Morgan's Hunter

by Cate Beauman

  Who was this woman he held in his arms? She wasn’t who he’d judged her to be initially. There was more to Morgan Taylor than wealth and a stunning face. Her vulnerability moved him. Surprising himself, he trailed his hand up her spine, to the center of her back, pressing her closer to comfort.

  Her head rested against his chest. Her soft hair brushed his chin. The scent of her shampoo and perfume surrounded him, intoxicating.

  His heart beat faster. Sweat beaded on his forehead as unease bloomed in his stomach. What was she doing to him? He pulled back abruptly, reached out, catching her as she fell forward. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” He had to get out of there. “Let me walk you to the tent. I’m calling it a night.”

  Her brows furrowed as she searched his face. “I’m okay. I could use another minute. Go on ahead.”

  He needed to get to his room. He put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her forward. “I’ll take you. We’re pretty far from the house.”

  “Hunter, I’m fine. I’m in my own backyard, for heaven’s sake.”

  As his panic increased, his patience grew thin. “It isn’t safe to be out here by yourself. It’s dark. Let’s go.” He grabbed her arm, started walking.

  She yanked back, trying to break loose. “What is wrong with you? You were acting like a human being a minute ago; now you’re being a jerk again.” She tried to stop, but he kept pulling her forward. “Let go of my arm.”

  He didn’t say anything as he pulled her along.

  When they reached the tent, a couple stopped them. “Why, Morgan, are you going to introduce us to your gentleman here?”

  He forced a smile for the older man and woman. “If you’ll excuse me for just one moment.” Not waiting for a response, he turned his back and walked off toward the house, leaving Morgan staring after him.

  Hunter turned on the light and locked the door when he entered his room. Sitting on the creamy white comforter, he ripped off the tie that felt as if it strangled, yanked off the jacket that was suddenly too tight.

  He closed his eyes, took deep breaths and unballed his fists, consciously trying to relax them on his thighs. Muffled conversation and laughter from the party below drifted through his windows as he counted to two, inhaling through his nose, to four, exhaling through his mouth. The gallop of his heart steadied and the sick fear that was panic subsided as he collapsed back on the bed. What the hell?

  He hadn’t experienced an episode in months. After his return from Afghanistan, panic, anxiety and wrenching nightmares plagued him almost daily. With time, his symptoms faded, only sneaking up on occasion.

  The military shrink had called it post traumatic stress disorder. Hunter called it bullshit. He remembered the quack telling him that until he was ready to deal with the guilt and pain of his losses and could willingly explore strong emotional attachments with others, he might suffer occasional bouts of anxiety.

  The asshole didn’t know what he was talking about. What did a dance with Morgan Taylor have to do with crap talk like that?

  Long after the last guest left, Morgan sat by the pool wide awake. Comfortable in cutoffs and a ratty gray sweatshirt from her alma matar, she dangled her feet in the heated water. Cricket song surrounded her as she moved her legs in restless circles, creating waves and small whirlpools.

  Her parents’ home was dark but for the three upstairs windows of Hunter’s guestroom. He walked back and forth in gym shorts and a t-shirt as he talked on his cell phone, gesturing with his hand.

  Hunter had occupied her mind from the moment he pulled up on his bike. No matter how she tried, she’d thought of little else. Morgan had watched for him from the crowds at the fundraiser, waiting. After two hours, she figured he wouldn’t come and was shocked by her disappointment.

  When she’d glanced over and saw him staring at her in his suit, her heart had pounded as their eyes locked. She had never seen anyone as perfectly handsome as Hunter—although handsome was too tame a word for his in-your-face good looks.

  His kindness surprised her. Her first impression had been perfect features, amazing muscles and an ego to go with it. When he’d pulled her against him, looking at her with understanding in his eyes, she thought she might’ve made a mistake.

  Shockwaves had coursed through her body when his fingers brushed and caressed her skin. But then he’d pulled away as if she’d grown fangs, and he’d gotten all pushy-shovey, had started bossing her around in his irritating tone, and the ass she met in the driveway was back.

  Morgan pulled her feet from the water and stood, drying her legs. She stopped abruptly when she felt Hunter’s gaze. She glanced up to his window. Despite the distance, their eyes locked, challenged, and a slow grin spread across his lips. Her pulse bumped up a notch. Unsettled by her reaction, she turned her back on him and walked to her house.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT WALKED PAST Hunter carrying a trash bag bulging with cups and napkins. She stopped short when he held up an empty water bottle. The pretty blonde’s finger brushed his knuckles as the plastic exchanged hands.

  She gave him a wide smile, showing off straight white teeth. Her gaze flicked over Morgan before she stepped away and moved down the aisle, looking back once, smiling again. Hunter sent her one of his best grins. Why the hell not?

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot said, “our descent into Bozeman will be delayed momentarily due to a medical emergency on another flight. We’ll be circling for a short time until we get the all clear for landing. Sit back, relax. We’ll have you on the ground shortly.”

  As the pilot spoke, the wing flaps extended with a mechanical whirr. Hunter closed his book, gently shook the shoulder Morgan slept against. He bent close to her ear, breathing in the tropical scent of her shampoo. “Hey, Morgan, time to get up. We’re almost there.”

  Murmuring something inaudible, she snuggled closer, nestling herself against the crook of his shoulder. She wrapped her hand around his bicep as her hair brushed his jawbone. Her breathing deepened and steadied out again. Hunter cleared his throat, moved his arm once more. When she didn’t respond, he blew out a breath and let her be.

  Morgan lost her battle with exhaustion shortly after they’d changed planes in Chicago. He’d watched her head bob to her chest several times before she finally pushed her seat back the miserly half inch it allowed and gave in to sleep. By the time pretzels and drinks were served, he’d had a shoulder-full of Morgan. She’d been dead to the world for over four hours.

  When they’d met at the gate in Regan International for their nine a.m. departure she’d looked like hell. Attending three funerals in one weekend had taken its toll. The light purple circles under dull green eyes had been the only color to her face.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been cleared to land.”

  The plane dipped slightly and the landing gear descended from the belly. The lights of Bozeman were visible through the droplets of rain scattering across the window.

  Hunter shook his arm, moved his shoulder up and down. “Morgan, we’re going to land. Wake up.”

  She blinked several times before she bolted upright in her seat. She stared at him with wide, sleepy eyes. Creases from his shirt imprinted her rosy cheek. “Sorry.” She ran a hand through her hair.

  Hunter shrugged. “You don’t look quite as bad as you did this morning.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “No, just you.”

  “Aren’t I the lucky one?” She hissed out a breath as she smoothed her hair again.

  The plane swayed from left to right, jolted as the wheels made contact with the runway. The whoosh of the aircraft’s quick deceleration filled the cabin.

  As the jet taxied to the gate, Morgan gathered her belongings from under the seat. Hunter pulled down the shirt sleeve that had ridden up while Morgan rested upon it. A dark, wet circle lay in its center. He frowned at her, wiped his hand on his pants. “Christ, Morgan, you drooled all over me.”
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  She glanced at his shoulder. A smug smile played across her lips as she gave his thigh a quick pat. “Don’t let it go to your head, Hunter. I assure you it wasn’t because you’re irresistible.”

  Before Hunter could respond, the plane came to a stop. His seat was jostled from behind as passengers moved into action. The flight attendants thanked everyone for choosing them as their carrier while Morgan stood and opened the top latch, stepped into the aisle, grabbed her overhead baggage and made her way toward the front without looking at him again.

  Loaded down with luggage, they walked through the sliding doors of the airport into the patchy fog and cool, misting rain.

  Hunter held a rental contract and keys in his hand. “We’re looking for lot C-12. The lady said the car should be down a row and to the right.” He walked off, leaving Morgan to struggle with her pack and suitcases.

  He scanned the cars until his gaze landed on the black Buick Regal lit up by the street lamp. “Here we are.”

  The brake lights blinked twice when he hit the button to unlock the doors and pop the trunk. He threw his pack and carry-on in, turned to see Morgan limping toward him, weighed down by the suitcase she dragged at her side.

  “I told you not to bring all of this.” He strolled over, hauling her bag up as if it were empty.

  “I wouldn’t have if you’d brought some of the stuff yourself.”

  He took the rest of her belongings, crammed them in, slammed the trunk closed. “I’ll drive. We need to make a quick stop.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I just want to go to bed.” Settled in and buckled up, Morgan rested her head against the seat and her eyes drooped closed.

  “Why don’t you grab another nap? It’s going to be a good half hour or so before we check in.”

  Morgan’s eyes flew open as she gaped at him. “But we’re ten miles from our exit.”

  He took a left out of the parking lot. “I said I have to make a stop.”

  She muttered an oath and something about the hotel having food and toothbrushes.

  They merged on the interstate as Hunter punched a number into his cell phone. “Cooke, it’s Phillips.”

  “I take it you’re in Montana.”

  “We just landed. Is everything all set?”

  “Yeah. A man named Frank is waiting for you. He’ll hook you up with what you’ll need.”

  “Good. I’m on my way now.” Hunter passed a car, moved back into the right hand lane.

  “Let me know if you have any problems.”

  “Will do.” He closed the phone and glanced over at Morgan dozing off again.

  The car came to a stop. Morgan opened her eyes, frowned. She and Hunter sat in front of a small warehouse instead of the drug store or fast food chain she expected. “Where are we? What are we doing here?”

  “Lock the doors. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  Hunter got out and knocked on the heavy metal door of the grimy-looking building. A hulking man with a long, silver beard let him in.

  What was he up to? Morgan got out of the vehicle intending to follow him. She tried twisting the doorknob. It was locked. “Damn.”

  Through the shadows surrounding the building, Morgan walked toward a small lighted window covered with dirt and cobwebs. She glanced over her shoulder, uneasy in the creepy silence of the dark, before standing on her tiptoes to peer inside. Hunter spoke to the man with the beard, picked up the pistol the guy laid on a counter. Hunter aimed at something, nodded, and put the weapon into a leather holster under his shirt.

  He isn’t really going to bring a gun…

  Hunter shook the man’s hand and headed back toward the front of the building.

  Morgan rushed from the window as the door opened and Hunter stepped outside.

  “What are you doing? What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Morgan repeated as she ripped the paper sack he carried from his hand. Pulling it open, she saw two boxes of bullets. “Are you out of your mind?”

  He yanked the bag back. “Get in the car.”

  “I absolutely will not until you tell me what you’re thinking.” She paced in front of him. “We’re going to a national park tomorrow. It’s illegal to discharge a firearm.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He walked back to the vehicle. “Get in so we can get out of here.”

  She stormed over to his side, slamming the door he just opened. “You’re not bringing a gun onto federal property. You could—”

  Hunter grabbed her arms and she gasped as he gave her a small shake. “Listen to me. This isn’t your show anymore, got it? I was hired to protect you, so that’s what I’m going to do. I won’t tell you how to do your job. Don’t tell me how to do mine.”

  “Get your hands off me.”

  He gripped her tighter, pulled her closer, pushing his face nose to nose with hers. “You don’t seem to understand, Morgan. You aren’t the boss. You’re on my watch now, which means you do what I want, when I say. That’s how I keep you safe.”

  “You can go to hell. You’re here with me. I’ll tell you how things will be.” She jerked her knee up to prove her point, but his reflexes were fast.

  Hunter yanked her forward, killing her momentum. In a flash, he turned them around so her back pressed to the window of the vehicle, pinning her against him. “That wasn’t a good idea,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Her breasts rose and fell against his chest as her breath rushed in and out.

  He moved his face closer, until the warmth of his breath tickled her lips.

  His eyes darted to her mouth and he hesitated before stepping back. He let her go. “Get in the car, Morgan.”

  Heart pounding, Morgan stormed around to her side, slammed her door, glared at him. She stared out her window as they made their way through the industrial park back toward the hotel.

  Hunter had one hell of a nerve. What was he thinking bringing a gun into Yellowstone? What if he accidentally shot an animal—or even another person? And he had grabbed her. Who did he think he was? In charge of her? Do what he said when he said? The hell with that. This was her assignment. He was just along for the ride.

  Morgan glanced at his profile—hard-set and tense, but stunning nevertheless. She folded her hands together, knuckles whitening, as she remembered the way his electric blue eyes had locked on hers while she stood pressed against his hard, muscled body. When his lips had been a whisper from hers and his gaze flicked down to her mouth, she’d thought he would kiss her, and hell if she knew why, she’d wanted him to.

  She was going to have to think about that.

  They checked into the upscale hotel and walked to their rooms in silence. Hunter waited while Morgan swiped her keycard. She stepped into her room, flicked on the light, turned to look at him one last time, and with smug satisfaction slammed the door in his face. With any luck, she’d broken his nose.

  As she sent the deadbolt home, someone knocked. Morgan blew out a breath, turned the lock back.

  Hunter leaned against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. “You forgot to ask who I was.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Since I’m officially on duty and we’ll be in separate rooms tonight, I wanted to do a quick safety check. You failed the first part.”

  With a frustrated huff, she shut the door again.

  Morgan walked to the king-sized bed, placed her carry-on and laptop case beside her as she sat on the mattress. She closed her eyes on a sigh, moved her tense shoulders in slow, smooth circles. Coils of strain began to release when she heard the rapping sound once more and ignored it.

  The knock came again and her eyes snapped open. She wasn’t going to answer. Determined that Hunter wouldn’t get the best of her, she walked over to the window with a view of the pool, closed the curtains, flicked on the television.

  The rapid, steady bang of knuckle against wood continued. Damn it, this man was insufferable. Swearing, she rushed forward, yanking on the knob. “What is it?”

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nbsp; “Yikes, failed again. You still didn’t ask who I was, but I just wanted to say good night. You forgot to say good night.”

  Morgan stared into eyes dancing with humor and glared. “Good night, Hunter.”

  She shut the door, peered through the peephole, waiting for the knock again. Instead, she saw him grinning as he turned and walked to his own room.

  Morgan realized she was grinning too.

  CHAPTER 9

  “DAMN IT, MORGAN. ARE YOU aiming for the potholes?”

  “Well, where do you suggest I drive to avoid them?” She glanced over, frowning, before giving her attention back to the road. “It’s either the dirt road and potholes or the forest and trees. I’ll let you decide.”

  “Try for a little more finesse. Jesus.” Hunter lurched forward, swore again when the front tires bounced through a lake-sized hole. The last mile and a half had been full of them. Maintenance on the back roads of Yellowstone weren’t a high priority, especially when they were used mostly by the rangers.

  The tall pines and Rockies in the distance created a stunning picture, but the bone rattling bumps and threat of whiplash made the view nearly impossible to enjoy.

  “If you think you can do better, you drive next time. Oh good, I see the turnoff for the ranger’s station.”

  “Thank God.”

  Hunter learned two things as they drove from Bozeman to the northeast entrance of Yellowstone that morning. Morgan couldn’t drive for shit, and a person’s life really did flash before their eyes prior to death. He’d seen moments of his flicker by when she’d cut off a tractor trailer on Interstate 90.

  The white-knuckled ride hadn’t stopped there. He’d foolishly dozed, and when he awoke thirty minutes later and glanced at the speedometer, the orange needle hovered at eighty-five. To make matters worse, Morgan danced in her seat while belting out Pink’s newest song along with the radio. Instead of telling her to slow down, Hunter had stared in utter fascination and cringed when she’d hit the rumble strip, yanking the steering wheel—hard, pulling them back in their lane.