Busting Loose (10 page)

Andrea's shriek of delight from the corner warned that wasn't likely to happen.

“What kind of animal? Small dog? Medium? Cat?” Bea spoke for the first time, and his mother blinked and assessed her.

“Meg was thinking a cat,” his mother said slowly. “Brent is still angling for a dog, and he might get his way eventually. But I know Andrea would love a kitten, and I think that's on Meg's agenda today.”

“Sounds like Andrea might be the cat's main human.”

His mother smiled at that. “Very likely.”

“Is Andrea a quiet child? Does she like to sit and watch TV or read books for long periods? Or is she more likely to want to play and run and wrestle with a pet?”

“Oh, I think there's a good chance she and whatever pet they choose will both be exhausted by the end of the day,” Cynthia said with a small smile.

Bea handed Morgan the forms. “I'm going to show her Trix.”

“Trix?” He stapled the papers together and let them fall into the file box where they'd collected the forms all morning.

“The tabby, four months old?” She shook her head at him. “He's horrible with animal names. I'm taking over that part,” she confided to his mother, walking toward the cat section. His mother followed easily. “I just decided this one is definitely not a Kitty. She's a Trix. And I think Andrea might be the love of Trix's life.”

“Maybe,” his mother murmured, and eyed him over her shoulder.

And hell. He was in deep shit.

Bea collapsed on the chair, staring out at the empty hall. The few animals they hadn't found homes for were already back at the shelter, and all that was left to do was to sweep up, put the tables away, and double-check the bathrooms. But for the most part, she was officially done for the day.

And thank God for it, because her feet were killing her. How was it in a building as small as this, with a town as small as Marshall, they'd been
that
busy?

Because she'd been damn good at her job, that's how. She smiled and let her head drop back so she stared at the high ceiling. Because she'd managed to create something good and real and helpful. She wasn't a blight on society after all.

Morgan's truck rumbled up past the windows, and she tried—she really did—to stand and finish cleaning. But her legs weren't listening. They were rather content where they were. And her feet were content to
not
be in the heels she'd been wearing all day.

“Bea?” Morgan walked in, glancing around the room before finding her behind the table, half-covered by the poster board of newborn puppies. His slow smile sent a ripple of... something through her. What was that? Wariness? Anticipation? Some weird mixture of both?

He walked toward her with those ground-eating strides, stopping a foot away. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he wasn't sure what to do with them.

“You did great.”

The words, so simple, made her smile. “Thanks.”

He paced down the table to the poster. “This was a good idea. I wouldn't have thought of it.”

“We got several people wanting to know when they're ready to be adopted. I've got an e-mail list. Just let me know and I can send out the notification. In theory, we'll be swamped with takers. Those who don't nab one might like one of the other dogs from the shelter.”

He picked up the clipboard holding the long list of e-mails. “And the newsletter signup . . . we don't have one, you know.”

She smiled smugly. “You will, as soon as I have a few minutes to put one together next week.”

He glanced around the room. “The blog?”

“Will be attached to the website at the earliest convenience.”

Morgan nodded.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Morgan. Time to step up.”

“Next thing you know, you'll have a Facebook page set up.” When she flushed, he chuckled. “Or you already do.”

“It's hidden,” she said quickly. “Still needs finishing touches to complete it. It's just, you know, another way to share and advertise. And it's free.”

“No need to get defensive. You're doing exactly what I asked. Above and beyond, really.” Morgan set the clipboard down and faced her, his hands looping this time in the waist of his jeans. “It was a lucky day when I ended up hiring you.”

Bea rolled her eyes and snorted. “Hardly. I'm a crappy receptionist.”

“No, not at all. You care, and you're more organized than even I realized. You're scary-efficient, actually. Jaycee wasn't half as good with the tech stuff as you are. Like the program that e-mails appointment reminders? Brilliant. And you're adapting faster than I think anyone thought.” When she raised a brow, he added, “The designer barn boots?”

“Oh, right. My boots.” She smiled quietly. “I do like those boots.”

He held out a hand, and she countered by holding up a finger. First she slipped her heels on, then she placed one of her hands in his, allowing him to pull her up. He kept pulling gently until her body was flush with his. Her heels put her face just a few inches under his, so if she tipped her head back far enough, her lips could kiss the underside of his chin. But instead she rested against him, just let him hold her while they swayed a little.

It was intimate, the stillness of the room and their two bodies swaying together as if there was music surrounding them instead of stark silence. His breath moved the hairs by her ear, his chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. His body tightened, and she felt the stirrings of an erection, but he made no move to break the simple, almost chaste embrace.

“It was a lucky day,” he said again, voice low, the words a rumble against her ear, “the day you sat down in that chair and answered that beast of a phone.”

“It's not a beast. You're just not phone-capable.”

He laughed silently, just a mere stirring of the air. “There's the truth of it.” His hand cupped her chin and lifted enough so he could brush his lips against hers lightly. “Thank you for today.”

“It's my job.”

He kissed her again. “Thank you.”

She looped her arm around his neck. “Am I always going to be rewarded with kisses when I do my job well?”

He deepened another kiss. “Maybe.”

“Then I think I'll be a model employee.” She opened her lips this time, darting the tip of her tongue to flick against his, inviting him in. Her hips shifted slightly, cradling his thick erection against her groin. If she lifted her leg enough to hitch around his hips, and he—

“Oh dear God, I did not need to see that.”

Bea broke off the kiss at the sound of her sister's voice behind her. Oh God, how long had they been going at each other like that with people watching? She blinked to clear the fuzz from her mind before turning to face the foursome standing by the door. “What are you guys doing here?”

Trace grinned. “We were coming back to make sure there were no last-minute details or heavy lifting you needed help with.”

Jo leaned against him. “And I was going to offer a round of drinks on the house to celebrate your success. But it looks like you two found a different way to celebrate.”

Morgan cleared his throat, but then said nothing, only stood behind her. She glanced back, curious why he was gripping her shoulders so tightly, giving her no way to escape. Then his still-hard cock pressed against her lower back and she realized . . . he was hiding his boner. She snorted, both at the hilarity of the situation and at poor Morgan's discomfort.

“I think we're good. We can . . . celebrate on our own,” she assured them.

Peyton plugged her ears and sang, “La, la, la, don't want to hear this, la, la, la.”

Red guided her by the elbow to the door. “Come on, honey. Let's go soothe your delicate sensibilities with a drink at Jo's.”

Trace and Jo followed, with Jo shooting a thumbs up and a wink over her shoulder before closing the door.

And once again, they were alone.

Morgan grinned, then reached out and captured her arm at the elbow, pulling her back in for another sweet kiss. His thumb drew circles on the thin skin behind her elbow. Her pulse raced in response.

“Come home with me,” he whispered as he pulled back a little.

Come home with me.
He offered it so easily, though she didn't imagine he offered often to women. He just wasn't the kind. Which would make her acceptance even bigger in his mind. Leading him on to something that wouldn't work long term. Could she be so callous?

“Come home with me.” He repeated the request as his lips moved down her cheek, to the hollow below her ear. “Say yes.”

His lips caressed, not a kiss but more of a non-teeth nibble. As if he was speaking silent words across her skin.

“Say yes.”

No, she couldn't be so callous.

“Say yes.”

She
could
be that weak.

“Yes.”

M
organ heard the rustle of sheets before his mind could register what it meant. Then he smiled, and without opening his eyes, reached for Bea.

He ended up with a pillow instead, still warm from her body. Still smelling like her skin. He was about to open his eyes when light flooded in through his eyelids. “Christ.”

“Sorry,” she hissed and the light blinked out. “I just had to find my shoes.”

Shoes? He sat up quickly. “Why? Does Milton eat shoes?” The dog had, of course, come along with Bea. When she'd shut him out of the bedroom so they could have their way with each other, the dog's whine had all but killed the mood. Not until she'd gone back out there, naked, scolded him and sent him to the blanket she'd brought in from her car and spread out in the kitchen had the whining stopped. And thank God for it.

“Of course not.” Her voice told him she was shooting the
Seriously?
look in his general direction. “I couldn't have a shoe-eater on the loose. He would never.”

“Of course not.” Morgan ran a hand down his face. “You'd be out a fortune otherwise.”

“Probably.”

He felt the bed sink at the edge and he crawled over to her, looping one arm around her waist—a waist now covered with her shirt—and pulled her back against him. “Back to bed.”

“I can't.”

“Of course you can. It's not a school night.”

She laughed, and hesitated, leaning back against him for a minute. Then she sighed and sat up straight again. “No, really. I shouldn't.”

“We will agree to disagree on that fact.” His fingers walked around his nightstand until he found his glasses. When he turned on the lamp, a much softer glow than the harsh overhead light, he found her completely dressed, shoes in hand. “Why?”

“Nothing to do with you, cutie.” She kissed him quickly on the mouth. “I just need to head out.”

“Unfair.” He reached for her, but she danced out of reach.

“Plenty fair. You should be nice and worn out now. Back to sleep.”

He sighed and swung his legs over the bed. Slipping his jeans on without boxers, he regretted his need to leave the warmth. “I'll walk you out, if you insist.”

“I do. But you don't have to get up.”

“I do,” he echoed, and she smiled.

He waited for her to slip her shoes on, then led her barefoot through his small home. Milton trotted after them easily, the tags jingling on his collar like a merry bell.

There wasn't far to go. He'd designed the place himself, knowing there was plenty of room for expansion if and when a family came along. But for now, a single man who spent little time at home didn't need much space. It'd just be more to clean and heat. As they reached the kitchen, the cold tile had him hopping a little.

“Go back to bed.” She kissed his shoulder. “I can get to my car, seriously. It's right there.”

“But I'm doing it anyway.” As the saying went, his mama had raised him right. But right now, he didn't want to think about his mother, blissfully unaware of what her youngest child was up to half a mile away at the corner of their property. He wanted to think about Bea, back in bed, naked. Her warmed skin sliding over his and her lips forming the shape of his name while she let go of every inhibition and gave herself up to his loving care.

Morgan shifted one hip slightly to ease the sudden throb behind his zipper. Not smart.

“I insist you stay inside.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he captured it easily with his. “I mean it, Morgan.”

“Then I insist you stay inside, too.” He brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Why do you need to be back at two in the morning?”

She glanced around, chewed on her lip a little. “I just do. I don't . . . sleep well when I'm not in my own bed.”

Lie. Or at least a partial one. He could see it written all over her face. It hurt more than he'd expected, not just that she could lie to him, but that she wouldn't trust him with whatever it was she used the lie to cover.

Then again, they'd been lovers for barely over twenty-four hours. What exactly was he entitled to?

Relationship rules. He hated them.

“Okay then, so let's not sleep.” He tugged her hand a little until she would look him fully in the eye. “I want you to stay. I want you to be comfortable enough to stay with me. I want to wake up and watch you still hazy with sleep while I slip inside you.”

Her eyes widened, and he managed not to grin at his own ballsy little monologue. He'd never said anything like that to a woman before in his life. Something about Bea just made him bolder.

“Now, will you stay?”

She narrowed her eyes a little, as if calculating, then patted his chest. “I'll think about it.”

Good enough for him. He crushed her to him in a kiss. Her hips pressed against his, rolling over his erection in a way that had his eyes crossing behind his closed eyelids. God almighty, she knew exactly how to stir him and make him feel like an idiot.

When one of her legs hitched around his waist, he took the invitation. With one hand on either cheek, he hoisted her butt up until she could wrap the other around him. One of her heels fell to the tile floor with a clatter, startling the annoyed Milton into jumping back. He walked her back to the bedroom, careful around the door frames, and laid her on the bed. And when he came over her, she smiled into his face.

“You know I'll still probably leave, right?” she asked quietly.

“You said probably, not definitely. So I'm calling that progress.”

She shook her head in amusement, then kissed his nose and slipped his glasses off. Before she set them down, she used the corner of her pillowcase to polish the lenses.

That little habit of hers drove him crazy . . . with lust. That sweet, unconscious little gesture of caring. It told him she wasn't nearly as unaware of the needs of others as she liked to play at.

He kissed her again, then jerked upright as a sharp set of nails scraped along his lower back. “Dammit!”

“What . . . oh. Milty! No.” Her voice dropped low as she scolded the black-and-white pest currently worming his way between them. The dog's jaw rested on her breast, and he stared at her with an expression that said,
Surely you didn't think you could just forget about me, did you?

“Go to your blanket,” she said sternly.

The dog blinked, the tip of one ear flopped.

“Go, now.”

He sighed, but did as she asked. As if in final protest, he farted as he reached the doorway before leaving for the kitchen and his designated spot.

“That dog,” Morgan said, “is a more fearsome guard dog than any Rottweiler. If just for the gas alone.”

“He has his moments.” Bea framed his face and kissed him. “Now where were we?”

He balanced on one arm, using the other to unbutton her shirt and peel the sides away. “Right about here.” His fingers traced over the sweet baby blue–colored lace of her bra. A bra he knew matched her panties. She was a sucker for lingerie, she'd told him earlier. Couldn't get enough of the pretty stuff, even when she was sure nobody would see.

He loved that about her. That it didn't take a date, the possibility of a man, to make her want to be beautiful for herself. He leaned down and used his teeth to tease her nipple through the thin lace. “This bra matches your eyes. Deliberate?”

“My eyes are one of my best features,” she said on a moan. “Why wouldn't I work with what I've got?”

He nipped just a little harder, which had her eyes flying open before closing slowly again. “Good point.” He slid a hand behind her, fumbled just a little, then unclasped the tiny hooks between her shoulder blades so the bra went slack. He eased it away and took the puckered tip in his mouth again, without the lace barrier.

Her hands sifted through his hair, and her hips drove up against his thigh, searching for friction. She was a woman who wanted what she wanted, and she wanted it now.

Morgan was more of a long-term game player. Much like in a game of chess, he derived his pleasure in the now by imagining what it would do to the game twenty moves from now. And what he knew for sure was that Bea wanted him as much as he wanted her. And slowing things down would force her to consider their exchange as more than a few good bounces on the mattress.

But there was a time for slowness, and a time for
oh God he couldn't wait.
Her hand pressed against the side of his temple, her other hand presenting her other breast to his mouth as he clamped down and drew her in.

“Morgan, God. Morgan.” Her hands moved down his back, fingertips barely skimming the waistband of his jeans. She couldn't reach them to tug them off, he knew. He was too tall. But that was a damn good thing, since the second his pants were off, he was going to be inside her.

“Now, please.” Her moan fired his blood, made him want to crow with pleasure and the thrill of it. But he refrained. He did, however, ease a hand down to her own waistband and unbutton it, pushing the panties down with the pants. Unlike the bra, no fumbling here. She kicked and twisted and aided his efforts until she was completely naked. And her body was a sinful temple he needed to better explore. She whispered his name again, more a question, a plea, than anything. He loved the sound, loved his name coming from her lips.

His lips cruised down from her breast to her ribs, nipping with teeth every so often. Not ticklish. Interesting. He moved down to the inside of her thigh, close to where she wanted him, but not quite there. Her labored panting said she was a woman on the edge. Which he always appreciated. And when he nudged her legs wider and found her wet center with his mouth, locating that pleasure center with the tip of his tongue, she sighed and nearly choked on the next gasp of inhaled breath.

“There. Right there. Faster, please.”

Vocal, and absolutely sure of what she wanted. He loved hearing her talk, loved knowing without question what she needed from him. He hummed his understanding, which vibrated through her. Her stomach tightened under his hands and he gave her what she wanted. And her thighs nearly popped his shoulders out of their sockets when she hit her climax and squeezed around him.

 

Bea couldn't breathe. She tried, but it was like the air was just out of reach and she couldn't draw it in. Morgan's hand crept up from her stomach to her chest, rubbing in soothing circles over her breastbone.

“What's wrong?”

She couldn't answer, and not just because she had no air. She had no clue. It wasn't the orgasm, though God, it had been good. It was . . . panic? Was this a panic attack?

Slowly, she realized she'd started breathing again, but not quite in steady draws. She forced herself to visualize. See the air in, see the air out.

When that worked, surprisingly, she reached for the fly of his jeans. “Off. Let's go, cute vet.”

“Cute vet, huh?” His voice held a smile in the dark. “Wanna talk about it?”

And see if she would start crying? Pass. “Pants off. That's what I want to talk about.”

He hesitated a fraction of a second, then stood up long enough to slip his jeans off and grab a condom from the bedside table. Captain Prepared. Very considerate that she hadn't had to remind him. Points for Morgan.

But when he slid alongside her, then rolled her over him until her center sat directly over his erection, humor gave way to heat. “You want me up here?”

“I want to look at you and watch you. So yes, I want you up there.”

He unnerved her with his way of making things so simple. The man who stuttered and blushed when she gave him sexy glances in the office was in control and cool in bed. Reaching down, she guided him to her and sank down over him. Her back arched in automatic response, her hands reaching back to rest on his hair-roughened thighs. The angle sent him deeper. And then he moved.

Bliss.

Her position didn't give her much room for motion herself, but she squeezed around him and loved the way his hands gripped her hips so tightly. Loved how one crept up her side until it cupped her breast and played with her nipple again. Loved that, as he gained the edge on her in the race for the end, his other hand worked down to her clit and circled the bud with his thumb to nudge her along.

And that was all she needed to explode. Sparks shot off behind her lids. She sat upright while the orgasm took over her body, let it roll through her. Dimly, she was aware of Morgan's own climax beneath her. And then it was quiet and still again.

She slithered down to rest her head on his shoulder. “That . . . was good.”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Yup.”

After a minute of quiet recuperation, he slid out from beside her and headed to the bathroom. And now was her chance to make a break for it.

Did she want to? Would that hurt him?

And wow, had they already reached a place where she could hurt him like that?

Her head said no. Not after two days. But her heart knew better. He was invested. And she was going to ruin the lovely dream for him.

Best to set the score straight now. She heard the toilet flush, heard running water. She reached down and found her pants, panties still stuck inside, and slipped them on together. The shirt was easy. The bra . . . missing somewhere. She'd get it later.

He opened the bathroom door as she was fixing the last button. He propped a shoulder on the frame, arms folded, and watched.

“I need to . . .” She gestured toward the kitchen.

He nodded, then grabbed his jeans. It was an odd parody of the scene from an hour ago when she'd tried to leave. But this time, she was getting in her car, come hell or high water.