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At least she didn’t have to worry about Rosie. Even if the little girl had woken from her nap, she would have Nan and Dee to take care of her. She’d known both women all her short life and had had them wrapped round one small, chubby finger since the day she’d been born.
‘You couldn’t rustle up a sandwich or something as well, could you?’
Morgan dropped a cardboard box of groceries on the kitchen table beside her, startling her out of her thoughts.
‘There’s bread and cheese in there somewhere.’
‘When did you last eat?’
It wouldn’t be held back, the sense of exasperation painfully familiar.
He paused briefly to consider, then shrugged his broad shoulders.
‘Don’t know.’
He was too close, that evocative scent setting her nerves prickling again. The sun slanting in through the kitchen window gleamed on hair of ebony silk, highlighting sapphire eyes behind a fringe of outrageously thick dark lashes. Narrow hips in snug fitting denim rested casually against the side of the table, and he had rolled up his sleeves revealing tanned and muscular forearms, lightly covered in soft dark hair.
‘Didn’t want to waste time stopping. And you know what motorway services are like.’
And she knew what Morgan was like. Motorway services, with his best-sellers on display in the shops, meant the possibility of being recognised, something he avoided like the plague. Ellie bit down hard on her lip as she struggled with the twist of pain in her heart that came with yet another reminder of just how well she had once known this man.
‘But a sandwich would be very welcome…and if you could slice up some tomatoes as well…’
‘What did your last servant die of?’ Ellie flung after him, his laughter in response infuriating her further.
But she was only protesting to save face, she knew. She would do it, dammit. She would make him his coffee and his sandwich not just because she felt she had no option. She couldn’t even deceive herself with the thought that she would do the same for any new guest who had had a long journey.
She would do it because she couldn’t help herself. Because she could no longer deny herself the opportunity to do this small thing for this man who had once meant all the world to her. Sighing, she rooted in the box, pulled out bread, cheese.
It was as she was slicing into the crisp crust of the loaf that memory struck, hard and sharp, stilling her hand and holding her frozen, staring straight ahead with sightless, unfocussed eyes.
It had been—what?—over two years ago. A warm June evening, not unlike today. The night she had moved to Morgan’s London apartment following his suggestion that she come and live with him. Of course, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d been crazily out of her mind with love, her ‘Yes’ had been out of her mouth almost before he’d finished asking, and she had moved in the very next day.
Then, as now, Morgan had directed her into the kitchen, suggesting she prepare something for them to eat while he unloaded her belongings from the car.
The knife shook in Ellie’s hand, tears stinging cruelly as she recalled how he had whistled as he’d worked. How each time he had passed her he had flashed that wide, devastating smile that had turned her insides to molten liquid, and snatched a kiss or simply let his hands trail along her back, her shoulders, her hair. It was if he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her and had had to keep reassuring himself that she’d been there.
And then, when everything had been unloaded, he had come up behind her, sliding strong, warm arms around her slim waist, resting his head on her shoulder, his breath warm against her cheek…
This had been a mistake, Morgan told himself as he slammed the now-empty boot of the car shut and turned to the last box that still lay on the back seat of the Alfa Romeo. One hell of a stupid mistake.
It was no wonder that he’d had a sense of déjà vu. No wonder that it seemed as if he’d lived through this before. It was almost an exact replay of the day that Ellie had first moved in with him.
‘Oh, hell!’
Forgetting the box for a moment, he rested his arms on the sun-warmed top of the car, his chin supported on one hand as he let the memories roll over him.
He’d never been so happy. Or so scared. Never in all his twenty-eight years had he known a feeling like it. He still couldn’t actually believe that he’d made the move, spoken the words that he’d been sure he’d never say to anyone.
Or that she had agreed.
He hadn’t known that he was going to say anything. No rational thought, no careful preparation had come into his head. One moment he’d been lying there, his heart still thudding, his skin still slick with sweat after the blazing passion of their lovemaking, the next he had turned and looked into her face and just known.
But the feeling had been still too new, too delicate, to share with anyone, even Ellie. Ellie who’d declared ‘I love you’ as easily as breathing, who’d seemed to have no fear, no doubts.
And so he’d gone for the casual approach.
‘I think, after that, saying goodnight and going home alone has definitely lost its appeal. How do you feel about making this into a—more logical arrangement?’
‘Coffee’s ready!’
Ellie’s call from the kitchen splintered his memories, bringing his head up sharply, reminding him where he was.
It was just as well he’d held back on his true feelings, he reflected cynically as he forced his mind back on to the present and, collecting the last box, headed inside once more. Ellie’s ‘love’, so carelessly given, had been just as easily taken away again. They had had perhaps eleven months before he had felt her attention drifting and barely two weeks after that she had told him she was leaving.
‘Is that the last one?’
Ellie was buttering bread, her attention fixed on what she was doing, and she glanced up casually as he came in.
‘Just dump it somewhere and come and get your coffee while it’s hot. Not that dump is the appropriate word,’ she added as her eyes focussed on what he was carrying. ‘That’s a laptop, isn’t it?’
‘The newest, state-of-the-art, portable wonder machine.’ Morgan nodded, concentrating unnecessarily hard on placing the box carefully on the sideboard while he got his thoughts back under control. ‘It does everything I want of it. If I could just get it to create plots for me as well, then it would be perfect.’
He was talking to distract himself, he knew. He should never have let himself remember what it felt like to make love to her. Never have recalled the blazing desire, the pounding of his blood in his veins, the hungry kisses and even hungrier caresses. Just to think of them made his body tighten, setting up an ache that left him fighting for control.
‘You’ve made enough sandwiches to feed an army.’ He struggled to keep the conversation light.
‘Self-defence,’ Ellie returned, concentrating fiercely on laying pieces of tomato on top of the thinly sliced cheese. ‘I know what your temper’s like when you’re hungry—it’s one thing about you that I have most definitely not missed.’
‘So there are things that you do miss?’
He couldn’t stop himself from moving closer, had to clench his hands tight in the pockets of his jeans so as to resist the temptation to touch. A shining golden strand of her hair had fallen forward over her cheek and his fingers itched to smooth it back, tangle in the rest of the silken weight.
‘Oh, yes…’
Did he have to come so close? Every nerve in her body sang with tension, tight as the strings of a harp, and the race of her heart made it a struggle to breathe.
‘I miss the tip that your office turns into when you are working. The way you are perfectly capable of forgetting about the practicalities of life and existing on nothing but endless mugs of coffee. I miss the impossible hours you work. The way you forget about appointments, social commitments, invitations…’
‘You obviously have very fond memories!’ Morgan put in wryly.
Lord, but she smelled good. A mixture of roses and sunshine and the private, sweet scent of her skin. It drew her to him as if her body were a powerful magnet and his just a powerless needle, tugged into her gentle but irresistible force field.
‘Leave me some self-respect.’
His plea was accompanied by such a ruefully pained expression that the boyish appeal of it twisted sharply in Ellie’s heart. Was it just her imagination or had he moved even closer?
‘I didn’t expect such a demolition job on my character.’
Black pepper, Ellie told herself, forcing her thoughts onto practical matters. Morgan loved black pepper on tomatoes.
Reaching for the pepper mill, she twisted the top fiercely, then stilled abruptly as the movement brought her into contact with Morgan’s right arm, the soft brush against the warmth of his skin sending a searing electric spark of response right down to her toes until they curled inside her shoes.
‘Is there anything else you miss?’
His hand snaked out and snatched up one of the ripe, moist slices of tomato speckled with spicy flecks of black pepper and he bit into it appreciatively, his teeth very white and strong.
‘Yes,’ Ellie managed in a voice that sounded rusty and raw as if it hadn’t been used for some time. ‘I miss the way you steal food when I’m preparing it and you can’t wait… Stop it!’
He’d reached for another segment of the fruit, but this time she was ready for him. This time she moved as quickly as he had, giving the back of his hand a gentle slap before closing her fingers around his wrist to still it.
And froze.
Her heart was beating high up in her throat. Her fingers were clenched over the hard bones, feeling the powerful muscles tighten suddenly, then relax again, but still holding a tension that communicated itself silently to her quivering sense. Unable to control herself, she drew in one swift, shuddering breath and let it go again on a ragged sigh.
Behind her, Morgan shifted slightly, coming so close that she could feel the warmth of his long body all the way down her back.
‘Ellie,’ he said softly, and his voice sounded as raw and husky as hers had just a moment before so that she had to close her eyes against the sharp tug of its appeal to her already heightened senses.
‘Morgan…’ She tried to protest, but either her voice failed her and he didn’t hear or he heard and deliberately ignored it, bringing his head down so that he could whisper in her ear, the heat of his breath feathering against her skin.
‘Do you know what I miss about you, angel?’
‘No…’
Even she didn’t know if she meant to encourage him to go on or quite the opposite. But whatever was in her mind, the word had no effect. Morgan didn’t even pause to listen but continued inexorably.
‘I miss the feel of your hair…’
His cheek rested against the blonde strands, soft as a caress.
‘The scent of your skin. I miss the sound of your breath, your voice, your heartbeat next to mine. I miss the softness of your flesh underneath my fingertips.’
With his free hand he traced a delicate, tantalising path along the side of her cheek and down the slender line of her throat, pausing briefly to rest on the point at the base of her neck where her pulse leapt and throbbed in heady, drumming response.
‘Morgan…’
The knife she was holding fell from Ellie’s loosened grasp to land with a clatter on the table-top and the hand that held his shifted slightly, moving from restraint to a softer embrace. The pad of her thumb moved over the heated satin of his skin, tracing out an enticing pattern that brought a murmur of response from his throat.
‘I miss the taste of you on my lips, in my mouth…’
His lips had replaced the touch of his hands, following the same path down her face, kissing her forehead, her temple, her closed eyelid, the fine line of her cheekbone. With the heat of response flooding through her, Ellie felt her whole body melt, becoming pliant as wax. With a soft murmur she let her head fall against his shoulder, releasing his hand, no longer able to keep hold of it.
Immediately his newly free arm came round her, fastening about her waist and pulling her tight against him. She welcomed the support of his strength, knowing that her own had deserted her, that she was incapable of holding herself upright.
‘The feel of your breasts in my hands…’
Suiting actions to the words, he slid his hands upward, cupping her breasts in the heat of his palms, his thumbs stroking over the hardening points of her nipples. Against her back, she could feel the potent evidence of his desire, hot and swollen and forceful, and the memories it roused in her made her senses swim.
His fingers were busy with the buttons on her blouse now, easing them swiftly and efficiently from their fastenings, letting the soft white cotton ease apart. One hand slipped inside the white lacy cup of the bra underneath, drawing a shuddering sigh of response as she felt its caress against the smooth slope of her breast.
‘Morgan!’
It was a choking cry of delight, of appeal, of surrender all in one, and she whirled round in the confining hold of his arms and crushed the aching tips of her breasts against his chest. Her arms went up around his neck, her fingers lacing in the darkness of his hair, and she drew his head down urgently to hers.
His kiss felt like coming home. Hard and demanding, it pressed her lips open to the hungry invasion of his tongue, his hands twisting in her hair, fingers clenching around her skull, bringing her even closer to him.
Heavy waves of desire rolled over her, hot and thick and hungry, swamping her mind and driving away almost all coherent thought. All coherent thought but one. Because now the word that she had dodged away from, the word she had feared, had been unable to face since she had known she would have to see him again, was the only thing that was clear inside her thoughts. Over and over it repeated, again and again, swirling round the inside of her skull like a litany of need.
Love. That was the word she had been avoiding; the word she couldn’t bring herself to consider. It meant too much, hurt too much, laid her open to too much danger.
But now she knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer. She still loved Morgan, always had loved him, would always love him. That was the cruellest irony of their situation. She had been forced into making him believe that she no longer loved him, when in fact nothing could be further from the truth. She loved this man more than all the world, and only the love of one other human being, her child, could ever have forced her from his side.
But now Morgan was back. His arms were round her, his lips on hers. She could see the passion in his darkened eyes, the flare of colour on the carved cheekbones, and she knew there was no way she could deny herself this. Her hands shook with the pent-up need of long months apart, making her fumble with buttons on his shirt in her haste to touch him. Really touch him. To feel the heat and smoothness of his skin under her urgent fingertips.
‘Easy, angel…’ Morgan murmured, his voice thickened by a matching desire, but she shook her head frantically, too overwhelmed, too lost in sensation to heed.
At last she reached her goal, smoothing her palms over the warm flesh, the springing dark hairs with a deep sigh of satisfaction. She wanted to touch him everywhere, couldn’t get enough of him.
‘Morgan…Morgan…’
She muttered his name restlessly, feverishly, the two syllables the only sound her mouth could form in between the hungrily snatched kisses as she added the unique taste of his skin to the thousand other sensations that were bombarding her awareness.
‘Ellie!’
On a groan of surrender Morgan gave up all attempt to speak and swept her up into his arms. Shouldering open the door, he took her through the small living room, down the corridor, and into the ground floor bedroom. One of his cases still lay where he had dumped it on the unmade bed, but he violently kicked it aside, almost falling onto the mattress, taking Ellie with him.
With more haste than gentleness he rushed her shirt and the delicate bra underneath it from her yearning body, and now it was his turn to use her name as a form of incantation, an expression of longing that could not be held back.
‘Ellie…Ellie…’ he muttered over and over, hands twisting in her tumbled hair, smoothing over her skin, sliding under her breasts, lifting them to the heated attentions of his lips.
The first, almost gentle kisses on the creamy slopes soon changed in the space of a frantic heartbeat to hungrier, more passionate caresses. The sharp tug of his mouth on one achingly sensitive nipple made Ellie cry out in shock and delight, her body writhing in uncontrolled response to the stinging pleasure. Pushing aside his loosened shirt, her fingers clenched over the powerful bones of his shoulders, closing over hard muscle, feeling it bunch and move under her grip.
‘I want you…I want you…’
She could hardly believe it was her own voice she heard, it sounded so rough and raw. But she seemed to have lost control of her tongue and the muttered plea escaped of its own volition.
‘You’ll have me, angel…’ was Morgan’s breathless, laughter-shaken response. ‘Just as soon as I can get rid of these—these damn clothes!’
The red skirt was too tight, the fastening too time consuming for his hunger and, abandoning with a rough, exasperated curse the attempt to open it, he reached for the hem instead, pushing it violently up over the slender length of her legs, to bunch in crumpled disorder around her waist.
Because of the warmth of the summer, she wore no tights or stockings and the small scrap of satin and lace that was the only delicate barrier to his demanding hands was soon discarded, tossed aside without a care for where it landed.
‘You too…’ Ellie muttered, fingers made clumsy with need as she tugged at the buckle of his belt, yanking it loose.
He helped her with the single button underneath. She heard the faint rasp of the zip sliding down and caught her breath in sharp anticipation. It felt as if a hungry fire blazed deep inside her, sending rivulets of heat out through every nerve, pulsing between her legs, and she couldn’t wait for the thrusting force of his possession to ease the yearning ache.
But something had changed. Above her, Morgan had stilled, his face changing suddenly. His expression darkened and he looked deep into her passion-glazed eyes, frowning as he searched for some answer there.
