Aaron's Will

by DawnMarie Richards

  “Yes,” Philip continued, warming to the topic. “And let’s not forget he’s a lawyer like your father. Drumlin is definitely the perfect daddy substitute.”

  “Stop it.” Morgan finally found her voice, though it sounded weak and unconvincing.

  “Tell me I’m wrong.” He sneered.

  “How I feel about Dylan is none of your business.”

  “I disagree. You might be interested to know I have a great deal of interest in your feelings.”

  “What…” Morgan began, but her retort dried in her throat as she noted Philip’s gaze had locked onto her lips.

  “Because if you honestly don’t care about him.” Morgan noted with increasing alarm Philip’s voice had become soft and dreamy. “I might be tempted to melt your cold, cold heart…”

  In the next instant, his mouth was on hers. Initially, Morgan tensed. Her spine went rigid and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Then, some instinct took over making her muscles go lax. She would let Philip discover what she knew.

  His hands moved over her, somewhat frantically exploring her back, shoulders and arms as if he were searching for the key to unlock her response. When he began to seek access to more intimate places, she used his body as a shield, wrapping her arms around him and pulling tight, leaving no room for his grasping fingers. He leaned back to consider her. Morgan let out a sigh hoping the ordeal was over, but she saw the sad regret in his eyes harden into anger.

  He caught her up in a punishing embrace, pulling her head back by her hair. Dipping his head beneath her chin, he pressed his wet, cold lips to the base of her throat. Her eyes went wide with shock as she felt the sensitive skin there being sucked into his mouth. The tension came back into her limbs in a rush, but she had little leverage.

  After several moments she managed to get her arms between them and shoved at his shoulders with her wrists. But the sharp nip of his teeth stopped her meager defense. Fortunately, it also broke through her rising panic. Instead of fighting Philip, she fought for self-control.

  “Philip,” she managed hoarsely. “Please. You don’t want this. You don’t want me. You’re like a brother to me. I’m like a sister to you. Like a sister.”

  To her relief, he stilled.

  “Shit.” His lips brushed against her before he thrust her away to draw his shaking fingers over his close cut hair.

  She shrank back as he reached toward her. He laughed, retrieving his glass from the mini-bar and settling into his corner.

  “Relax. You were right. That was…” He gestured roughly with the hand holding his drink, some of the remaining alcohol sloshing over the side and onto the seat between them. “…not what I expected. And not because of all your brother/sister bullshit. My father may have thought of you as a daughter, but I never considered you my sister.”

  “Oh, Philip.”

  “Please, I don’t believe for a second it’s any big surprise to you. I’ve accepted you because I had to, and I hope like hell after today I won’t have to think about you anymore, especially after such a pathetic demonstration. Just out of curiosity, is there something wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Are you, what’s the word? Are you frigid?”

  Morgan pressed her lips together in a tight line and looked away from Philip’s mocking face.

  “Tells me all I need to know. It certainly explains a whole lot.”

  Humiliated, Morgan leaned her fevered skin against the cool glass of the car window. She focused on the passing shoreline, letting the gentle waves beyond the seawall calm her jumbled thoughts. Behind her she heard Philip swallowing at regular intervals. In between, he tapped out a chiming rhythm on the side of his glass with the signet he wore on the ring finger of his right hand. It had been a gift from Aaron on Philip’s eighteenth birthday. Morgan couldn’t imagine Aaron’s dismay at seeing his son’s behavior today.

  * * * *

  Dylan glanced at his watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. His impatience was exasperating.

  “Christ,” he muttered.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Drumlin?” Dylan’s ever vigilant paralegal inquired.

  “Nothing.” Dylan returned his focus to the file folder he held open in his hands. “Ignore me, Adam.”

  Perched on the corner of Adam’s desk, Dylan feigned nonchalance. He loitered in the hall like some love-sick teenager hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl he liked between classes. He wished it was nothing more than a high school crush. In reality, his work, his focus, his life had become a strangled mess all because of a woman he thought he’d long since exorcised from his psyche.

  He’d only seen Morgan once in the month since she’d told him to find his way out after Aaron’s memorial service. He’d made it a little over a week before he’d felt compelled to call Seascape to check on the family. Mrs. Tibbe had answered and let him know they were all doing “just fine.” She’d also told him Morgan had returned to Cambridge. She’d gone on to say she was a bit disappointed Morgan had refused to plan anything for her graduation. Something about Morgan insisting it was inappropriate under the circumstances. She simply wanted to complete the required coursework and get home. Oh, yes, and in case he had been curious, the commencement ceremony was May eleventh. Dylan had gotten the message. It had been easy to go undetected in the crowd. Morgan would never know he had been there. But he had felt it important to bear witness to her achievement.

  The muted rustle of footsteps on carpeting drew Dylan’s attention. He saw Morgan and Philip walking toward him. Pushing himself off the desk, he placed the folder on the corner where he’d been sitting.

  “Philip.” Hand extended in greeting, Dylan stopped the pair outside his office.

  As he shook Philip’s hand, he turned to assess Morgan. What he saw stunned him to stillness.

  Just above the neckline of the jacket of the form-fitting pale pink suit she wore there was a darkening bruise. If he weren’t seeing it for himself he never would have believed it. Morgan Shore was sporting a hickey.

  Judging by the mild smile she afforded him, she either had no idea the telltale mark was there, or she thought no one could see it. Either way, Dylan decided to have a word in private with Miss Shore.

  “Morgan,” he finally found his voice, releasing Philip to clasp her by the elbow. “Could I have a moment?”

  Before Morgan or Philip could object, Dylan had her in his office and the door closed firmly behind them. She shook him off as soon as they were out of sight and turned on him, displeasure plain on her face.

  “Dylan! What are you doing? You left Philip standing there. What do you want?”

  “What do I…”

  He took a moment to study her more carefully. She looked back at him, no hint of guilt in her gaze. If he was reading her body language correctly, she was irritated with him. Her hands were propped on her hips and she had placed one foot slightly to the side and in front of the other. He would not have been surprised to see her toe start tapping with annoyance. His gaze was drawn to the base of her neck to reaffirm what he had seen in the hall.

  “I thought before you walked into a room full of men for the reading of your late guardian’s will you might want to know you have a hickey.”

  “What!” she snapped, her hand going to the spot where Dylan’s eyes rested, as if she could feel evidence of his accusation.

  Their gazes met and then she narrowed her eyes.

  “Thank you for your concern.” Her voice was calm but clipped. “Is that all?”

  “Is that all? Isn’t that enough?”

  “For hauling me into your office like some outraged bully? You tell me.”

  As Dylan stood dumbfounded, some part of him applauded her ingenuity at unfastening the flowery, flowing silk scarf she had tied in a bow on a purse strap and draping it artfully around her neck.

  “There. Are we done here?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned toward the door. Her dismissive attitude t
riggered something in him. Before she took half a step away from him, he grabbed for her, spinning her back to him and pulling her hard against his body.

  “Was it Philip?” he demanded.

  Her eyes went wide before she tried to twist out of his grasp.

  “Morgan,” he warned.

  “I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” she spat at him.

  “Maybe not. But you obviously didn’t know it was there. Was it unintentional or unwanted?”

  She looked up at him, two lines of puzzlement wrinkling up between her eyebrows.

  “What? What are you asking me?”

  “Listen, I saw what he did to you at the memorial. For Christ’s sake, he practically felt you up at his father’s funeral, and I’m pretty sure that’s an etiquette no-no. So I’m asking you, did you acquire your ‘love bite’ by accident, in a moment of mutual passion or were you held down against your will while ‘someone’…” He couldn’t help the sarcasm dripping from the pronoun. “…sucked on the skin of your neck until it caused a bruise. Goddamn, Morgan.”

  “Still, none of your business,” she bristled.

  Her rebuff incensed him. She was protecting Philip. But God help him, Dylan realized the constriction in his gut had more to do with the thought of another man’s hands and mouth on her than whether she had been a willing participant.

  His hands tightened convulsively around her shoulders as he searched her face for some relief from the illogical jealous rage setting the blood in his veins on fire. The raspberry tip of her tongue peeked out between her lips, wetting them before disappearing back into her mouth. An innocent, nervous response, he knew, but more than enough to overwhelm his alarmingly unstable restraint.

  His mouth was on hers before he had fully formulated the thought. Frustration fueled him. Morgan pushed against him, but instead of reacting to her demand, he deepened the kiss, convincing her lips to part. He growled in triumph when his tongue met hers in the sweet cavern of her mouth.

  The intimate invasion affected her as well. The hands she had been using to repel him slipped around his chest and up his back, hooking over his shoulders and winching him to her until there was no space between them. Any shred of constraint he might have possessed was swept away with her wordless sanction.

  He smoothed his hands up over her body. They stumbled on the clip holding her hair in place. With a simple squeeze, he released it and was rewarded by a wave of chestnut curls cascading over his arms. When he threaded his fingers through the luxurious volume to massage her scalp, she moaned into his mouth. Raw desire shot through him.

  Feverishly, he shifted his hands from her head to her hips. His fingers sought the hem of her skirt and slipped beneath the soft material. When he cupped her bottom and discovered bare firm flesh, his arms tightened convulsively, lifting her off her feet. She wrapped her legs around him triggering a growling response from deep in his chest.

  He turned with her in his arms and, using a sixth sense, unerringly made his way across the room. When he felt the bump of a seat cushion against his knee, he bent forward, laying Morgan out on the office couch. He settled on top of her, pressing his hips between her thighs. She whimpered, running her hands over his back and curling her fingers into his behind. She pulled him to her and ground along the hard length of him. All the while, their tongues sought and twined and retreated endlessly.

  “Mr. Drumlin, everyone is assembled in the conference room.” Dylan’s assistant’s voice on the office intercom was like a blast of cold air into the room. “Mr. Drumlin?”

  Staggered by what it cost him, he drew away from her. He cleared his throat and reached for the button on the intercom on the nearby coffee table.

  “Yes, I’m here, Adam. Please go ahead. Miss Shore and I will be there shortly.”

  He leaned his forehead against Morgan’s. He couldn’t seem to move, his chest heaving with the effort of bringing his breathing back to normal. Then he realized she struggled beneath him.

  “Let me up. Let me up!” she insisted, pushing the palms of both hands against his shoulders.

  He moved off of her, trying to help her up as he slid along the length of her body to sit at the end of the sofa. But she crossed her arms over her chest and shook him off, retreating to the opposite corner to tug her skirt down over her hips. The fall of her hair hid her face from view.

  At a loss as to what to say or do, he searched for inspiration. His frantic scanning lighted on her hairpiece, lying on the floor where he had dropped it. He got to his feet and retrieved it. As he retraced his steps to stand in front of her, he absently worked the mechanism, feeling the bite of the teeth in his palm as it closed.

  “Morgan.”

  He held the clip out to her, hoping to get a glimpse so he could gauge her expression, but she kept her head down as she took it from him. He reclaimed his seat and averted his eyes, overcome with shame at his colossal loss of control and a growing dread that in the last ten minutes he’d finally done irreparable damage to whatever meager connection he had with her.

  When he finally found the courage to look up, she stood over him—her hair once again perfectly in place, her handbag over her shoulder, and a grim set to her lips. Dylan got to his feet.

  “What was that?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

  “I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. Why I…” he stammered before pressing his lips tight against any further senseless stuttering.

  It was true he had no ready explanation for his behavior. He needed time to think. Sharing his confusion would only complicate an already precarious situation.

  “You don’t know? Am I supposed to believe that?” The hurt was plain in her eyes as were the welling tears.

  Dylan held his tongue but did not drop his gaze. He owed it to her to at least face her.

  “You. The one who’s always in control, always knows what’s best for everyone, always does the exact right thing? I’m supposed to believe you don’t have an explanation for, for, for…” It was Morgan who looked away then obviously unable to put a name to their sexual explosion. “…that.”

  She ended on a raspy whisper. Dylan keenly wished he had some neat justification for her, but he was at an utter loss.

  “Yes,” was all he managed, but he was thankful he could say it without having to look her in the eye.

  Morgan flinched, but said nothing more before turning and crossing the room. She slipped through the office door, quietly closing it behind her.

  Chapter 5

  “No. No. No,” Morgan whispered as she blindly made her way down the hall, her knees jellied.

  One hand pressed to her mouth, the other to her stomach, she desperately attempted to counteract the tumult of emotions threatening to bring up her breakfast.

  She grabbed for a door handle on her left as she felt herself losing the battle. A wave of relief washed over her when it turned in her hand. She stumbled inside, closed her eyes and leaned back against the solid wood door; the click of the latch proved a great comfort.

  Compulsively swallowing, Morgan willed her insides to stay put. After a few moments, she felt in control enough to slowly open her eyes, prepping some explanation for the startled occupant she thought might be in the room.

  What she saw caused a slow smile to spread across her face.

  “Of course,” she whispered.

  It looked the same as she remembered. An opulent Oriental rug covered most of the floor lending a hushed, reverent quality to the room. A built-in bookcase filled with legal tomes ran the length of one wall from floor to ceiling and boasted a library ladder on brass rails. It provided an impressive backdrop for the imposing, cherry desk which boldly faced the entry and still showcased its owner’s felt blotter, a pen set positioned precisely in its center. Even the well-worn suede chair was tucked in tight and tidy, like the office’s occupant had only stepped into the anteroom to speak to his secretary. Unchanged, but without Aaron, haunted.

  Morgan unste
adily made her way to one of the two wingback chairs facing a long couch in the seating area. She drew in a breath. The unique bouquet of leather bound books, wood polish and pipe smoke filled her lungs. Although Aaron’s absence was most painfully evident there, where he had spent so much of his time, Morgan realized she hadn’t felt his presence more keenly in the last six weeks.

  Still deeply in mourning, she’d made the painful decision to return to the Harvard Kennedy School to finish her degree the week after the memorial service. As difficult as it was to concentrate on her coursework and go through the motions of preparing for graduation, she had known it was what Aaron would have wanted for and expected of her. It had been a relief, as well, to have a respite from Philip’s troubling behavior and the anguish of merely being in Dylan’s presence.

  This morning she was harshly reminded the month away had only provided her a delay. It seemed both men and their complex needs and indecipherable desires had waited for her to return to pick up exactly where they’d left off.

  “What were you expecting, my dear?” Morgan heard Aaron’s gentle jibe in her head as clearly as if he was seated behind his desk, pipe clamped between his teeth.

  She hadn’t been expecting anything. Had she? Well, to be honest, she might have hoped Philip would have worked through his grief and found alternative ways of dealing with his pain besides numbing it with alcohol.

  And she might have convinced herself the desire Dylan’s kiss had stirred had been nothing more than a function of her overwrought nervous system. Such a comforting and sweet gesture couldn’t have possibly had the power to awaken her long slumbering passion. But her recent unbridled response to him had effectively eradicated her delusion.

  She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Philip had accused her of being frigid an hour ago and she’d been unable to contradict him. She wasn’t repulsed by the idea of sex; it just didn’t consume her like it did so many of her contemporaries. And at some point she’d come to understand losing her parents as she reached adolescence had chilled her budding sexuality. Life was a brutally serious business.