Sex Junkie(3)

Grant presented himself as a Southern gentleman with a slow hand, but when the bedroom door slammed, look out. His inner beast was a sexual rogue of a man, a rough and rowdy cowboy with one focus, one goal—pursuing a woman who’d never want to let him go by the time he was through loving her.

Morgan ought to know. She’d been Grant’s woman.

“I forgot how much I missed you until now,” Blake said, a soft smile tilting his full lips. With milk chocolate eyes and a deliberate stare, he watched her as if he expected her to tell him the same. Only thanks to her addiction, she couldn’t share similar sentiments, and what started out as warm and familiar soon turned strained and strange.

Blake and Grant carefully studied her, as if they thought she didn’t belong there. Then again, she really didn’t. She’d given up that right years back. When she had nowhere else to go, she returned home, and anticipated a lot. She expected to be welcomed and embraced. Maybe she even assumed those from her former life would let her walk back in and claim the place she once held in their hearts.

At the moment, she had no idea what she needed or wanted. Sometimes it was just better to let the world roll on, to stumble through the days and nights aimlessly without direction or motives. Morgan found when she didn’t follow a plan for tomorrow, the day often arrived without the typical stresses an average person endured.

Face-to-face with the men she once loved, Morgan was at a loss. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Perhaps she could rely on the cowboys she once trusted and follow their lead.

One thing was certain. Reconnecting with loved ones wouldn’t be as simple as she’d imagined. Considering how uneasy Blake and Grant appeared, her brothers must’ve told them about their suspicions. She couldn’t blame them. The last time she came home, a few months after she originally left, she robbed them blind, taking thousands in cash, as well as anything else that wasn’t tied down.

When she returned home this time, it wasn’t any great surprise to discover the door key, previously hidden under a flat rock, was no longer there. She’d used the old credit card trick and let herself in anyway.

“How’d you get in here?” Grant asked, placing a barrier between them. “Kit and Kemper changed the locks. I didn’t realize they’d gotten in touch with you and passed along a key.”

Blake shot him a glare of disapproval, but Grant didn’t back down. “Do Kit and Kemper know you’re here?”

She noticed the tight tone he used when he questioned her. While she didn’t appreciate it, this was Grant Fowler, loyal friend to a fault, except in matters of the heart. Women were and always had been open season between Grant, Blake, and the rest of the men in Blountville, Tennessee.

“We can discuss this over breakfast,” Blake said, pointing at the platter on the counter. “You got enough to share?”

“Of course,” she replied, forcing a smile and rushing the cabinet. She retrieved a couple of plates and coffee mugs. Handing off the dinnerware, she said, “Help yourself. There’s plenty. I can whip up something else if you don’t get your fill.”

“We don’t eat a heavy breakfast,” Grant said. “Dinner is a different story.” His gaze dripped over her like melted chocolate, slipping over her mounds as if he remembered how he once lapped at her body like she was a man’s favorite dessert.

“So how are you, Morgan?” Blake asked. Her name falling from his lips sounded better than listening to her favorite country song on a hot summer evening in late June.

“I’m good, really fine,” she replied, fidgeting—lying. She was hanging on by a thread, and anyone who knew her well probably saw that for themselves. She wasn’t fine by any stretch of the imagination. Only time would separate her completely from addiction’s chokehold.

“Have you talked to Kit and Kemper?” Grant asked.

“Oh sure,” she quickly replied, running her fingers through her short hair. Immediately noticing the odd glances Blake and Grant exchanged without a word spoken between them, she directed the men toward the breakfast table. “Have a seat.” She went to the refrigerator, located some strawberry jam, and then set the squeezable, family-size container on the table.

“Bet they were glad to see you, huh?” Grant asked, picking up his fork and knife. He cut off a cheesy piece of omelet, shoving a hearty bite between his lips. “Especially since you let yourself in and all, bet they appreciated the hell out of that.”

Blake’s eyes pierced through Grant’s. He took a sip of coffee, waved his finger in front of an empty chair next to him and said, “Sit down. Tell us what’s going on with you.”