either. But here he was, naked as a jaybird.
Since he didn’t know Lucy very well, he’d secretly suspected sex with her might be lukewarm. Instead, she’d knocked off his socks—and every other stitch of his clothes. Another rumble of breath brought her tantalizing scent from the pillows, and when he spoke, he could barely keep the disappointment from his voice. “You’re already dressed.”
“What did you expect? To find me naked in my bed?”
“A man hopes.”
She was wearing her black uniform dress, and he feasted his eyes. He realized her cheeks were flushed, as if she’d been outside, and that she looked guilty as hell. Morgan didn’t blame her. If the senator discovered them, their jobs would be on the line.
Still, he couldn’t force himself to leave, not yet. Even he and Cheryl had never experienced pleasure like this—and he’d almost married Cheryl. Before last night, he’d thought Lucy was attractive and interesting, of course, otherwise he’d never have spent the night, but now that he knew how hot she was sexually, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. During the night, she’d told him the turban she’d worn was covering a moisturizing treatment, and now he could see that she’d rinsed out the cream. “Your hair turned out great,” he assured her, his eyes tracing the straight brown shoulder-length strands brushing her shoulders.
She frowned as if she had no idea why he’d mention her hair. “Uh…thanks, Morgan.”
He loved that she didn’t preen at the compliment, the way some women would. Lucy was so practical, so down-to-earth. And petite, he noted. Naked beside him, she’d seemed to meet him, part for body part, but really, she was much smaller, only about five foot five. Thinking once more of what they’d shared, heat coursed through him, stirring his groin. The sheet draping his hips slipped a notch, but it hardly mattered, since Lucy had already acquainted herself with everything beneath. Lazily reaching up, Morgan absently threaded his fingers through a black tangled thatch of chest hair, and his dark eyes turned hungry. “That dress really looks great on you.”
She was watching him oddly. “It’s my uniform, Morgan. Uh…what are you doing here?”
She must have gone downstairs, and in the interim, he guessed, she’d expected him to get up and leave. Ignoring that, he said, “After last night, you could wear a potato sack and I’d never know the difference, Lucy.”
She looked confused. “Last night?”
He laughed softly, loving how she was pulling his leg. Last night, she’d definitely exhibited a maddening, inventive sense of humor. Suppressing a shudder, he fixed his gaze to pretty lips that didn’t look nearly as sinful as they’d felt last night when they were circling the choicest part of his anatomy.
“Usually, I get up at five,” he confessed, uttering a rough, very male sound of longing, “but right now, Lucy, I can’t move.” He clasped his hands behind his neck. “Wish we could have breakfast in bed. Maybe an omelette and English muffins, with some champagne.”
“A rose in a discreet little bud vase?” Lucy queried dryly. Her gaze was slowly panning the room, widening in disbelief as she assessed the damage—condom wrappers on the floor, rumpled clothes, a cell phone, an overturned wastebasket. He couldn’t help but release another soft chuckle. “It was a hell of a night.”
“I’ll say,” murmured Lucy.
Glancing at the tangled bedding heaped beside him, he discovered that, in the light of day, the matching sheets and duvet were printed with pink whales and ocean waves. He bit back a grin. The covers were such a piled mess that, if he didn’t know better, he’d think somebody else was hiding under there. “A hell of a night,” he repeated, his heart tugging when he remembered how, on an emotional level, what he’d experienced with Lucy had been raw and passionate, then slow and tender. Occasionally, of course, it had gotten downright pornographic. And here, ever since his little brother Conner’s engagement to Sharon McConnell, Morgan had been thinking he’d never meet the right woman. But maybe he and Lucy would wind up together. She was so down-to-earth, his family would love her. They hated snobs. He eyed her. “What time is it?”
“Six.”
No wonder she looked so distressed. There was no time to sample another taste of what they’d feasted on last night. Drifting a potent gaze over her, Morgan didn’t stop until he’d traversed her uniform and support stockings and was staring at the toes of practical white crepe-soled shoes. “It’s risky, but maybe we could take a few more minutes….”
During a long, contemplative pause, Lucy crossed her arms, and when the movement lifted fuller breasts than what she’d possessed last night, Morgan credited himself for knowing she wore Wonderbras. He’d overheard his sisters Meggie and Fiona discussing their enhancing abilities.
“Morgan,” Lucy finally said, looking exasperated. “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing in my bed?”
“You’re so right,” he murmured apologetically. By hanging around, he was tempting fate. The Vernes didn’t usually get up this early. Vanessa, vamp that she was, stayed in bed until Morgan’s lunchtime, which meant ten. But what if today was an exception? He nodded. “The last thing I want to do is get us pink slips.”
“Then I suggest you leave.”
“Good point.” That was another thing he liked about Lucy. She was smart. Forward thinking. Reaching a long, well-muscled arm over the mattress, he fished around on the floor until he found his briefs. The sheet slid off his thigh as he moved, and when he glanced up, Lucy’s brown eyes were wide and startled, riveted between his thighs.
He chuckled again. “Meet me in broad daylight, Lucy.”
Her eyes lurched drunkenly upward, and she stared at him, slack-jawed. She whispered, “Have you lost your mind, Morgan?”
“No,” he assured her. “I’m leaving. I promise. As much as I’d love to stay, we’d better finish this later tonight.”
“Finish…?” Lucy managed to speak faintly, her eyes alighting briefly between his thighs once more before studiously focusing on the wall behind him.
“I don’t know how you feel about it, Lucy.” He couldn’t help but say it since after last night, he didn’t understand her shyness. “But that was the best sex I ever had.”
She gasped. “The best…what?”
Cursing his male insensitivity, he winced, then his eyes pierced hers significantly. “I know,” he assured her quickly. “I shouldn’t have called it sex. It was more than just sex. Much more.” He wasn’t inclined to divulge feelings this early in a relationship, but last night was so special that he gave in to his impulses, tossed aside his briefs and continued. “Two words,” he said. “You’re amazing.”
“Amazing?”
Her uncertainty was heartbreaking. “Don’t you know that about yourself, Lucy?”
She looked flabbergasted. “Well, I guess, Morgan, but—”
“Amazing,” he repeated. Surely from his response, not to mention her own, she’d realized how unusual last night had been. Smoothing a hand over his head, he tried to tame the hopelessly disheveled curls, and while he searched for the right words, he recalled how her long fingers had caught his
