of her in bed
beside him, her long limbs stretched out along his and his palm fitted over her
hip. Blood rushed to his head in mortification as he fought down the image.
This was Brook blasted Lochlan on his floor.
She’d sooner laugh in his face and push him into the cold lake than she would
climb into his bed. And he’d sooner be thrown into the cold lake than suffer
her proximity.
Morgan shoved his pillow tightly over his head in an attempt
to block out the rise of lust he refused to acknowledge.
* * * * *
Brook stepped out of the shower and immediately scented
bacon—maple bacon to be exact. When she’d slipped into the bathroom five
minutes earlier, Morgan had been snoozing peacefully on his oversized bed. Now
he was in the only room she hadn’t fortified.
Brook charged through the cottage, intent on giving him a
much-needed chastising. “Do you have a death wish, Priest Seaton?” Her tone
lowered derisively. “Because hanging out in the only room in the house I
didn’t board up without me certainly seems like it.”
Morgan faced her. His spatula halted above the crackling
bacon. His odd frozen stare made Brook strangely uncomfortable. Hadn’t he heard
her?
Brook soon sensed desire flowing from him. What in the…
A glance down showed she’d dashed out of the bathroom with a
narrow towel wrapped around herself. Though everything important was covered,
it wasn’t the most appropriate of attire to wear when upbraiding a client.
She had the sudden urge to flee. Her neck heated in embarrassment.
To combat it, Brook squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and stared him
head-on in the hope he wouldn’t realize she regretted her actions.
“Neptune in the sea,” Morgan said, croaking the words. He
turned his back on her and viciously jabbed at the bacon slices. “Put on some
fucking clothing.”
Morgan’s anger competed with desire—emotions she clearly
sensed over her empathic net.
If he had a reaction to her lack of clothing it was merely a
natural response to a stimulus; any male would have experienced it. Yet he was angry for that natural response.
Well, it wasn’t as if she’d wanted him to desire her. It
would only complicate the assignment more than it already was.
She battled irritation. Clearly the turn in her mood was due
to his failure to move to a safe room. And it was surely because of her
inability to behave with civility at this moment that sent her into a retreat.
It had nothing to do with disappointment. Really.
Morgan pitched two more slices of bacon into the sizzling
pan, thrusting the spatula beneath the others with angry focus. He needed
something to concentrate on other than the image in his head of a dripping,
furious and nearly nude Brook. Neptune in the deepest depths! Had she no brain
in that sopping head of hers? Didn’t she know no words spoken in a towel would
get through to a male?
She couldn’t know. If she did, she would have put on a
hazmat suit rather than risk he ’ d become aroused by her. Morgan could only assume she’d never appeared to a
client in such a state of undress or else she’d have already learned that
lesson. And for some sick reason he enjoyed the thought that no other male had
seen her like that.
Jabbing at the crinkly slices of pork wasn’t pushing away
any of his anger. Brook wasn’t foolish like him. The sight of him in a towel
wouldn’t have aroused her. Otherwise she would have thought twice about
appearing improperly attired. And that made the last of his good mood for
having slept flit away on the maple-scented air.
When she returned minutes later, she was clad in jeans and a
T-shirt that covered her stomach—a stomach he clearly recalled from day one, a
stomach he was even now imagining nuzzling. Morgan swallowed down a groan as he
fetched a plate for his finished slices.
She was at the stove as he turned back. Her fingers were
near her mouth—a glistening mouth Morgan fantasized about kissing. Brook shot
him a guilty
beside him, her long limbs stretched out along his and his palm fitted over her
hip. Blood rushed to his head in mortification as he fought down the image.
This was Brook blasted Lochlan on his floor.
She’d sooner laugh in his face and push him into the cold lake than she would
climb into his bed. And he’d sooner be thrown into the cold lake than suffer
her proximity.
Morgan shoved his pillow tightly over his head in an attempt
to block out the rise of lust he refused to acknowledge.
* * * * *
Brook stepped out of the shower and immediately scented
bacon—maple bacon to be exact. When she’d slipped into the bathroom five
minutes earlier, Morgan had been snoozing peacefully on his oversized bed. Now
he was in the only room she hadn’t fortified.
Brook charged through the cottage, intent on giving him a
much-needed chastising. “Do you have a death wish, Priest Seaton?” Her tone
lowered derisively. “Because hanging out in the only room in the house I
didn’t board up without me certainly seems like it.”
Morgan faced her. His spatula halted above the crackling
bacon. His odd frozen stare made Brook strangely uncomfortable. Hadn’t he heard
her?
Brook soon sensed desire flowing from him. What in the…
A glance down showed she’d dashed out of the bathroom with a
narrow towel wrapped around herself. Though everything important was covered,
it wasn’t the most appropriate of attire to wear when upbraiding a client.
She had the sudden urge to flee. Her neck heated in embarrassment.
To combat it, Brook squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and stared him
head-on in the hope he wouldn’t realize she regretted her actions.
“Neptune in the sea,” Morgan said, croaking the words. He
turned his back on her and viciously jabbed at the bacon slices. “Put on some
fucking clothing.”
Morgan’s anger competed with desire—emotions she clearly
sensed over her empathic net.
If he had a reaction to her lack of clothing it was merely a
natural response to a stimulus; any male would have experienced it. Yet he was angry for that natural response.
Well, it wasn’t as if she’d wanted him to desire her. It
would only complicate the assignment more than it already was.
She battled irritation. Clearly the turn in her mood was due
to his failure to move to a safe room. And it was surely because of her
inability to behave with civility at this moment that sent her into a retreat.
It had nothing to do with disappointment. Really.
Morgan pitched two more slices of bacon into the sizzling
pan, thrusting the spatula beneath the others with angry focus. He needed
something to concentrate on other than the image in his head of a dripping,
furious and nearly nude Brook. Neptune in the deepest depths! Had she no brain
in that sopping head of hers? Didn’t she know no words spoken in a towel would
get through to a male?
She couldn’t know. If she did, she would have put on a
hazmat suit rather than risk he ’ d become aroused by her. Morgan could only assume she’d never appeared to a
client in such a state of undress or else she’d have already learned that
lesson. And for some sick reason he enjoyed the thought that no other male had
seen her like that.
Jabbing at the crinkly slices of pork wasn’t pushing away
any of his anger. Brook wasn’t foolish like him. The sight of him in a towel
wouldn’t have aroused her. Otherwise she would have thought twice about
appearing improperly attired. And that made the last of his good mood for
having slept flit away on the maple-scented air.
When she returned minutes later, she was clad in jeans and a
T-shirt that covered her stomach—a stomach he clearly recalled from day one, a
stomach he was even now imagining nuzzling. Morgan swallowed down a groan as he
fetched a plate for his finished slices.
She was at the stove as he turned back. Her fingers were
near her mouth—a glistening mouth Morgan fantasized about kissing. Brook shot
him a guilty
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