Busting Loose (16 page)

It was comfortable. A little cozy, even. And completely wrong. She wasn't the little missus, coming in to help her husband with his business. Not some bimbo girlfriend the boss kept around either. She was an employee, dammit. A legit employee.

A quick glance assured her Jaycee wasn't nearby. But still. She'd have to talk to him about that later.

Not that she had any ideas of tricking Jaycee. She knew. Bea had no doubt she knew. But she was smart enough, and respected Morgan enough, to keep quiet about the whole thing. At least until there was nothing else to talk about. Small towns . . . the place fed on gossip.

The computer pinged and she swiveled back. Darn web designer guy was fast, for all he didn't seem creative with his work. She opened her e-mail and found not a note from the web designer, but something from Keeley.

Below that was a link to a small blurb in an industry site that listed casting calls, and under that was a name and number to call for
a sure shot
at a reading.

Bea read the e-mail twice, then hovered the mouse over the link. She shouldn't, really. This was a place of business. Reading an e-mail when there were no customers felt like one thing. Job hunting—for all intents and purposes—while on the job was another. She closed the window and faced the row of file cabinets for a minute. Milton nudged her ankle, and she reached down to pet his sweet head before picking him up and letting him settle in her lap a bit.

“You always know when I need something, don't you?”

He yawned and snuggled deeper into her lap.

“This was always temporary, right?” she whispered. “I said that up front. I made it clear. He never asked me to stay on permanently, so he must still be fine with that.”

Something low in her gut clenched at the idea of leaving the clinic. How would she know what happened to the dogs in the back? Who would put on another adoption fair? Who would care about Morgan's smudged lenses?

Bea's hand crept back over the mouse, and with Milton falling asleep in her lap, she went to work. Real work. Work she was being paid for.

 

Morgan waited by his car for Bea to walk out the back door. They'd finished the day, and she'd said she had something to do in the shelter. For whatever reason, he had the suspicion she was waiting for him to leave before she could do whatever mysterious job it was she needed to do. He trusted her, knew she wouldn't ever harm any of the animals. But he couldn't help wondering what the hell she was up to.

Finally, the door creaked open and she walked out, Milton following behind her still-too-high-for-his-taste heels. Those shoes would be damn sexy lying in a heap on his bedroom floor, or scratching his back while he was over her in bed. But at work, they were a hazard.

Oh, not to her. She'd proven more than once she could handle herself in a pair of heels. Though how her feet were never exhausted or swollen was beyond him. No, the real hazard was to his productivity levels. Those shoes did something magical to her legs, and he couldn't think straight when he caught sight of her gams poking out from behind the desk. One shoe was always in danger of slipping off her foot as she jiggled it . . .

“You're deep in thought.”

He blinked, surprised to find her right in front of him. “Hey. Yeah . . .”

She grinned. “Was it a dirty thought? Why, Dr. Browning, you are blushing like a ninth grader caught reading
Playboy
behind his math textbook.” She patted one cheek. “That is too cute.”

He wrapped his hand around her wrist and tugged until she fell into him a little. Milton jumped on his leg, but he ignored the dog. “Come home with me.”

She fluttered her lashes a little. “I might.” Then stepped back. “But we need to have a talk about your PDA issues.”

“My . . . what?” Mind still focused on the mental image of her green shoes falling one by one over the footboard of his bed, he struggled to come back to the conversation at hand. “I have PDA issues?”

“We both do. You for giving it, me for thinking it's not a good idea to take it.”

“Oh, come on, Bea.” He kissed her forehead between her furrowed brows. “Nobody cares about that.”

“Why?” Her voice dropped a little, and he recognized the warning sign of impending doom. “Did you kiss Jaycee when she was your receptionist?”

“No, but—”

“So why is it different for me?” She didn't give him a chance to answer. “Because we're sleeping together?”

A yellow caution light blinked in the back of his mind. “I don't think many people know about that.” He saw it was the wrong answer, though how
Yeah, I kissed Jaycee all the time
would have been the
right
answer was beyond him.

Then again, he was a man, and she was a pissed woman. The odds were, there
was
no right answer.

“So it's because of me. Nobody cares that you're kissing me because, what, it's just expected? Oh, just that Bea Muldoon, back from Hollywood. Taking after her mama, the dead slut.” Her voice was rising now, into an octave he would pay good money to never hear again.

That yellow light changed, much like a traffic light, to red.

“That's not it,” he said.

“Isn't it? Why would nobody care? Why would nobody give us the side eye?”

“Because people know me here. They probably would assume I was just being friendly. Hell, Bea. It's not like I ran up behind you, flipped your skirt up, and bent you over the desk. It was a kiss on the head.” His own head was starting to ache.

“You have to stop.” She crossed her arms, which did interesting things to her breasts. “Morgan. Leave my boobs alone and listen. You have to stop. It's not right, and it's not helping my reputation here.”

He opened his mouth to argue that, in fact, it likely did a lot of good. People thinking they were in a relationship would make them realize she was settling down, giving Marshall a chance, creating roots. But he snapped it shut again. Her eyes were telling him more than her defiant, combative posture.

She was scared. Scared people truly thought she was like her mother had been. Lifting her skirts for any man who looked at her the right way. And he wasn't sure how to combat that while still trying to continue the relationship he wanted to be in.

Damn woman and her blocking him at every turn, even with imaginary issues. But he wouldn't ignore her concern, because it was real enough to her.

He glanced around, then ducked his head down a bit. “Is anyone watching now?”

“What? No, but—”

He sealed his mouth over hers for an intimate, searing kiss that had him fighting the urge to lead her back into the clinic, send his night vet tech home, and spend all evening using the overnight cot for his own purposes.

But that would only make her resent him. So he pulled back and smiled at her scowl. “You agreed nobody was looking. Can we compromise?” His hands wandered to her arms, rubbing up and down the soft skin. “I can't imagine going all day being near you and not touching you. But I can be careful and discreet.”

He watched the play of emotions cross her face. Disbelief, curiosity, and finally . . . there it was. Acceptance. His heart did a stutter-step in place before beating again.

“Fine.” She slid her arms around him for a quick hug before stepping back. “But if Jaycee catches you touching my butt, you're in trouble.”

Like Jaycee would care. But he nodded solemnly, a chastened student taking a lecture from the hot teacher. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Knock it off.” She swatted him, then opened her rear car door to let Milton jump in.

“Come home with me.”

She glanced up from starting the ignition. “I can't. I got Steve to agree to change the oil in my car. I need it, can't ignore it.”

“Then I'll follow you home. You can pack a bag, leave your car with Steve, and I'll drive you to my place. I can drive you in to work in the morning, too.”

Her hand froze on the key still halfway in the ignition. “What would people think about us showing up together?”

“That your car needed work done, we're neighbors, and I gave you a ride?” He shrugged, but really he didn't care
what
people said. That was their prerogative. But he'd take any excuse to have her in his bed overnight.

She must have seen the sense of the plan and she nodded. “Okay. See you at my place.” Then she started the car and backed out.

Score one for Browning. He resisted the urge to pump his fist like an idiot and hopped in the truck. Now to make sure she didn't back out at the last minute.

Bea Muldoon was a hell of a lot of work, but damn, she was worth it.

B
ea eyed the clock with disdain. 6:09.

No matter how often she'd had to be on set by five in the morning, she'd never gotten used to mornings. They were not her thing. But something had woken her up before the alarm.

Ah, right. That would be it. Morgan's erection digging into the backs of her thighs. He spooned around her, wrapping his arms over her stomach and breasts as if claiming a favorite toy on the playground. His breath ruffled the hairs at her temple, and his legs hugged the backs of her thighs all the way to her feet.

She waited a moment, then realized he was still deep asleep. His little buddy down below, however, was not. A grin crept over her face. What better way to wake up than sleepy, warm morning sex?

Reaching back, she fumbled a little until she found the hard length of him and squeezed. He exhaled heavily, but nothing more.

She tightened her hand and stroked. Her position gave her little room to maneuver, but she did what she could. Soon, his hips were thrusting into her hand and he was moaning. But still, he slumbered on. Or at least, he never moved above the waist, and his breathing was still deep and even.

She brought one large, masculine hand up to cup her breast. Taking her cue, even in sleep, he managed to squeeze lightly. Men. She smiled. Even in their sleep they were game for a little action.

Suddenly she found herself rolling, legs tangling in the sheets until she was on top of Morgan. His sleepy eyes blinked up at her, and a small grin tugged at his lips. “How long were you going to keep doing that before waking me up?”

“You need to be awake?” She ran her thigh over his erection. “Doesn't really seem that way.”

“It's more enjoyable when I know what I'm getting.” His hands ran up her sides, over her ribs, and up to cup her breasts again, fingers playing lightly with her nipples. They beaded at his touch, silently asking for more. “You could have let me know this was how you wanted to wake up this morning.”

“I figured the fact that we both went to sleep with our clothes off was a good hint we weren't done yet.” When he shifted a little, she rose up on her knees. After taking the condom he dug out of the nightstand drawer, she rolled it on and sank down over him with a happy sigh. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as she savored the early morning lovemaking. It was something she'd never really experienced much before, but now she could see she'd been missing out.

Morgan's hand was quick and sure as he continued to play with her breast, and he slid his other hand down to where they were intimately connected. He found her clit and rubbed with his thumb. The pressure began to build, a slow sunrise to match the easy pace they set for themselves. The heat rose in her, filling her, until she was ready to spread her arms out and let it flow from her fingertips.

Flow from her fingertips? The completely overemotional thought halted her in her tracks. She froze, Morgan's shaft nearly out, and wanted to slap herself. This was absolutely not the time, the place, or the guy to be getting all sentimental about. Good sex, good company.

“Something wrong?” His voice was strained, a little frayed around the edges.

She swallowed and looked back at him. Her face smoothed into calm, controlled amusement. “Not a thing. Just wondering how long I can drag you out before you go crazy.”

“It's not a far trip. Don't even bother trying. I'm already there.” He worked her with his thumb more, and the climax rose in her along with the welling emotion she tried so hard to tamp down. And when she finally burst through the wall and reached her peak, it wasn't nearly as satisfying as it could have been.

Something about spending half the time scolding herself had ruined the moment. She wanted a do-over. The perfect morning sex, ruined by thoughts and emotions and feelings. How inappropriate.

But when Morgan lowered her to his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his arm, she forgot her own lecture, her own warning words, and breathed deeply. A contentment she'd felt very rarely, a stillness, a sort of peace of soul, spread through her. And try as she might to fight it off, her mind relaxed enough to drift back to sleep with the even breathing of her lover in her ear.

 

Morgan felt Bea get up and head to the bathroom. Something cracked in the dark, he heard her suck in a breath, then mutter a foul curse before uneven footsteps crossed the floor. He cracked one eye open and watched her delicious, naked ass disappear behind the door. She'd waited until the door was closed before turning the light on. To let him sleep, he assumed. Maybe she wouldn't see it the same way, but he recognized the small things she did as the acts of an unselfish woman. Risking stubbing her toe in the dark just so she wouldn't shine a bright light over him and wake him up early. Might seem tiny, and it was in the grand scheme of things. But a selfish woman who thought only of herself—which was exactly what she wanted to present herself as—wouldn't hesitate to light the room up to suit her, and damn anyone else's needs.

He waited until she walked back out, tying his rarely used robe around her waist. The robe had been a Christmas gift a few years ago from his mother, but he just never bothered with one in his own home. Bea was a tall woman, but the robe still dragged the ground a little. The sleeves were rolled back, showcasing just how delicate her hands and wrists were under the chunky dark blue material.

“Going out to get the paper?” he asked.

“I was going to fix breakfast. I can't do that naked. It's unsanitary.” She wrinkled her nose. “But it's probably going to be messy, and I don't want to wear my work clothes.”

“Fair enough. Is it going to be cereal or a Toaster Strudel?” When she flipped him off on her way out of the bedroom, he laughed.

And then a moment later, he heard her shriek.

He bolted out of bed, mind racing to anticipate the danger. Snake in the house? Something wrong with Milton? Burglar?

He skidded to a halt behind Bea, who stood at the opening of the kitchen, frozen. And in the kitchen . . . aw, fuck.

It was worse than a snake, and a dead Milton, and a burglar combined.

His mother.

 

Bea couldn't move. And apparently, neither could Cynthia Browning. Both stood, transfixed by the other's presence in Morgan's house. Some sick sort of dread curled and rolled in her stomach. Like she'd drunk motor oil and chased it with tequila, then decided to swim a mile.

“Mom.” Morgan skidded to a halt right behind her and grabbed her shoulders. He pulled her back against his chest. What the hell? He chose now to have an up-close-and-personal moment? As if this situation wasn't already bad enough!

But when she reached her hands back to push at him, she touched skin. Skin where his boxers, or jeans, should have been. Oh holy God. He was buck-ass naked and using her as a human shield.

Shit just got awkward . . . er. Yes, awkwarder. Not even a word, and that was still exactly what this was.

Cynthia's hand came up to her throat; then she turned her back on them, facing the refrigerator. Her dark brown hair, streaked with gray, pulled back in a clip, wavered as her shoulders shook. “I'm sorry, I thought I could sneak in here before you were up for the day. I just need that huge skillet I left here last time I came over to make you food. I have a luncheon and . . .” She trailed off, as if realizing now probably wasn't the time to explain exactly why she was in the kitchen and her son was hiding his dick behind his lover, who was wearing his robe and nothing else.

There was a reason Bea had never been interested in any sitcom auditions.

“So I'll just . . . go now.” She edged sideways, back still facing them, arm waving around as she reached for the door. “I'm sorry. I'm . . .” She opened the door, but had to face it to walk out, so she used her outside hand to block her vision like blinders on a horse and bolted for the safety of the great outdoors.

The door slammed shut behind her, and they were both silent for a moment. Frozen in a bubble of horror and . . .

Amusement? Was that why his chest was shaking behind her? She turned and watched his eyes—not behind their glasses as usual—crinkle with laughter. Then he doubled over and let loose a belly laugh so loud she took a step back in startled shock.

“That was funny to you?”

He couldn't answer, what with all the gasping for breath and more laughter.

She nudged him with one toe. “Seriously, how can you laugh like that? Your mom saw me in here at seven in the morning, wearing your robe. And you were naked.”

He snorted, shoulders shaking.

“She probably knows we were having sex,” Bea hissed. God, this was why people were supposed to live a respectable distance away from their families. So this didn't happen. Ever.

Finally, Morgan straightened and wiped his eyes. “Come on, you have to admit . . .”

“No, I don't. I know what you're going to say and I absolutely don't have to admit anything.” Bea sank into a kitchen chair and let her head fall to the table. “How am I ever going to face your mother again? If I run into her in the produce section of the grocery store, I might have to abandon my cart and make a break for it.”

“The Hollywood starlet, so modest and prudish.” He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, then danced out of the way of her slapping hands. “How about that breakfast you promised me?”

“How about some privacy?” she snapped. “You live with your parents!”

Morgan took down a few bowls and set them on the table. “You make that sound like we're in the same house. I'm not some unemployed slacker who sits in his mother's basement all day sucking down her retirement pay while he plays World of Warcraft and pees into empty Diet Mountain Dew bottles.”

“That image will haunt me for weeks,” Bea muttered into her hands.

“Good. So you see the difference. This is just a small portion of my parents' land. Or it used to be. I bought it from them, so technically it's mine. And they're almost a mile away.”

Bea pointed to a side window without looking up. “I can see their house from that window.”

“Barely.” A box of cereal landed next to the bowls. “Shredded wheat okay?”

“If I'm eating carbs for breakfast, I like to try and make them tasty.”

The shredded wheat disappeared and was replaced by a marshmallowy, sugary, completely adult-inappropriate cereal. “Perfect.” She grabbed the box, flipped the lid open, and dug a hand in.

“So, no milk?” Morgan smiled and brought over two glasses and a carton of the cow juice.

“That's dairy. It makes you bloat.” She had to talk around a mouth full of faux marshmallows. Fauxmellows? They stuck to her molars and made her want to gag, but in a weird sort of yummy way. Nothing about this morning was right or good or even semi-normal. Why not complete the disaster with empty calories and inevitable cavities?

“I can see why washing down your nine-hundred-calorie, sugar breakfast with a sixty-calorie skim milk serving would completely ruin the meal,” he said, clearly not understanding the point at all. Men were irrational idiots. How did he not follow the logic?

“Seriously. How can I ever look your mother in the eye again?” She gaped at him. “Or your father. Oh God. She'll tell him, he'll know what we . . .” She waved a hand between them. “He'll tell his drinking buddies, and they'll tell their wives. And their wives will abuse the PTA phone tree to spread the word that I'm bouncing bedsheets with the vet.” HFCS-flavored chunks of cereal bounced on the table as she let her head fall once more to the surface.

“Okay, no more mallow-malt cereal for you.” He pried the box away and set it aside. And then he did the one thing that could calm her down even in the face of a true panic attack. He let his fingers wander through her hair, massaging the tension away until she was a puddle of Who Cares on the table. “It won't be that bad. My parents are discreet.”

“But they'll tell one person in confidence, who will swear on their great-grandma Nana's canning recipe they won't tell a soul. Which of course they will. Wash, rinse, repeat.”

“And so people know we're sleeping together. I know, I know,” he said easily when she looked up at him. But clearly he
didn't
know if he could say that so easily. “But if it's going to get out, it's easiest coming from my parents, don't you think?”

“How is that even possible?” Her brain hurt. She laid her head back down, and he went back to scratching lightly over her scalp.

“If the news comes from my parents, it won't sound like an illicit affair. It will sound like we're healthy adults dating. And that's normal and realistic and completely awesome.” He grinned when she peeked around her arm. “Awesome for me, I mean. A guy like me snagging you? Come on. Credit where credit is due. That earns me some cool points.”

Why did he have to be so damn adorable? She sighed. It didn't matter to her, really. Eventually she would be gone. Her life wasn't here.

But it mattered to Morgan. He would be the one left holding the bag when she escaped back to California. Was it fair to let people think she was using him for great sex? Or maybe they would think he was using her. Worse for his reputation. After she moved on, he'd find a nice girl who loved Marshall, settle down, and marry her. He didn't need a reputation as a womanizer to deal with.

“Fine.” She let her eyes close again and rested her cheek on the cool wood. “Fine. So we're dating.” For now.

She wasn't sure if it was her imagination, or if it really happened. But she thought for a moment, she heard Morgan whisper, “Good.”