“Why did you call me?”
Call him? She couldn’t think; her mind was a big blank mess. Why had she called him, what had started this fiasco? She turned back to face him, confusion written on her face, and she saw Tricks sitting patiently, waiting for the humans to stop acting silly.
Thoughts began forming, memory returning but moving as slowly as molasses. She said, “Tricks.”
He glanced at the dog. “What about her?”
“She was driving me crazy. She knew you were up here, in a different place, and she wanted to come visit.”
He scrubbed a hand over his rough jaw, the rasping sound arrowing through her. She thought of that beard scraping across her breasts, between her thighs. No, no, no! She wasn’t going to go there . . . she already had.
He sighed and said, “That was it? That had you yelling as if the house was under attack?”
“No, that had me yelling as if I was exasperated and wanted to get to sleep but she wouldn’t let me,” she said shortly. “Not every yell means we’re being attacked.”
“In my world it does.”
The truth of that silenced her. The scar on his chest was proof that he lived in a very different world from hers.
She acknowledged that with a nod, briefly closed her eyes. “Anyway . . . that was it. Just leave your door open, if you don’t mind, and I’ll leave mine open. She’ll probably go back and forth between us until she decides to pick her place and settle down. She might get on the bed with you, so if you don’t want her in there just say so and I’ll keep her with me no matter how much she acts up.”
“No, that’s okay, I don’t mind.” He gave her a smile that was like a wolf flashing its fangs, with a total lack of humor. “But just for the record—she’s not the one I’d choose.”
CHAPTER 14
BO LAY IN BED, CURLED PROTECTIVELY ON HER SIDE like a shrimp, so tense every muscle in her body was aching. She’d been rash, she’d been stupid, and the whole incident was her fault. She knew to keep her distance from him, to not let him see in any way how attracted she was to him. The kiss wasn’t even the worst part. Yes, she’d kissed him back, as hungrily as he’d been kissing her; while that had been a huge mistake, it was one she could handle. The worst part was getting angry at him because he’d had a target tattooed on his chest.
Even a fairly thickheaded man would figure out a woman would get so angry at a tattoo—one that was like daring someone to shoot him—only if she cared—and Morgan wasn’t thickheaded. She was beginning to fully appreciate how intelligent and cunning he was to have muted his personality to the extent he had so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable with him. She’d seen flashes of the unmuted Morgan before, but tonight more of the power of his personality had come through loud and clear.
She wanted to sleep, needed to sleep. But her senses were too on edge, her mind racing as she zigzagged between remembering everything that had happened, how it had felt when he’d touched her, how he’d tasted—and then all the reasons why she should never let it happen again. Tricks, of course, went back and forth between the two bedrooms, jumping up on the bed to nuzzle Bo, then after a few minutes jumping down and trotting to the other bedroom to presumably treat Morgan to the same “I’m happy so no one is going to sleep” routine. Occasionally she’d hear the deep murmur of his voice as he tried to get Tricks to settle down in one room or the other, but good luck with that. Or maybe he was telling Tricks “Good girl” because she’d almost gotten him laid, Bo thought resentfully.
Finally, on about the fifth or sixth return, Tricks licked Bo on the arm and then curled up on her bed on the floor. “Please just go to sleep,” Bo muttered, though why it mattered she couldn’t say. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if Tricks hadn’t been partying.
For whatever reason, having Tricks back in her room and no longer trotting back and forth allowed Bo to relax. She couldn’t change what had happened; she simply had to make certain it didn’t happen again. Once she got that thought firmly fixed in her mind, she dozed off.
Tricks woke her up at the normal time by laying her muzzle on the pillow and staring at her. The message was plain: it’s morning, and you haven’t fed me yet.
She gave Tricks a hug, then lay there for a moment longer. The morning brought a return of mortification. She didn’t want to get up and face the day, she didn’t want to face him. She wanted the whole situation to just go away, which was such a juvenile thought that she mentally slapped herself, got out of bed, and got on with her normal routine.
She hadn’t heard him walk by her open door, but he was downstairs, and just coming in from outside as she went down the stairs. He was dressed in one of his regular tee shirts, this one dark green, and khaki cargo pants. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, which meant she’d been so sound asleep that she hadn’t heard the coffeemaker. Evidently Tricks had also been tired enough after her back-and-forth exertions of the night before that she hadn’t alerted Bo to Morgan’s activity.
Morgan, however, looked rested and alert and completely comfortable. It wasn’t fair.
“Good morning,” he said, going to the coffeemaker and punching the brew button. It began hissing and spewing, and coffee was streaming into a cup for her by the time she reached it.
He leaned against the cabinet in what she had come to realize was his habitual position—he was a lounger—and said, “I’m sorry about last night.”