Everywhere and Every Way(36)

Misery settled on his shoulders. How had this all gone so wrong? He'd  been in the right, and now Dalton was twisting everything to get out of  trouble. Cal tightened his lips and refused to back down. "What are you  going to do about the mess you made?"

Dalton yanked the power cord from the saw, grabbed his baseball hat from the rung, and headed toward the door. "I'll fix it."         

     



 

"How? More lies? Gonna promise to marry her until after the inspection comes through? That'll really help us."

His brother spun around. "I said I'd fix it. From now on, keep your damn  nose out of my business and my sex life. Get your own." He gave a  snort. "Interesting, though, you lecturing me on combining work with  pleasure while you're hot for Morgan Raines. How about that as a  potential disaster, dude?"

His ears buzzed with pure rage. "Did you touch her?" he asked softly.  Deadly. His hands trembled with the urge to beat his brother senseless  for taking another woman he was interested in. The image of that fateful  night rose up before him in full, mocking imagery.

Excited about his upcoming wedding, he'd been tipsy as he stumbled into  the house, making his way toward his bedroom. The room spun, but he was  happy. He loved Felicia with the ardor of a man who had a future full of  bright vision and endless fortune on the horizon. He had a plan, and  finally all his hard work was paying off. He'd get out from under his  father's thumb, make his own way at Pierce Brothers, have a big family,  and be happy. God knew, he craved a slice of happy after his mother's  death. Until the door swung open and he caught his brother with his  future wife wrapped in his arms, her head tilted back, lips curved in a  soft, intimate smile telling him they'd done this many times before.  Dalton whispered something in her ear, and she gave the familiar giggle  he associated with her happiness, but this time it wasn't for him. He  stood and watched his brother hold his fiancée, and a strange numbness  overcame him. Was he enraged? Brokenhearted? Ripped to pieces? He should  be. Cal remembered thinking in that moment that he should go apeshit  crazy. Instead, he felt . . . disappointed. Such a lukewarm emotion for a  man who watched the woman he thought he loved and adored in his  brother's arms.

The rest was a blur. The accusations. The tears. His brother's defense.  Cal walked away, and the strong bond between them was splintered into a  thousand pieces. It was more hurtful than losing his future wife. Losing  his brother had been far, far worse.

Dalton shook his head in disgust. "Touch her? No. Give me a little  respect. And unlike you, if you want to go for it, I won't be getting in  your way."

He and Dalton had always seen women in a very clear way. Tristan had  been different, a bit of the artistic, emotional type they used to make  fun of. He was the kind to write poetry and think deep thoughts in the  woods. He'd been smitten with Sydney for years, and they'd had some  secret love affair when they were kids. Dalton and Cal had joined forces  to torture him. But the night Dalton took his woman away, Cal realized  they'd never be able to repair their relationship. It was too . . .  broken. Too far gone.

"Why'd you have to do it?" he asked bitterly. "I trusted you."

The demons swirled in the room between them, and Dalton swore viciously.  "What do you want from me, Cal?" he asked. "Another apology? Another  vow I never fucked Felicia? I didn't. I never would. She came on to me,  and I knew if you got married she'd cheat. You wouldn't listen to me, so  I decided to prove you'd be making a mistake. Instead, I made the  mistake, and I've paid for it for years. I'm tired of paying for  something I did because I loved you. I'm done. With all of it."

The door slammed behind him. The sound echoed in the silence, and Cal  squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find his balance in a world that was  beginning to sway beneath his feet. An odd need to forgive and delve  deeper into Dalton's explanation pulled at him. But he fought it back,  because in a way, he agreed with Dalton.

Cal was done with it, too. All of it.





chapter thirteen







Morgan twisted her fingers nervously and paused at the massive front  door. Maybe she should turn around. After all, Cal and Dalton had some  issues to work out, and it probably wasn't a good time to intrude.  Besides, she wasn't good at this stuff. The bottle of champagne she'd  brought suddenly felt obnoxious, and the banana cream pie purchased from  Eddy's Gourmet Bakery in town seemed pushy. Oh, why hadn't she stayed  in her hotel and ordered room service? The Greek salad was quite  delicious, and she'd built relationships with the kitchen and waitstaff  who anticipated her every order and knew she tipped well.

What was she doing here?

Morgan turned on her heel to flee.

The door swung open.

Trapped in midflight, she turned her head and caught Cal's knowing grin.  He reached out to snag the presents, amusement dancing in those smoky  gray eyes. "A woman who's on time is my favorite kind. Is this pie from  Eddy's? I've died and gone to heaven. Come in."         

     



 

Too late. The door slammed behind her, and she was greeted by the  enthusiastic moaning and wriggling fur bodies she was beginning to  adore. Scratching their heads and trying to keep clear of their thumping  tails, Morgan allowed herself to bask in the overabundant pure emotion  of animals who just loved and welcomed her to their home. The pang of  wanting something that made no sense hit but quickly dissipated. Morgan  grew up in a solid home with loving parents and was well taken care of.  She was grateful. What was she missing, then?

After her diagnosis and the disastrous breakup with Elias, she'd made  sure she focused on ambition and career success. It was a good thing.  She was used to relationships that were . . . clean. Built on mutual  favors, similarities, and secure walls to keep out messiness. But these  dogs gave her a glimpse of something else, something that was so  deliciously blissful and pure and decadent. A sloppy, all-consuming  affection and focus that made her feel like the most important person on  the planet.

Like Caleb did.

Even now, his attention never wavered from her. Dressed in a pair of  worn denim cutoffs and a black tank and sporting bare feet, he was  completely droolworthy. His arms were corded with muscle that had  nothing to do with the gym, and his jeans cupped his hard thighs and ass  in loving abandon. Her heart picked up the pace at his sexy half grin,  curving those luscious lips and making her burn for another taste. His  look promised her he'd treat her better than the dogs, and Morgan had no  doubts he was right. Her body already craved to melt her clothes off  and offer itself up to all of his ministrations. She knew it would be  perfect between them. The sex, that is. But Morgan had already made her  decision that she couldn't sleep with him. He was way too dangerous. She  hadn't trusted her body to fight, though, and knew her mind was iffy  when it came to saying no to such pleasure. So Morgan had done the only  logical thing women did to keep themselves from falling into bed with a  man.

She hadn't shaved her legs.

Under her proper white pants and lemon chiffon blouse, she had a dirty  secret. In the tub, soaking from the day's stressful activities, she'd  picked up the razor, then promptly put it back. Knowing her stubble  would keep her firmly chaste, she decided to forgo the feminine ritual.  That would guarantee that if they shared a kiss and it began to get too  far, she'd stop it. No way would she allow a man to see her naked for  the first time and not stubble-free. That would be so humiliating, her  brain would eventually kick in and stop all fun activities. Morgan kept  the knowledge firmly wrapped around her like a security blanket. At  least she could bask in his company, admire his gorgeous body, eat a  good meal, and go home safe.

"I appreciate the invite," she said politely. "Will your brothers be joining us?"

He snorted and led her into the kitchen. With graceful, economical  motions, he untwisted the cork and popped it off the champagne bottle.  It flinched in his grip and gave a soft whoosh. "Hell no. And I  apologize for the interruption the other night. Tristan is spending the  night in Manhattan, and Dalton won't be coming home."

She slid onto one of the kitchen stools and put her purse down. The dogs  settled happily by her feet. "It's fine. Probably better that Tristan  stopped us when he did before things went too far. Were you able to talk  to Dalton about the inspection?"

His face darkened. Curiosity simmered regarding their past. Had Dalton  really slept with his fiancée? The idea of Cal engaged to another woman  made her tummy lurch with nerves. What type of woman did he really want?  She burned with a thousand questions but doubted one would get  answered. Cal seemed to guard his past as well as she did hers. One  recognized the other well. It was so much easier to keep things light.  The moment the closet door swung open, too many bones burst out, and  shoving them back in was a real bitch of a chore.