Aaron's Will

by DawnMarie Richards

  “I know what you thought. And I let you because it was easier for me than having to explain myself.”

  “You bastard.” The pain in her intent gaze made it difficult to breath. “How could you do that to me?”

  “I thought I was protecting you.”

  “What kind of twisted rationalization is that? I shut down, Dylan. I’ve been closed off for years because you didn’t have the balls to tell me you had a hard on for me?”

  Her inner sailor had been released, the course language further informing him how deeply his confession wounded her. He reminded himself it had to be done.

  “It’s not as simple as that.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “You were nineteen years old, Morgan. I was twenty-eight. I had no business having a ‘hard on’ for you. What would you have done with the information? Would it have made things any easier?”

  She seemed to want to say more, but pressed her lips together and turned away from him. After taking several deep breaths, she faced him again.

  “Why now?”

  “Because I need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “We seem to be stuck with each other for the foreseeable future.”

  “The will,” she muttered.

  “Yes. We have to work together. We travel in the same social circles.” He indicated their current situation with a sweep of his upturned hand. “I don’t see any way to avoid seeing each other.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head to look at his threaded fingers. “I need you to help me fight this thing.”

  “‘This thing,’” she repeated. “So, I’m sure, what exactly is ‘this thing?’”

  Dylan searched her face in the muted light. She waited for his explanation, her features relaxed and her hands folded primly in her lap.

  “The physical attraction…between us.”

  “I see.” She was quiet for a time and then stood and extended her hand to him. “Dance with me.”

  “Morgan,” he cautioned.

  “It’s just a dance,” she chided.

  Determination made her tawny eyes bright. Despite an ominous sense of dread, he got to his feet and gathered her to him.

  Stilling his mind, he refused to think beyond the touch of her fingers in his palm, the scent of her hair, and the sound of the muted melody to which they moved. He would make the most of the dance. It could quite possibly be their last. After a few moments, he looked down at her. She lifted her face to him.

  “We’ll go back to being friends?”

  The longing in her question stung him.

  “Our work with the Foundation has to take priority. I think we should simply maintain our professional relationship for the time being.”

  “If you think it would be best…”

  “I really do.”

  “All right, I’ll try.”

  “Thank you.” The words seemed inadequate to the grateful relief he felt.

  “I want you to know, though,” her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “In all these years, I’ve never stopped caring about you. In fact, Dylan, I lo…”

  Panic lent him speed. Dropping her out-stretched hand, he cupped her cheek and pressed his thumb to her lips.

  “No!” he managed through gritted teeth.

  His breath came harsh and heavy through his lips as he waited for the world to right itself.

  “No,” he said more gently, looking deeply into her eyes, unabashedly begging her.

  Carefully, he let his hand fall away from her face.

  “All right.”

  There it was, what Lillian had warned him about. He may have prevented her from saying it out loud, but the love was there in her welling amber eyes. It was so obvious it had to have been there all along, though he had never allowed himself to see. And there was the disappointment, in her half-smile, the defeated dip of her chin.

  He knew who he was and what he was capable of and he’d never been ashamed of that man. But he found himself longing to be more, to be that other man, the one Morgan deserved. The cold and unyielding agony of regret twisted his gut and damned him.

  He folded her into his arms, turning her head against his chest. She clung to him, her willingness to accept whatever consolation he would give breaking his heart. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. He held her, held her until he was sure the ocean’s breeze had dried her tears.

  The timeless love song they’d been moving to had long since ended, the band no longer played. The lighted buildings of Boston’s skyline silently passed. But she still held tight to him, so he kept dancing.

  Under the brilliant stars of the summer night’s sky, Dylan danced with Morgan. Amidst the smell of the sea, in the bittersweet silence, he danced with her. It was all he could do.

  Chapter 9

  “Miss Shore?” Morgan’s assistant’s voice crackled over the intercom.

  “Yes, Mrs. Lowe.”

  “I wanted to let you know I’ve set an appointment for you with Mr. Drumlin at two o’clock.”

  “Did he mention why?” Morgan asked, the now familiar anxiety tightening her muscles making her sound terse.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Shore, his assistant didn’t say. Would you like me to call back and find out or…er, reschedule?”

  “Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,” Morgan managed in a calmer tone. “I was just curious. Thank you, Mrs. Low.”

  She flattened her palm against her chest, willing her tripping heart to calm. It wasn’t getting any easier. She had hoped as time passed, seeing Dylan would be easier. But it wasn’t. Every appointment was a trial, every chance encounter a trauma.

  Over the last few weeks, she had seriously considered leaving her position, Seascape, Rock Bluffs, everything and everyone far behind her. But then, Aaron would be there, in her head, telling her she wasn’t a quitter. She’d survived much worse. She had too much important work to do through the Field Foundation. There were all those children who would find themselves in circumstances much like her own depending on her for help. Surely she wouldn’t let a little thing like unrequited love stand in the way.

  “All right, all right, Old Man,” she’d say aloud. “You’ve made your point.”

  Morgan tried to turn her attention back to her work. It wasn’t long before the numbers on the spreadsheet swam before her eyes. Her wall clock insistently ticking off the minutes to Dylan’s arrival triggered a tension headache. Rummaging in her side drawer, Morgan located a bottle of Tylenol. She washed down two tablets with the remnants of her morning tea and rested her head in her hands, waiting for the medicine to work.

  “Mr. Drumlin is here, Mrs. Field.”

  Morgan bolted upright, absently wiping at the thin line of drool running from the corner of her mouth to her chin.

  “Fell asleep,” Morgan explained to herself before pressing the intercom. “Thank you, Mrs. Lowe. Please tell him I’ll be with him in a moment.”

  Morgan pulled out the top drawer of her desk, taking out a mirror and small bag of make-up. She cursed herself for such a lapse. Of all the times to drop off, did it have to be now? At work? To be woken up because Dylan was waiting to see her?

  Her hand shook as she drew the mascara brush along the length of her lashes. She quickly located a tube of lip gloss and began to apply it as she pushed the button once more.

  “Mth Lowe, you can thend Mither Drumlin in now.”

  Quickly sweeping all evidence of her makeover from her desk top to her drawer, Morgan sat back in her chair, willing herself to relax.

  After a brief knock, Dylan opened the door and strode into the room. A tremor moved through Morgan at the simple sight of him. Steeling herself against her own traitorous thoughts and body, she got to her feet and put her hand out to him.

  Dylan put his briefcase on the floor next to one of the wingchairs in front of her desk before taking her hand in his.

  “Have a seat,” she offered lightly, the fleeting physical contact making her head swim and a
light sweat break out over her body.

  “Thank you, but I have something we need to discuss.”

  “Oh?” Morgan asked cautiously.

  “Nothing to be worried about.” He bent to grab his briefcase from behind him. “I think it will be easiest to show you.”

  He placed the black leather case in the middle of her desk, and she looked down at it curiously as he spun it so the locking mechanisms faced her. Suddenly, he was behind her. She felt his heat like an enticement, drawing her to him. Concentrating very hard on the light reflecting off the gleaming silver hardware of the briefcase, she managed not to lean back into him. In her periphery, she caught his arms extending on either side of her, his hands coming to rest on the top of his case. Those beautiful hands, long-fingered and tanned, had been strong and sure those few times they’d moved over her body. She closed her eyes, drawing in a harsh breath in an effort to dispel the memories. Her lower abdomen sharpened tightly as she was besieged by his scent. As quietly as possible, she let the tainted air out through her lips as, with synchronized swipes of his thumbs, Dylan opened the lid with a snap.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware,” he began briskly, appearing oblivious to what his close proximity was doing to her. “The Field Foundation awards several scholarships each year. These are the essays from this year’s applicants. Aaron’s secretary brought them to my attention while she was going through his office. It seems Aaron was in the process of reviewing them when he…”

  His words trailed off. Morgan bowed her head and closed her eyes, not daring to look back at Dylan.

  “Well, it would appear the task is yours now,” he finished gently, his breath rustling the hair at the crown of her head.

  Morgan looked into the open briefcase in front of her and sighed at the pile of papers.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.” Dylan worked around her as he spoke.

  Morgan tried valiantly to listen to his instructions. But the play of his arm muscles beneath his skin as he placed the papers in front of her was an incessant distraction. She wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the movement with her fingers.

  “They’ve been pre-sorted. The first group has the highest academic standing. The second one, the most financial need. And this gold seal stack has both. It’s up to you if you want to go through them all again or simply pick-up where Aaron left off.”

  Morgan dropped her head, shaking it slowly from side to side in denial.

  “What is it?”

  She couldn’t find the words to answer him. When the silence stretched between them, he swiveled her chair around so she was facing him, his shoes anyway.

  “Morgan?”

  “It probably sounds crazy,” she whispered. “But sometimes, I don’t know. It’s almost like I rediscover he’s gone. Like I was expecting to see him when I got home tonight and suddenly remember he’s dead.”

  “I know.” His voice sounded strained and Morgan sought his face. “I experienced the same feeling when Marilyn brought these to me. I almost asked her why Aaron had sent them to me.”

  “You must miss him so much.”

  “Of course, sweet.” He reached down with the fingertips of one hand to smooth a stray curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

  Hearing his old nickname for her made her heart skip a beat. She moistened her suddenly dry lips with a sweep of her tongue. Dylan’s gaze honed in on her mouth. The air between them electrically charged.

  She stood up, giving Dylan no time to adjust. Deliberately, she pressed into him, watching with fascination as his pupils dilated until there was merely a thin band of blue around the black centers.

  Then his hands were around her upper arms, his fingers biting into her flesh. Morgan gasped at the sharp pressure and looked into Dylan’s face.

  “Don’t!” he ground out, giving her a small shake.

  “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “Yes you can. You’ve been doing it. This was a moment of weakness. It’s fine. I understand.”

  “No, Dylan,” she insisted pressing her palms flat against the firmness of his chest. “You don’t understand anything. I’m trying to do this impossible thing because you said you need it to be this way.” Morgan felt a crack in her carefully constructed façade, her voice becoming louder and more unsteady with every word. “But if you understood you would know…I’m going insane with wanting you. I want you when I wake up, when I go to bed and every horrible minute in between. I want you when you’re here and when you’re not, when I’m in meetings with the board, when I’m at home eating my dinner. And I’m afraid, Dylan. I’m truly afraid I’m starting to hate you for making me deny it.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath, as if her confession had caused him physical pain. Without a word, Dylan set her to the side then released her. He bent forward, tidying up the papers he had arranged on her desk before closing his briefcase and taking it in hand. When he straightened and sidestepped around her Morgan realized he meant to leave.

  “Wait. Wait! You’re leaving? ‘Help me, Morgan.’ That’s what you asked of me. Well, I’m trying but I need your help now. I can’t stop wanting you. Do you hear me, Dylan Drumlin? I can’t stop.” Past caring, she shouted at his retreating back, “What are you going to do about it?”

  To her relief, he paused at the door, his fingers curled around the handle. Without turning to face her, he spoke.

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  And he was gone, the soft click of the door closing bringing Morgan back to her senses. She slumped into her seat and brought her trembling hands to her hot cheeks.

  She felt sick. And the two tablets she’d taken before Dylan’s arrival were no match for the pounding in her temples. She leaned forward to open the top drawer and get out the bottle of pain reliever. She washed down a second dose with the remains of her water and took a deep breath.

  “Mrs. Lowe?” she asked into the intercom.

  “Yes, Ms. Shore?”

  “Could you check the schedule? I’m thinking of heading home early.”

  “Let me see. Yes.” Morgan could hear the clicking of the woman’s keyboard as she searched the day’s appointments. “You are clear for the afternoon. You do have the quarterly meeting in the morning with the Board of Directors. Nine a.m.”

  “Fine. I remember. Thank you.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Oh no, thank you. It’s only a headache that won’t go away.”

  “All right then.”

  Morgan tidied the papers on her desk, gathered up her things and headed for the office door.

  “I hope you feel better,” Mrs. Lowe offered as Morgan passed her desk.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.” She reassured the woman with a small smile. “Good night.”

  * * * *

  “Dammit!” Dylan slammed his hand on his steering wheel.

  The blunt pain in his palm did nothing to curb the churning in his gut, so he did it again and again and again. Finally, the throbbing was insistent enough to cut through the fog clouding his mind.

  What the hell had happened? He’d thought everything was fine. He’d been meeting several times a week with Morgan since the Bennett’s anniversary cruise. Dylan had been impressed by her impassioned attitude toward him. He’d thought they’d reached an understanding.

  What an idiot! Consumed by his own struggle to keep things platonic, he hadn’t spared a thought as to how Morgan was dealing with their “new normal.” She was an intensely sensitive woman who desperately wanted to please him, how had he been so blind as to not see the strain his demand was putting on her. How could he have assumed she would be able to switch off her feelings for him simply because he asked it of her? He’d deserved her outburst. He’d earned it.

  Dylan thought of the look on her face when she’d realized he was going to walk away from her. She’d asked, no begged, for his help and his answer had been to reject her. He felt sick. He had to fix it now. />
  Pressing the auto dial on his cell, he heard the call connect through his car speakers.

  “The Field Foundation, Ms. Shore’s office. How can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Lowe?”

  “Mr. Drumlin.”

  Dylan smiled at the woman’s unerring ability to never forget a voice.

  “I was wondering if Ms. Shore was available. There was, ah, another matter I forgot to mention to her earlier.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Shore is out of the office. Can I take a message?”

  “No, no message. Would you happen to know when she might be back?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Drumlin.”

  Something in Mrs. Lowe’s tone told him she was not happy with him at the moment. He rubbed his hand across his eyes. He could well imagine why. Those office walls weren’t sound proof, he knew. And he had the sneaking suspicion Morgan had left for the day; although, he knew the ever efficient and proper Mrs. Lowe would never admit such a thing to him. Morgan had to be horribly upset to have gone home in the middle of the afternoon.

  “I’ll check back later. Thank you, Mrs. Lowe.”

  Dylan rang off and made a decision. Making a quick right hand turn, he headed toward the interstate and Seascape.

  Chapter 10

  Morgan removed one hand from the wheel to press her trembling fingertips to her mouth. She didn’t think she’d ever been so angry. Dylan had disappointed her many times through the years, but she’d never felt such raging betrayal. Even during those long years when he’d kept himself distant from her, there’d always been a sense if she truly needed him, he would come to her. But when she’d asked, no begged, for his help, he’d turned his back on her.

  “Enough!” she insisted as she pulled into the garage.

  As she entered through the kitchen, it occurred to Morgan she had the house to herself. Mr. and Mrs. Tibbe visited their oldest son in Connecticut every other Thursday. Philip had told her at breakfast he was playing a round of golf and having dinner at the club after work and wouldn’t be home until late. It was a rare treat to be alone at Seascape, and Morgan knew what she wanted to do on the hot July afternoon.