Now that they were alone, she could feel the fatigue setting in, coming at her fast and heavy. The draining emotional upheaval left her as empty as if she’d run a marathon. Sliding over, she let her head rest against Tricks’s side for the comfort of being close to her.
“I know she’s a dog,” she murmured, not knowing if Morgan could hear her but not caring because she needed to say it anyway. “But I love her.” She didn’t add any qualifiers such as like a child because love was love and didn’t need measuring.
His gaze flicked to the mirror again. “I know,” he said quietly.
Finally, finally, they were home. Tricks bounded out, her energy restored; Bo climbed out as if she hurt in every bone of her body, which she kind of did, but mostly she was so tired she could barely move. Morgan checked the sky, said, “There’s enough daylight left for me to take her for a walk. You go inside and put your feet up, eat one of those burgers. I’ll eat when we get back.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said, unable to bear the thought just yet of letting Tricks out of her sight. She’d let Daina take her because she knew that was best for Tricks, but that was the only reason, and she’d been on edge every minute Tricks was out of her sight.
He seemed to get that because he gave a brief nod and held out his left hand to her. She didn’t know if he meant for her to take it or if it was a “come on” gesture, but she seized it and held on tight. “Thank you.” She should have said it sooner, would have if she’d been able to gather her thoughts. She was trying so hard to function and not give in to the terror that still roiled deep inside her that function itself was getting shortchanged. “It was lucky—more than lucky—you were there.”
He squeezed her hand, then laced their fingers together so their hands were palm to palm. The touch of him, the strength she could feel in his hand, held her steady when she was feeling increasingly fragile, as if she might shatter into a thousand shards.
“It wasn’t luck,” he said briefly as they strolled across the yard to the trail she and Tricks had worn in the earth. “I’d already spotted him.” Bo was watching Tricks dance along the trail as enthusiastically as if she hadn’t gone that same route multiple times a day for most of her life, but at Morgan’s statement she glanced questioningly up at him.
“I didn’t know who he was,” he explained, “but he was wearing a jacket and that made me suspicious. When he moved, I followed.”
“What’s suspicious about a jacket?” Then it hit her, and she said, “Oh.” Why would anyone wear a jacket on such a warm day unless they were hiding whatever was under the jacket? She wouldn’t have noticed that, at least not at first.
Those few awful moments flashed in front of her, as vivid as if they were happening again. She saw the hate in Kyle’s eyes, the sheer viciousness, and the sick enjoyment of what he intended to do. “He was aiming straight at Tricks,” she said in a low tone and swallowed with difficulty because her throat immediately tightened at the memory.
“I thought he was. He could have been aiming at you, given that you were directly behind her, but I was fairly sure she was his target.”
“I knew I couldn’t get there in time.” Her voice had tightened to a thin thread of sound. “But you did.”
“Hey.” He squeezed her hand again, which brought her stricken gaze up to his. “I wasn’t going to let anything happen to either of you.”
But it could have. Who else but Morgan would have noticed something odd in someone wearing a jacket? His training, his level of expertise in taking people down, had put in him a unique position to stop Kyle, but what about when he was gone? She couldn’t think about that now, she simply couldn’t.
“I don’t understand it. Why hurt her? She’s so innocent—” Her voice broke.
“He blames you for making him give Emily everything she wanted in the divorce.”
“Me?” Indignation saved her, gave her back some control. She stopped in her tracks to stare at him in astonishment.
“His reasoning—or lack of it—is that everyone was so angry at him because he punched you, and he wouldn’t have punched you if you hadn’t jumped him. Ergo, it’s all your fault.”
She had nothing to say to that, too stunned by that monumental lack of logic to even try to get her mind around it. Silence was good, requiring no effort. Pretty much the only things keeping her going were watching Tricks go about her routine untouched by the day’s happenings, and the feel of Morgan’s hot palm pressed against hers. Tricks did her business and they turned around, retracing the path through the purpling twilight.
Their hamburgers were cold, but she nuked them just enough to get them warm, while Morgan opened a Naked Pig for each of them. If it hadn’t been for the beer helping the food to go down, she never would have been able to swallow. When Tricks was fed and they were fed, the day crashed down on her. She let Morgan handle what cleanup there was and dragged herself upstairs, made herself shower. Afterward, she went to the balcony rail and called down to Morgan that she was going to bed.
He was sitting on the sofa watching television. He tilted his head back so he could see her. “You okay?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But I will be.”
And she would. She knew she would. Just not tonight. Tonight, it was all still too close, her nerves were still too raw. When she got into bed, Tricks jumped up and snuggled against her, as if she somehow knew Bo needed comforting.
The need to touch Tricks was overwhelming. Bo stroked the soft fur, trying not to think how close she had come to losing her. “Sweet girl,” she whispered, remembering Tricks as a puppy, a lightning-fast ball of white fuzz hell-bent on attacking life and sampling everything she could, tripping over her own paws, diving at Bo’s shoelaces, splashing wildly in the plastic wading pool Bo had bought for her. She tried to hold on to that line of thought, to make herself smile and use the good memories to keep the bad ones at bay.
She couldn’t do it. The fragile smile in the dark faded, and the other memories rushed in. Lying there, she was swamped by that horrible moment when she’d been fighting to get to Tricks, knowing she was too late. For a few minutes that were so devastating she could barely think about them, she’d thought she had just seen Tricks killed in front of her. That yelp—what if it had been the last sound Tricks ever made?
The raw sound of anguish tore from her throat. She buried her face against Tricks’s neck as sobs shook her. She hated crying; she kept her emotions battened down and buttoned up, because viewing everything pragmatically and evenly was the best way to get through life. She wanted to stop, wanted to put this behind her and get back in balance.
She had always tried so hard to keep Tricks safe, and today she hadn’t been able to. If Morgan hadn’t been there, Kyle would have killed her.
She was so mired in distress that she didn’t hear the bedroom door open, but she wasn’t startled when the bed gave under Morgan’s weight as he sat down with his hip against her back. “Hey,” he murmured as he smoothed strands of hair away from her wet face. “It didn’t happen. Keep that thought front and center: it didn’t happen.”
“I know,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “But it was so close. I couldn’t get to her. I saw what he was about to do, and I couldn’t move fast enough. I felt as if my feet had been glued down.”
“For what it’s worth, in a crisis like that how things feel and how they really are are two different things. You were moving like you’d been shot out of a cannon.”
“And I still wouldn’t have been there fast enough.” Heartbreak was plain in her tone. She would have failed. Tricks would have died.
The bedroom wasn’t dark because of the light from the landing coming through the open door; she could see Tricks’s brows quirking quizzically at this unusual behavior from both her main human and her auxiliary human, her face so expressive she might as well be speaking. Bo’s heart swelled as she trailed a tender finger down the golden head to rub between Tricks’s eyes.
For all
of Tricks’s life, Bo had done everything she could to keep her safe and healthy, to give her a happy, secure life. Dogs didn’t live that long; every day was precious. But despite everything she’d done, all the precautions she’d taken and the care she’d given, she could have lost Tricks today, and it had been out of her control. Things happened. Some people were stupid-ass idiots. She couldn’t anticipate everything, couldn’t control everything, or even most things. Loss happened. It was random, striking without warning and despite all efforts to ward it off. Lightning could strike a hermit alone on a mountain as easily as it could someone in a town.
“Don’t,” Morgan said, and she realized she was sobbing again. She could no more stop the tears than she’d have been able to stop the bullet.
She could have lost him today, too. He wasn’t hers to lose but . . . she cared. She couldn’t deny that she cared. Tricks hadn’t been the only one in danger; Kyle could have turned the gun on Morgan just as easily. Today had all but slapped her in the face with a hard truth: there were no guarantees. She could safeguard her emotions to the best of her ability, and still be blindsided by events she couldn’t control. She could have lost Tricks today. She could lose Morgan tomorrow. Whether or not she slept with him, let herself show how much she cared for him, wouldn’t affect the amount of pain she would feel if anything happened to him. She would instead bear the extra burden of regret, regret that she hadn’t made the most of their time together.
He might stay, or he might go. She had no control over that. The only thing she could control was how fully she lived now because now was all she had. That realization was almost as terrifying as that moment when she thought Tricks was going to die. She had been protecting herself with an illusion.
Silently he got up from the bed and went out onto the landing. The light went out. His absence speared through her, and she started to call out a strangled plea for him to come back when she saw his dark shape moving back to the bed.
He stood on the other side and she heard the rustling of fabric, the sound of his belt hitting the floor. Her heartbeat began a hard, thumping pace, sending heat through her body and banishing the cold. His voice came in the darkness, deep and firm. “C’mon, Tricks, find some other place to sleep.” He snapped his fingers, and Tricks, the treacherous hussy, bounced up as if she’d been longing to get on her own comfortable bed but had been keeping Bo company while she was so upset, but thank you very much for relieving her of the duty. Her paws hit the floor and she trotted out with great purpose, as if she had something important to do.
Bo made a strangled sound at her own thoughts, half sob and half chuckle. She swallowed and managed to say, “What?” Not very coherent or eloquent, but it was the best she could do.
He sat down on the bed to remove his shoes. “You know what. The only question was when. The answer is now.”
That was succinct enough.
She wanted this. She wanted him, specifically. But she didn’t want him here out of pity, and all this crying might be a major turnoff to him. Morgan didn’t strike her as a man who had a lot of patience with weakness. “Are you sure?”
He was lifting the covers, and he paused. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m a mess.” She was a tangled turmoil of emotions, grieving when there was no need to grieve, crying when she hated to cry, so overflowing with thoughts that she couldn’t get a handle on any of them long enough to know for certain what she was feeling.
“I’m a guy,” he said prosaically as he got into bed beside her.
She was surprised into laughter and surprised that she could laugh. “Does that mean guys don’t mind messes?”
“Pretty much.” He slid his arm under her neck, urged her closer so that she was lying completely against him, her head snuggled onto his shoulder. The heat of his bare skin engulfed her, warming her through the fabric of her clothing. Under her fingers she could feel the crispness of his chest hair, grown back enough to be somewhat soft.
“I just don’t want you to do this because you feel sorry for me,” she confessed almost inaudibly.
For answer he took the hand lying on his chest and moved it down to the front of his shorts. His erection jumped at her touch, pushing into her palm. “Does this feel like sympathy?”
No, it definitely did not. Excitement speared through her; when he lifted his hand she left hers where it was, and trailed her fingertips up and down the hard length before folding her hand around his penis to get a good feel for the size of him. A little purring sound vibrated in her throat before she could catch it. He was so thick she had a pang of doubt before her hormones smothered it. Yes, she wanted him, she wanted this. She had always been alone, stood alone, and now she didn’t want to.
At her touch he went rigid and gave a rough groan. Firmly he grabbed her hand and moved it away. “You aren’t the only one with problems,” he growled, his voice sandpapery. “I haven’t had sex in so long I’ll last maybe fifteen seconds. I have to think about the tactical aspects of this.”
The darkness made it easy for her to relax, to smile. “You’re looking at me the same way you would a military mission?”
“Damn straight. I have territory to conquer, like these points of interest.” He slipped his big hand inside the loose neck of her tank top and gently rubbed his palm over her nipples, making them tighten. The rasp of his rough skin sent a sharp twinge of sensation from her nipples straight to her groin. Her back arched in response, her fingers dug into his shoulder. Primal excitement lit up her nerve endings, firing off such a multitude of responses she instinctively turned into him to seek more of them. His heat seared her from head to toes, drawing her in, comforting and enticing.
“Hills and ravines,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple as he moved his hand to the small of her back and deftly slipped under the elastic waistband of her sleep pants to stroke the curves of her ass and slide a finger along the cleft there. Helplessly she arched again, her body knowing what it wanted and curving into his touch. Her heart was racing, her breath coming in rapid puffs. Just like that he had her skin so sensitized she felt as if a mild electric shock was running through her. Just like that she was ready for him—but then, she’d been ready for him since the first time he’d kissed her.
“Interesting tight places,” he continued, sliding his hand farther down to curve it between her legs. Two big fingers pressed into her; the sensation of being penetrated and stretched was almost overwhelming. She clutched at his broad shoulders, digging her fingers into the pads of muscle. When he moved, he moved fast. There was something she needed to think about, but as long as he was doing what he was doing, she seemed incapable of thought, only of feeling.
Then his fingers were gone, and he deftly turned her onto her back; the sudden emptiness was so sharp she had to fight the irrational surge of anger at the absence of all those sensations. But at least that gave her a little breathing space, and she remembered what she’d wanted to tell him.
“I’m on the pill.” She blurted it out, too distracted to think of a lead-in. She had been taking the pill for years—not for birth control, but because otherwise her periods were horribly irregular.
“Good deal. I’d hate to get out of bed and make an emergency run to town to buy condoms. You might not let me back in.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
She might not, simply because she might panic. She hadn’t made love in years, not since her divorce because in the bitter aftermath she had concluded that sex made women stupid. The obvious solution was to not let anyone close enough that she was even tempted—and she hadn’t been, until Morgan.
When she didn’t argue with his supposition, he gave a rueful laugh and kissed her. Until he did, she hadn’t realized that in the middle of all the great-feeling things he was doing to her, she had really wanted to be kissed. She looped her arms around his neck and gave him back as good as she got, matching his tongue stroke for stroke, loving the taste and hunger and urgency of him. His hands clenched on
her sides and he drew back, yanked the tank top off over her head, then came back down on top of her.
Oh. That was the only thought she could muster. He was heavy and warm and the hair on his chest rubbed her tender nipples to achingly tight points. The weight of his legs nudged her thighs apart and he settled between her legs to push the hard ridge of his erection against her soft cleft. She made an incoherent noise, lifted against him. She had never before felt so . . . overwhelmed, so completely undone and turned on. He was big, he was dangerous, and he was about to do things to her she had thought she was done with, likely for the rest of her life. Instead, in his hands, she had gone from zero to ready so fast she was dizzy.
Being made love to like a military campaign was a novel experience. He was thorough in his tactics, laying waste to any possible skittishness she might suffer, overwhelming her with pleasure and moving on to new territory before she recovered enough to protest any particular liberty he might be taking. She tried to reciprocate, but he was having none of it. “No touching,” he ordered when she tried to caress his penis through his boxers. “My fuse is too short—”
“Doesn’t feel short to me,” she murmured, earning a chuckle from him.
“Just save that for next time.”
Maybe, she thought, and maybe not. She took her arms from around his neck, stroked them down the muscles in his back, down to his hips where his boxers clung. She slipped her right hand beneath the waistband, drew back enough to murmur, “Why don’t you take these off?”
“Not yet.”
His refusal only made her more determined to get the boxers off him. Swiftly she tugged them down as far as she could reach, baring part of his ass; he reached for her hand and while he was distracted by that she lifted her left leg high around him and slid her foot down his side until she hooked the waistband and could drag it downward.
He gave a smothered laugh. “Fighting dirty, huh? Guess I’ll have to show you what fighting dirty really is.”