He selected his blowtorch and put it in his tool bag. But tomorrow was going to be special.
Tomorrow he’d test the extent of her progress and teach her the most important lesson of all.
She belonged to him. Her body. Her soul.
All of it.
Chapter Fourteen
The Jeep pulled into her driveway. Morgan reached for the door handle.
“Morgan,” Lance said. The deep tone of his voice pulled at her. “I’d better get my good-night kiss now. Your watchdog, Sophie, will be on duty.”
She turned to face him. He leaned across the console, cradled her jaw with one big hand, and kissed her softly. Her eyes drifted closed as his lips lingered. His mouth was warm, with a hint of demand under the gentle press of his lips. She was sorry when he released her.
She caught his hand as it slipped from her face and gave it a tug. His eyes darkened, and he kissed her again. Not as gently. When his lips left hers, she was breathless and hot.
He lifted his head, and his hand slipped from hers.
“Someday, we’ll manage to spend a few hours alone.” His voice was rough. “Not that I’m complaining. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s taking care of family.”
She exhaled hard. Her girl parts were tired of being set aside for her family’s greater good. She’d spent two years with no interest in sex. Now that her hormones had finally reawakened, fate had thrown one roadblock after another in their path.
“It’ll happen,” she said. But the longer they waited, the more excitement and desire stirred in her belly. And nerves. Those were there too.
She’d slept with one man in the last ten years. One.
And the last time she’d gotten naked for the first time with a man, she’d been a lot younger. One did not have three children without those events leaving a few marks. Anticipation encouraged her insecurities.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Lance asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just hoping that someday would be sooner rather than later,” she said wryly, studying the brightly lit house through the windshield.
It was natural to be a little nervous at the thought of sleeping with a new man. She had never taken sex lightly. To her, physical and emotional intimacy went hand in hand. She’d never had a one-night stand. Had never wanted one. She’d slept with two men in her entire life, and she’d been married to one of them.
But she’d promised herself that she was going to lead a full life.
And a full life meant taking risks and leaving herself vulnerable.
Lance caught her chin in his hand and turned it toward him. “Are you sure?”
His touch and the connection between them zinged, strong and true as an arrow, slicing through her doubt. She wanted this man. Her emotions were too tender for any admissions of love, but her desire for him went beyond sex. She wanted him in her bed and in her heart.
She above all people should know that love was worth the risk. No matter how great the pain of losing her husband, she wouldn’t have given up one second of her time with him to avoid the grief, as soul crushing as it had been.
Meeting his gaze head-on, she kissed him again. The firm press of her lips against his grounded her. He grounded her. “I’m positive. Let’s go inside.”
Morgan barely made it through the front door before she was swamped with three small bodies and a barking dog. The girls were in their pajamas. Their damp hair smelled of detangling spray.
She heard Lance close the door behind them as she crouched to envelop the three little girls in a giant hug. “I missed you.”
Having her children in her arms made her think of Chelsea Clark. Would she ever get to hold her babies again?
Morgan released the kids and gave Snoozer, her French bulldog, a scratch behind his ears before standing.
The second she straightened, three-year-old Sophie leaped into her arms. Morgan shifted the skinny child to one hip. Sophie carried her newest favorite toy, a plush Bullseye from Disney’s Toy Story, by one leg.
“We baked cupcakes with Gianna.” Six-year-old Ava grabbed Lance by the hand and tugged him toward the kitchen. “And Aunt Stella is here.”
Lance let himself be dragged.
Morgan set Sophie down. “Mia, how was your day?”
Five-year-old Mia was the quiet child. “You didn’t come home for dinner.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Guilt flooded Morgan. “But I’m here now. Can I have a cupcake?”
Mia nodded.
They went into the kitchen. The girls’ nanny, Gianna, was loading the dishwasher. Grandpa and Stella sat at the kitchen table. In front of them sat a plate of bare cupcakes, three bowls of white icing and three butter knives.
Morgan’s grandfather wiped his mouth with a napkin. A hint of white remained at the corner of his mouth. Morgan pointed to the corresponding spot on her own face, and Grandpa licked his lips.