ALMOST EVERYTHING

by Williams, Mary J.

  Morgan didn’t know if India was the one. She might be. Yes or no, they deserved a chance to find out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ♫~♫~♫

  SEEMED LIKE MONTHS since they’d been alone instead of a few days. Morgan picked India up a mile from her home. The directions she gave were detailed, easy to follow. When he saw the dirt road barely visible from the main highway, he turned left. She ran from her hiding place and jumped into the passenger side of his truck.

  “Drive,” she hissed as she lay flat on the seat.

  Morgan didn’t argue. He did what she asked and drove.

  The truck wasn’t as fancy as her Mercedes. There were dents in the door and the once-red paint was faded and chipped. But the engine he and Sven spent a whole summer overhauling ran like a dream. He could count on the old Ford to get him wherever he needed to go.

  Once on the Reinhold Farms property, Morgan stayed clear of the main house, parking where no one could see unless they came looking. Even then, they would need to know the way.

  No reason to worry, according to India. She was covered until tonight. If she was home by eleven, no questions would be asked.

  Morgan led her through the trees. The path under their feet saw more four-legged traffic than human, but the way was clear and easy to follow. Hands clasped, fingers linked, the scent of fresh air and damp earth accompanied their every step, as though the forest welcomed their arrival.

  “I like my creature comforts. But I sometimes think if I were born in a different time, the life of a mountain man would suit me.”

  “Not me.” India was emphatic. “I want modern. Soft, clean sheets. Indoor plumbing. Roughing it for me is when the hotel doesn’t do room service after midnight.”

  “Pampered princess,” Morgan teased.

  “About some things, you bet. Don’t get me wrong. If I were hurled back through time, I’d adapt and survive.” She grinned. “There’s a big difference between what I can do and what I want to do.”

  “Understood.”

  “Besides, why dream of another time when what we have here and now is pretty fantastic.”

  Morgan brushed his lips over hers. Meant to be brief, the light kiss was followed by another, then another, deepening with intensity each time. Next thing he knew, India pushed him against a tree. Without breaking contact, her arms were wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist.

  Bits of rough, hard bark scraped at Morgan’s back, his cotton t-shirt providing little protection. He didn’t care and soon forgot everything except India’s warm, supple body. She was all at once soft and firm and smelled like a field of wildflowers in full bloom.

  India’s confidence in herself, her sexuality, rose with every kiss, every touch. She teased and taunted, rubbing against him, biting, licking, playing the game but making up her own rules as she went along.

  Unconcerned how many others came before, she didn’t ask the number or inquire how she compared. Morgan let her know with every look, every smile, every touch, she was the only one he wanted.

  “You ever fantasize about losing your virginity up against an eastern white pine?”

  “Not really.” India chuckled as her teeth nibbled his neck.

  “Wouldn’t be a good fit—so to speak,” Morgan said. To prove his point, he reluctantly set her on the ground. “If the moment happens, we’ll be under a sheet—soft, the way you prefer.”

  “Do I make you crazy?” India’s face lit up at the idea. “Push you to the brink of sanity until you lose control?”

  “Crazy, yes.” Morgan laced his fingers with hers and continued toward their destination. “My control wasn’t lost, but there was definite slipping.”

  “Not far enough to ravage me in the woods.” India frowned. “Who decided ravage was a sexy word?”

  “Didn’t know it was.”

  “Because you weren’t raised on highly suspect historical romances.”

  “And you were?” Morgan asked, surprised.

  “Our maid Honoria—she’s been with the family forever—reads them. Hides them in the pantry. By the bagful. I discovered them the year I turned thirteen. Quite the eyeopener for a sheltered girl on the cusp of puberty.”

  “Were your sensibilities warped by bad prose?”

  “Warped? No. Misled? Damn straight. I can’t say from experience. However, I doubt in real life many untouched, unschooled young misses of the Victorian era—or any other—experience multiple orgasms their first time out.”

  “Seems unlikely,” Morgan agreed.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Many romance authors are very talented writers—smoking hot sex scenes included. And I know the books are often hyper-exaggerated wish lists.” She shrugged. “What’s wrong with a little realism mixed in? I’ve weeded out the bad. Now, I know which authors can carve out a story with a mix of sensitivity, common sense, and heart.”

  Morgan decided then and there to have India make a list of her favorites. Whatever went on between the pages of the books she read, he felt the need to catch up. If he learned a thing or two along the way—a new technique or position—all the better.

  “You’ve given the subject a lot of thought.”

  “Women’s issues are a passion of mine. We’re taught a lot of crap from an early age. Fallacies about who we are, how we should behave, what we can do with our lives.”

  Morgan frowned as he held a low-hanging branch out of India’s way.

  “Women can’t be whatever they want?”

  “In theory, sure. And there are always exceptions. But the power jobs, the money jobs, are still disproportionately held by men.”

  Passion coated every word India spoke. Morgan understood. He felt the same about his music.

  “I don’t think parents purposely teach their daughters to be subservient,” she continued. “Well, some do. Mine, for example, could write a book. But—”

  Eyes wide, India trailed off, speechless as the trees parted to a reveal a clearing. On one side stood a small log cabin. On the other, a pond filled from an underground hot spring. Now, in the middle of the afternoon, the surface was smooth as glass. When the temperature dipped at night, steam rose, creating an effect both eerie and romantic.

  “So beautiful,” India gasped. “Like an oasis. Without the desert.”

  “Sven said he and Marcy looked at a lot of places before deciding. The moment they saw the pond and felt the warm water on their skin, they knew they’d come home.”

  India turned in a slow circle, taking in each detail. No way to see everything all at once. But she could explore to her heart’s delight. Days lay ahead of them. Months. Plenty of time.

  “Did they build the cabin?” she asked. “Marcy and Sven?”

  “Just the two of them,” Morgan said with pride as he took the key to the front door from his pocket. He paused. “Nothing fancy.”

  “Open.” She smiled. “I can’t wait to see.”

  Morgan stayed in the cabin a few times; the last time had been months ago. He knew Sven checked the area—inside and out—on a regular basis and knew Marcy changed the sheets on the bed and dusted once every few weeks.

  The cabin would pass the most rigorous cleanliness inspection—Marcy wouldn’t have it any other way. However, Morgan suddenly wished he’d thought to add a few extra touches.

  As he peeked in the cabin before they entered, he grinned and said a silent thank you. He hadn’t remembered the niceties, but Marcy had.

  Natural yet artful, flowers were arranged in a red vase on the small dining table. Roses, the color of apricots, freshly cut from the garden outside the Reinhold home. Morgan’s surrogate mother might not approve of his assignation with a mystery girl, but she wanted his guest to feel welcome.

  “Lovely,” India said.

  Until now, Morgan hadn’t realized he held his breath, had since they entered the cabin. Slowly, he released the air in his lungs then inhaled. He wanted India to love the place a
s much as he did. Her words, her smile, were exactly the reaction he hoped to see.

  Morgan noticed India side-eyeing the bed. Before she moved to look out the window, he swore her cheeks turned pink. He frowned, kicking himself. For all her flirty ways, sexually, they were in different places—miles and worlds apart.

  When he teased her about losing her virginity up against a tree, he hadn’t thought how his words sounded. Now, they were alone in a secluded location with little in the room except the bed.

  Did she believe he wanted to—what term had she used—ravage her, right here, right now? She wasn’t wrong. However, the timeline was up to her.

  Hoping to comfort, to reassure, Morgan touched her arm. She gasped in surprise, jumped a little, but didn’t protest as he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist. Gently, he pulled her close until her back rested against his chest. With care she would recognize and love she wouldn’t, he rubbed his cheek against hers.

  “Nothing will happen until you’re ready,” he said. “You call the shots, all the way. When—if—we have sex, you dictate how, when, and where.”

  “But you’ve already… The girls you date let you, I don’t know, do stuff. Only natural you’d expect me to do the same.”

  Morgan breathed in her scent and felt a calm settle over him. Making love with her would be a dream come true. But if India wasn’t ready, if she didn’t want him with equal passion, what would be the point?

  “Stuff can wait. I can wait.”

  Turning, India burrowed close and sighed.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” she said. “What’s wrong with me? Sex is no big deal, right?”

  Out of his depth, Morgan searched for the right thing to say. He started to speak, hoping he’d find the right thing to say as he went along.

  “My father would say you’re right. Laird believes women are toys. He’s careless and selfish. The moment he grows bored, he tosses his partner away with no regard for her feelings.”

  “And you?” India asked, keeping her eyes closed and her head down. “What’s your opinion?”

  No one had ever asked. Morgan’s first instinct was to swear he wasn’t his father. But an oath given without thought wasn’t a real answer. India didn’t know Laird. Nor, despite everything that brought them here, did she know him.

  Was he like his father? Or… Suddenly, a familiar voice entered Morgan’s head, soothing and filled with wisdom. Sven. All at once, he knew what to say.

  “Respect yourself, respect your partner. If you can’t do both, walk away.”

  “And have you respected her? Every girl, every time?”

  India looked deep into his eyes. Morgan didn’t blink. If he lied, she would know.

  “I’m not perfect.”

  “Really?” Her lips twitched. “I never would have guessed.”

  “Smartass.” Morgan gave her butt a light pat. “Can’t say I always made the best choices—especially when I was younger and wanted to gorge myself on a newly discovered treat.”

  “Interesting analogy.”

  “Accurate,” Morgan conceded.

  His sexual history was what it was. He wasn’t ashamed. Nor was he proud. But he learned a few things since his early, inexpert fumbling.

  “Sex is better when I like my partner.”

  “Meaning you slept with girls you didn’t like?”

  Morgan took a deep breath, wondering how much he should say. A small fib wouldn’t hurt anyone. Or would it? The voice in his head was replaced by Marcy.

  Begin as you plan to continue, she once told him. Morgan nodded, but at the time, he wasn’t sure what she meant. Now, he knew. One lie, small or large, often led to another. Then another.

  Right from the start, Morgan wanted to be as honest with India as possible.

  “Wish I could say no. I can’t.”

  Waiting, wondering how India would take his admission, the seconds felt like hours. The twinkle in her eyes as she cupped his cheek, brought a sigh of relief to his lips.

  “We’ve established two very important things,” India said as she kissed the tip of his chin.

  Morgan settled his hands on her hips and smiled.

  “Number one?” he asked.

  “I’m not perfect.”

  He could have argued but didn’t want to interrupt her flow.

  “Number two?”

  “You’re human.”

  No shit. If India wanted a saint, she was with the wrong guy.

  “Disappointed?” he asked.

  “Relieved,” she said. “Lord save me from a man who thinks he’s God’s gift. The chosen one. Or worse, pretends to be while underneath, he’s pure evil.”

  “Why do I have the feeling you have someone specific in mind?” Morgan kissed her hand. “Give me a name?”

  “No.”

  “India…”

  “I won’t bring bad karma to such a lovely place.” She closed her eyes and shook her head as if trying to clear the unwanted thoughts. When she looked at him again, the clouds had lifted, leaving pure, bright amber. “While we're here, only happy thoughts and happy talk. Promise?”

  “I promise to try.”

  “Because you won’t give a carved-in-stone promise you might not be able to keep?”

  Morgan nodded. India let out a laugh that brimmed with delight.

  “Maybe you are a saint after all.”

  “Nope.” He grinned. “Not even close. Lie on the bed with me, and I’ll prove how human I really am.”

  “Next time. Maybe.”

  “Next time I’ll do my best to convince you,” Morgan said, then winked. “Maybe.”

  India threw her arms around his neck. The kiss started warm. Hot soon followed, as always.

  Morgan groaned. She didn’t realize the extent of her power over him. One look, and his blood heated. One small touch, and his skin sizzled. Her body pressed to his set his heart racing like a high-performance sports car.

  One kiss and the world around them faded away. Morgan wanted more. He longed to discover what happened when he made her his—when she did the same to him.

  “Careful,” Morgan warned, pulling away before he forgot how. “I’m not made of stone.”

  “You sure?” India asked. Her gaze dropped to the bulge in his jeans. She blushed again, but a daring twinkle entered her gaze as she raised her eyes to meet his. “Looks painful.”

  “More like uncomfortable.”

  “Because of me?” She cleared her throat trying to seem contrite. “Sorry.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Morgan shifted from one leg to the other, grimaced, then let out a snort of laughter when India couldn’t hide her smile. “Mean.”

  “Fascinated,” she said, correcting him. “And, to be honest, flattered. Though I suppose you’d get that way with any girl if she rubbed against you.”

  “Yes. Probably.” Morgan shrugged. He knew his body, and his libido didn’t discriminate. “However, you’re the only one who gives me a long-distance erection”

  “Long-distance?” she asked with an intrigued frown.

  “One thought, a flash of your face in my head, and I’m hard. Or if I catch a whiff of your scent. Or you smile. Or—”

  “In other words, I turn you on.”

  “More than anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “I don’t know what to say except…Wow. I had no idea.”

  “Now that you know?” Morgan nipped at her bottom lip. “Use your power for good, not evil.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “Don’t deliberately give me a boner during third-period calculus. I have a solid A going. If you mess with my concentration, who knows what might happen.”

  “I’ll try.” India crossed her heart. “As for now, anything I can do to help?”

  When she innocently licked her lips, Morgan groaned.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” She frowned. “Oh. Do you mean my lips? They were dry.” />
  “Were they?” Morgan teased. He took her hand and tugged. “Let me be the judge.”

  India’s lips weren’t dry. They were wet and sweet. They were paradise.

  “Liar,” Morgan whispered before he kissed her again.

  India gripped his shoulders, her gasp of pleasure turning into a moan.

  “They were dry,” she said. “Now, they’re wet.”

  If she were more experienced, Morgan would ask if she was wet anywhere else. If he wanted her less, the question wouldn’t haunt him. Especially, from the answering desire he read in her eyes, he was certain what the answer would be.

  Damn one-track mind. Think of something else, Morgan told himself. Plague and pestilence were a good start.

  India walked across the room to the small kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, bending over to look inside and drawing Morgan’s gaze. Denim stretched enticingly over a rounded ass. He sighed. Not even disgusting human suffering helped when she was so close. He could reach out and touch but didn’t.

  “Can we swim in the pond?” India asked. Closing the fridge door, she tossed Morgan an apple.

  “Meant to ask you to bring a bathing suit. Sorry,” he said. “Next time. Definitely.”

  “Why do we need suits?”

  Before Morgan could give the obvious answer to her question, India bit into the apple.

  “Holy mother of all that’s good and delicious.” She sighed with pleasure. “What is this?”

  “A McIntosh.”

  “You sure?” She swallowed then took another bite. “Not like any I tasted before.”

  Morgan's lips curled into a smug smile. Sven and Marcy took great care with their orchards. They’d planted and nurtured each tree through harsh winters, rain-deprived summers, and pesky infestations. As far as he was concerned, no one in the state grew better fruit than Reinhold Farms.

  “Organic makes all the difference. Plus, they were picked early this morning. Best time of day because the juices are cold and compact. Makes the apple sweeter.”

  “Impressive. Will you continue to work the farm after graduation? Or is college in your plans?”