Immortal Sea (12 page)
“I hear it’s supposed to be warmer tomorrow,” she said.
The glint sharpened.
She cleared her throat. “Of course, if it’s overcast, that will make a difference.”
“No doubt.”
Okay, so Morgan didn’t share most Mainers’ ability to talk for hours on end about fog and rain.
Emily raised her gaze from her plate and fixed it on Morgan. “I want a kitten.”
Morgan frowned as if she’d announced she could grow two heads. “I beg your pardon.”
Liz fought a grin.
“There was a sign. At the police station,” Emily explained. “Free kittens. I want one.”
As if she expected him to go out and get it for her.
Liz’s smile faded. “The kittens aren’t really free, Emily.”
“The sign said they were.”
“Yes, but there are costs involved in owning a pet. Shots and food and—”
“You could take the money out of my allowance.”
Liz was no longer remotely amused. “Honey, we talked about this. This is a bad time for us to take on another responsibility.”
And a worse time to discuss it, she thought.
“But—”
“Later, Em,” she said firmly and turned to Morgan. “Thank you for bringing the wine.”
A very nice Tuscan red, a Barolo. She used to like a glass of wine with dinner. It was another thing she’d given up when Ben died. She didn’t want to drink alone, to finish the bottle after the children went to bed.
He shrugged. “Dylan said it would be appropriate.”
She ran through her mental file of patients. “Dylan Hunter?”
“You know him.”
This was an island. Eventually, she would know everyone. It was one of the reasons she’d moved her family here.
“He brought in his daughter for her three-month checkup last week,” she said.
“Ah.” Morgan turned his attention to his plate.
He ate with controlled appreciation, she noticed, an almost animal grace and focus. She watched the movement of his mouth, the flex of his hands on knife and fork, and felt herself flush.
She stabbed at the chicken thigh on her plate. “How did you two meet?”
“Dylan is a colleague.”
“I thought he helped his wife in the restaurant.”
“On occasion. He is also involved in . . . I suppose you would call it environmental protection.”
“And that’s what you do?”
“Yes. Marine protection, exploration, and salvage.” Morgan’s eyes gleamed. “Amazing the things one finds underwater.”
Zack’s fork clattered.
Liz felt control of the conversation slipping and grabbed for the serving dish. “More chicken?”
“Thank you.” He took another leg, some rice, the last length of sausage.
Even Ben, before his health failed, hadn’t attacked his food like this.
Liz watched Morgan heap food on his plate, aware she hadn’t cooked for an adult man in a long time.
Morgan looked up and smiled, his teeth very white. “You have stirred my appetite.”
Her breath snagged in her throat. She was light-headed. Dizzy. Dismayed.
This man was not Ben. And the hunger he stirred in her wasn’t anything she should feel. Certainly nothing she could satisfy.
“This was one of Ben’s favorite dishes. My husband, Ben.” She grabbed her wine to steady herself.
“Then I am honored you prepared it for me. I expected you to serve seafood. Lobster.”
Liz choked.
While she reached for water and a napkin, Morgan turned to Zack. “What did you do with them?”
Zack jerked his shoulder. “He took them. The cop.”
“Frustrating,” Morgan observed.
“Whatever.”
“Unless you can get more.”
Liz stopped her frantic blotting of the tablecloth. Zack regarded Morgan through his lashes and said nothing.
“Where did you find the lobster?” Morgan asked.
Liz held her breath.
“In the water,” Zack muttered.
“Four meters down? Forty?”
“What difference does it make?”
“None to me,” Morgan said blandly. “Though I am interested to know how you brought them to the surface.”
He was questioning her son at her dining room table. That was wrong. But she wanted answers. She was tired of battering herself against the wall of her son’s silence. There was a certain guilty relief in letting Morgan bear the burden of interrogation and the weight of Zack’s resentment.
At least he hadn’t stomped off to his room. Yet.
“What does it matter?” Zack shot back. “It’s over.”
Morgan’s shoulders lifted in elegant imitation of Zack’s shrug. “Until you do it again. Once you give in to it, that kind of thrill is hard to resist.”
“What thrill?” Liz asked. “Stealing? Zack doesn’t need to—”
“The sea,” Morgan said. “It’s in his blood now.”
Zack’s pale face flushed. “It’s not. I’m not . . . I did it for the money.”
Nerves roiled Liz’s stomach. She crumpled her napkin in her lap. “Zack?”
He wouldn’t look at her.
“If you needed money, all you had to do was—”
“I’m too old to run to you every time I want something,” he flashed.
Liz lifted her chin. “I was going to say, ‘Get a job.’ ”
Morgan laughed shortly.
Zack’s face sagged before he shaped it into his usual scowl. “I can’t. I have to watch Em.”
“I think today proved you and Emily would both be better off with some other arrangement,” Liz said as calmly as she could. “Tomorrow I’ll look into options for her. You can walk into town and see if any of the stores are hiring.”
Zack’s chair scraped as he thrust to his feet. “That’s bullshit.”
“Sit down,” Morgan ordered.
“She can’t tell me what to do.”
“Of course she can.” Scorn edged Morgan’s voice. “She feeds you, clothes you, shelters you like a child. Sit.”
Zack flopped onto his chair.
Liz frowned. Not that she didn’t appreciate the support, but she was responsible for discipline in this house. “I don’t need you to stand up for me.”
Morgan gave her a long, cool look. “You are female. This is between men.”
“I’m his mother,” she said, indignant.
He held her gaze. “Precisely.”
She felt naked, all her weaknesses, all her failings as a parent, exposed.
An image sprang into her mind of Morgan, standing in the police station like a black-clad guardian angel, Emily clinging to his leg.
At the table, Zack watched them with the focused attention he usually reserved for his video games. On any other evening, after any other fight, he would be in his room with the door shut and music shaking the walls.
Liz drew a deep, careful breath.
“Can I speak with you?” she said to Morgan. “In the kitchen.”
His teeth flashed. “I am at your service.”
7
MORGAN FOLLOWED ELIZABETH FROM THE DINING room, a buzz in his blood. Amusement or annoyance or lust. She walked with long, smooth strides, hips rolling, shoulders braced for battle.
If she was looking for a fight, he could give her one. He ran his tongue over his teeth. He was prepared to give her any number of things.
She turned to face him, the yellow light from above the sink gleaming on her sleek mahogany hair. The pads of his fingers tingled.
Anticipation, he realized. That accounted for the hum in his blood, the tightening in his belly.
He was immortal, but she made him feel alive.
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “You can’t just stroll into Zack’s life and start acting like his father.”
“I am his father. He is my seed.”
“He’s not some test tube baby,” she snapped. “He’s a person. He’s my son.”
“My son, too.”
“Which means nothing without some kind of commitment.”
It meant everything if the boy were finfolk.
Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking my intentions?”
She stuck out her chin. “Towards Zack, yes.”
If he told her, she would throw him out. He shrugged. “I want to know my son.”
“Any relationship you have with Zack has to be his choice.”
He admired her determination to protect her family, even though he had no intention of being hampered by it. “And you trust his judgment.”
She flushed. “No. That doesn’t mean I trust you either.”
“Yet I have been inside you,” he murmured mostly for the pleasure of seeing her eyes flash.
“I was stupid then. I won’t be stupid now. Not with my children’s safety at stake.”
He was annoyed. “I do not prey on children.”
“I’m not talking about physical danger,” she said. “But they’re emotionally vulnerable. Zack is going through a difficult time right now. I don’t want you confusing him even more.”
“It may be I understand the boy better than you think.”
“If I didn’t consider that a possibility, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” she said frankly. “But you don’t really know him. You don’t see him as an individual yet.”
“Of course he is an individual. I only have one son.”
“Listen to yourself. ‘One son.’ ‘The boy.’ He has a name. You could try using it occasionally.”
He stared at her, oddly discomfited. Had he ever called the boy by name? He could not remember. Was not sure why he should care.
She cared. Elizabeth. Her passion lit her from the inside until she glowed with maternal warmth and anger. Vibrant. Desirable. Dangerous.
To distract her, to indulge himself, he moved in, nudging her back against the sink. “Zachary,” he said deliberately. He put his hands on the counter, caging her hips, watching the wild beat of her pulse under her jaw. “Elizabeth.”
Lowering his face to her neck, he breathed her in, the sharp notes of her irritation, the sweetness of her arousal. He eased forward, teasing her with the brush of his body, letting her feel how she affected him.
“Satisfied?” he taunted against her throat.
She inhaled sharply, her breasts rising, and he raised his head and took her open mouth. He felt a flash of heat, of triumph, of delicious friction, before her fingers tightened on his arms and she bit his lower lip. Hard.
His head jerked back. Snarling, he met her gaze.
Her eyes were dark and dilated, her mouth resolute. He was confident enough of her, of his own skill and experience, to believe he could still have her. He almost lunged again for her mouth.
But she stopped him, slapping her palm against his chest. “My satisfaction isn’t the issue. This is about Zack. He comes first.”
Of course the boy came first. Morgan would not still be here on this island otherwise.
He leaned back slightly, his lip throbbing, his body tight. “So?”
“So.” Her breath escaped in a short, explosive puff.
“Any personal relationship between us, any physical relationship, complicates things.”
Impatience licked him. “Without our physical relationship, the . . . Zachary,” he said carefully, “would not exist.”
“As far as you’re concerned, he didn’t exist. Not until a few days ago.”
“And you hold that against me. Would use that against me.”
She opened her mouth to deny it. “Pretty much.”
Surprise held him momentarily speechless. Surprise and respect.
“It’s not like you have this great track record of sticking around,” she continued. “Until I’m sure you won’t hurt Zack, it’s better if we take things slowly. Our relationship begins and ends with him.”
Strong words. She was a strong woman.
But not, he thought, invulnerable. He surveyed her face. Her gaze was clear and fearless, her cheeks flushed with what might have been anger. But beneath the angle of her outthrust jaw, he caught again that tiny, betraying flutter of her pulse.
“Is it the boy you’re protecting?” he murmured. “Or yourself?”
Liz’s heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest.
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