Dead Aim(49)

“I'm not. You just drew me as—” She was silent a moment. “I suppose I'm afraid that deep down I'm like that. I try not to be. But what if—”

“Bull.”

“A person never knows how they're going to react. I fell apart once. I could again.”

“The World Trade Center?”

“I was helpless. There was nothing I could do. He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. I went to the hospitals. I posted his picture everywhere.” She could feel the tears sting her eyes. “I couldn't find him. No one has ever found him. I wailed and sobbed like a madwoman.” She swallowed. “Yes, I'm afraid of being that helpless again. I won't be that helpless.”

“So you overcompensate.”

“The hell I do.” She cleared her throat. “And you'd better not have made me look like that woman I was all that time ago. You had some excuse after I was injured, but not now.”

“Would you like to see this one?”

“You're damn right.”

She watched him come toward her. She shouldn't have confided in Morgan. She didn't feel more vulnerable, but she felt closer to him. Heaven knew, she didn't need to feel closer to Morgan.

He knelt beside her and put the sketch on her lap. “Alex.”

And Alex was the name scrawled at the top of the sketch.

Strength. Alertness. Intelligence. Radiance.

She couldn't speak for a moment. “I'm . . . overwhelmed.”

“Good.”

“Is that how I look to you?”

He grinned. “Hell, no. It's just a ploy to get you into bed. I use it on all the babes.” His smile faded. “You know me well enough to know that I'll be honest with you. Even if I weren't honest with you, I'd be honest with the work. The work always has to be honest and clean and true.” His fingers lightly traced the line of her cheek. “It was no problem with you. I had it all right in front of me.”

She couldn't breathe. His fingers were warm and whisper-light, but it was as if she felt that touch in every nerve of her body. His face . . . hard, totally focused, intent.

She slowly lifted her fingers and touched his lips.

He went still. Then he moved his head so that his lips were pressed to her palm.

She went rigid. Heat. Jesus, her whole body was ready.

She shuddered as his tongue touched her palm. Then it was gone. He was gone as he rose to his feet. “No.”

She watched him in bewilderment as he backed away from her. What did he mean, no? She was so hot she was about to melt into a puddle.

“Not fair. You were breaking apart from talking about your father and then I threw the damn sketch at you.” His lips twisted. “And I did it on purpose. I was hard and hurting. I wanted you and it was a way to get you.”

“What?”

“Manipulation. Only I forgot I wasn't dealing in that particular commodity anymore.” He moved toward his bedroom. “You want me, you come and get me.”

She sat there, dazed, as the door slammed behind him. What the hell? She felt as if she'd fallen into the center of a volcano, only to have it turn to ice. No, not ice. She was shocked, but she was still as sexually aroused as the moment he'd first touched her.

It had been totally unprincipled of him to try to manipulate her. Just what she'd expect of a man of his background.

But that was a generalization, and you couldn't generalize with Morgan. He was a law unto himself. Who knew what he'd do next?

You want me, you come and get me.

Damn him.

She got to her feet, strode toward his bedroom, and threw open the door. He was standing in the middle of the room, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Am I supposed to appreciate having to make the moves? Well, I don't. It's damn difficult.” She drew a deep breath. “I want you. I've come to get you. Now, dammit, it's in your court. I want a little seduction.”

“You're sure?”

She crossed the space between them and laid her head against his chest. His skin was smooth, warm, except for a thatch of springy hair. She rubbed her cheek against him and felt the muscles of his stomach clench as a shudder went through his body. “I don't want to be saved from you. I can save myself.”

“You're not doing a very good job.”

“Didn't you say live every moment as though it was my last?”

“But you don't agree with that philosophy.”

“Tonight I do.” Her voice was uneven. “It will take forever to get my shirt off with this blasted shoulder. Will you stop standing there and help me, dammit?”

His hands slowly closed on her shoulders. “Oh, yes. I'll help you. Any way, every way. Just tell me. . . .”



“Did I hurt you?”

She chuckled. “Which time? Isn't it a little late to worry about damaging me?”