Morgan turned Bethany in his arms, lifting her up off the patio floor until her small feet dangled in the air. She clung to his big, broad shoulders as he lowered his head and took her mouth in a breath-robbing kiss.
I have to stop this before it goes any further was the last coherent thought Bethany had before her own long-denied passion claimed her.
* * *
Chapter 7
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Blossoming like a withering flower drawing in the life-giving nourishment of the rain, Bethany responded to his kiss. Her body wrapped itself around his, clinging, pressing, longing for a remembered pleasure. Opening herself up to him, she accepted his thrusting tongue inside her mouth. She trembled when he cupped her hip, drawing her intimately against his arousal.
The kiss consumed her. Consumed him. They became the kiss. The kiss became them. Joined together in the intensity of their mutual need, they hurled headlong into dangerous waters, the hazardous depths of desire.
Morgan lifted her up and into his arms without breaking the kiss. He carried her across the patio and laid her down on the wrought-iron chaise longue. Easing her onto her side, he wedged himself alongside her.
He explored her body with hungry hands, feasting on the silken feel of her soft flesh. She jerked his tan cotton shirt from beneath the waistband of his jeans and slipped her hands up and over his broad back.
Morgan broke the kiss. Both of them gulped in air. He blazed a warm, moist trail down her throat, across from one shoulder to the other, and then his tongue slid inside her halter top, dampening the crevice between her breasts. Moaning, Bethany lifted her hips, pressing her femininity against his sex. Skimming his fingertips up and under her skirt, along the satin skin of her thigh, he returned his mouth to hers, drinking in her sweetness.
While he nipped at her bottom lip, he cupped her breast, squeezing gently. "I want you," he groaned the words. "Here. Now."
His big, nimble fingers loosened the ties on her wraparound skirt just as he drew the tip of her breast into his mouth, suckling through the thin barrier of the material covering her.
Instinctively she unbuttoned his shirt in her need to eliminate any barriers between them. When she touched his lean belly, he sucked in his breath.
Longing for Morgan's possession, Bethany's body wanted to surrender, wanted to succumb to his masterful seduction. Like a dormant creature awakening from a decade of sleep, sexual desire emerged from the depths of her celibate body, ravenous, demanding and dangerous.
"Please, don't do this to me," she begged, but her hands asked for more as she stroked his chest, her fingers threading through the thicket of brown hair. Her mind warred with her body, her reasoning struggling to overpower her physical needs.
"I'm not doing anything you don't want me to do, Beth, and you know it." Gliding his hand between her legs, he fondled her. When she cried out, he captured the sound with his month and adeptly eased his fingers inside her red bikini bottom. "You want me. You need this as much as I do."
"We can't." She pushed halfheartedly against his chest. "I can't. Anne Marie is—"
"In her room," Morgan said. "She isn't going to disturb us. Don't use your daughter's presence as an excuse."
"Please. I—I can't let this happen." She grabbed the front of his shirt, her fingers curling around the material, bunching it into wrinkled wads.
"Why not?" He stroked his index finger across her sensitive nub and was rewarded with a rush of moisture. "You're hurting, honey. And I can ease that hurt."
She could give in so easily to what he wanted—to what she wanted. Heaven knew Morgan Kane was the one man on earth to whom she'd never been able to say no. She wanted him now more than she'd ever wanted him. Her woman's body longed for the fulfillment he alone could give her. Physical relief was easily achieved, but ease for a heart's aching loneliness, for a soul's starvation required the complexity of love and passion that she had found with no other man.
His touch tempted her almost beyond reason. But as tempted as she was, as close to the edge as he'd brought her, she could not escape an inevitable truth. Morgan Kane had nearly destroyed her once, and it had been his fault. She'd been young, naive and trusting, and he'd used her. But she was a mature woman now, a wise and cautious woman. If she allowed him to use her, cast her aside and destroy her emotionally, she'd have no one to blame but herself.
To Morgan their mating would be a physical act; to her it would be so much more. Could she give herself to him again, with no promises, without any pledge of love? Could she accept this for what it was and not want more?
No! She couldn't. She didn't dare.
Bethany shoved against him, harder and harder. "I'm not ready for this," she told him. "I can't—"
Removing his hands from her body, he rolled over and off the chaise longue. Standing up, he turned his back to her. "Deep down inside, you're still the same, aren't you, Beth? You want all or nothing. You'll deny us both what we so desperately need because you still can't separate sex from love."
No, I can't! she screamed silently. Damn you, Morgan! Damn you for making me care. She wanted to hurl herself against him, to beat her fists into his big, broad back.
Bethany eased off the chaise longue, picked up her skirt and walked away without looking back, leaving Morgan alone on the patio. Music from the CD player belted out a recent Seger hit tune, his gravelly voice filling the night air. She slammed the kitchen door behind her, then leaned back against it, her body trembling uncontrollably. Willing herself not to cry, she stood there shaking, holding all the pain inside her.
Morgan stripped off, down to his black swim briefs, tossed his clothes onto the patio floor, then dove into the pool. He swam from one end of the Olympic-size pool to the other and back again. He was aroused and hurting, in physical misery. Anger swelled up inside him, needing a release. And somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, he felt a few aching twinges. Bethany wasn't the only one who hadn't changed. Around her, he was still the same greedy, insensitive bastard he'd always been.
His sleek, superbly toned body sliced through the water. He was physically and mentally in perfect harmony with the aquatic environment, which was like a second home to him. He continued making the trek, back and forth, again and again.
Knotting her shaky hands into fists, Bethany sucked in several deep breaths, then turned around and glanced out the window. She watched Morgan's big, muscular body cut through the water, forcing onward as if battling his aqueous surroundings. Instinctively she knew that he was hurting, just as she was … frustrated by their unfulfilled desire. And he was angry, too. Angry that she had denied him.
An almost uncontrollable urge to go to him overwhelmed her. It would be so easy to open the door, walk across the patio and dive into the pool with him. As she watched him trying to exhaust himself, she laid her hand on the window frame and pressed her forehead against the pane. She could strip off her bikini and dive into the water, naked and ready for his possession. He would come to her, pull her into his arms and devour her with his mouth.
Bethany's body throbbed. Her breathing quickened. Closing her eyes to shut out the sight of him, she covered her lips with her clenched fist and moaned silently.
Pulling herself away from the window, she eased backward, her vision still focused on the man in the pool. Don't do this to yourself! Don't tempt and punish! Don't long for something that can never be yours. Morgan doesn't love you. He never did.
She raced up the back stairs and into her room, leaving her door slightly ajar. Once safely inside the privacy of her bathroom, she stripped off her bathing suit, turned on the shower and stepped beneath the needle-sharp spray. Lathering her hair, she washed and rinsed it hurriedly, then squirted scented liquid soap into a net sponge and ran it over her arms and across her breasts. Her nipples hardened to diamond points, and for one brief moment she could feel Morgan's mouth on her breast. Sensual quivers spread from her breasts to her feminine core. The desire she was trying so hard to wash away co
nsumed her.
* * *
Morgan dragged himself out of the pool. He had hoped to exhaust himself, to drive the desire from his body and the anger from his heart. Anger turned inward on himself. But it would take many more laps in the pool to tire him enough to sleep, to enable him to rest.
He picked up his discarded clothes, lifted his gun holster from the table and went inside the house. After checking the security, he opened the refrigerator and retrieved the half-full bottle of wine left over from dinner. Even if Bethany kept anything stronger in the house, which she didn't, it would be off limits to him. He could function well enough to protect Bethany after finishing off the wine, but he wouldn't be worth a damn if he got really soused.
When he passed her room, he noticed the partially open door. If he were a gentleman, he'd knock on the door and when she responded, he would apologize for trying to ravish her. He stopped outside her room, one hand gripping the wine bottle, the other reaching for the doorknob. Easing open the door, he peered inside and drew in a deep breath at the sight of Bethany emerging from the bathroom, totally naked, her long, damp hair clinging to her shoulders.
His sex hardened instantly, and it was all he could do not to storm into the room, grab her, throw her on the bed and bury himself deeply and completely inside her.
Her full, round breasts beckoned his mouth. Her curvaceous hips and buttocks begged for his touch. And the dark triangle of curls that pointed the way to her femininity tempted his throbbing sex.
He turned and walked across the hall, his body tense and aching, his mind calling him a fool. He left the door open, but didn't turn on the light. Dumping his clothes in a heap on the floor, he swallowed hard, willing himself under control. He set the wine bottle on his nightstand, then went into the bathroom, stripped off his swim briefs and turned on the shower. As the lukewarm spray hit his aroused body, he shuddered, memories of Bethany's nakedness exciting his senses. Lathering his body, he scrubbed his skin, all the while wishing the hands cleansing his body were Bethany's and not his own. He lingered over the lower part of his body, thinking of Bethany, of thrusting, pumping, exploding. Shuddering from head to toe, he spread out his hands and pressed his palms against the ceramic wall.
What he wanted was Bethany, crying out her pleasure, calling out his name. And sooner or later he would have her again. Even if it had to be on her terms!
* * *
Bethany slept fitfully all night. Tossing and turning for hours, she finally got out of bed before daybreak. After freshening up, applying her makeup and dressing, she started downstairs, but stopped abruptly when she heard Morgan stirring about in his room. Spread out on the floor, he lifted and lowered his big body as he did push-ups. The muscles in his arms bulged as he repeated the exercise again and again, not even breathing hard.
She stood there, immobilized, watching him, mesmerized by the beauty of his perfect physique. He was naked except for his black cotton briefs that hugged his lean hips and round buttocks. Fine swirls of light brown hair dusted his legs and arms.
He'd always been a big man, long and lean and muscular, but the twenty-two-year-old she'd known and loved so long ago was gone, replaced by this prime physical specimen with a body honed by a warrior's endurance.
If he saw her watching him, he didn't let on in any way. Perhaps he was too engrossed in his exercise to notice a voyeur. She shouldn't punish herself this way, watching when she knew it would be deadly to touch.
She walked downstairs quietly, feeling her way through the dark house until she reached the kitchen. Flipping on a light switch, she crossed the room and immediately prepared the coffee machine. Checking the wall clock with her watch, she groaned when both timepieces agreed that it was 5:45. The Birmingham News should have run by now. She just hoped there wasn't another article about Jimmy's murder or one about her awaiting a grand jury date.
As soon as the coffee brewed, she poured herself a cup. The first cup of the morning, strong and hot, but laced liberally with sweetener and low-fat creamer. A throbbing little ache pulsed in the right side of her head. A queasy unease rumbled in her stomach. She sipped the tan brew, allowing it to trickle slowly down her throat.
How long would it be before Morgan came downstairs? How many minutes did she have until she'd have to face him? Despite sixteen years apart, they still knew each other too well to pretend. Neither of them had gotten much sleep. Morgan had been as restless with unfulfilled need as she had been. And nothing had changed with the passing of time. After nearly two decades, she still wanted him with the same mindless passion she had when she'd been a girl. And even now she was as vulnerable to his masculine allure as she'd been last night. If he came downstairs and took her into his arms, if he kissed her, if he touched her, would she have the strength to reject him again?
Sipping her coffee, she reached over and turned on the small portable television on the built-in desk in the corner. She left the sound off. No need to disturb the sweet silence until the commercial ended. She'd catch the morning weather and traffic reports before she went outside for the newspaper.
After the commercial break, Tony Hayes's smiling face appeared on the television screen. Damn! She had the TV on the wrong station. She never watched Wake Up Birmingham. Clicking the sound button on the remote control, she started to press the channel changer, but stopped suddenly when she heard Tony's heartfelt plea.
"Friends, I know you are as upset as I am that Jimmy Farraday was murdered, in cold blood, right here at WHNB." Tony's mouth broadened into a big smile. He sighed. "Never has a finer man walked the face of this earth. No one misses him as much as I do. He was my dearest friend. My mentor." Sighing again, Tony sobered and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.
Bethany's thumb hovered over the channel button.
"Jimmy's accused murderess is free to walk the streets, to fill people's heads with her lies about a good man. I know this woman and cannot imagine what has possessed her." Tony's face reddened as he bounced around the stage like a hell-fire and brimstone preacher. "There's nothing sadder than a good woman gone bad. Nothing more tragic than for a man's daughter to turn against him.
"I'm pleading with those of you who loved Jimmy as I did, to demand justice. Swift, sure justice!"
Had Tony been spouting off this slanderous condemnation of her ever since he'd come on the air at five-thirty? she wondered. How many of Jimmy's loyal fans had he stirred to vengeance? Surely he couldn't go on television and defame her this way. She knew that ever since she'd refused to go out with him again, after two dates four years ago, Tony had treated her coolly, but she'd never dreamed he would be so vindictive. Had he truly loved Jimmy that much? And did he really believe she killed her stepfather?
With trembling fingers, Bethany pushed the Power button, turned off the television and tossed the remote onto the table. She didn't have to listen to any more of this drivel. If Tony Hayes thought he could malign her on local television, he'd better think again. She'd call Maxine and find out if she had grounds to sue.
After setting her coffee cup aside, she unarmed the security alarm, turned on the outside floodlights and exited through the side door leading to the breezeway between the house and the garage. Breathing in the fresh, cool air that reminded her that autumn was only three weeks away, she scanned the driveway for the paper. Catching a glimpse of the plastic-wrapped roll, she grimaced. Plastic covering on the morning paper was a sure indication that rain was predicted for that day.
When she stepped off the breezeway and onto the driveway, she heard an approaching vehicle. The loud clatter-clanking of a large truck echoed through the stillness of the peaceful Forest Park community. It wasn't garbage pickup day and no one who lived in this area drove a commercial vehicle. Just as she leaned over to pick up the Birmingham News, a dump truck backed into her drive. Her heartbeat accelerated. Foreboding swirled in the depths of her stomach. Bethany blinked a couple of times, unable to believe her own eyes when the truck bed rose into the air and dumped its
load onto her lawn. The stench of fresh manure filled the air, sickening Bethany instantly. Grabbing the paper in one hand, she stood up straight and covered her mouth and nose with her other hand.
She ran toward the truck, yelling at the top of her lungs. "Who sent you here? Who hired you to empty a load of manure on my lawn?"
Just as she reached the side of the truck, the driver rolled down the window, stuck out his head and spat a stream of brown tobacco juice toward Bethany. The spittle landed on her shoe. Crinkling her nose in disgust, she groaned and stepped backward.
"This here's a little present from Jimmy Farraday's friends," the burly red-haired man said.
"You cannot leave this here! Do you hear me? I'll call the police!"
The man laughed, the robust sound sending shivers along Bethany's spine. "You'd just better be glad that I didn't bury you alive in this stuff. It's what you deserve."
When Bethany reached out, intending to pound her fists against the truck door, Morgan grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands over her head. Gasping, she struggled against him momentarily, then relaxed when he walked her backward, away from the truck. He jerked the newspaper out of her clutched hand.
"You scared me to death," she told Morgan.
"Heard you had you a bodyguard," the man said. "Good thing. Somebody's liable to fill you full of lead the way you did Jimmy."
"I suggest you leave." Morgan glared at the truck driver, a deadly glint in his eye. "You've done what you came here to do."
"You're going to let him get away with this … this…" Bethany spluttered furiously. "Just look at my beautiful lawn. And the smell is horrible … sickening, and—"
"I've already called the police and given them the license plate number on this truck." Morgan glanced up at the driver, whose smile suddenly vanished. Manacling her around the waist, Morgan lifted her off her feet. "We'll get someone in here today to clean up this mess," he told her as she squirmed in his arms. "In the meantime, let's just leave our morning visitor to the police."
A MAN LIKE MORGAN KANE Page 12