Jazz woke in a hot sweat, uncomfortable and in pain. She cried out as she tried to roll over and barely stopped herself from sobbing as she tried to prop herself up on an elbow.
Strong arms immediately wrapped around her and tumbled her down against a warm chest.
She lay confused for a moment. “Morgan?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Go to sleep.”
“I can’t.” She tried to pull out of his embrace, but it hurt too much. She fell back, whimpering. “The pain… I need a pill.”
“I’ll get your pills.” He shifted her until she was sitting in the middle of the huge bed. Confused, she stared at Morgan’s bedroom. How had she come to be here? She’ d gone to bed in her own bed, hadn’t she? Not that she remembered. She was wearing his T-shirt. But not jeans. She kicked the covers back. She smiled at the socks.
She shifted to her side of the bed and yawned. There was a light from the en-suite. She struggled off the bed. After using the facilities, she washed her hands, trying to ignore the mass of hair flying wildly around her head and the peaked look to her face. The bedroom was still empty when she returned to the huge bed.
She still didn’t understand how she got here, but…it felt wonderful. Safe.
And that was huge right now. Bullets had ripped through her world twice in the last twenty-four hours. Those horrible popping sounds were unforgettable.
Considering the man in the morgue had been shot, it wasn’t hard to consider the events were related. Although different guns had been used.
Morgan returned with her prescription pills and a small glass of water. She accepted both gratefully and washed it down with the rest of the water, then handed back the glass and lay down again.
He disappeared into the bathroom. By the time he returned, she was curled up and feeling much better.
She waited for him to get into bed and turn off the lights.
When the room was dark and the bed rippled as he adjusted his weight, she tensed. Why? Because she didn’t want him to touch her? Or because she did?
He wrapped an arm around her waist and gently tugged her back against him. “Sleep,” he whispered into her ear. “Just sleep.”
She closed her eyes, a smile on her face, and slept.
It was the heat that woke her again hours later. Heat that licked the bottom of her toes and raced up her calves to center at the very heart of her. She sighed as a long caressing stroke covered her thighs to her knees and back up again. Long caresses that spoke more than of just sex but of longing. Of love. Of missing her.
She sank deeper into the sensation. Loving the heat. Needing the joy that came with the sensations. It felt so good. So familiar. So right.
There was no sense of pressure. No demand. Just a gentle bliss in being here like this. She closed her eyes, letting herself believe in the fantasy for a moment. Surely it couldn’t hurt.
“How are you feeling?” Morgan’s deep dark voice rolled over her, offering her the caring and tenderness she desperately wanted.
“Better,” she murmured, not wanting to break the spell. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to do anything to break the intimacy.
Foolish. Fantasy. But so lovely to indulge – at least for a moment.
His long fingers moved up to her ribs and gently massaged the muscles she hadn’t been aware were sore until he worked them.
He dug a little deep on one spot, making her gasp. His fingers stilled. She heard his breath suck in then, a whisper, “Sorry.”
She wanted to shrug, but so not a good idea.
He shifted away. And she damned herself for having reacted. It hadn’t hurt as much as the shock of having the sore muscles touched in any way. At the same time, she realized he was doing the right thing.
The blanket was lifted slightly and her t-shirt – his oversized t-shirt – was raised enough he could look at her back. Relieved he hadn’t left the warm bed, she rolled over on her stomach, giving him better access.
Gently, he inspected the bandages.
For the longest time she lay there, knowing he was studying her back and wondering what he was seeing.
And felt something so soft and gentle that it took a moment for her to identify what it was. Then he did it again. A little harder. His third kiss dropped to the left of her bandage and the next one just below.
She wasn’t going to cry, but there was something about the tenderness of his touch. The loving way he was kissing her owie that made her eyes burn with the pain of broken dreams and broken hopes of what could have been.
“I’m so sorry you got hurt,” he said and dropped a kiss on her ribs.
“It’s not your fault.” But she didn’t roll over. She couldn’t. She wanted what he had to give, even knowing it wasn’t going to be enough.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
He kissed her again, this time on her shoulder at the edge of the bandage, then high up on her arm and working his way down to her hand.
She loved each and every one. She needed them all. To preserve for later when he was gone.
He shifted again, her body rocking gently with his movements. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her back against him. His long legs curled up under her bent knees, spoon-style. His arm over her waist slid up and gently covered her hand with his. Her fingers, reading her heart correctly, interlocked with his fingers.
He squeezed gently, letting his head come to rest beside hers.
They lay wrapped up for several long moments, neither making a move to break the gentle truce that they’d somehow come to. A gentle understanding of…of what?
Nothing in a way. Maybe it was more rejoicing in having survived the shootings. The trauma. The emotional shocks that had rocked their system. So much had happened.
So much could still happen. Their shooter might try again. They might not survive. They might part ways today and never see each other again.
Did she want that? Yesterday when he’d first called, that had been exactly what she’d wanted. Now, after the first attack and the second where she’d come close to losing him too, her anger had faded to a dark gray place in the back of her mind where the old hurts dwelled. She’d need to look at them again some time. Get some answers from him, if she wanted to reopen old wounds. Only they had enough current ones to deal with now.
Morgan shifted again, lifting his head and moving to disengage his fingers.
She wouldn’t let him go.
She felt his surprise. His stilled motion before he relaxed back down to the same position, cuddling her close.
Because that was the bare truth, right or wrong. And tomorrow could be a different story, but right now, she didn’t want to let him go. Didn’t want to have him slide away from her and have a cold distance grow between them. If she did nothing, closeness might develop.
And it might not.
Right now, she had an opportunity to cross a divide – if she was willing to accept the consequences.
He murmured against her ear, “Are you okay?”
She gave a tiny shrug.
He rolled her over slightly so he could see her face, his gaze deep and dark and so damn sexy. She sighed and her doubts settled deep inside. She smiled up at him, “I’m okay.”
He searched her gaze, his own warming and shifting so the light inside deepened and shone brighter. She watched the sexual awareness shift, a little light of hope surrounding it, and heat warmed up the mix.
Yeah, she was okay. Now.
*
Morgan hadn’t intended on this becoming a sexual interlude, knowing she was hurt, that they had a history of pain, that she was a long ways from being ready…he’d chosen to offer comfort and friendship. To let her know he was here.
But what he was reading in her eyes, seeing in her body as it curled toward him…he was more than ready. Then he’d always been with her. She’d been the yin to his yang. He’d no idea how the hell it had all gone so wrong, but right now, he’d been given a gift.
And he knew it.
He also knew there was no way he was going to screw this up.
This was his arena. He knew what made her hot. What made her cry out in joy and what could send her crashing to the shores of completion. And he was going to make sure that she didn’t regret this right now.
He lowered his head, his kiss a promise, a benediction, a murmur of apology for all that had gone wrong. He was responsible and he couldn’t go back in time and fix it. But this was here and now.
And he was so damn grateful.
His lips were gentle.
Hers were not.
She was hot and greedy. As if the dam had broken and she wanted as much as he did. He’d always been a morning person, loving the slow building heat and sleep-tousled murmurs she’d make. Anything she did made his blood boil, but knowing she was ready and hot, waiting for him right now, well, his erection nudged her thigh insistently.
She let her hand drift down to reach between them and grasp him, and he knew he was going to be in trouble. She wanted satisfaction now and he wanted slow mo.
This was his time to enjoy her, and he’d be damned if she’d take that away from him by rushing through this.
He reached down and lifted her hand away from their entwined bodies. She murmured a slight protest, but it wasn’t one of pain so he ignored it. Her skin was so soft. Her scent so damn female. He burrowed between her breasts for a moment, overcome with emotion, then feasted on the bounty before him. He laved one breast completely, finally taking the nipple into his mouth and tugging on it in long firm movements. She shuddered beneath him, shifting and twisting. He loved the tiny mewling sounds coming out of her mouth.
The second plump breast awaited, and he’d no intention of shortchanging this one.
Taking his time, he renewed his faulty memory with her body and her scent, loving her gasp when he ran a tongue across her ribs.
Loving her shiver when he slid his hand down to rest on her hip. The bone so fine, yet strong as it rose above her creamy skin. God, he loved her body. She was lean and taut and so damn soft. She was skinnier now than she’d been before though. He dropped a kiss on her hipbone that appeared slightly more gaunt than last time. Another reminder that she hadn’t had an easy year. Neither of them had. He deserved it. She didn’t.
He lifted up and away to look down at her long sleek legs and caressed the rounded curve of her thighs. He sighed happily. She was glorious. He’d had many women in his life, and none could compare. He’d be content to worship at this altar for the rest of his life. If she’d have him. With that thought uppermost in his mind, he leaned over and drew kisses down the front of her thigh, stopping at her knee to pay special attention to the round curve then down the delicious calf muscle, with a smile he removed his socks from her feet, and continued on to her delicate foot. Narrow and fine-boned, they were nevertheless strong and agile. He’d seen her play sports with friends and snowboard down a mountain. He knew just how much whipcord strength that lean body of hers contained. And he admired each and every bit of it. She gave a broken laugh and tried to pull her foot out of his hand when he licked the bottom of her foot from the heel to the toe like a favorite ice cream cone.
Letting her pull her foot away from his tickling ministrations, he immediately focused on her other leg. Just as strong. Just as lean. Just as gorgeous and as he found out, just as ticklish. Letting her feet rest down on the sheet, he stroked his hands up the outside of her thighs until they reached the cotton panties she still wore.
She never wore the fancy underwear some women favored, and to him that showed the gorgeous sexy woman that needed no trappings to enjoy and understand her own sexuality. He wanted to tear away the offending material that blocked her nest of curls from sight. She was a blonde. A natural blonde, and he wanted to see her again. But not yet. Prolonging the delicious torture was part of this for her. For him.
He smoothed his hands up and down her body, letting her get used to his touch but always avoiding the inside of her thighs.
He nearly lost it when he saw the wet spot forming in the white cotton at the apex to her thighs. That was his girl.
So responsive. So honest in her reaction. God, he’d missed her. Missed this.
No longer.
Unable to help himself, he lowered his head and placed a kiss right on the circle. She gasped, her hips lifting in response, and the circle widened. He chuckled.
Stroking his hands upwards, he gently widened her legs and made a place for himself where he had full access. She slipped her fingers under the elastic of her panties, trying to shove them off her legs, but he stilled her movements. Instead, he licked the top edge of the panties and her fingers, then slowly moved down to stroke the elastic around her thighs.
She whimpered, her hips instinctively lifting toward him.
He gently kissed the inside of her thigh. He wasn’t willing to forego one inch of her beautiful body. Not this time. The cotton strip was now drenched, and he nudged the front of the material with his nose. Her breath caught, and he slid one slow long slide of his tongue just inside the one edge of the elastic on her inner thigh. Inside enough to taste, to tease. Not enough to satisfy either of them.
He repeated the action on the other thigh, then in a surprise move, he licked the wet spot in front of him.
She groaned, her hands urging him closer while pushing him away at the same time. “Morgan,” she pleaded.
“I’m here. Lay back, enjoy.”
She tried to grab his hair and pull him up.
In response, he lowered his mouth and covered the sopping panties and suckled hard.