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.