Clenching his jaw, he watched the pair make their way to the landing at the entry to the Horizon Deck, Philip guiding Morgan with a solicitous hand at the small of her back. Dylan finished his drink in a gulp and signaled for more.
“Ms. Morgan Shore escorted by Mr. Philip Field.”
Dylan had tipped a healthy swig of his drink into his mouth as the undeniably handsome couple was announced and they stepped in unison down three red carpeted stairs. He was amazed at how gracefully Morgan moved in her four-inch, patent leather heals. When his eyes leisurely traveled back up her legs he noticed tiny bows peeking out from under the hemline of her dress as she walked. Sweet Morgan Shore was wearing a garter belt! The scotch went bitter against his tongue and his throat rebelled. Dylan had to turn on his barstool until he could get his choking-cough under control.
By the time he turned back, they were nowhere to be seen. Considering the brief sighting had left him unhinged, he thought it for the best.
The truth of it was, he’d been feeling unhinged for some time. After his disturbing conversation with Lillian, Dylan had spent the weekend unsuccessfully trying to develop a course of action which would allow him to work with Morgan. He’d been taken aback when Adam had informed him first thing Monday morning Ms. Shore had set a meeting to discuss the Field Foundation’s finances for the next afternoon. A part of him had been mightily impressed by her bravado. The rest of him was blindingly terrified. Later, lying in bed, the sheets damp with his perspiration, it had finally come to him.
Dylan was the executor of the trust. Morgan was the director of the Foundation. End of story. Simple.
Of course, in practice it had been anything but simple. Every moment in her presence had been as exquisitely torturous as he’d imagined. But somehow he’d managed to keep himself in check. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed, sometimes more than he knew he had, but he’d been able to leave her without feeling any guilt about his conduct while they were together. Weak from suppressing his arousal? Yes. Exhausted from concentrating so intently on the numbers at hand to keep his eyes off her figure? Undoubtedly. His face aching from maintaining the bland smile he plastered on before walking into her office? Absolutely. But guilt about his behavior while he was in her presence? None.
But behavior and thoughts were two very different things. There had been unguarded moments when all he could think about was pulling her up out of her seat, kissing her breathless and bending her over her desk, his fingers trailing over the bare skin of her ass as he swept her skirt out of the way. Those were the times he worried for his sanity. Those were the times he acknowledged the depth of his degeneracy. Those were the times he mercilessly castigated himself.
Then he would schedule another meeting, hoping against hope the small doses of controlled exposure would lead to resistance. He would eventually become impervious to the overpowering need threatening to devour him.
Obviously, it hadn’t happened yet. As soon as she’d walked into the room, granted not as the director of the foundation, but as Morgan Shore—and looking like a damn candy confection he’d like to devour in one bite—he knew he was nowhere near being immune to her. He looked into the bottom of his, once again, empty glass and decided he’d had enough, both of the alcohol and the party. He’d come to satisfy Lillian and possibly speak to Morgan. But it didn’t feel right. He’d had too much to drink and not enough to eat to be alone with her. It was time for him to make his apologies to the host and hostess and get the hell out before the boat left the dock.
As he straightened, he spotted Philip at the edge of the dance floor tugging Morgan behind him. Something in the awkward way she held her body made Dylan sink back down slowly.
He watched them, unable to turn away, as Philip led Morgan out onto the dance floor. Dylan noted she paused briefly before placing her hand in Philip’s. Dylan felt his nails digging into his palms as he watched Philip pull her close. Then they disappeared from view, whirling smoothly into the crowd.
Like riders on a merry-go-round, they twirled in and out of his line of sight. The first time by, the couple was in a respectable hold, Morgan smiling and talking to a grim looking Philip. The second time around, Philip held her close, his hand low on her back. Her face was hidden by Philip’s head, but Dylan had a clear view of Philip nuzzled into her neck. Dylan found himself leaning forward in anticipation, straining to catch the next glimpse.
Each time after, the dancing couple’s movements became more erratic. As the music was coming to an end, they came into view in what Dylan thought would be their final pass. Philip spun them when they were nearest and Dylan ducked his head not wanting Morgan to catch him staring. He could not resist a covert glance from beneath his shielding hand.
Her panicked expression had him on his feet and moving toward the receding couple before he could question what he was doing. His confident strides came to a stuttering halt when he saw Philip grab the wrist of the hand she had on his shoulder and twist it up behind her back, spinning her in front of him and shoving her through one of the doors leading to the outer deck.
It took Dylan too many precious seconds to realize he had stopped moving while trying to process what he had seen. With a muffled curse he lurched forward anxious to find her and put a stop to whatever had caused the look on her face.
Stepping out into the cool evening air, he paused to listen. At first all he could hear was the slushing of the ship through the harbor. But then there was a soft thud to his left.
Anyone else would have seen two lovers stealing a moment of privacy. But Dylan wasn’t just anyone. What he saw made his blood boil and his fingers tighten into fists.
Philip had Morgan pressed into a corner, his shoulders straining under his tuxedo jacket with the effort of keeping her in place. One hand he held against her face, his thumb dug in under her chin pressing it up at an odd angle. The fingers of his other hand were around her neck trapping her through a combination of confinement and pain. His lips were pressed to her throat.
Over Philip’s head, Dylan’s gaze met Morgan’s. The alarm was as urgent as before, but now he also saw an appeal. He understood what she wanted from him, but he wasn’t sure he could deliver. Drawing on his much touted but sorely tested self-control, he walked up behind the couple and tapped Philip on the shoulder.
“I’m cutting in, Philip.”
Chapter 8
Morgan’s relief turned to concern when she saw Dylan’s murderous gaze.
“Drumlin.”
“Philip.” The note of menace was clear in Dylan’s tone.
Taking advantage of Philip’s relaxed hold, Morgan stepped sideways. Dylan grabbed her upper arm firmly and hauled her to his side, out of reach. Philip conceded defeat, shrugging.
“I was finished with her, anyway.”
Morgan’s gaze flew to Dylan’s face, certain the flippant words would push him past restraint, but he was focused on her, alone, as if Philip had ceased to exist. The grim set of his lips told Morgan he had heard the derisive comment, but chose to ignore it. So when he reached for her, despite the sensation she was jumping from a frying pan into a fire, Morgan put her hand in his.
He said nothing, simply led her away from Philip, away from everyone. When they were alone in the bow of the ship, moonlight their only illumination, Dylan pulled her gently into his arms and began to sway to the song the band was playing.
The music came from faraway, competing with the sound of the waves striking the side of the ship. Between the pitch and roll of the boat and Dylan’s careful steps, a languid lethargy stole over Morgan. She rested her head on his shoulder and struggled against her heavy eyelids.
She’d wanted to see him so badly tonight. More to the point, she’d wanted him to see her. If she were completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit it had been the purpose behind her frantic search for the perfect dress, her never before—or likely ever again—splurge on these heels, not to mention her embarrassing visit to a lingerie store for the m
atching bra, panties and garter belt she wore. She didn’t necessarily expect Dylan to see those things, but she had wanted to be thoroughly prepared.
“Are you all right?” His deep voice penetrated her bones.
“Yes,” she murmured sleepily. Then, realizing how she sounded, said more firmly, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Dylan made some space between them causing Morgan to look up at him. She immediately wished she hadn’t. His eyes were soft with concern, but he scowled with anger. Suddenly she knew her rescue would come with a price.
“I saw the two of you dancing.”
“And?”
“Don’t do this.” The weariness in Dylan’s voice bewildered Morgan. “Don’t try to pretend nothing happened. That dance was more an assault than a waltz. What’s going on between the two of you?”
“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dylan swore softly. “If that’s how you want to play it.”
With the slightest pressure on her hand and in the small of her back, he drew her close. His breath came warm and soft against her ear. The angle he held her outstretched arm rendered her virtually helpless.
“Philip is practiced. I’ll give him that,” he whispered, his lips brushing at the skin of her temple. “It was subtle. He held you a little too close and moved against you a little too much. Like this…”
Dylan shifted his hold, aligning their bodies so each of her soft curves pressed against his every unyielding surface. Another slight adjustment and he’d angled her shoulders so her breasts brushed his chest as they moved. Dylan thrust his hips firmly against her with each step. For long moments he moved against her, his grim stare focused somewhere over her right ear each time she dared glance in his direction. She gritted her teeth against the sensations assaulting her.
The evening had officially made the change from dream to nightmare. Once again these men were ruining things for her.
Philip’s solicitous attitude had transformed in an instant. Morgan suspected his brief, but tense exchange with Lillian had been the cause. Whether it was Lillian’s disapproving attitude or the mere mention of Dylan’s name, before Morgan was able to talk to him or distract him from his purpose, Philip had downed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and a hastily acquired drink from the open bar. Next thing she’d known, she was dragged onto the dance floor. She had been embarrassed and angered by his seductive dancing. It had frightened her when he’d forced her out of the room and on to the deck. He’d been so out of control, so focused on making her bend to his will.
She couldn’t believe she’d been relieved to see Dylan. He was doing essentially the same thing, bending her to his will, embarrassing and angering her. But it was all so much worse because she was becoming aroused. Fighting her own body, she willed herself to be still, to not grind into him, not pull him closer, slip her hand from his crushing grip and pull his head down to hers. A humiliating whimper escaped her bringing his attention to her face. She bit down, hard, on her lower lip.
“There it is.” A self-satisfied smile curved his lips making Morgan want to strike out at him. “Pure panic.”
Despite the fact he had utterly misinterpreted her discomfort, she was grateful he loosened his hold. As he had said, the difference was subtle. It occurred to Morgan he must have been watching very intently to have discerned she was in trouble with Philip.
Her recent conversation with Lillian came back to her. She wished her friend could see how he handled her. Morgan could not imagine Dylan any more in command.
“All right!” She felt strangely like stomping her foot. “He scared me a little.”
“He scared you a little?”
“Yes. He was upset and he took it out on me.”
“What in hell has him upset this time?”
“I pushed him to come with me tonight. It was too much.”
“Oh yes, I find escorting beautiful women to parties incredibly taxing.”
“Dylan, please. Do you have to be so condescending? Not everyone has your unimpeachable self-control.”
Morgan stumbled over him as he came to a sudden stop. She backed away from the cold dispassion in his eyes.
“If you have something to say to me, say it.”
She stared back knowing he fully expected her to crumple in response to his bold challenge. And she would have if not for the Italian-accented voice echoing in her ear. “You unsettle him, Sorella. Unsettle him.” Her chest began to heave in response to her thundering heart as she realized she was actually considering doing it, deliberately unsettling Dylan Drumlin.
Slowly, she let her eyes move down his body. She saw him tense, saw his hands clench and unclench and his Adam’s apple work up and down along his throat. She brought her gaze back to his and in a leisurely and, she hoped, sensual manner wet her lips with a sweep of her tongue. She was satisfied when the action drew his eyes to her mouth. Did he sway toward her? Her confidence boosted, she stepped toward him.
“Morgan.”
It was a warning, one she determined to ignore. She took another half step and Dylan put his arm out as if to ward her off.
She slid her eyes to the side, deliberately focusing on the door leading to the cabin where the party was in full swing. She looked back at him, pausing for dramatic effect. She wanted him to know he could walk away from her, simply turn and leave her. It was all he had to do.
She doubted she would ever recover from the rejection, but she needed to know. Know if he couldn’t control himself around her. Know if there was something more between them than their past and Aaron’s will.
He didn’t move, just stood there with his arm in front of him like an entirely overdressed traffic cop.
She smiled and closed the distance, slipping her hands up over his back until they came to rest on his shoulders. A shudder ran through him. She leaned back to consider him. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open, his breath coming in harsh bursts.
Emboldened, Morgan trailed her hands around his body and up his chest. Then she tangled her fingers in his hair. Going up on tiptoe, she pulled him toward her. When only a hair’s breadth separated them, she ran her tongue over his bottom lip and then sucked it slowly into her mouth.
He crushed her to him, his groan vibrating through her. His erection made itself known on her abdomen, becoming more insistent as she nipped and licked him.
“Stop it,” he whispered against her.
“Stop what?”
Confident she had succeeded completely, she tugged him closer for a proper kiss.
“Morgan, please.”
His tortured plea stilled her efforts and when she looked into his panic-stricken gaze her heart went cold. Lillian had been wrong. Morgan didn’t unsettle Dylan; she terrified him.
* * * *
Raw and exposed, Dylan strained to withstand Morgan’s assault. She couldn’t know what she was doing to him. If she persisted, his already compromised grip on reason would fail. He was dangerously close to taking her, the two hundred revelers mere feet away be damned.
Why hadn’t he left before the ship sailed? He knew he’d had too much to drink. And what the hell had he been trying to prove dancing with her like that? Yes, he’d gotten her to admit something had happened between her and Philip but it hardly seemed worth the cost. Worth having her look at him like he was a foreign entity, a creature she couldn’t classify.
“Please, what?”
“Stop this.”
“I don’t want to.” Her delicate fingers glided over his body, coming to rest on his hips and angling him to her with a surprising strength. “And neither do you.”
“Yes I do, desperately.” His body made a liar of him, his arms cinching her closer.
“Why? I know you want me. I don’t care what you say.”
“I do want you, but that doesn’t make it right.”
“Who cares about it being right? Take me home with you.”
“Morgan.” He dropped his fo
rehead to hers in resignation. He had to tell her. “I never wanted to hurt you. Never.”
She peered up at him through her eyelashes.
“What are you talking about?”
He lifted his head, searching the horizon. There was nothing to see, only inky darkness.
“I’m not taking you home with me tonight or any other night.” He gazed down at her, thinking how beautiful she looked in the moonlight. “I might be the one you want, but I’m not the one you need.”
“And, of course, you know who I need.”
Her words were clipped. Good. Her anger would be easier for him than her lust or sadness. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“Someone who loves you to distraction, who can make a home with you, a family…the fairy tale…it’s what you deserve.” Her eyes had warmed to liquid caramel as he described his vision of her perfect life giving him all the affirmation he needed. “And I can’t give you any of that.”
“You can’t know that,” she snapped.
“I can. I do. And that’s why, five years ago, when I realized an attraction was growing between us, I ended our relationship.”
Her features contorted with confusion. She pushed herself out of his embrace. A tremor travelled through her and she hugged her arms around her body. Dylan removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. He held it closed around her, the lapels bunched in his fingers.
“That was deliberate? You did that to me on purpose?”
“Yes.”
She slowly swung her head from side to side as if denying his words. Gently, he tugged her forward, guiding her to a bench by the railing. They sat together.
“No. I was too young. You got bored with me.” She stared at a spot on the deck, her voice flat. “You started seeing Lillian and didn’t have time for me.”
“Lillian and I had ended our affair shortly after you left for college.”
“But, I thought…”
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