgan opened her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow. She looked around guiltily, as if there might be someone around who could read her thoughts. After reassuring herself she was, indeed, completely alone, Morgan stood in the middle of her towel, dropped her bikini bottom and kicked it to the side. Then she pulled her top up over her head and, with a bold flick of her wrist, sent it sailing toward the patio doors.
With a self-congratulatory smile, she settled back on her towel, reveling in her brave abandon. She closed her eyes and felt heat blanket her skin. Heavenly. It was her last coherent thought before her mind drifted to the mystical place between wakefulness and sleep.
* * * *
Dylan was annoyed. There had been no response to his knock and, although it made him feel like a stalker, he’d felt compelled to walk around the front of the house to peer into the garage window. Morgan’s car was right where he expected it to be. Trudging back to the front door, he had to admit he couldn’t blame her if she was ignoring him. But he was determined.
After ringing the bell and knocking a second time, Dylan hooked his fingers over the door handle. It gave way under the slight pressure and the front door swung open.
For a moment, Dylan was besieged by the image of Morgan walking in unexpectedly on a mass of burglars when she’d returned. He’d never forgive himself if he’d forced her home early only to stumble upon intruders, or worse. Warily, he entered the foyer.
“Morgan!”
No answer. Not a sound. The only thing it told him for certain was the Tibbes were not home. The point did nothing to quell his rising anxiety.
His body was tensed for action. The tiniest sounds echoed in his ears as he strained to hear Morgan’s cry. He grimly continued his search through the first floor, finding nothing. He had decided to continue upstairs when he glimpsed a splash of color outside the French doors connecting the solarium to the backyard. When he got closer he realized it was an article of clothing.
He went out onto the patio and bent to pick up the bathing suit top. He straightened and scanned the pool area. On the far side he saw what he assumed was the bottom piece. And beyond, a swatch of auburn was visible over the rise of the pool decking. He strolled toward it feeling slightly lightheaded at having found Morgan safe and sound.
The material he held slipped from between his suddenly bloodless fingers when he saw she was lying in the sand wearing nothing, but a secret grin. Her arms framed her face in graceful, shameless arcs. The heavy waves of her hair were fanned out around her head, like she had run her arms underneath before resting them in their current position. Her skin was glowing. Her stomach, enticingly dimpled by her belly button, gently sloped toward another more tightly curled thatch of auburn. As secluded as she was, Dylan noted with a smile she had bent one knee and draped it over her other leg, partially obscuring the interesting triangle.
He was unable to think, to breathe, to look away.
Her sleeping form stoked his desire to a raging hunger which soon bordered on pain. Sinking to his knees at her feet, he continued to greedily drink her in, his eyes roaming unimpeded over her creamy skin. He took in the alluring rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. Their dusky pink nipples made his fingertips itch to touch.
He dragged his gaze upward, taking in the beautiful lines of her face. In slumber, her long eyelashes, high cheekbones and full lips made her appear young and innocent, and achingly vulnerable. She was all of those things, of course, especially since she was unaware of his presence. Dylan knew he should go. Slip away without her ever knowing he had stolen time with her. Precisely as he made the decision, Morgan opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted.
He expected her to scramble away, possibly hurl a few well-chosen expletives at him. Instead, a mysteriously wicked smile curved her lips. With a devilish twinkle in her eyes, Morgan came up on her knees before him. She cupped his head with both hands and pulled him toward her.
“You don’t want me,” he managed in desperation, the warmth of her mouth a fraction of an inch from his.
Morgan looked deeply into his eyes.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted,” she insisted before closing the space between them.
He braced himself. But the erotic power of her sweet lips moving over his in intent, but unpracticed kisses, made his reasoned thoughts scatter. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she coaxed and cajoled. His mouth was the first part of him to capitulate, opening on a groan and inviting more. He was instantly rewarded by the feel of her tongue gliding between his lips. He responded in kind barely aware of Morgan sliding off his jacket and letting it fall to
the ground behind him as he plundered her mouth. He felt her fingers, fluttering like butterfly wings down his middle as she nimbly unbuttoned his shirt, parting the fabric to place her palms flat against his bared skin once the job was done.
He was drowning in her lush heat. Curiously, he felt a certain peace at what he knew would be his inevitable annihilation. It didn’t seem to matter. He was going to have her.
An image of what they must look like assailed him. Kneeling in the sand, Morgan naked before him while he remained dressed for the office from the waist down, his tailored shirt untucked and gaping. Through shuttering eyes, he caught a glimpse of his crisp French cuff, the silver link winking in the sunlight against the bronzed blush of her cheek as he reached for her. The battle was lost. It was his last rational thought.
A sound he had never heard before escaped his lips. He caught her up in a powerful embrace, one hand at the back of her head and one, fingers splayed wide, cupping her backside. He adjusted her to him until his erection found the haven of the vee between her thighs. She whimpered into his mouth and thrust toward him. Dylan tightened his hold.
“Be still,” he demanded, the sexual demon taking over, desperate to explore the bounty in his arms without distraction.
He clutched at her hair, arching her away from him until her breasts were exposed to his hungry eyes. He watched with satisfaction as their peaks darkened and gathered. Then he dipped his head, strumming his lips over one, then the other, back and forth until she sighed. With gentle kisses, punishing suction and soothing caresses of his tongue, Dylan teased at her nipples until they were tight pebbles and she was mindlessly writhing in his arms. Her breaths had turned to moans and her moans to a deep hum. The luscious sound fueled his passion.
Holding her in position with the hand he had entwined in her hair, Dylan brought his other hand from around her body to place his fingertips on her forehead. Deliberately, he glided them over her face, her eyelids flickering beneath his touch. Her lips trembled and swelled beneath his wispy caress, but he didn’t hesitate in his downward descent.
The heat between her thighs compelled him. It obligated him. In the end, it must be utterly sated, quenched, gratified. And it would be, he knew, but only after he made her wait, wait until the time was right.
Slowly he continued, over Morgan’s chin, her neck and the indentation at the base of her throat. He thrilled at her wildly pounding pulse. He took a slight detour along the curve of her collarbone before brushing over her lovely breasts, their areolas gathering at the slight touch. Then he trailed over her quivering abdomen, simultaneously inching her away from him with a slight adjustment. He watched as his fingers disappeared between their bodies.
She was hot. So damn hot. And wet. There was no resistance as he felt his way between her slick thighs to effortlessly slide inside her. Morgan gripped his shoulders. She tried to move her head from side to side, but he held her steady. He wouldn’t let her expend any of it. He wanted it all trapped at her core, the desire, the want, the shrieking need of it.
Withdrawing, he ran his finger once, twice, three times along her swollen folds before thrusting inside her once more. She cried out, the muscles of her thighs bunched tight against his. He repeated the process and when he entered her again, Morgan called out his name.
“Dylan, please. Please. Please,” she begged him over and over as he stroked and plunged and tormented her.
Finally, he spread her wide with his fingers and placed his forefinger on her clitoris. An intense shock radiated through him. His eyes flew to her face. She was looking back at him, her eyes bright with arousal, color high in her cheeks.
He curved over her to run his tongue over her parted lips. They were inflamed from his kisses and her breath came in hot gasps as he plucked and thrummed her swollen flesh with his skilled fingertips.
Engrossed by the play of expressions on Morgan’s face, Dylan didn’t notice her hands had left his shoulders until he felt tugging on the zipper of his pants. Before he could think or act, Morgan closed her fingers along his hard length.
He inhaled sharply, every muscle going rigid. She simply held him, almost reverently cradling him, but it was more than enough to send his heart racing. His blood pounded through him with such force it drowned out even the sound of the surf beyond the gardens. He couldn’t breathe.
Paralyzed by the devastating sensations coursing through him, Dylan was seized by a now familiar and exquisite panic. Morgan was in his arms, again, and at his mercy. The exact place he didn’t want her to be. It had happened despite his intentions, despite his explanations, despite his resolve.
He tried to pull away, reason scouring him in a cold wash. But she held fast, freezing him in place. Her eyes flashed. Her hips thrust against his hand. It was a silent demand to yield and satisfy. The primitive and uncivilized part of him once again wrestled reason to the side. He could not stop.
Deliberately, he brought her back to the brink, keeping her there even as his every physical sensation funneled to the places they pleasured each other. He blocked out the increasingly erratic, but no less provoking, movements of her hands over his erection. Their lips touched, but did not move. Their breath mingled; hers was warm and sweet as he inhaled. His vision narrowed to the amber smolder of her eyes. Satisfied, he waited.
Abruptly, Morgan’s body angled forward, her head coming down on his shoulder. She brought one hand from between them, her arm wrapping around his back, her fingers threading through his hair. Dylan was aware of all of these things on some level, but not in any coherent way.
Because from the moment he felt the first spasm of her climax, his body’s rhythm fused with hers. The emanating waves of her orgasm crashed through him, sweeping him over the edge.
“Morgan!” Her name wrenched from him as he spent himself beside her.
It was an appeal for the impossible.
Chapter 11
Morgan felt a chill on her skin. A tremor traveled down her body and a warm band of skin and muscle tightened around her. Dylan.
Was he really lying next to her? She felt the weight of a leg bent over her thighs, the pressure of a foot pressed along the outside of her knee. An arm draped across her chest; fingers cupped her breast. Turning her head, she inhaled deeply. The unique sent she associated with him filled her lungs making her heart beat accelerate. Still, she kept her eyes shut unwilling to dispel the dream.
“You’re cold,” he whispered against her.
She shook her head, denying reality even as her teeth began to chatter. His dress pants were rough against the smooth tops of her legs as he began to disentangle himself from her. She grabbed onto his arm.
“Don’t!” she protested.
“Sweet,” he countered, his lips brushing her temple.
She knew his tone. He was chiding her for being irrational although, she noted, he had stopped trying to move and was cinching her closer.
“Morgan…” he sighed.
Screwing up her courage, she opened her eyes and there he was in the flesh. And looking at her with such regret the tears came before she felt the sadness. Turning in his embrace, she leaned over him, bringing her hand to his face. She let her gaze follow the tracings of her fingertips over his five o’clock shadow before meeting his eyes again. Dylan reached up brushing at her tears with the pad of his thumb.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly but steadily. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”
“No. Things are just more…” His focus dropped to her lips. “…complicated. And you are not to blame. We both lost our heads.”
“But I pushed you.”
“You asked for my help, and I walked out on you.”
“You walked away from me,” she corrected.
“I walked out,” he insisted. “I followed you home to apologize. I shouldn’t…”
“Shh.” Morgan put her fingertips over his lips. “It’s all right. I understand.”
“No it’s not.” Encircling her wrist, he lifted her
hand to kiss the palm before laying it on his chest. “I couldn’t hear you asking for help over my own desire. It wasn’t until I was on my way home I realized what you wanted from me.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “And it wasn’t this, either.”
“You couldn’t have known you would have found me in such an, um, receptive state.”
“No.” Dylan smiled briefly before opening his eyes and looking at her carefully. “You’re okay.”
Morgan couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement so she nodded silently.
“What happens now?” Before Dylan could answer a violent shiver ran through her.
“The first thing we’re going to do is get you inside.”
Reluctantly, Morgan let him go, crossing her arms over her chest as his warmth was replaced by a cool ocean breeze. She sat up and awkwardly took Dylan’s offered hand while trying to keep covered as he helped her to her feet.
“Here, this should help.”
She welcomed the weight of his shirt and watched as he ducked his head in front of her and worked the buttons. When he straightened, he rubbed her shoulders.
“Better?”
She managed a throaty, “Mmm hmm.”
Even though his efforts to warm her were totally innocent, Morgan couldn’t keep from reacting to his hands on her body. It didn’t help he stood in front of her barefoot and wearing only his dress pants, the muscles of his well-toned abdomen exposed by his half zipped fly and still unbuckled belt. In the growing dusk, Morgan took in his muscled chest, the salmon pink of his nipples, their puckered centers partially obscured by the dark curled hairs sprinkled liberally over his skin. The hair narrowed to a thin line which arrowed downward and out of view. She closed her eyes against the memory of the feel of him in her hands.
Morgan felt Dylan’s fingertips beneath her chin, gently tipping her face up toward him. She opened her eyes taking in his earnest blue gaze and the concerned rise of his brows.
“Would it help to know how badly I want to kiss you right now?”
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