Chapter Thirty-Eight
Morgan paced Lance’s guest room, her cell phone pressed to her ear as she talked to her sister. Her nerves were still frayed by what happened with the Burns brothers that night—and by the sight of Karen Mitchell chained up in that trailer. But rescuing Karen was worth every drop of clammy sweat and rush of adrenaline-induced nausea.
If only Grandpa would wake up.
“So there’s no change?” she asked Peyton.
“No.” Behind Peyton’s low voice, a monitor beeped in a steady rhythm. “He’s stable. Please try to get some sleep.”
“When do you think he’ll wake up?”
“I’m a doctor, not a psychic, Jim,” Peyton said in her best Dr. McCoy voice.
Morgan appreciated her sister’s attempt to lighten her mood, but she didn’t have the energy to laugh. “You’ll call me if anything happens?”
“I promise.” Peyton’s tone grew sincere again. “I will watch over him all night. I’ve got this covered. Go. To. Sleep.”
“OK.”
“And Morgan?”
“Yes?”
“Grandpa is tough,” Peyton said. “Don’t give up on him yet. He’s not going down without a fight.”
“Thanks, Peyton. Good night.” Morgan ended the call, crossed the hall to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. She undressed as the water warmed. The instant Morgan stepped into the heat, her tightly reined emotions burst. She leaned against the tile and let herself cry. She was too damned tired to hold back any longer.
Her sister meant well, and as a doctor, Peyton was a far better judge of Grandpa’s medical condition, but Morgan was afraid to let herself hope. She’d just crawled out of a seemingly bottomless pool of grief and now felt the need to brace herself. To prepare. To gather her energy against the possibility of another devastating loss.
Hope raised the platform from which she’d fall if the worst happened.
She had children to care for.
When her husband had died, they’d been too young to understand, and John had been deployed more than he’d been home. Their world hadn’t been disrupted. But this time, they were old enough to grieve for the great grandfather who’d willingly stepped up to fill the role of a father.
Just as he had for Morgan and her siblings.
Grandpa had been her rock. Without him, she’d never have gotten through the deaths of her parents and then John. She couldn’t imagine losing him.
Who did you turn to when your source of comfort was gone?
But someday that would happen, even if it wasn’t today. No one lived forever. And when that day came, her girls would need Morgan to be strong. She would have to be their rock. She couldn’t allow herself to sink again.
She turned the water to cold and stuck her head under the spray, letting the shock of freezing water jolt her out of her heartache. Shivering, she shut off the water and dried herself.
Morgan emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair hanging down her back and soaking the borrowed T-shirt. Her eyes were raw, and her face felt tender from crying. No matter how much resolve she mustered, the despair inside her refused to back down.
She’d never felt so alone.
In the bedroom, she stepped into the sweat pants Lance had given her, tying the drawstring tight to keep them from falling down. Returning to the hall, she glanced into his room. The decor reflected him: all masculine, nothing fussy.
His furniture was modern and clean-lined. A dark-wood dresser and leather headboard. The king-size bed was covered in a solid navy-blue comforter. A single nightstand held a clock, a lamp, and a book. The entire room smelled faintly of his cedar-scented body wash. She sniffed her skin. So did she.
She’d slept in his guest room once before. But that’s not where she wanted—or needed—to be tonight.
The sounds of soft piano chords floated down the hall. The poignant lyrics of “Tears in Heaven” pulled her into the living room. Lance sat at the piano. He wore gray sweatpants and a snug black T-shirt. His short hair was still damp from his shower. A tumbler of whiskey occupied a coaster on top of the gleaming mahogany.
She knew he used music to express emotions he couldn’t verbalize. Sadness poured out of him. Was he thinking about the suffering of the woman they’d rescued? Her grandfather, his own long-missing father, or the damage his disappearance had done to his family?
If anyone understood her grief, it was Lance.
She crossed the room and sat next to him on the bench.
He paused, hands over the keys. His eyes grew worried as he scanned her face. “Are you OK?”
“Please, don’t stop.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
He continued. His voice was soft and gentle, doing justice to the pure and simple anguish in the song.
When he’d finished, he turned his head to plant a soft kiss on her head. “Did you call Peyton?”
She nodded. “She says he’s the same, and she’ll call if that changes. Did you talk to Sharp?”
“I did. He’s still at my mom’s house. He’s too tired to drive home and is staying there tonight.”
Lance craned his neck to view her face. “It’s been a long few days. You should get some sleep. Are you sure I can’t feed you? Scrambled eggs or toast maybe?”
“I’m not hungry.” And she wasn’t ready to settle either. Restlessness pawed at her. “Do you believe in heaven?” Morgan had lost her father, her mother, and her husband. With her grandfather’s life in jeopardy, she wanted to think they were somewhere, waiting for him.
That he wouldn’t be alone.
He picked up his whiskey and drank. “I don’t know. I hope so. I hate to think this is it.”
And on that note, she reached for his glass.
He held the glass tight. “Remember what happened last time?”
“I’m not going to get drunk.” She had no tolerance for alcohol, something she’d demonstrated to him in the past. “I could get a call at any time. But I need the warmth.”
“I could make you a cup of tea,” he said as he released the glass.
“This is fine.” She took a small sip and handed it back to him. The whiskey burned a path down her raw throat. “Do you think your father is alive?”
He touched a key and pressed it softly. “Whatever happened, I can’t believe he’d just walk away from us.”
“How do you deal with not knowing?” Morgan asked.
His face went tight, his voice pained. “It wasn’t a choice.”
“No. It wasn’t.” The sigh that rolled through her grated like shards of broken glass. Pain welled up in her chest until she felt as if her heart would crack. Her next breath vibrated with it.
She reached for his face with both hands, cupping his jaw between her palms and drawing his face close enough to press her lips to his. The kiss started out soft and gentle then shifted to needy.
She needed him.
Her hands slid down to his shoulders.
“Morgan,” he said against her mouth, his words more breath than words.
She deepened the kiss.
He grabbed her wrists and broke their lip lock. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
A quick flash of anger shot through her. “I know exactly what I want.”
“You’re vulnerable.”
“What’s the alternative? Not to care about anyone? That’s not really living.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He shook his head. “You’re hurting. I want to be here for you, but I don’t want to take advantage of you because you need to release some emotions.”
“I don’t want a release.” Morgan shook her hands free, frustrated. “I’m scared.” Her voice softened. “And I don’t need sex. I need you.”
When she’d lost her husband two years before, she thought her heart was too damaged to love again. She’d been wrong. She wasn’t sure if she loved Lance or not, but there was heat and longing and a connection that was all at once familiar and unique.
What she felt for him was different. Not less. Not more. It was unique and separate and belonged to them and them alone. There was no comparison, just as there was no need to compartmentalize one love from the other.
Lance froze. The honor and determination in his eyes heated into something else.
Hunger, she realized with a shock.
He needed her as much as she needed him.
“You’ve been a good friend, Lance.” She reached out and cupped his jaw. “I want more, but if you can’t give it, I understand.”
He covered her hand with his, turned his head and kissed it. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words. I’m here for you.” He lowered his head. “For as long as you want me.”
Their lips met.
This kiss was different than others they’d shared. This kiss was knowing. This kiss brimmed with anticipation and discovery and even friendship.
Her body pressed against his as if telling her brain to shut up. She looked up into his eyes. They were dark and intense and entirely focused on her. Heat bloomed over her skin and desire unfurled in her belly.
His hand slid down her arm to grip her hip and pull her even harder against him. His thumb brushed an exposed strip of skin between her T-shirt and the sagging waistband of the sweatpants. She surged forward, other body parts demanding attention.
She twisted, intending to crawl into his lap, but her knee struck the piano. The keyboard cover slammed down with a crash.
Lance shoved the piano bench backward. He turned and lifted her. In one smooth motion, he picked her up and turned her around so she could straddle him. She was no tiny waif, and as superficial as it was, the ease with which he maneuvered her body was a huge turn-on.
All those muscles weren’t for show.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her core down against his.
Yes.
Definitely yes.
Breathless, he lifted his mouth from hers. “As much as the thought of making love to you on my piano is hot, the actual orchestration eludes me.”
She laughed against his mouth. “We would probably wreak havoc on the keys.”
“It would be worth it. I can get a new piano. But as it’s our first time, I’d rather have some room to do my best work. I’ll only get one chance to make a first impression.”
“Wow. No pressure, right?” A sudden burst of nerves shook her. It had been so long for her. She splayed a hand over his heart, taking comfort in the steady thud of it under her palm. “I haven’t had sex in years. I hope it’s like riding a bike.”
“I hope it’s nothing like riding a bike.” His brows shot up with mock indignation. “I want to rock your world.”
“OK, then.” She slid off his lap. She’d seen Lance almost every day for months. Her sudden shyness was unexpected.
Smiling, he stood and offered her his hand. “Trust me.”
“I do.” She took it and let him lead her to his bedroom. Standing next to his bed, he turned her to face him. He switched on the nightstand lamp. The glow was soft, just enough to see the intensity of desire in his eyes.
A flush heated her skin.
She stepped forward, crushing her body to his, feeling his warmth everywhere she was cold. His mouth roamed from her lips down her neck and to her shoulder without coming up for air, as if he couldn’t taste enough of her.
Leaning back, she grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, pulled it over his head, and tossed it aside. His body was thick and powerful, with heavy ridges of well-defined muscles on top of muscles. His sweatpants rode low, exposing an impressive V of lower abdominal muscles.
She wanted to run her hands over every inch of him. “Can I touch you?”
He made a choking sound and then cleared his throat. “You can do anything you want.”
For once, she let impulse have its way like a teenager after prom.
She reached out a hand and placed it on his hip, running her fingertips over his abs. His skin was smooth and warm, solid under her fingers. His body vibrated as she stroked her way to his broad chest, and she reveled in the sheer masculinity of him.
Then he moved.
His hands were on her biceps, sliding up to her shoulders, cupping her face and stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs. His mouth came down on hers. No hesitation this time. The kiss was all hunger and need and months’ worth of pent-up desire.
Pulling his mouth from hers, he lifted the hem of her shirt and drew it off her body. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the sweatpants and dragged them down her legs. Then he leaned back and took a good, long look, licking his lips in anticipation. “You’re perfect.”
He backed her against the bed and eased her onto it, stretching his body out alongside hers. His lips roamed from her neck, down her collarbone, and across the tops of her breasts. Every touch of his mouth, every stroke of his fingertips, stoked her need higher.
He lifted his head, watching her with intimidating concentration as he slid a hand between her legs. Her body arched under his touch, and he smiled, obviously pleased by her response.
“That’s it,” she said.
When she reached for him, he pulled his hips out of her reach. “Ladies first.”
Tension built inside her, spiraling higher and higher, until she writhed.
“Now,” she gasped. She’d been waiting for what seemed like forever for this moment.
“But you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured against her face. “I could watch you all night.”
But Morgan couldn’t wait another second. Her body and her soul wanted to be part of him. This man who had turned her life around. He’d shown her she could be happy again.
That she could live instead of simply existing.
She reached for him again, her hand trembling with need. This time he didn’t resist. Her fingers closed around him, and his eyes practically rolled back in his head.
“Now,” she said in a firmer voice.
His chest shook with a low chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.”
His confidence settled her nerves, and she clung to him.
He reached for the nightstand, opening the drawer and removing a condom. After sheathing himself, he slid on top of her, nestling between her thighs. His hands cradled her face, framing it, and his gaze studied her, as if he was deliberately preserving this moment in his memory.
He slid inside her, filling her body and soul. Fully seated, he froze and stared down at her. The connection between them seemed to transcend time for a few seconds.
“I’d love to stay like this forever.” Sweat broke out on his forehead. “But I can’t.”
“Nothing lasts forever.” Morgan hitched her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. “Better to make the most of every moment.”
But she would remember every precious second and hold it tightly in her heart.
They moved together, instinct guiding their bodies. Tension built, ebbed, built again, until Morgan finally spiraled out of control. Her orgasm was a free fall that left her dizzy. Lance shuddered and collapsed on top of her.
Sweating and panting, she poked him in the ribs. “You’re crushing me.”
But inside, her heart felt full, as if he had filled its cracks.
“Sorry.” He rolled off her and onto his back, out of breath.
She rolled onto her side, throwing a leg over his and resting a hand on his powerful, bare chest. “Consider my world rocked.”
He put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. “I think my heart exploded.”
Her gaze went lower, to the thick angry scars on his thigh from where he’d been shot the previous year. He’d almost bled to death. For a second, she couldn’t bear to think about a world without him in it. “You almost died.” The words choked her, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“But I didn’t.”
She squirmed lower on the bed and pressed her lips to it.
He tugged her back into his arms. “Life doesn’t come without risk.”
“I’m sorry.” She wiped her cheek. “I’m an emotional mess tonight.”
“You need sleep. It’s a wonder you’re still conscious. Close your eyes. Whatever happens in the morning, we’ll face it together.”
Exhausted and spent, she rested her head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her close. Despite the uncertainty that lurked outside the door, here and now, in his arms, she felt safe and whole for the first time in years.
What she felt for Lance was as strong and simple and pure as a beam of sunlight cutting through storm clouds.
Was it love? It just might be.
She was certain about one thing. Anything bad that happened to her would be more bearable because of his presence. She was stronger with him than she was alone.
She lifted her head. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell in a deep rhythm. She closed her own eyes. Thoughts of love shifted to Tim and Chelsea. The sheriff had said he would call them to let them know about the arrests of the Burns brothers. Morgan wondered how Chelsea was taking the news. Was she relieved? Did she believe it was over? Was she being comforted by her husband tonight?
Even in sleep, Morgan’s brain refused to let go of the inconsistencies of the case that she’d noted at the salvage yard.
A few hours later, she woke. Morning had broken. Pale sunshine filtered through the blinds, casting stripes of shadow and soft light across the bed.
Something wasn’t lining up so neatly in her mind.
She slid out of bed, donned the borrowed sweatpants and T-shirt, and tiptoed into the kitchen. She scanned the counters. No coffee machine. Why hadn’t she noticed the absence in her previous visits to Lance’s house? He didn’t drink coffee regularly, but surely he must have a machine somewhere in case of an emergency.
Like now.
Her head ached for caffeine. Yes. She was an addict.
She checked his cabinets but found no sign of coffee. She’d have to wait until he woke up. With a sigh, she gave up, took her files into the living room, and spread them across the coffee table.
The answer was in here somewhere.