Bruce stifled the urge to call Sarah. Damn he missed her, but she got nervous when her phone rang. Work had been brutal with her gorgeous body making him crazy. Hadn’t helped that he’d touched her at every possible chance. He shook his head. Better finish up the notes on his patients’ sessions and check in with Morgan. He’d rather skip the whole drink thing, but she’d come all the way to North Carolina. The least he could do was stop in for a few minutes.
He closed the computer and grabbed his room key. When he knocked, Morgan opened the door and stepped to the side. She wore a silky pink robe, the room behind her dark.
His gut waved a warning flag. “Am I too early?”
“No. I just wanted to be comfortable. Come in.” She held the door wider.
He frowned but entered. The scent of vanilla filled the room as candles flickered on the coffee table, TV stand, and bureau. Everything about the setup screamed ambush.
“You have the wrong idea here.”
“What? We’re just having a toast to celebrate.” She sashayed to a silver bucket on a stand, pulled out a bottle of champagne, and opened it. Foam oozed from the top, and she poured him a glass.
With the room so dark, he couldn’t read her eyes. She sounded normal enough. One drink and he was out of there. “How about putting on some lights.”
“I prefer candles. I bring them when I go to hotels. Makes it homier, don’t you think?” She smiled and picked up a champagne flute, which she poured to the brim.
The women he’d worked with slept on the ground and packed what they could carry to survive. He probably shouldn’t compare Morgan to them. So she liked candles. She wasn’t in the military and had a right to live any way she wanted.
“To finding the perfect horse.” She raised her flute and clinked his. “Let’s have a seat.”
Shit. It would be rude to take one sip and leave. He hit the Light button on his watch to check the time. “Just for a minute.”
She sat in the love seat, and he chose a chair across from her.
When she crossed her legs, her robe opened to reveal fishnet stockings and a garter belt.
Fuck. His stomach hit the Eject button. He sprang to his feet. Should have trusted his first instinct. No idea what game she was playing, but he was out of there. “Whoa. You definitely have the wrong idea.”
Morgan put down her glass and stood. “No, I don’t. Whatever we do is our private business.” She untied the robe and let it slide to the ground.
Her bare breasts gleamed in the candlelight.
His blood pressure rocketed, in the bad way. He shook his head and took a step toward the door. “I’m leaving.”
Morgan yanked on his arm. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”
“Don’t do this. Not interested.”
She moved to stand in front of him, snaked her arms around his neck, and pressed her breasts against his chest. “What happens here, stays here.” She ground her hips against him. “Come on, you know you want to.”
Jesus, he was living a cheap porn flick. Her perfume choked him and coated his lungs with the sickening smell. He dragged her hands off his neck and held her arms in front so they covered her breasts. “Stop. I’m going.”
Morgan pouted and fluttered her lashes. “I-I’ve wanted you for so long.” Her gaze dropped to his crotch, and her mouth gaped open. “I thought it was mutual.”
“Nope.”
He strode through the door and downed the stairs two at a time while his mind ticked through all their interactions. He’d never led her on. She had to be unstable or something. The long ride back home tomorrow would be a shit sandwich. He’d never be able to look at her the same.
His phone rang on his way to his room.
Morgan.
Better answer or she might show up at his door half-dressed.
“It’s me. Look, I’m sorry. I feel so—”
“Forget it. This is done.”
“You made that clear.”
He unlocked the door and tossed his key on the bureau. “You left me no choice.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I hope we can still be friends.”
She and the elephant would never fit in the same room. Best to be direct. “You can’t put the bullet back in the chamber once you fire the gun.”
She sniffled. “Can you at least forgive me?”
More acting. Not buying it. “I need to go now.”
“Okay. I’ll be ready by seven tomorrow.” She sounded chipper, like he’d said no to turn down service instead of being serviced.
“Make it six, and meet me in the lobby.” Fully clothed, for Christ’s sake. He hung up.
Sarah had been right about Morgan. Sure, she flirted, but until now, he’d assumed it was harmless, filling some need she had for attention. He’d related to her because they’d both lost their families, she didn’t seem to have many friends, and their horses challenged each other.
Him-Morgan-Sarah. All together at the farm.
What a clusterfuck.
If Sarah found out what happened, she’d flip. She already couldn’t stand Morgan. He blew out a breath. No point in telling her. Morgan sure as hell wouldn’t run around announcing what happened. He’d take her home. Pretend none of this had happened. Over and done. Time to move on.
Morgan yanked off her heels and threw them across the room. She jerked the champagne bottle out of the bucket and chugged it until her throat burned, stomping around the suite.
No man had ever turned her down. Bruce had to be blind. That bimbo ballerina had nothing on her. Broke, dirty, and smelled like manure. Damn the bitch. She’d better be gone when they returned.
A red haze blurred Morgan’s vision. She gulped more champagne. In front of the bathroom now, she hurled the bottle against the ceramic tub, where it shattered with a satisfying crash, sending glass shards flying through the room.
“Fuck you!” She stabbed her fingers through her hair and squeezed her head.
Fuck them both. They’d pay. She took a deep breath. Time for plan B.
After stripping off her lingerie, she shoved her arms into the robe, sat on the couch, and kicked the lacy pile with her foot. No hot-blooded straight man could resist her outfit. Goddamned goody-two-shoes. No wonder her stupid sister had fallen for him. Two peas in a pod. Took the man four years to get over Emily, then he picked Sarah, another pitiful loser.
Morgan drummed her fingers on the padded armrest. If she couldn’t lure him into bed, she’d reap her revenge another way. She stroked her chin.
Losing Sarah would kill him.
Nothing could be more perfect. Just when he’d found another love. He’d never recover from a second devastating loss. This would be even better than her running away. With luck, she hadn’t left yet.
And if he considered an accident a tragic way to die, murder would be worse.
Morgan took a deep breath and let it out. Her brain buzzed from the champagne, and hot hatred streaked through her body.
Yes.
Her sister would turn in her grave when Morgan destroyed the man she’d loved.