It was a start, he told himself. All he needed now was time.
The bedroom was still shrouded in soft gray velvet when Morgan awakened, his mind instantly alert and his body tensed and ready. One whiff of danger, and he would be up and moving.
But this time it wasn't danger that had jerked him awake. At least, not the kind that a man could fight with action. Raine was snoring. Soft little puffs of air that tickled his neck. He smiled into the darkness and enjoyed thinking about teasing her the next morning.
Already he was beginning to learn how to accommodate her tossing and turning next to him. When she moved, he moved. He liked the feel of her body next to his, and felt uneasy when she wasn't close.
At the moment her head was pillowed on his shoulder and her belly tucked against his side, one small hand still tangled in the hair on his chest. She'd fallen asleep playing with that hair, teasing him with her fingertips and teeth.
It pleased him to remember how cocky she'd been. And how wonderfully uninhibited. Her nightshirt was still puddled on the floor where she'd tossed it, forgotten after her enthusiastic seduction. His lady had been as lusty as any courtesan once she'd gotten over her initial embarrassment.
He'd been very thoroughly tumbled and—
Jeez, what was that?
A kick, he realized an instant later. Right in his ribs. One of the babies had gotten him good. He sucked in his breath, then let it out slowly. The kid had some power behind that little foot, all right. He'd be lucky if he didn't end up black and blue.
Raine sighed, and he waited for her to waken. Instead, she smiled in her sleep as though taking pleasure in her son's muscle.
Her son. But not his.
Damn.
He'd opened a door tonight. It was as though he were poised on an important threshold. Behind him were a lot of years—some good, some lousy, a lifetime of decisions he couldn't change. Sacrifices that had seemed necessary at the time seemed foolish to him now.
Ahead was … what?
A real home where his clothes hung next to Raine's and he didn't have to stop to get his bearings when he stumbled out of bed in the middle of the night to use the bathroom?
A feeling of belonging? Of permanence and warmth?
Love?
He closed his eyes and let that thought settle. It scared him to think that it might actually be possible.
A home. Twin sons. Raine.
The thought shimmered in his head like a brilliant dream. A fantasy just beyond his reach. His stomach twisted, and he felt a rush of soul-deep longing.
It would take some doing. He knew that full well. Raine could be stubborn. But so could he.
If she wanted solid and dependable, that's what he'd give her. If she wanted trustworthy, that's what he'd be. Maybe she didn't love him as much as she had once, but he'd never once doubted her belief in his integrity. Hadn't she told him tonight that he was one of the good guys?
Hell, yes. Maybe it wasn't all he craved, but it was a start. A man could do anything when he had the respect of a woman like Raine.
He'd be the best damn husband in the state of… Where the hell was he? Oregon? Yeah, right.
The best husband in the whole damn state of Oregon.
"Count on it," he whispered into her soft little ear. She murmured something and snuggled closer. He felt an odd niggling in the back of his mind. If you leave, you lose, a voice taunted. Think about that when you're feeling so damned pleased with yourself, hotshot.
The room was suddenly ice-cold.
Chapter 14
« ^ »
He woke her with a kiss that tasted like coffee—and a smugly masculine smile that had her feeling deliciously warm all the way to her toes. He was apparently fresh from a shower and a shave, and the bare skin of his arms and chest smelled like her shower moisturizer. Had he used the pink scrubber? she wondered, grinning to herself.
Bemused and as relaxed as any woman could be seven months into pregnancy, Raine blinked up at him from the nest of covers and yawned.
She'd slept soundly all night long. A luxury these days.
And, she realized with a sense of wonder, she'd slept late.
It was well past dawn, her usual time to wake. Sunshine slanted through the thin slats, casting stripes of golden droplets on the dark silk of the duvet. The bad-tempered Steller's jay that lived in her giant Photinia bush was already setting up a ruckus. The air was already warm in the bedroom, holding the promise of another hot day.
"Mornin', sugar. How're you and the gang feelin'?" Morgan asked as he bent closer to prop a pillow behind her back.
"It's too soon to tell," she mumbled as he helped her sit up.
His eyes crinkled as he retrieved the mug he must have set on the night table when he came in. "Would coffee help?"
"Immensely."
"Careful, it's hot," he warned as he turned the mug so that she could grasp the handle.
"Hot or cold, it's coffee."
She inhaled the rich aroma of the steam and sighed in greedy pleasure. He watched as she took a careful sip, then cocked one eyebrow. Morgan had never made her coffee before. She'd always been up first on his visits, eager to make him feel welcome. It was a new experience to have him pampering her.
"Too strong?"
It was sludge. "It's perfect," she told him with a grin. "Just the way I like it."
"You take it black, right?"
Only when she ran out of milk—and she never ran out of milk. "Yes, black."
Actually, it wasn't bad, she decided as she took another sip. She stretched her legs, feeling them slide over the warm sheets. Her body was slightly stiff from the rigors of their lovemaking. And delightfully sensitized.
"Sore?" he asked, watching her carefully. Looking for signs of regret? she wondered.
"A little," she admitted. "I'm not used to so much … exercise."
He sat down on the side of the bed and grinned. "You look very pleased with yourself, wife."
He ran a finger over the curve of her jaw, his touch gentle in spite of the calluses on his skin. Unable to stop herself, she leaned into his touch. He flattened his hand against her cheek and used his thumb to caress her mouth.
"Are you planning a safari?" she teased, directing a pointed look at his khaki shorts. Made of rugged twill, they had pockets everywhere, and fitted his hips with a satisfying snugness. His legs were long and densely muscled under soft hair bleached to pale gold by the sun.
His mouth slanted as she rubbed two fingers over his thigh. "Yep. To the nearest bakery—as soon as I get your car keys and directions."
"Ah, the mighty hunter, always prepared."
She took another sip, and he watched the cup all the way to her lips. It pleased her to see the way his eyes darkened and his breathing changed.
"You want bagels or Danish?" he asked when she swallowed.
"Danish."
She watched him over the rim of her cup while her fingers traced lazy swirls over the hard, warm muscle below the hem of his shorts. When she pushed her fingertips beneath the heavy material, his gaze narrowed.
"And the directions?"
She heard tension in his voice now. It was a heady feeling to realize just how easily she could affect him.
"Take Mill Works to Greenleaf. Turn left, seven blocks down on the right. Heavenly Daze Bakery and Deli." She pushed her fingers higher against his thigh, and he sucked in hard.
"My car keys are in my purse."
His eyes were the color of heated bronze. "Where's your purse?"
"Over there." She shifted her gaze to the right. Her soft gray suede bag hung from an old brass hat rack, along with a backpack and her robe.
"Anything else you need?"
She arched her eyebrows. "What do you have in mind?"
His mouth twitched. "You'd be surprised."
She forced herself to take another sip. A growing excitement made it difficult to concentrate. She wanted to feel him filling her again. It astonished her to realize how much the balance of
power had shifted between them. Funny how much difference an impending divorce made, she thought.
"I like surprises."
Was that sultry purr really her voice? She inhaled slowly, watching the amusement gathering in his eyes. She saw doubt there, too, and wariness. Emotions she'd never seen in him before. But it was the slow bloom of heat in his dark pupils that had her breath catching.
"You're actin' mighty bold for a lady sittin' there without a stitch on under that sheet you got pulled up to that stubborn chin of yours," he murmured gently as he took the cup from her hand.
"Hey, that's my coffee," she protested in a voice too breathless to sting.
Instead of answering, he set the mug on the table with careful precision, then reached for her. When his mouth found hers, his eyes were already closing, the lashes twin crescents of dusty gold against his tanned cheekbones.
Pleasure jolted though her the instant she felt his lips. She felt a curl of heat and a rush of need. But when she reached up to link her arms around his neck, he drew back.
"My turn to be severe with you, my sweet little tease," he murmured, his eyes glittering with desire.
"Aha."
He removed her arms from his neck and placed them palms down on the bed, then held them there. "I need you, Raine. More than I should."
"Show me." Her throat felt thick.
"Yes, ma'am." His mouth was soft at first, then more insistent as he made a thorough exploration of her lips, her throat, the sensitive skin below her ears.
His teeth were insistent and eager as he drew her earlobe into his mouth, then took small nipping bites. She gasped, unaware until now of the exquisite sensitivity of that part of her anatomy.
Desperate, she slipped her hands from beneath his and grasped his shoulders. Once again, he drew her arms to her sides, refusing to let her hurry him. He was in control, yet it seemed as though it was her needs driving him, her soft moans guiding him. Her pleasure that was paramount, even though he was powerfully aroused. The hard ridge straining against the fly of his shorts was proof of that. Yet, when she moved to touch him, he restrained her.
"I know now why our ancestors thought of pregnant women as goddesses," he murmured, sliding one hand over her swollen belly. She moaned at the pure bliss of his hard palm rubbing her taut skin.
"Beautiful, beautiful Raine."
He pushed the sheet to her waist, exposing her breasts. When his fingers touched her breasts, she pushed against his hands, driven by pulses of pleasure and need. Her skin burned. Her nipples ached. His fingers were deft, arousing her to the point of frenzy before moving on to another spot, another ache.
"Please," she whispered, desperate to feel the hard length of him entering her.
"Soon," he whispered before fastening his mouth over one breast. He suckled gently at first, then with an urgency that sent fire arrowing into her. When he shifted to the other breast, she cried out in frustration and joy, her hands escaping his to thread with desperate need into his thick golden hair.
Tiny pinpricks of pleasure and pain assaulted her nipple, and she writhed uncontrollably. She fought to escape his grip, desperate to free him from the prison of cloth separating them.
He sucked in hard when her fingers brushed his rigid flesh, and his cheeks turned a dusky red.
"Not yet," he grated, his harsh tone matching the tension in his face.
Morgan fought his own raging hunger, taming it by sheer will as he feasted on her mouth, the fullness of her breasts, the hard nipples. When she was moaning steadily, he began lapping her with his tongue, determined to taste every salty, slick inch of her.
For her, he told himself. Her pleasure.
But part of him knew he was deliberately branding her with his hands and his mouth and tongue. Claiming her the only way he knew how. Imprinting himself on her so thoroughly, she wouldn't be able to go through with the divorce.
Maybe he wasn't as smart or as cultured or as pedigreed as other men she knew or might know, but no man who breathed could want her more. Or be more determined to make her happy.
"Morgan, please, please. I need you. I need you." Her desperate little cries threatened his control. He took a moment to shore it up, then, blood pounding, he eased her down onto the mattress. She shuddered as he lowered his head to kiss the most intimate part of her.
He found her hot and damp, and the knowledge that she was ready for him both thrilled and humbled him. Using his fingers and his lips, he worshiped her until she was writhing beneath him.
Raine was mindless, carried on a wild, surging wave. Her breath swooshed from her as she crested, shuddering, gasping. Her hands opened and closed, tugging at his hair. He didn't stop. The pleasure went on and on. She felt the muscles of her legs quivering, but she was powerless to stop the shaking.
The blood swam in Morgan's head as he felt the rake of her nails against his scalp. He felt her dissolve again, her urgent cries filling him with a wild happiness. He'd never known this depth of desire, not even with her. It was magic. It was holy.
Touching her only with his mouth, he rid himself of his shorts and briefs, kicking them aside. His arousal sprang free, harder than he would have thought possible.
"Hurry, Morgan," she pleaded, her voice a hot gasp.
Straddling her, he lifted her hips and felt her heat beckoning him closer. Teeth gritted against the need to plunge into her with one hard thrust, he exerted every ounce of his will to enter slowly.
Her body closed around him, hot and ready. His vision blurred, and his head pounded. And then she was crying his name.
He seated himself fully and felt himself explode into her in wave after wave until he was empty and sated.
It took him a moment to realize she was crying. Guilt tore into him, and he wanted to die.
Careful not to weigh her down, he eased up her body until he could take her in his arms. Sobs racked her and tears ran down her flushed cheeks.
"Baby, I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "God, I'm sorry. Don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry. Don't hate me for wanting you too much to go slow."
She stopped him with the touch of two fingers against his mouth. "I love you, you idiot," she murmured, laughing and crying at the same time. "I tried so hard to stop, but I can't."
He let out a heartfelt sigh that seemed to come from deep inside him. "Thank heaven for small favors," he murmured, kissing her temple.
Raine wondered if she would ever be able to move again. Her bones seemed to have dissolved sometime between the first and fourth orgasm.
"This is serious, Morgan. How can I divorce a man I love?"
"You can't."
He sounded so cocksure. So confident, as though all their problems had been swept away. She knew better. Admitting her love to herself and to him had only made them more complex.
"But your job…"
She felt him tense. "I'll make it right, Raine."
"And the babies? They'd have your name if we stayed together, but they can't have your blood."
"We'll work it out," he said gruffly. "I promise."
Tears pricked her eyes again as she nodded. When they dripped onto his chest, she licked them away. And was surprised to find they tasted bitter.
It was the fourth Sunday that Morgan had spent in Oregon. The full moon had come and gone. So had the Fourth of July, celebrated on Mill Works Ridge with fireworks and a block party barbecue. Raine was three weeks into her eighth month, and Prudy was still pregnant.
The entire neighborhood was jumpy. Stacy checked on her twice a day, sometimes more. As the resident medical expert Boyd worked overtime soothing anxious females and reassuring his fellow males. Still, Case's normally sanguine mood won beginning to fray at the edges. According to Don Petrov, every time the phone rang at work, Case all but leapt for the receiver. In addition, he'd taken to wearing an extra beeper, in case one failed.
Sweltering in the heat, Raine sat in the shadiest part of the Randolphs' backyard, idly petting the butterscotch cat snooz
ing in her lap and watched Case and Morgan standing in the center of an amazing array of colorful pipes, swings and gleaming steel hardware, arguing about the proper way to put together Chloe's new jungle gym.
It was the first time she'd ever seen Morgan doing anything remotely mechanical, and she was fascinated by the aggressive way he was approaching the task. It was all a matter of following directions, he'd declared several times, the thick instruction booklet clasped firmly in one large hand.
Case seemed equally confident. His method seemed more centered in intuition. And good old common sense.
"Just like a cop," Prudy muttered, fidgeting restlessly in the chair next to Raine's. "Case doesn't believe in the empirical method."
Dressed in one of Case's old tank tops and a pair of cerise maternity shorts, Prudy looked hot and tired and rumpled. After a brief, but intense argument, she had finally convinced her daughter to settle in for a nap.
"Case is just anxious. He'll be fine as soon as you deliver."
"If I deliver," Prudy grumbled, rubbing her swollen belly. "I was almost two weeks early with Chloe. Now I'm two weeks late—at least. This little one is just being coy."
Raine offered her a look of genuine sympathy. With each day that passed, she was learning more and more about the disadvantages of carrying two babies in a space designed for one.
"I thought you were going to talk to Luke about inducing labor."
Prudy grimaced. "I did. He's 'considering' it."
"When do you see him again?"
Prudy glanced down at her grossly distended belly. "Can't be too soon for me," she said with a long-suffering sigh.
Raine laughed. "Let me rephrase that. When's your next appointment?"
"Tomorrow. Case is taking the day off to go with me."
Prudy's gaze rested on her husband's tanned back. Both he and Morgan had stripped off their shirts shortly after bolting together the first few parts of the complicated apparatus. Case was wearing cutoff jeans. Morgan sported his favorite khaki shorts, the pockets of which were presently stuffed with various tools cadged from Boyd MacAuley's well-equipped tool caddy.
Being an especially perceptive man, Boyd himself was nowhere in sight, having taken Stacy and the girls to the coast for a long, and well-deserved, weekend away.
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