“For what it’s worth, in a crisis like that how things feel and how they really are are two different things. You were moving like you’d been shot out of a cannon.”
“And I still wouldn’t have been there fast enough.” Heartbreak was plain in her tone. She would have failed. Tricks would have died.
The bedroom wasn’t dark because of the light from the landing coming through the open door; she could see Tricks’s brows quirking quizzically at this unusual behavior from both her main human and her auxiliary human, her face so expressive she might as well be speaking. Bo’s heart swelled as she trailed a tender finger down the golden head to rub between Tricks’s eyes.
For all of Tricks’s life, Bo had done everything she could to keep her safe and healthy, to give her a happy, secure life. Dogs didn’t live that long; every day was precious. But despite everything she’d done, all the precautions she’d taken and the care she’d given, she could have lost Tricks today, and it had been out of her control. Things happened. Some people were stupid-ass idiots. She couldn’t anticipate everything, couldn’t control everything, or even most things. Loss happened. It was random, striking without warning and despite all efforts to ward it off. Lightning could strike a hermit alone on a mountain as easily as it could someone in a town.
“Don’t,” Morgan said, and she realized she was sobbing again. She could no more stop the tears than she’d have been able to stop the bullet.
She could have lost him today, too. He wasn’t hers to lose but… she cared. She couldn’t deny that she cared. Tricks hadn’t been the only one in danger; Kyle could have turned the gun on Morgan just as easily. Today had all but slapped her in the face with a hard truth: there were no guarantees. She could safeguard her emotions to the best of her ability, and still be blindsided by events she couldn’t control. She could have lost Tricks today. She could lose Morgan tomorrow. Whether or not she slept with him, let herself show how much she cared for him, wouldn’t affect the amount of pain she would feel if anything happened to him. She would instead bear the extra burden of regret, regret that she hadn’t made the most of their time together.
He might stay, or he might go. She had no control over that. The only thing she could control was how fully she lived now because now was all she had. That realization was almost as terrifying as that moment when she thought Tricks was going to die. She had been protecting herself with an illusion.
Silently he got up from the bed and went out onto the landing. The light went out. His absence speared through her, and she started to call out a strangled plea for him to come back when she saw his dark shape moving back to the bed.
He stood on the other side and she heard the rustling of fabric, the sound of his belt hitting the floor. Her heartbeat began a hard, thumping pace, sending heat through her body and banishing the cold. His voice came in the darkness, deep and firm. “C’mon, Tricks, find some other place to sleep.” He snapped his fingers, and Tricks, the treacherous hussy, bounced up as if she’d been longing to get on her own comfortable bed but had been keeping Bo company while she was so upset, but thank you very much for relieving her of the duty. Her paws hit the floor and she trotted out with great purpose, as if she had something important to do.
Bo made a strangled sound at her own thoughts, half sob and half chuckle. She swallowed and managed to say, “What?” Not very coherent or eloquent, but it was the best she could do.
He sat down on the bed to remove his shoes. “You know what. The only question was when. The answer is now.”
That was succinct enough.
She wanted this. She wanted him, specifically. But she didn’t want him here out of pity, and all this crying might be a major turnoff to him. Morgan didn’t strike her as a man who had a lot of patience with weakness. “Are you sure?”
He was lifting the covers, and he paused. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m a mess.” She was a tangled turmoil of emotions, grieving when there was no need to grieve, crying when she hated to cry, so overflowing with thoughts that she couldn’t get a handle on any of them long enough to know for certain what she was feeling.
“I’m a guy,” he said prosaically as he got into bed beside her.
She was surprised into laughter and surprised that she could laugh. “Does that mean guys don’t mind messes?”
“Pretty much.” He slid his arm under her neck, urged her closer so that she was lying completely against him, her head snuggled onto his shoulder. The heat of his bare skin engulfed her, warming her through the fabric of her clothing. Under her fingers she could feel the crispness of his chest hair, grown back enough to be somewhat soft.
“I just don’t want you to do this because you feel sorry for me,” she confessed almost inaudibly.
For answer he took the hand lying on his chest and moved it down to the front of his shorts. His erection jumped at her touch, pushing into her palm. “Does this feel like sympathy?”
No, it definitely did not. Excitement speared through her; when he lifted his hand she left hers where it was, and trailed her fingertips up and down the hard length before folding her hand around his penis to get a good feel for the size of him. A little purring sound vibrated in her throat before she could catch it. He was so thick she had a pang of doubt before her hormones smothered it. Yes, she wanted him, she wanted this. She had always been alone, stood alone, and now she didn’t want to.
At her touch he went rigid and gave a rough groan. Firmly he grabbed her hand and moved it away. “You aren’t the only one with problems,” he growled, his voice sandpapery. “I haven’t had sex in so long I’ll last maybe fifteen seconds. I have to think about the tactical aspects of this.”
The darkness made it easy for her to relax, to smile. “You’re looking at me the same way you would a military mission?”
“Damn straight. I have territory to conquer, like these points of interest.” He slipped his big hand inside the loose neck of her tank top and gently rubbed his palm over her nipples, making them tighten. The rasp of his rough skin sent a sharp twinge of sensation from her nipples straight to her groin. Her back arched in response, her fingers dug into his shoulder. Primal excitement lit up her nerve endings, firing off such a multitude of responses she instinctively turned into him to seek more of them. His heat seared her from head to toes, drawing her in, comforting and enticing.
“Hills and ravines,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple as he moved his hand to the small of her back and deftly slipped under the elastic waistband of her sleep pants to stroke the curves of her ass and slide a finger along the cleft there. Helplessly she arched again, her body knowing what it wanted and curving into his touch. Her heart was racing, her breath coming in rapid puffs. Just like that he had her skin so sensitized she felt as if a mild electric shock was running through her. Just like that she was ready for him-but then, she’d been ready for him since the first time he’d kissed her.
“Interesting tight places,” he continued, sliding his hand farther down to curve it between her legs. Two big fingers pressed into her; the sensation of being penetrated and stretched was almost overwhelming. She clutched at his broad shoulders, digging her fingers into the pads of muscle. When he moved, he moved fast. There was something she needed to think about, but as long as he was doing what he was doing, she seemed incapable of thought, only of feeling.
Then his fingers were gone, and he deftly turned her onto her back; the sudden emptiness was so sharp she had to fight the irrational surge of anger at the absence of all those sensations. But at least that gave her a little breathing space, and she remembered what she’d wanted to tell him.