daredevil. When Real World did auditions in Orlando, she bungeed off a bridge.”
Hannah sat in Morgan’s lap. “Don’t listen to her. She’s making it sound worse than it was.”
Morgan flashed back suddenly to that first day at the church and Hannah’s death-defying dash through traffic. He scowled at Elda. “Is there more?”
Elda was clearly enjoying herself now. “I’ve seen her trying to get honey from a beehive. Got stung twenty-three times. And last winter she went ice-skating at an indoor rink with that cute orderly over in the medical center . . . Sven somebody . . . tall, Nordic, maybe a Swede. She made him do one of those death spirals with her and took the skin right off her cheekbone.”
He looked at his fiancée’s face, expecting to see an expression of remorse or at the very least sheepishness. But she was laughing, her smile a flash of white in the shadow of the beach umbrella. He was certain she didn’t regret a bit of it.
And this woman was afraid to get married?
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. “I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me. It’s a good thing my CPR credentials are up-to-date and that I’ve got a working knowledge of first aid. I believe I’ve been bamboozled into thinking this lovely creature is soft and sweet and feminine.”
Elda laughed until she cried. When she could catch her breath, she chortled again. “Our Hannah just might redefine the whole concept of feminine. She’ll have your balls in a knot if you let her.”
“Elda!” Hannah’s outraged squawk woke most of the others.
Morgan just grinned and shoved her to her feet. Cuddling Hannah in his lap was having a predictable effect on his male anatomy, and he had a feeling that any alone time was long past.
He adjusted his trunks beneath the damp beach towel and reached for a cooler. “Who wants the first beer?”
Four
Hannah had lived with herself long enough to know she had a regrettable propensity for leaping headfirst without pondering the consequences. Sexual counseling? Great googly moogly. Surely this had to be one of her more stupid ideas. Sex was private between a man and a woman. Sex was something you did , not something you talked about . . . especially with a stranger.
But Morgan had outwitted her. He’d called her bluff, and now she had no choice.
She picked up the magazine and flipped to the pertinent article. Toward the end there was a Web site address cited as a source for further information. When she went online and looked it up, she found a listing of state-by-state directories, and wouldn’t you know it . . . Orlando had two sets of doctors certified for the premarital sexual counseling program. Damn.
She picked a name at random and dialed the number.
Morgan glanced at his watch and did a quick mental estimate of how much longer it would take to get the final sector of pipe laid. Despite the fact that three of his crew were out sick that day with a nasty bug that had been going around, things were still on schedule. He liked staying ahead of the curve, so that when unexpected snafus occurred, he could absorb the interruption without derailing his timetable. At the moment, he was in an ATV headed to the farthest sector of the job to make sure no corners were being cut. He didn’t micromanage, but it never hurt to keep tabs on the work.
He had a nice air-conditioned trailer that provided respite from the sun and the heat, but he spent little time there. He’d discovered early on that his men respected him more if he was a visible presence in the midst of the chaos that was the inevitable first stage of a project like this. This was only his second major assignment as site manager, and at age thirty-four, an undertaking like this was a hell of a lot of responsibility.
So far things had been smooth sailing. There were always minor glitches, of course, with deliveries and state paperwork and accidents . . . things beyond his control. But
Hannah sat in Morgan’s lap. “Don’t listen to her. She’s making it sound worse than it was.”
Morgan flashed back suddenly to that first day at the church and Hannah’s death-defying dash through traffic. He scowled at Elda. “Is there more?”
Elda was clearly enjoying herself now. “I’ve seen her trying to get honey from a beehive. Got stung twenty-three times. And last winter she went ice-skating at an indoor rink with that cute orderly over in the medical center . . . Sven somebody . . . tall, Nordic, maybe a Swede. She made him do one of those death spirals with her and took the skin right off her cheekbone.”
He looked at his fiancée’s face, expecting to see an expression of remorse or at the very least sheepishness. But she was laughing, her smile a flash of white in the shadow of the beach umbrella. He was certain she didn’t regret a bit of it.
And this woman was afraid to get married?
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. “I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me. It’s a good thing my CPR credentials are up-to-date and that I’ve got a working knowledge of first aid. I believe I’ve been bamboozled into thinking this lovely creature is soft and sweet and feminine.”
Elda laughed until she cried. When she could catch her breath, she chortled again. “Our Hannah just might redefine the whole concept of feminine. She’ll have your balls in a knot if you let her.”
“Elda!” Hannah’s outraged squawk woke most of the others.
Morgan just grinned and shoved her to her feet. Cuddling Hannah in his lap was having a predictable effect on his male anatomy, and he had a feeling that any alone time was long past.
He adjusted his trunks beneath the damp beach towel and reached for a cooler. “Who wants the first beer?”
Four
Hannah had lived with herself long enough to know she had a regrettable propensity for leaping headfirst without pondering the consequences. Sexual counseling? Great googly moogly. Surely this had to be one of her more stupid ideas. Sex was private between a man and a woman. Sex was something you did , not something you talked about . . . especially with a stranger.
But Morgan had outwitted her. He’d called her bluff, and now she had no choice.
She picked up the magazine and flipped to the pertinent article. Toward the end there was a Web site address cited as a source for further information. When she went online and looked it up, she found a listing of state-by-state directories, and wouldn’t you know it . . . Orlando had two sets of doctors certified for the premarital sexual counseling program. Damn.
She picked a name at random and dialed the number.
Morgan glanced at his watch and did a quick mental estimate of how much longer it would take to get the final sector of pipe laid. Despite the fact that three of his crew were out sick that day with a nasty bug that had been going around, things were still on schedule. He liked staying ahead of the curve, so that when unexpected snafus occurred, he could absorb the interruption without derailing his timetable. At the moment, he was in an ATV headed to the farthest sector of the job to make sure no corners were being cut. He didn’t micromanage, but it never hurt to keep tabs on the work.
He had a nice air-conditioned trailer that provided respite from the sun and the heat, but he spent little time there. He’d discovered early on that his men respected him more if he was a visible presence in the midst of the chaos that was the inevitable first stage of a project like this. This was only his second major assignment as site manager, and at age thirty-four, an undertaking like this was a hell of a lot of responsibility.
So far things had been smooth sailing. There were always minor glitches, of course, with deliveries and state paperwork and accidents . . . things beyond his control. But
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