MORGAN Read online

  "Damn." Morgan felt the start of an erection and had to fight to control himself. Not easy to do when Misty was laughing and looking flushed from all that dancing. Jordan whirled her in a wide circle, and Morgan wanted to flatten him.

  "Damn is right. You're in for it now."

  Morgan turned to see what Sawyer was blathering on about and was met with Honey instead. She looked incredibly beautiful in her white wedding gown, her long blond hair loose and her face glowing. Morgan smiled at her. "Have I kissed the bride yet?"

  "About a dozen times, I think." She grinned at him, and twin dimples decorated her cheeks.

  "Morgan..." Sawyer's beleaguered tone didn't bother Morgan one whit. Annoying each other was the brothers' favorite pastime. And Sawyer, love-struck from day one though he fought it pretty damn hard, had made himself a prime target.

  Honey laughed and patted her husband's chest. "Oh, Sawyer, relax. Your brother is just a big pushover."

  Sawyer choked again.

  Morgan, amused by her insistent misconceptions of him, grinned. Not another soul in Buckhorn, male or female, thought of him as a pushover – pretty much the opposite, in fact.

  His grin fell flat with her next words.

  "I want you to dance with Misty."

  "Ah..."

  "Morgan, it almost seems like you've been avoiding her. She told me just this morning at breakfast that you didn't like her."

  They'd talked about him? Morgan wanted to ask exactly what had been said, but he didn't want to look too interested. "I don't dislike her."

  "Of course you don't! But she thinks you do because you've spent so much time at work since she's been here, and you've barely said two words to her."

  Morgan tugged on his ear, beginning to feel uncomfortable. He wanted to sock Sawyer, who stood behind his bride, smirking. "It's been really busy this week and being that I'm sheriff I can't just..."

  "But you're not busy now. And look, she just finished a dance. It's the perfect time for the two of you to talk some more and get better acquainted."

  Sawyer, ready to get back a little of his own, said, "Yeah, the timing is perfect. And with your, er, charm, you should be able to put her right at ease." Then he grinned, glancing at his wife. "You'd do that for Honey, wouldn't you, Morgan?"

  Honey, playing along, gave him her most endearing smile.

  He tried, but not a single rebuttal came to mind. "Well, hell." Morgan stomped away, resigned to his fate and unfortunately, in some ways, pleased to be forced into it. He saw Misty look up from across the room, as if she'd somehow sensed his approach. She did that a lot, seeming to know the second he entered a room. And then she'd get quiet and withdrawn – but only with him.

  Her dark blue eyes, so bright and clear they still had the effect of making his heart skip a beat, widened. He saw her soft lips part, saw her cheeks darken with color. She turned, looking, he knew, for an avenue of escape. But she'd already been surrounded by every eligible bachelor in Buckhorn, and they were in no hurry to let her leave.

  Morgan stopped right behind her. She didn't turn to face him, but she knew he was there; her shoulders stiffened the tiniest bit and her normally husky voice became a little bit shrill as she asked the men who would dance with her next.

  Morgan looked at every man there, and he fashioned a grin. A very hard, unmistakable expression. Several of the men, eyeing him closely, began to back up, quickly making their excuses.

  Morgan took advantage of their retreat. "I believe that'd be me, Malone."

  She hated it when he called her by her last name. He'd found that out the first day they met. He'd been calling her by Malone ever since, because it helped to maintain the small distance necessary for his sanity.

  "I don't think so, Hudson." She reached for Gabe's hand. He was one of the few men who wasn't intimidated by Morgan's darkest stare. In fact, Gabe looked highly entertained. He was a gentleman and would have assisted her, if Morgan hadn't beat him to it, reaching around her and snatching her slim fingers in his own before she could get a solid hold on Gabe. The reach brought his chest up flush against her slender back. He could smell her, warm woman and sweet sexiness. Her scent was like an irresistible tonic to him, and like any basic male animal, he reacted strongly to it. Her hair, so silky and luxurious, brushed his chin, and it was like having fire lick down his spine. He caught his breath.

  They both froze.

  Gabe chuckled. "You two going to stand there doing the statue imitation all night, or do you intend to dance? I have to tell you, Honey is frowning something fierce over the show you're giving the guests, and I think she's about to start this way."

  Morgan drew in a deep breath, searching for control. "Get lost, Gabe."

  "No way. I don't get to see you this rattled too often."

  "I'm not rattled." He stepped back a safe distance but retained his hold on Misty. Trying to sound reasonable, rather than rattled, he said, "Your sister wants us to dance."

  Misty's pink tongue darted out to lick nervously at her lips, and Morgan wanted to groan. He glanced at Gabe and saw that his brother was every bit as alert and fascinated as he was. Damn. He started backing out to the middle of the dance floor, tugging Misty along with him. Everyone could see she was a reluctant participant, and after the way she'd accepted every other partner, Morgan was peeved. "Come on, Malone. I won't bite you."

  "Can I have that in writing?" Gently, she tried to disengage her hand. Morgan stared at her, refusing to let go and refusing to respond to her sarcasm.

  She sighed. "Look, Morgan, this isn't a good idea."

  Perversely, he asked, "Why not?"

  "You don't like me! That was easy enough to figure out from the moment we met."

  She was so ... lovely, he couldn't help but study her face, the narrow nose, the high cheekbones, her small rounded chin. If he looked any lower, he'd never survive the dance, so he brought his gaze to hers. "I liked you well enough...at first."

  "All right. Then from the moment I introduced myself. I have no idea what you've got against me, and to tell you the truth, I really don't care."

  "You don't, huh?" It was amazing how she went straight to the heart of the matter. Most women wouldn't have been so bold.

  He wondered if she'd be that bold in bed.

  "No, I don't," she said. "Truth is, I'm not at all crazy about you, either."

  The grin took him by surprise. Strangely, Morgan realized he was enjoying himself. Beyond being turned on, he felt challenged, and that didn't often happen with women anymore. "Why not?"

  Before she could reply, the music changed, turned sultry. Misty gave such a heartfelt groan of despair, he chuckled. "Oh, no. I'm outta here." Again she tried to pull loose, but Morgan swept her closer and wrapped one arm around her waist.

  Near her ear, he whispered, "Quit fighting me, Malone. It's only one dance." One dance that felt closer to foreplay. Just holding her was making him nuts, and this close, he could see a few damp, glossy black curls clinging to her forehead and temple. Her upper chest, visible over the scooped neckline of her maid-of-honor gown, was dewy with perspiration. She was warmed up and flushed all over. The vigorous dancing, he thought, leaning subtly forward to breathe in her heated scent. The thought of any other man in the room, especially his damn younger brothers, being this close to her, being affected the same way, made him want to growl.

  Misty frowned at him. "What's the matter with you, anyway? You look like a thundercloud."

  She pulled back, putting a few more inches between their bodies, but Morgan could see the added color in her cheeks and knew she was feeling the effects of the closeness, same as he was.

  When he didn't answer, just continued to stare at her, she sighed. "Don't pretend my honesty bothered you, Morgan. I won't believe it."

  Going for the direct attack, he surmised, and smiled. "You haven't offended me." Then he made his own direct attack.

  "You wanna know what I don't like about you, Malone?"

  "No."

&n
bsp; Her naturally husky voice dropped another octave in her irritation. Where his hand rested on her back, he could feel the satin of the dress, warmed by her body, and the supple movement of her muscles. She was slim, but still stacked like a Barbie doll, with lush breasts and a narrow waist. Her legs seemed to go on forever, long and sleek and sexy. Her bottom, though small, was perfectly rounded and just bouncy enough to make him catch his breath whenever she walked away. He'd spent far too many hours obsessing over her bottom.

  And those breasts. He could spend at least an hour enjoying her just from the waist up. Unable to stop himself, Morgan looked down at the pale, firm flesh and imagined the formal dress around her waist, her breasts naked for him to see, to touch and taste, to enjoy. He groaned. It was almost too easy to imagine his mouth on her, considering how much cleavage was showing, more so than any of the other women in the wedding party, though they were all wearing similar gowns in different colors. With the shape of the neckline there was no way she could be wearing a bra, or at least, not much of one.

  Almost burning up, he growled, "You're Honey's sister."

  She blinked, wary surprise evident in her expression. "So?"

  "That puts you off-limits. And I don't like it."

  Her eyes widened. "Good grief! You make it sound like if you decided to...to—"

  "Yeah, all that you're imagining and more."

  Her breath caught, and she choked on her anger. "Like I'd be agreeable! Well, let me put your mind at ease here, Morgan. The answer would be no!"

  Annoyed all over again, he said, "I'm not buying it, Malone. You flirt all the damn time. Not just when you talk, but when you move, when you eat." He looked at her breasts again, which were trembling with her ire. "Hell, even when you breathe."

  His words made her sputter before she managed to spit out, "That's absurd!"

  "Do you realize every guy here has been ogling your breasts?"

  Her mouth dropped open, then abruptly snapped closed. "You're disgusting."

  "I'm not the one showing so much skin."

  Through her teeth, she ground out, "Every woman in the bridal party is showing the same amount of skin, you idiot. Why don't you go lecture one of them?"

  Easily, knowing it was true, he said, "None of them looks like you." Then he pulled her closer despite her slight resistance. "And I don't want any of them."

  She looked flabbergasted. "Why, you ... you arrogant bas—"

  "Shh. Keep your voice down. I don't want your sister's reception ruined by a scene." She glared at him and her eyes looked hot enough to roast him, her cheeks rosy with color. He wanted to kiss her, but had at least enough sense to hold back from that.

  Actually, Morgan wouldn't have been at all surprised if she'd socked him one, right there in the middle of the hall. And he was honest enough to admit he'd deserve it. He wasn't sure why he goaded her, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

  She huffed, then jerked against his arms. Very low, with clear warning, she said, "If you don't want me to cause a scene, then kindly get your paws off me and leave me alone."

  With relish, he said, "Can't. Honey is determined to see us get acquainted."

  She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake ... I'll talk to her."

  "Why bother?" He stared into her incredible eyes and felt a twisting in his guts as he muttered, "You won't be here much longer, and then it won't matter."

  She quickly looked down and bit her lip.

  Above the lust, suspicion blossomed. Morgan whispered, "Misty?"

  Her gaze jerked to his face, and he realized he'd called her by her first name. Misty suited her, all dark and mysterious, except for those direct, intense blue eyes. "You are leaving soon, right?"

  She swallowed, looking away once again. "I hadn't really thought about it."

  Frowning, Morgan half danced, half steered them toward the patio doors. Misty didn't seem to realize his intent, she merely clutched at him to keep from losing her footing as he danced her first one way, then another, moving easily around the other couples.

  When he opened the patio door and stepped outside, Misty started to hold back. Then he saw her square her shoulders and follow him. Evidently she'd decided they needed a showdown.

  He thought she was exactly right.

  He closed the door behind her, then said, "Come on."

  The night was warm, heavy with humidity. Moonlight fell over her like a pale blush and formed a halo around her midnight hair. She tilted her head, ignoring his outstretched hand. "Where are we going?"

  "Someplace more private. I know my brothers, and one or all of them will be out here in under two minutes to see what I'm doing."

  "You won't be doing anything," she said.

  He answered her with a shrug, then merely waited.

  After a long moment, she sniffed, but took his hand and stepped cautiously forward. He realized then she was still barefoot. Irritation filled her tone when she said, "Obviously your brothers don't trust you any more than I do."

  Morgan smiled in the darkness and stepped off the patio to head toward one of the gazebos decorating the back lawn of the town hall. "Oh, they trust me, all right. They're just nosy as hell and can't ever pass up an opportunity to needle me."

  Misty paused outside the ornate gazebo, staring at it and breathing deeply of the scent of flowers, planted in profusion around the white wood and trellis structure. The entire county of Buckhorn was big on flowers. "I love gazebos. I think they're so quaint."

  Morgan opened the door and cautiously entered the dim interior. "Yeah, I guess Gabe feels the same because he built one – bigger and sturdier than this – down by the lake at home."

  "I saw it. Gabe really built that?"

  "Yeah. He's a handyman of sorts, among other things." The door banged shut behind them, sealing them inside where the air suddenly crackled with awareness. Morgan refused to believe he was the only one who felt it.

  Just enough moonlight filtered in to show the way to the white bench seats lining the inside. He stared hard, seeing the dull glimmer of Misty's eyes, the sheen of her white teeth. "Would you like to sit down?"

  "What I'd like is to find out what you want so I can get back to my sister's celebration."

  What he wanted? Now that was a loaded question. From the second she'd taken his hand, he'd had a throbbing erection. Morgan seated himself, stretching out his long legs on either side of her, caging her in. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and her pale skin and the light color of her dress made her visible. She didn't so much as move a muscle. He crossed his arms and considered her. "You're different from Honey."

  "Night and day," she admitted without hesitation, then explained, "We're also very close. So what's your point?"

  "I wouldn't want to see her hurt."

  Misty stiffened again, but the rigid posture just caused her breasts to be more noticeable. "Anyone who hurt her would have to answer to me."

  "Yet you think nothing of coming in here and flirting with my brothers, coming on to them–"

  She suddenly inclined closer, and her voice was a near hiss. "I haven't come on to anyone! I danced, but then so did everyone else at the reception. It's what's expected at a—"

  Morgan leaned forward and caught her shoulders in his hands, keeping her bent close. Her skin was silky and warm, and he flexed his fingers almost involuntarily. "You also parade around the house all day without a bra, and barefoot."

  Her eyes narrowed, and he could feel her tremble. "It's ninety degrees outside, Morgan! Most every woman I've seen since I arrived has been wearing a sundress or tank top without a bra." She poked him in the chest, hard. "Maybe you should try wearing one to see how horribly uncomfortable they can be in this weather before you start judging me."

  Morgan thought that was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard. He opened his mouth, but she quickly cut him off.

  "And as for my bare feet, what of it? Don't tell me you have a foot fetish?"

  He hadn't, not until he'd met her
. He'd never even noticed a woman's feet before. But Misty had small, narrow feet, and she painted her toenails a bright cherry red. They looked sexy as hell, and every time he saw her pretty little feet, he imagined them digging into the small of his back while he rode her hard, making her scream with intense pleasure.

  He also knew in his gut he wasn't the only male noticing. "You're entirely too comfortable around my brothers."

  "Ha! I don't think it's your brothers you're worried about at all."

  Because that was so close to the truth, even if he didn't want to admit it, Morgan slowly stood. Misty tried to back up, but he had hold of her shoulders and she didn't get far away from him. "You don't think so?"

  She hesitated, going cautious on him now that he was so close and towering over her. But then she lifted her chin with her usual bravado. "No. I think it's...you."

  He nodded, and his pulse thrummed in his veins. "You're right. It is me. But it's also you."

  "No, I—"

  He stepped so close her back came up against the smooth painted wall.

  All the anger, all the frustration, abruptly shifted to pure sexual tension. Morgan couldn't resist one second longer. With his fingertips, he touched her cheek, then her lips, gently, barely brushing, savoring her softness and the way she trembled in response. Touching her felt so right and made him feel downright explosive. She went utterly still, not moving, not even breathing.

  In a raw whisper, he said, "There is absolutely–" he leaned closer "–no possible way–" her eyes drifted shut and she panted for breath "–I'm feeling all this on my own."

  "This?" The word was a mere whisper, sighed against his mouth.

  "Lord, you make me hard, Misty." And then he kissed her. She held herself stiff for all of about two seconds before her mouth opened and her hands fisted on the lapels of his formal jacket. She moaned, a low, hungry, needy sound.

  Morgan, who'd been successfully avoiding her for an entire week, was a goner.

  ~ 2 ~

  INSANITY, MISTY THOUGHT, feeling the hot delicious stroke of Morgan's tongue, the slide of his large rough hands down her spine. He had her pulled so close, their bodies were practically fused together. She hadn't expected this, hadn't known this even existed. Lord, the man knew how to kiss, knew how to move his hands and his legs and his...hips. Everything he did, every place he touched her, made her too hot, too hungry. Made her want more. And so far he hadn't even let his hands wander that far.