“Did you sleep well?”
“I think so. I don’t remember sleeping badly. You?”
“I slept like a log. Do you know what time it is?”
She squinted at the small digital alarm clock on the nightstand closest to her. “Six thirty-four.”
“Damn,” he half said, half yawned. He managed to stretch without removing the arm that bound her to him, and the feel of his body elongating with grace and power reminded her of a large feline. Kind of like his previous car’s namesake. “My father will be expecting me to go with him when he leaves in an hour.”
Thank God. Problem solved. Crisis averted. “Maybe you should go. After all, you’re here because the town is honoring him. I’m sure he’d enjoy spending time with you.”
“I think you misunderstand my relationship with my father,” he retorted, his breath tickling the hairs at her nape. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him to go on without me and then you and I can head to the Shopping District, grab some breakfast.”
Her brain chanted, That wasn’t the plan! That wasn’t the plan!
Her mouth said, “Okay.”
Traitor.
“But first . . .” His arm tightened and he pulled her back against his hard body.
She gasped as heat flooded her, attempting to burn through her resistance. “Mike?”
“Hmmm?” He nuzzled the skin beneath her jaw.
“We said we weren’t going to do this.”
“Do what?” He nipped the spot where her shoulder met her neck and the nerve endings that stimulated her erogenous zones roared to life.
Nobody affected her the way he could.
Nobody.
Her lashes fluttered and she tilted her head back, allowing him easier access. “This.”
His hand eased its way up her torso until it closed around her breast. Even as she cursed the fabric that prevented skin-on-skin contact, she arched into him, her nipple pebbling against his palm. His tongue swirled against her skin and she moaned, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears.
“Am I hurting you?” he whispered.
“No,” she breathed.
“Good. Because I’d never do anything to hurt you, Indi.”
To prove his point, he stroked her silhouette like a patron admiring a rare piece of art. His fingers skimmed along her side, dipping in at her waist and flaring out at her hips. He continued until the fabric ran out and when he reached the hem of her dress, he slid his fingers beneath and branded her bare skin with his touch.
How had she gone so long without this contact?
Grasping the crook of her knee, he lifted her leg and placed it over his thigh, opening her throbbing core to his caress. His thumb smoothed over the cotton of her panties and when he found her clit, he flicked the digit back and forth across the sensitive nub.
She felt herself getting wet, knew the evidence of her arousal must have made itself known because he groaned. “Fuck that’s sexy.”
No, he was sexy.
She needed to touch him. She reached behind her, grasped the hard ridge of his hip and tried to pull him closer. He cooperated by grinding his cock against her ass while his thumb still worked her clit. It felt so good. But she wanted more.
Finally, he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and touched her. Her body remembered his touch, remembered this feeling and it opened for him, welcoming him home. She was still wet from his teasing and he coated his fingers in the moisture of her arousal. It allowed him to stroke slowly and leisurely through her folds, teasing her clit, running his fingers around the rim of her pussy, without dipping inside.
She writhed against him, panting, her body on fire. A sweet tension built in her lower belly. It was so close, the pleasure she sought, her body one large quivering mass of sexual need.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Show me how good it feels.”
The tension snapped and waves of pleasure encircled her, catching her up in a whirlwind of pure bliss, leaving her slightly sated, but aching—it was a sexual amuse-bouche.
Still, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until he was deep inside of her. She’d reached for the fastening to his pants, her fingers fumbling with the closure, when he grabbed her hand.
“We can’t,” he said, his voice harsh, his breathing heavy.
Son of a bitch!
The scent of their arousal hung heavy in the air and she was acutely aware of her exposed position. She snatched her hand away, lowered her leg, and tried to move away from him, but he held her close.
“This isn’t about you. Skylar . . .”
How many times would it take for her to remember she wasn’t his type? He’d told her as much in the car. In fact, if it weren’t for the baby, she wouldn’t even be here.
She was such an idiot.
She tried to push him away but he wouldn’t budge. “Let me go.”
“Indi—”
“Let me go.”
“Indi—”
“Mike, you’re hurting me!”
He immediately released her and she scooted to the far edge of the bed. The cool air felt good against her flushed skin.
He hadn’t hurt her, not physically in the way he’d thought, but in a way that was more painful.
“Go with your father. Or not. But I can’t see you for a while.”
“I can explain—”
“Either you leave or I will.”
When the door closed behind him, she grabbed a pillow and sagged against the headboard. Pressing her face against the soft cushion, she yelled into it, allowing it to absorb all of her hurt, anger, shame, and frustration.
She’d wanted distance. She’d gotten distance.
“WHAT’S THE DEAL with you and my brother?”
So much for a pleasant morning of retail therapy, Indi thought.
The Barton Point Plaza was the epitome of elegant yet casual shopping, with a bilevel open-air mall anchored by a restaurant that reminded her of a ski chalet. With the bright sun and cool breeze, she would’ve loved strolling along the flower-lined walkways getting to know Barbara, but issues with the gala had cropped up, requiring the older woman’s attention and Mike had decided to accompany Robert to the country club anyway, a fact for which Indi was immensely grateful. After what had happened between them this morning, she couldn’t have borne spending several hours in his company pretending she hadn’t been eviscerated by the aftermath of their foreplay.
That had left her in Morgan’s custody.
Neither of them appeared to be happy about the situation.
Indi squinted, glad her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve told my parents some bull story about hanging with Mike while Adam and Chelsea are on their honeymoon—”
“That’s not bull,” she interrupted.
“Whatevs. I heard Dad and Mike talking about it. He’s not happy.”
Who? Their father or Mike?
Morgan stopped walking and placed her hands on her hips. “You can lie to our parents about why you’re together, but I know there’s something else going on.”
Great. Mike’s little sister fancied herself a modern-day Nancy Drew.
“Morgan—”
“I saw him.”
“Saw him what?”
“I saw him coming out of his room.”
“Morgan!” An older woman in black pants and a coral cardigan—her pinched expression somehow managing to smile—called from across the courtyard. “Looking forward to the gala tomorrow.”
In the brief time since they’d parked the car and traversed the lot to the plaza, numerous people had greeted the young woman, declaring their surprise at seeing her home and asking after her family.
Morgan waved. “I’ll tell Mom I saw you
, Mrs. Eames.”
The woman walked on and Indi pondered Morgan’s statement. Did she know something or was she fishing for information?
“It’s his room. Where else would he be?”
Morgan raised a delicate brow. “It wasn’t where he was. It’s where you were. I saw you coming out of the same room a little later.”
Be cool, Indi.
She’d failed in her efforts to keep the pregnancy a secret. And while her condition didn’t need to remain private, their relationship—the prior one, there was nothing between them now—should.
“My room wasn’t ready and I was tired. It was strictly platonic.”
Cool as a baked potato straight out of the oven.
“Yeah, I’ve heard being pregnant is exhausting. The hormones. Or maybe it’s all the effort expended setting traps and digging for gold?” The younger woman crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, a smirk marring her beautiful features.
Did Morgan find this amusing? Or did the little shit imagine this was a scene from one of those god-awful reality shows? It made her think of the women she met in Charleston. Who thought they could utter any insulting or demeaning affront as long as it was followed by a syrupy sweet “Bless her heart.”
A red haze clouded her vision.
“It’s true,” she said, her tone acerbic. “Before the pregnancy, I’d never have been rude enough to ask how it feels to be adopted, considering the Blacks aren’t your real parents. Or, what’s going on with Stanford? Are you dropping out because you can’t hack it? But it’s like you said, I’m experiencing these exhausting pregnancy hormones. What’s your excuse?”
Agony bloomed on Morgan’s features and guilt curdled Indi’s satisfaction. She tilted her chin upward and gazed at the bright sky. “I’m sure I can find my way back to the house. Why don’t you go hang out with your friends or something?”
She spun on her heel and headed away from Morgan. She’d actually started to feel better after the incident yesterday, due in large part to her conversation with Barbara and her night with Mike. But her morning with Mike and this encounter with his sister was just the push she needed to reestablish her guard and remember her place. Which was alone. She wasn’t a part of this or any other family, despite Mike and Barbara’s nice words.
If it were up to her, she’d go back to the house, pack her things, and make her way back to San Francisco on the next train. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to call Mike’s bluff regarding the bail. Plus, if she left, Morgan might disclose their argument as the reason why and despite her attitude, Indi didn’t want to cause trouble between her and her brother.
She passed a small boutique where the window showcased various sheaths in classic muted tones. She’d never consider these dresses; they looked confining, unimaginative, uninspired. But she wanted to blend in, not stand out, and this seemed like the clothes people would wear at the gala.
“May I help you?” The saleswoman smiled.
Indi slipped off her shades and tightened her fingers on the strap of her shoulder bag. “I need a dress for a gala tomorrow night.”
“The Chamber of Commerce event for Robert Black? Cutting it close,” the brunette observed. She strode over to a rack and waved her hand, like a spokesmodel on The Price Is Right. “These are our most popular styles.”
Indi smiled in thanks and flipped through the hangers with little enthusiasm. Black, off black, jet black. Light beige, honey beige, golden beige. Were they the only colors? Navy too racy? She closed her eyes, wiggled her fingers, and let her hand drop on fabric. Tell her what she won, Bob! Was it the honey beige or the off black?
Did it matter?
“That’s not the dress you’re going to wear, is it?”
Indi stiffened at Morgan’s voice. She opened her eyes to find the young woman skimming through the garments, her nose wrinkled.
“Why?” She may not be proud of how she responded to Morgan, but that didn’t mean she was ready to forgive her.
“Mike is an extremely eligible bachelor and everyone will be interested in the woman on his arm. You’ll have to wow them and in this”—Morgan flicked a hanger containing the golden beige dress—“you’ll totally blend.”
“That’s the plan. And I told you, there’s nothing between your brother and me.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Morgan hesitated and her bravado deflated, like a fallen soufflé, her shoulders sagging. “Either way, I was rude earlier, way out of line. I’m sorry.”
Indi softened, believing the remorse to be sincere. “No problem. And I apologize for my comments.”
Morgan waved a hand in a manner reminiscent of her mother. “I deserved it. I was acting like a brat. It’s nothing you’ve done. I . . . I’m having some issues with my father right now and I just wanted to get him off my back. I figured if I could offer Mike up to him, I’d get a break. It was a bitch move.”
Don’t get involved. It’s none of your business.
Yet Morgan’s pain was difficult to ignore. She was Mike’s sister and Nugget’s aunt. If there was something she could do to help the younger woman, she should.
She squeezed Morgan’s shoulder. “You want to talk about it?”
Morgan nodded. “But not here. There’s a coffee bar a few doors down.”
Ten minutes later, they sat on a cobblestone half wall in one of the small courtyards bordering the plaza. Indi took small sips of her mint and honey iced tea—grateful when her belly graciously accepted the offering—and waited for Morgan to initiate the conversation.
Morgan played with the lid of her insulated coffee cup. “Chelsea is your foster sister, right?”
Indi’s eyes widened. She’d thought this had to do with Morgan. She was tired of talking about her childhood, had discussed it more in the past week than in the past ten years. She rubbed a hand across her belly and stared at the people walking past the alcove. “Yes.”
“Were you ever adopted out of the system?”
Her stomach churned. “No.”
“Do you know your parents?”
She glared at Morgan but all she saw was openness and sincerity. She hadn’t imagined the other girl’s anguish, so she inhaled and called upon a little more patience. “My mother left me when I was really young. I never knew my father.”
“You don’t remember her?”
“Not really. I have flashes of memory, but she could walk in here and sit next to us and I’m not sure I’d know her.”
Not that she hadn’t looked.
“I have the opportunity to study abroad for my junior year and I want to go to Seoul, South Korea. It’s where I’m from.” Morgan sighed and placed her cup on the wall. “My father has a different opinion.”
“He doesn’t want you to study abroad?”
“Oh no, he’d be happy for me to study abroad. He’d just prefer I went to Europe. When I told him I wanted to see where I was from, he said I was from Barton Point.”
Tears added luster to her midnight dark orbs.
“Do you know before college I only saw a handful of people who looked like me?” Morgan dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head. “I was called all kinds of names and I hated how I looked. At night, I would pray to God that I’d wake up in the morning and look like my mother.”
Indi’s heart broke for the little girl who’d had tons of love, but who’d still grown up feeling like a part of herself was missing.
“I have this memory,” Indi whispered, Morgan’s pain a mirror image of her own, “of a brown-skinned woman with light brown eyes, in a plaid coat. When I was little I used to look at every black woman who fit that description and wonder if she was my mother. I did that for years.”
Morgan shifted to face Indi, her body humming with energy. “Then you understand that urgency to know where you come from. I love my family. I’m not trying
to hurt them. But I need to learn about my heritage and this will give me the opportunity to do so while I’m getting college credit. I thought Dad would praise my resourcefulness.”
Indi pulled Morgan in for a hug. She did understand. It was something she’d wondered her entire life. Fortunately for Morgan, her journey to find her origin story may have a happier ending. There was no reason for Indi to look into her past. She’d been left behind, like garbage.
Isn’t that what you’re doing with Nugget?
“Is everything okay, Morgan?”
They looked up to see an attractive older couple watching them anxiously.
Morgan wiped her eyes and dredged up a smile. “We’re fine, Mrs. Polson. This is India Shaw, a friend of the family.”
Mrs. Polson nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow at Robert’s party.”
“Been looking forward to it,” the man—Mr Polson?—said.
“I’ll tell my mother I saw you,” Morgan parroted.
“Please do. Take care. Good to meet you, Miss Shaw.” Mrs. Polson clutched her husband’s bicep and the pair continued walking.
Morgan pulled the elastic band from her hair, raked her fingers through the thick strands, and reset her ponytail high on the crown of head. “That’s the problem with being from a notable family in a small town. You’re always on display.”
Indi saw it from another point of view. “But it’s nice to have so many people watching out for you. She didn’t know me and thought you looked upset. Something may have been going on, and her intervention might have stopped it.”
Morgan fumbled with the scalloped edge of her white T-shirt, a large gold-foil heart emblazoned across the chest. “I guess.”
“You’re surrounded by people who love you and care about your welfare. As someone who had too little of that, I urge you not to take it for granted.”
“I don’t. But sometimes love isn’t enough.”
It wasn’t? That was news to Indi; she’d always believed it was. If she’d been lovable enough, her mother would’ve kept her, her foster parents would’ve been kinder. She might’ve found a place to belong.
In her experience, love was the most important thing when you never had enough of it.
Along Came Love Page 20