CHAPTER 2
INSANITY, Misty thought, feeling the hot delicious stroke of Morgan’s tongue, the slide of his large rough hands down her spine. He had her pulled so close, their bodies were practically fused together. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t known this even existed. Lord, the man knew how to kiss, knew how to move his hands and his legs and his…hips. Everything he did, every place he touched her, made her too hot, too hungry. Made her want more. And so far he hadn’t even let his hands wander that far.
But no sooner did that thought filter into her fogged brain than one of those large hands came up over her rib cage to close on her breast.
Her nipples immediately drew tight, and she pulled her mouth away to gasp at the incredible sensations his touch caused.
He groaned harshly, and a rough tremble traveled through his big body.
Stunned, somewhat disoriented by the unbelievable intensity, Misty whispered, “No…”
At that single word, not even said with much conviction, he froze. His hand opened slowly, as if it took great effort to get his fingers to obey. With his face pressed to the place where her shoulder and neck met, he struggled for air, and every muscle—pressed so closely to her—stiffened.
Then he stepped away.
The air positively throbbed between them, but still, he’d stopped the second she’d asked him to. The significance of that didn’t escape her; he was a remarkable man, very much in control of himself. Misty did her best to catch her breath, to stop staring at him in the darkness. She should leave, right now, but she couldn’t seem to get her feet to move. Every nerve ending in her body was still alive in a way she hadn’t known was possible.
“I won’t apologize.”
He sounded breathless, frustrated, on the verge of anger, and she swallowed hard, trying to calm her galloping heart. “I…I didn’t ask you to.”
Still without moving, he added, “This is going to be a problem.”
Again, she asked, “This?”
Several beats of silence passed, then suddenly he moved away from her and he actually laughed. “Come off it, Malone. You felt it as much as I did.” He turned back, looking for verification.
It she assumed was the incredible sexual pull. “If you mean…”
Through his teeth, he said, “I mean I touched you and you got so hot I feel singed. I kissed you and you sucked on my tongue and rubbed up against me and it was like throwing a match on gasoline. There’s enough goddamned heat in this room to start a bonfire.”
Misty sucked in her breath, shocked at the words, at the harsh vehemence of his tone, but unable to deny them. Part of her new determination in dealing with men was to be brutally honest—with herself and them. Sugarcoating things, faking things, had caused at least half of her present problems. Being too timid, too naive, had caused the other half. In order to get on with her life, she had to start facing things head-on.
A rough warning growl rumbled from deep in his throat. “Malone—”
“You’re right,” she hurried to assure him, unwilling to let him shock her with more of his brutal honesty. “And I’m sorry. You took me by surprise.”
“Bull.” He propped his hands on his hips and glared at her. “I’ve known from the day I met you how it’d be. Why the hell do you think I avoid you?”
Oh. That certainly explained a few things, she supposed. “I see. Well, I must not be as clever as you, because I thought you were a totally obnoxious, thoroughly unlikable jerk and I was thankful that you ignored me. I had no idea this—” she waved a hand, trying to come up with a word suitable to the loss of control and depth of sensation he’d sparked “—chemistry was between us. I wasn’t even aware something like this existed.”
He cursed again, but she didn’t let him interrupt her. “Now that I do know, trust me, I won’t let it happen ever again.”
Morgan seemed to measure her words. And then she saw his eyes narrow, his expression darken. He looked at her breasts, and she knew her nipples were still painfully hard. Without a word, he reached out a hand and gently brushed the backs of his knuckles across one sensitive tip, gliding easily over the satiny material of the dress. Misty drew in a sharp breath and felt a small explosion of erotic stimulation throughout her body.
Morgan whispered, “Oh, it’ll happen again, sweetheart, if you hang around. That’s why you need to finish your little visit and hightail it out of town just as fast as you possibly can. My control only goes so far, and it seems you have no control at all.”
The words were like a cold slap, reminding her of all her troubles, of how gullible she’d been, how utterly stupid.
She jerked away and bit her lip hard to keep herself from tearing up. No way would she let the big jerk see her cry. Much as she had hoped to regroup in Buckhorn, she could see that was now impossible. What she would do, she hadn’t a clue. But he was right, leaving was imperative. She had absolutely no desire to get involved with a man again, for any reason. Especially not a domineering, bullheaded behemoth like Morgan Hudson, a man who didn’t even like her, and in fact, seemed to disdain her.
Keeping her back to him, she drew a long, steadying breath. Then she reached for the door. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.” Despite her resolve, her voice quavered tenuously.
There was a slight pause. “Misty…”
He sounded uncertain, but she had no intention of discussing things with him. There was no one she could trust except Honey, and she wouldn’t ruin her sister’s current happiness for anything. After she got her life straightened out and made some plans that would hopefully carry her through the coming months, she could begin making confessions to her sibling.
The open door offered no relief from the heat; there wasn’t a single breeze stirring. Misty stepped onto the dewwet grass, then felt Morgan’s hand settle on her shoulder. “Wait a minute.”
She flinched at his tone but didn’t bother trying to move away from him. Just that simple touch, his hand on her shoulder, made her acutely aware of him as a man. She almost hated herself. “What now?”
She turned to face him, trying to look irritated when she was actually breathless. The moonlight was brighter. She could see his every feature—the strong, lean jawline, the harshly cut cheekbones. He was by far the most impressive male she’d ever seen, but then, his brothers were nothing to sneeze at. There must have been a mighty impressive gene pool somewhere to create all that masculine perfection.
He stared at her, not answering at first. He shook his head, distracted, and just when he started to speak, another voice intruded.
“There you are.”
Morgan looked up. “Casey. What in hell are you doing out here?”
Misty turned to see Sawyer’s son. At sixteen, Casey already showed signs of his own masculine superiority. He was tall, nearly six feet, and had the bone structure that promised wide shoulders and long, strong limbs.
“Dad wanted someone to find you and haul you back inside.”
Morgan shook his head. “And of course, you just naturally volunteered for the job.”
Casey chuckled. “Actually, Uncle Jordan and Uncle Gabe beat me to it, and they did seem pretty anxious to come out here and fetch you in, but Dad told me to go instead, on account of he said you wouldn’t slug me.”
Morgan threw an arm around his nephew, held him in a brief headlock and then started them all toward the door. “Don’t be too sure of that, boy. My affection for you is kinda thin at the moment.”
With a laugh, Casey said, “I’m not worried. I can still outrun you.”
“You think so, do you?”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m fast—and you’re getting old.” Casey ducked quickly under Morgan’s arm and came to Misty’s side. Walking backward, his grin wide, he said, “Dad also told me if you didn’t want Honey to get after you, I should walk Misty in and you should come in after.”
“He said all that, did he?”
“He said you wouldn’t want to shatter Honey’s skewed illusions, being as she doesn’t know the real you, yet.”
Casey was having a fine time of it, pestering his uncle. Misty smiled to herself, amused at their close camaraderie and a little wistful. Her own family consisted of Honey and her father, since her mother died when they were young. Her father had been overbearing and overcontrolling, cold, without the foundation of love that would have made those personality traits more bearable. If it hadn’t been for Honey, she didn’t think her childhood would have been at all tolerable.
Casey seemed to have a fantastic family foundation. It was easy to see why Honey had fallen in love with the whole clan.
Morgan stopped just out of reach of the patio, still in the shadows where the lights didn’t reach. “You go on in, Casey, and tell your dad I expect him to control his wife. We’ll be there in just a moment.”
“Dad said you’d say that, and then I was supposed to tell you he’s sending Uncle Gabe and Uncle Jordan out in two minutes.”
Morgan made a playful grab for Casey, but he jumped back, laughing. Holding up his hands, he said, “Hey, it was Dad, not me!”
Morgan reached for him again and Casey hurried to the door. After he opened it, he yelled back, “Two minutes, Uncle Morgan!”
“Damn scamp.”
Misty was still smiling, though she felt great sadness inside. “You’re all very close.”
“We helped to raise him. Sawyer got full custody when Casey was just a little pup, and between raising him and finishing med school, he would have been frazzled for sure if we hadn’t all pitched in. Not that it was a chore. Hell, Casey’s always been a great kid, even if his sense of humor is sometimes warped.”
Misty stared at him, dumbfounded. “You helped raise him?”
“Yeah, sure. Along with my mother and the others. What’d you think, that I was too reprehensible to be around a youngster?”
Actually that was exactly what she thought, but she kept the words to herself. “I was just…surprised. The idea of four men raising a baby…”
“Yeah, well, like I said, my mother taught us what we needed to know. But she felt real strong about Sawyer being involved as the dad, and that meant the rest of us just kinda chipped in. I was…let’s see. Nineteen at the time. I’ll admit, the diaper thing threw me for a while there, and having formula spit up on me wasn’t exactly a treat.” Then he grinned. “But the whole uncle bit really turned the girls on. Hell, every time I took Casey into town with me, they’d come on like a mob.”
Misty rolled her eyes. “What a lovely image.”
Morgan laughed, but then his laughter died. “Look, about what happened…”
“You already made yourself pretty clear, Morgan. I don’t think we need to beat it into the ground. I said I’d leave in the morning, and I will.”
He ignored that and sighed. “Malone, I care a lot about your sister. I wouldn’t want her upset.”
She could only stare at him. “You’re worried I’ll say something to Honey? What? Am I supposed to go tattle on you, is that it?”
Even in the dim light she could see the way he locked his jaw. “She wanted us to be friends.”
“Good God!” she exclaimed, and when he frowned she added, “All right, forget the disbelief. For your information, I happen to love my sister.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, and that includes disillusioning her about her new family.” She poked him in the chest, her frustration level going right out the window. Her entire life was presently in the toilet, and Morgan Hudson was worried about her discretion? Ha!
“As far as I’m concerned, Honey can think we got along like best pals. But until I can get out of here tomorrow morning, stay the hell away from me.”
She turned and stalked in, but at the door, she couldn’t resist looking back one last time at Morgan.
He stood there in the moonlight, head tilted toward the dark sky, eyes closed, jaw clenched. His big hands were knotted into fists on his hips. Misty felt herself shiver, even though the evening was oppressively hot.
She knew then that he was right. Tomorrow morning she would leave Buckhorn behind. Hopefully, she’d think of somewhere to stay in the meantime.
She’d spent all her savings fighting the criminal conviction, and lost. She was homeless, out of a job and with no prospects.
And that was the least of her problems.
* * *
IF MORGAN HADN’T been lying there awake, his body frustrated, his mind disturbed by sensual images, he might not have heard it. But he hadn’t slept a wink all night, too busy remembering the sweet taste of Misty, the way she’d felt pressed against him. Perfect. Willing. Hot. Though his head told him things had ended when they should, his imagination had insisted on conjuring up a different ending to the tale, and he’d been rock hard and hurting for more hours now than he cared to admit. It was like suffering the curse of wretched puberty all over again, and he had Misty Malone to thank for it.
The squeak came again, and Morgan recognized the sound as the porch swing that hung in the huge oak at the back of the house. Throwing off the sheet that covered him, he stalked naked to the open window and listened. His room was at one end of the house, opposite to Sawyer and Casey’s, with the entire living quarters in between so they all had privacy.
Morgan’s bedroom faced the lake, as did Sawyer’s. As did the porch swing.
Someone was out there and his gut instinct told him it was Misty. He felt it in his bones, by the way his heart beat faster, by the way his stomach knotted. Only Misty had ever had that intense effect on him, and he figured it was mostly because he had to deny himself. If she wasn’t related by marriage, if he could have spent a long, hot weekend with her, indulging all his cravings, he’d be able to get her out of his system.
But he couldn’t, and that was the only reason for his obsession. He was sure of it.
Morgan saw that the moon hadn’t completely set, even while dawn was struggling to break. He glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was barely five-thirty. What was she doing up so early, hanging around outside? Looking for more ways to torment him?
It took him a mere two seconds to decide to go see her. He knew all the reasons he shouldn’t, but something overrode them all, some basic need to spar with her one more time before the rest of the family would be there to pull him back.
He was still buttoning his favorite pair of worn, comfortable jeans, and wearing nothing else, when he stepped out of his room. At the last minute, he stopped, went back into his bedroom and then into his bathroom. He brushed his teeth, giving a disgusted glance at his morning beard and disheveled hair, then decided to hell with it and headed out. But when he passed the kitchen, he halted again and concluded a cup of coffee was definitely in order, if for no other reason than to help him get his bearings before facing her again. She threw him off balance with just a glance, and set his teeth on edge with blinding lust.
As he hurriedly measured the coffee, being careful to be quiet so he wouldn’t wake anyone else, he thought about Misty and how she would look so early in the day, her dark hair still tousled, her eyes soft and warm. He imagined her still in her nightgown, something thin and slinky, and he almost dropped the carafe of water. The anticipation he felt was ridiculous, but real.
For at least a few hours this morning, he’d have her all to himself.
Jordan had an apartment above the garage and would be oblivious to anything and everything until at least ten o’clock. He liked to sleep late on the weekends, his only chance to catch up from his busy week.
Gabe might not even be back yet. He’d been surrounded by the single women of Buckhorn when last Morgan had seen him. But if he was home, his rooms in the basement would insulate him from the normal busy-house noises.
As for Sawyer, he was no doubt occupied with his bride. Morgan wouldn’t be at all surprised if he didn’t leave the bedroom all day. He grinned at that thought, remembering how Casey had told his father to feel free to linger, that he’d take care of all the chores for him.
Morgan was still grinning and feeling a little too anxious when he silently stepped outside with two steaming mugs of coffee. His bare feet didn’t make a sound on the wet morning grass as he walked to the swing. It was a bit chilly, a heavy fog hanging over everything, which turned his first sight of Misty, her back to him, curled up on the swing, into a whimsical, almost ethereal picture. He was only two steps away from her when he heard her give a delicate sniff.
Everything masculine in him froze, and he experienced that incomparable dread men suffered when women turned to tears. He didn’t know what to do. He strained to hear, hoping he’d misunderstood the sound, hoping she had a cold.
She sniffed again, then dabbed at her eyes with a wadded tissue. Oh, hell. Morgan felt a hard, curling ache around his heart and closed his eyes for a moment. The fact that her tears bothered him so much was a sure sign that things were out of control. Just physical attraction, he insisted to himself, despite his burgeoning sympathy and concern. Shoring up his nerve, he announced himself by clearing his throat.
Turning around so quickly she nearly upset the swing, Misty stared at him. She had glasses on, which he’d never seen before, and her hair was tied back with a plain elastic rubber band, long tendrils carelessly escaping. Even in the gray predawn light, he could see that she blushed.
Truth was, she looked like hell, and he hadn’t thought such a thing was possible. Her nose was red and her eyes were hidden behind the reflection of the glasses. His simmering lust died a rapid death, not because of how she looked, but because he knew she was upset, and he was horribly afraid that he was the reason.
Not knowing what else to do, he held out one cup of coffee, for the moment ignoring her distress. “I heard the swing and figured you could use this.”
She glanced at the cup as if it might hold arsenic. Morgan sighed. “It’s coffee. Lots of sugar and cream. I figured since Honey drank hers that way, you likely did, too.”
She took the cup, sipped, then quietly thanked him. Without another word, she turned her head to stare toward the lake, which could barely be seen through the fog. She had simply and plainly dismissed him. Her wishes couldn’t have been any more clear than if she’d come right out and said, Go away.
Nettled, Morgan pretended not to notice.
He moved to sit beside her, never mind that there wasn’t really enough room. She quickly scrambled to get her legs out of the way, and it was then he noticed she was wearing a soft old cotton housecoat. No belt, just fat buttons all the way down the front. It looked loose and comfortable, like something that his sixty-year-old mother would wear when she wasn’t feeling well. All the buttons were done up except the top one, and Misty clutched that small span of material together with a fist.
Morgan pushed a bare foot against the ground, making the swing sway gently, mindful of the coffee they each held. He kept his gaze on her profile. “You wear glasses.”
She didn’t answer him.
“I guess that answers the mystery of your big blue eyes, doesn’t it? I always figured the color was a little too clear, a little too good to be real. Colored contacts?”
Her shoulders stiffened and she turned to him. Over the rim of the glasses, she glared and gave him a view of those perfect, clear, startling blue eyes, unadorned.
Morgan stared into her eyes, then whispered, “I guess I was wrong.”
She turned away again, but muttered, “It’s not the first time.”
Ignoring that, he touched the rubber band sloppily knotted in her hair. “Rough night?”
One hand clutched the coffee mug, the other a damp tissue and the top of her housecoat. She hesitated, then slanted him another look over her wire-framed glasses. “If that’s what you want to think, why not? I mean, you left before me, so it’s entirely possible that once you were gone, I staged an orgy in that nice little gazebo you showed me.”
Morgan sipped his coffee while keeping his gaze on her. His free arm rested over the back of the swing, his fingers almost touching her. Almost. “I somehow doubt your sister would have tolerated that.”
She started to jerk to her feet, but Morgan caught her elbow. “No, don’t let me run you off. I didn’t come out here to harass you.”
“No, you came to see if I was ready to leave. Well, don’t worry. As soon as it’s light, I’ll get dressed and go. I packed last night so I could get an early start. I just wanted to watch the sunrise first.”
Her words made him feel almost as bad as that time Jordan needed help treating an ornery mule and it kicked him in the gut, breaking two of his ribs. Morgan rubbed a hand over his chest, which didn’t do a thing to help this particular ache, then muttered, “It’s for the best and you know it.”
“I’m not arguing with you, Morgan.”
“Good, because I didn’t come out here to argue.”
“No? Then why?”
Hell, why had he come out? Whatever warped reasoning he’d used to justify his actions, he couldn’t remember it now. Because he didn’t have an answer, he tried changing the subject. “You look like you’re…upset.”
She shook her head in denial. “No, not at all.”
But there was that tissue clutched in her hand, and her red nose and watery eyes. His conscience bothered him, and that had to be a first. In the normal course of things, he didn’t bother with a guilty conscience. He was always rock certain of his decisions. “I don’t have anything personally against you, Malone.”
She snorted.
Morgan clenched his jaw, but he was determined to have his say. “It’ll be best for all concerned if you leave soon.”
She sighed, then turned to stare at him. “Yeah, well, you seem to be the only one who thinks so. Gabe spent half the night trying to talk me into hanging around, and Jordan even offered me a job.”
In angry disbelief, he said, “You told them I asked you to leave?”
His anger didn’t faze her. “No. But they knew I’d go sooner or later.” Then she mumbled, “Though sooner seems to be on your personal agenda.”
Morgan struggled to control his temper. “What did you tell Jordan?”
“That I’d think about it.”
His muscles bunched in infuriated reflex. He wanted her gone. He did not want her hanging around his brother. “Like hell.”
She shrugged nonchalantly, egging him on. She had a habit of doing that, deliberately pricking his temper—and his lust. Hell, half the time he was around her he didn’t know for sure what he felt, just that he felt it too keenly and he didn’t like it one damn bit.
Jealousy of his brothers was a unique thing, but he absolutely couldn’t bear the thought of Misty being with one of them. Besides, he knew if she hung around, they’d eventually be involved, he had no doubt about that at all. Acting on gut instinct, he said, “Forget the job with Jordan. I’ll pay you to go.”
Her mouth fell open and she stared at him.
“How much do you want?” he asked, forcing the words out through his teeth.
“You’re not serious.”
“Why not?” He felt goaded and angry and out of control. He absolutely hated it. “You’d use Jordan, taking his infatuation with you to finagle a job. Well, why not use me instead? Hell, at least I know what I’m getting into. So name a price.”
Her lips pinched shut, her eyes narrowed and an angry blush rose from her neck up. Then, as he watched, she gathered herself, and anger was replaced by deliberate belligerence. “Hmm, well now, I know what it was Jordan wanted in exchange for the job. But…exactly what would you expect in return for cash, Morgan? Or do I even need to ask?”
Her innuendo goaded his temper, but more than that, it stirred his desire for her, sending him right over the edge. He broke out in a sweat, his gut clenched, his body hardened. He reached for her, not even sure himself what he would do once he had hold of her. But she surprised him by her reaction. She leaped to her feet with a gasp. The coffee mug fell from her hand to the soft ground with a dull thud, spilling the coffee and rolling a few feet away. Misty covered her mouth with both hands. Her face was pale, and she swayed.
Morgan stood also and caught her to him, ignoring her feeble struggles. “Damn it, are you all right?” He shook her slightly, his alarm growing. “What the hell is wrong with you? Answer me, Malone.”
Staring at him in horror, she opened her eyes wide and then pushed away, ran several feet to a line of bushes and dropped to her knees.
Morgan was dumbfounded. He started after her, but halted when he heard the unmistakable sound of retching. Never had he felt like such a complete and utter ass. He’d been harassing her again, when that hadn’t been his intent at all. He’d argued with her after telling her he wouldn’t. And she was sick. He made a false start toward her, then pulled back, as uncertain of what to do as he’d been on his very first date.
He’d hated the feeling then; at thirty-four, he hated it even more.
She probably drank too much last night, he thought, staring at her slim back as she jerked and shuddered. Some people just couldn’t hold their liquor—though he didn’t remember seeing her imbibe. Mostly she’d just danced and laughed and driven him crazy with an inferno of lust.
When she was done being sick, sitting there on her knees on the damp ground, her arms wrapped around her stomach, he inched closer. He felt totally out of his element, not quite sure what to say or do. But he knew he had to do something. She kept her back to him, no doubt mortified. He knew women could be unaccountably funny about such things. Finally, feeling like a fool, he knelt behind her. “You want me to go get you something to drink?”
She moaned and clutched herself a little tighter. “Just…go…away.”
Morgan hesitated, then lifted one hand to her shoulder, gently rubbing. Touching her made him feel immeasurably better, whether it did anything for her or not. “I bet Sawyer has something he could give you for the hangover.”
She laughed, a raw, broken sound that was close to a moan. “A hangover, Morgan? When I didn’t drink a single drop?”
Way off base with that one, obviously. He nodded. “Okay, not a hangover.”
She shook her head, and more silky strands of midnight hair escaped her rubber band to curl around her cheeks. A few tangled in the armature of her glasses, and he gently pulled them away.
Without looking at him, she said, “You always think the worst of me, don’t you?”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
“I should be used to it. God knows, men always…Oh, just go away.” Her voice was thin, washed out; she sounded too tired to argue.
He couldn’t stop his deep frown or his concern. “If you’re sick, then—”
Her hands fisted on her thighs in a sudden startling display of frustration. Still without looking at him, she hissed, “Damn it, why can’t you just leave me alone?”
He wouldn’t let her rile him again. “Look, Malone, my mother would skin my hide if I left a sick woman wallowing out in the dew, without—”
“I am not sick!”
Her stubbornness annoyed the hell out of him, even as he continued to gently stroke her back. “Oh, then I’m hallucinating? That wasn’t you just puking your guts up in my bushes? Because I have to tell you, Malone, if you’re hoping to be a martyr to get my sympathy, it’s not at all necessary. Hell, I already—”
She turned to him with a feral growl, momentarily startling him, then practically shouted, “I am not sick, you idiot! I’m pregnant.”