Buckhorn Beginnings

by Lori Foster

  He turned to look at Misty and caught her wide-eyed expression of awe as she stared from the laundry room into the kitchen. “Oh, Morgan.”

  Like a sleepwalker, she went through the doorway and turned a circle. “This is incredible.”

  The kitchen had an abundance of light oak cabinets, high ceilings with track lighting and three skylights. Right now, the rain made it impossible to see anything but the blackness of the sky, but Morgan knew on a sunny day the entire kitchen would glow warmly, and in the evening, you’d feel like the stars were right on top of you.

  “C’mon. I’ll show you around.” He took the basket from her and set it on the counter.

  She kept staring at his cathedral ceilings. “I love the design. It’s like you’re in a house, but not, you know? Everything is so open.”

  “I don’t like closed-in spaces.” He laced her fingers with his own and said casually, “I figure it’s easier to keep an eye on kids when they aren’t behind doors getting into mischief. Other than the four bedrooms and the two baths, all the doorways are arches.”

  She stalled for a moment inside the dining room. He turned to look at her, and she shook her head. “How many kids do you plan on having?”

  He held her gaze and said, “Three sounds about right. What do you think?”

  Her fingers tightened on his and she said quietly, “I think I’ll worry about raising this one before I even contemplate adding any more.”

  He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to worry, that she wouldn’t need to raise the baby on her own, but he had to bide his time. He didn’t want to scare her off. “I don’t have the dining-room furniture yet. I’m still working on that.”

  She went to a window and looked out. “The view of the lake is gorgeous.”

  “Yeah. Back here in the coves the lake is almost always calm, not like farther up where all the vacationers keep it churning with boats and swimming and skiing. It’s peaceful, nothing more disturbing than an occasional fishing boat.”

  “I bet in the fall it’s really something to see.”

  “Yeah. And in the winter, too, when everything is iced over. I figure I’ll need to hire someone to keep all the windows clear, but what’s the point of living on a hill with great scenery if you can’t see it? The view from the master bedroom is nice, too.” He slipped that in, then added, “The deck runs all the way around the house.”

  The next room was the living room and he watched her inspect his choice of furniture, wondering if she’d like it.

  “Everything looks so cozy, but elegant, too.”

  Morgan rubbed the back of his neck. When he’d chosen the blue-gray sofa and two enormous cranberry-colored chairs, elegance hadn’t entered his mind. It was the saleslady who’d suggested the patterned throw pillows to “pull it all together.” He’d been going strictly for comfort. The softness and large dimensions of the furniture had appealed to him. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “You could fill this place up with plants. You know, like you did around the fireplace at the station.”

  Morgan watched her closely as he admitted, “One of the women I used to see on occasion brought in those plants. I’d never have thought of it. It’s the cleaning lady that keeps them watered and healthy.”

  She sent him a narrow-eyed look over the mention of a girlfriend. “Well, I can just imagine a lot of plants really blending in here. With the stone fireplace and the light from the windows, it’d be great. What do you think?”

  “I think maybe you should help me pick some out.”

  She blinked at him in surprise, then smiled. “I’d love to.”

  Satisfied on that score, he took her hand and continued on the tour. He opened the first door they came to. “This is the hall bath.”

  Misty stuck her head in the door, and her mouth fell open. “It’s…decadent.”

  Grinning, Morgan gently shoved her the rest of the way in. “Yeah. I kinda like it. Other than my bedroom, it’s my favorite room. It turned out just the way I wanted.”

  Morgan watched her run her hand over the cream-colored tiled walls, the dual marble vanity. A large, raised tub took up one entire corner, looking much like a small pool. You could see the water jets inside the tub, and all the fixtures were brass. There was a skylight right above it and a shelf surrounding it for lotions and towels and candles—things he’d noticed Honey was partial to, so he assumed other women would be, too. In the adjacent corner was a shower with two showerheads, one on either side of the stall.

  Honey was a hedonist when it came to her baths—the woman could linger for hours. He’d assumed most women were the same, but Misty tended to take quick showers, just as he did. He frowned with that thought, until he considered showering with her, and then his breath caught. He eyed the shower. It was plenty big enough to make love in….

  “It’s beautiful, Morgan.”

  He shifted his shoulders, trying to ease the sexual tension that had invaded his muscles. “I still have to get towels and stuff, but I figured there was no rush on that.”

  Tentatively, without quite looking at him, she said, “I could help with that, too, if you want.”

  Morgan stared at her, then swung her around and gave her a hard, quick kiss. “Thanks,” he said in a gruff tone, his throat raw with some unnamed emotion that he didn’t dare examine too closely. It was based on sexual need, but there was a lot of other more complicated stuff thrown in that he didn’t understand at all.

  Misty looked at his mouth, drew a slow, broken breath and then licked her lips. Morgan was a goner. Backing her into the cool tile wall, he took her mouth again, this time more thoroughly, then didn’t want to stop kissing her. She felt perfect, tasted perfect. She made him feel weak when that had never happened before, but she also made him feel almost brutal with driving need. He wanted to devour her, and he wanted to cherish her.

  She arched against him and he cupped her rounded backside with a groan. “Damn, Malone.”

  In a husky, laughing tone, she asked, “Are you ever going to use my first name?”

  She sounded a bit breathless, and he forced himself to loosen his hold. Sawyer was right; she’d been through a lot, and even the strongest woman in the world needed time to adjust. “Malone suits you. It sounds gutsy and sexy and a little dangerous.”

  She allowed him to lead her from the room, but she asked, “Dangerous? Me?”

  With his arm around her shoulders, his heart still galloping wildly, he steered her to the first empty bedroom. “To my libido, yeah.”

  The first three bedrooms were empty, but still Misty oohed over the tall windows and the ultrasoft carpet and the oak moldings. Morgan felt as if he might explode by the time he got her to his room. There were no curtains yet on the French doors that flanked the tall windows, almost filling an entire wall. The doors led to a wide, covered deck. The overhang wasn’t quite sufficient to shield them from the wind, and the rain blew gently against the glass. “Let me show you something.”

  Without hesitation she came into the room and went to the wall of windows with him. “Look at the lights on the lake. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  She stared into the darkness for long minutes, then finally nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’ve always enjoyed the lake, the way sunlight glints on every tiny ripple, and how the evening lights along the shore turn into colored ribbons across the water. Even on stormy days, it’s great to watch. The waves lap up over the retaining wall and every so often the lake swells enough to cover my dock. The fish get frisky on those days and you can see them leaping up into the air and landing again with a splash. On my next day off I’ll take you boating and we can swim in the cove. Would you like that?”

  She continued to gaze into the rainy night. “I’ve always loved being outdoors, and around water. When I was younger, we had a sailboat. My dad would take us out about twice a year, but mostly he used the yacht for entertaining his guests or business associates.”

  Morgan hugged her from behind, knowing h
er relationship with her father had been far from ideal. “I don’t have a yacht, but I think you’ll like our boat. Or rather boats—we have three. An inboard for waterskiing, which Gabe uses more than anyone else. He’s as much fish as man. And a fishing boat with a trolling motor, which is so slow you could probably paddle faster. And a pontoon. My mother bought the pontoon and left it here, but whenever she visits she takes it out.”

  Misty leaned her head back to look at him. “I didn’t know you had a gazebo.”

  The gazebo was only barely visible in the darkening sky, a massive shadow on the level ground fifteen feet off the shore of the lake. He’d had electricity run down there so a bug light could hang inside the high ceiling, though it wasn’t lit now.

  Morgan kissed her temple and looped his arms around her middle so that his hands rested protectively over her belly. “I had Gabe build it for me.” His fingers contracted the tiniest bit, fondling her gently.

  She sucked in her breath, and her hands settled over his. “When?”

  In a hoarse tone, he explained, “After that night I kissed you at the wedding. In the gazebo.”

  She twisted in his arms. “But…you’d asked me to leave then.”

  He searched her gaze. There was no accusation there, just confusion. “I wanted you to stay.” Very gently, he pulled her closer. “Damn, I wanted you to stay.”

  Her smile was shaky, and then she touched the side of his face. “I have to tell you something about me.”

  Morgan leaned forward and nuzzled the soft skin beneath her chin. He felt wound too tight, edgy and aroused and full to bursting. He tasted the silky skin of her throat, her collarbone. He didn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue.

  He felt the deep breath she took. “You’re a special treat for me, Morgan.”

  He grinned at that and continued to put soft, damp kisses on her throat, beneath her chin, near her shoulder. He felt her tremble and held her closer.

  “I want you to understand what this means to me.”

  He leaned back to look at her. She appeared far too serious and solemn to suit him.

  “I know that an unwed pregnant woman sort of gives the impression of being experienced—”

  “Damn it, Misty, I didn’t—”

  She pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Just listen, okay?” He nodded reluctantly and she continued. “Truth is, I haven’t had much experience at all. Back in high school I got very curious, and we experimented a little. Very little, actually. Things didn’t last long with him, but it was no big heartbreak.”

  Very carefully, Morgan pulled her earlobe between his teeth. She shuddered.

  “And then there was Kent. I’d only been with him a few times, but we were careful. It’s just that the condom broke—”

  He squeezed her tight, cutting off her spate of confessions. “Enough.”

  Jealousy washed through him. The idea of her with a kid in high school was bad enough; his brain nearly overflowed with visions of her being groped in the backseat of a car, making him hazy with anger. But to think of her as a grown woman with a man she’d thought she loved… A man who had gotten her pregnant, then turned away from her. He could barely tolerate the idea.

  “I don’t need to have an accounting for past lovers, Malone.” He growled those words against her ear, then added, “I don’t care about any of that.”

  She wriggled loose so she could see him. “But that’s just it. I don’t have much of an accounting to give. Not because I’m so particular, and not because I think it’s wrong. It’s because no one ever really made me want him. Not the way you do.”

  Emotion nearly clogged his throat. Morgan hugged her right off her feet. “You don’t have to worry, baby. I’ll take care of you. I won’t hurt you.”

  She pushed against his shoulders. “Morgan, you don’t understand.”

  Morgan lowered her to the floor with him so that they faced each other on their knees. Misty’s eyes were dark and wide and even in the dim light he could see her excitement. He slipped his hand under the hem of her sweatshirt and stroked her bare waist. Very softly, he said, “Explain it to me, then.”

  Morgan hoped she was about to give him a clue to her feelings. She hadn’t balked at the idea of helping him decorate, but neither had she seemed to realize why he wanted her help. And his comment about kids had gone completely over her head: in order for him to have those three kids, he’d need her cooperation, because no other woman would do.

  She hesitated, her chest rising and falling in fast breaths, then she blurted, “I want to get my fill of you.”

  A wave of lust washed over him, making him tremble. That was not what he’d been expecting, or even hoping for. But it might do.

  “You’re so open about sex and how you feel,” Misty explained, “that I don’t have to worry about my old inhibitions or any of that stuff. I don’t have to worry about what you’ll think of me, or if I’ll offend you.” She touched his face with a trembling hand. “I want to do everything to you that I’ve been imagining doing. I want to let go completely.”

  Morgan swallowed hard, struggling to come up with a coherent reply.

  It wasn’t necessary. Misty launched herself at him, her hands holding his ears while she kissed him hungrily. He felt her small tongue in his mouth, felt her sharp little teeth nip his bottom lip. With a harsh groan, he rolled to his back, keeping her pinned against his chest, and she touched him all over, her hands busy and curious and bold.

  He thought of all the things he’d meant to say to her, but at the moment, none of them seemed important.

  Morgan made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. She didn’t care if she amused him. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” she told him between kisses. “It’s awful to want someone that bad.”

  “Tell me about it.” He worked her sweatshirt up until he could pull it over her head. She lifted her arms to help him, not feeling a single twinge of shyness. Not with Morgan.

  As soon as the shirt was out of the way, Morgan reached for her. His hands were so large and rough and hot, and she moaned as he cuddled her breasts in his palms. His thumbs stroked over her nipples and she felt wild at the sweet ache his touch caused. “This is almost scary.”

  “No.” Morgan brought her back down for another kiss, but she dodged him.

  “I want your shirt off, too.” He was such a big hulk that there was no way she could get his clothes off him without his cooperation. She slid to the side and tugged his shirt free of his jeans. Morgan curled upward, making the muscles in his stomach do interesting things, and he threw the shirt off. She’d seen his chest many times, but now was different. Now she was allowed to touch and taste and have her way with him.

  Misty attacked the snap on his jeans.

  “Slow down, babe.”

  “No, I don’t want to. I kept telling myself I couldn’t do this, but then I realized there was no way I could not do it. I want you too much. I doubt I’ll ever meet another man who makes me feel this way.”

  “Damn right you won’t.” Morgan caught her hands and pulled them away from his zipper. “Kiss me again.”

  She gladly complied. And while she was kissing him, licking his mouth, tasting his heat and feeling the dampness of his tongue, the smoothness of his teeth, Morgan rolled her to her back. The plush carpeting cushioned her.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Malone.”

  She pulled him closer, breathing deeply of his scent. “You won’t.”

  “The baby…”

  Everything seemed to go still with his words. Morgan loomed over her, heat pulsing off him, his dark blue eyes burning hot, his hair mussed. There was so much concern and tenderness in his gaze that she felt tears well in her eyes. Misty touched his cheek, then his wide, hard chest. She let one finger drift over a small brown nipple and heard his sharp intake. “I want you naked, Morgan.”

  His head dropped forward and he labored for breath.

  “You won’t hurt me, I promise.” She watched th
e way his wide shoulders flexed, how the muscles in his neck corded. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, and if I’m going to do this—”

  His gaze snapped to hers. “You are.”

  “—then I want to do everything. Why take a risk unless you make it worthwhile?”

  The look on his face was almost pained before he deliberately wiped it away. “I’m not a risk, babe.”

  Misty didn’t want to tell him that he was the biggest risk she’d ever taken. She loved him so much, even more than she desired him. Around him her heart felt vulnerable and soft and a little wounded because she wished so badly she could have met him months ago. He could break her so easily.

  She shook her head, willing to tease him to chase her dark thoughts away. This wasn’t a time for wariness, but a time to break free. “I’ve never had an excellent lover, Morgan.” She slipped her fingers down his side, over his hip. “I want you to be excellent.”

  His teeth flashed in the darkness and his hand smoothed over her hair, then tucked it behind her ear. “You know how to put on the pressure, don’t you?”

  “Are you intimidated?”

  He snorted. After staring at her for a long moment, he shifted to sit up. His gaze strayed to her body again and again while he pulled off his shoes and socks and laid his cell phone aside. “So you want to see all of me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should I turn on some lights?”

  Misty laughed. How she could recognize humor while burning up with need was amazing. Morgan made her hungry, and he amused her, and he made her feel special and cherished in so many ways.

  But then, he did that for a lot of people.

  “With no curtains on the windows?” she asked. “Don’t you think that might be unwise? What if someone is out there and they see you prancing around in the buff?”