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Authors: Shannah Biondine
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astonishing in its intensity. "Now that one secret's
out, mayhap I should show you something else." He fished a folded square
from a pocket of his coat and handed it to her. "Your list." There
was only one name on it.
"I don't underst—"
"Aye, you do. I've purposely kept
myself at odds with you because you're in mourning and you work for me. You're
my tenant. To think we could be—" He stopped and lowered his voice.
"I've been over this a dozen times in my mind, but it doesn't stop me from
prowling my rooms at night, unable to sleep for thinking of you. I've stood
across the street and fought the urge to pound on your door."
"One night I thought there was
someone hiding in the shadows. It frightened me, until I recognized you. Or thought
I did. I woke up thinking it must have been a dream."
He snatched the paper from her hands and
threw it on the flames. "Perhaps it was. Forget I said anything, Rachel.
Too much ale this afternoon, then your tears. Never expected them from you,
even as you never expected sentiment from me. Well." He cleared his
throat. "Now that I've made a complete fool of myself, I beg your
forbearance and take my leave."
"I don't think you're a fool."
She'd followed him to the entry. She laid her fingertips on his sleeve.
"Christ, don't tell me what you do think! My sole interest is in myself and trade. I'm arrogant, incapable of
compassion or genuine feeling. I've heard it before from the local wenches. I
don't need to hear it from you."
"I'm not a local girl, remember?"
she asked softly. "You're capable of compassion. You just proved that. I
know there's more to you than handsome looks. Though certainly no woman could
complain on that score." She couldn't resist grinning at having turned his
own words back on him. "You wouldn't be the first man I've known to hide a
soft heart under a gruff exterior. My father's like that at times." She
remembered Jeremiah's fist banging down on the table as he insisted she must
stay with Violet. "I understand about trade being so important. You're not
a fool, Morgan."
His mustache curved up as his arms slid
around her waist. "Finally, my Christian name."
"It seems appropriate
tonight."
He pulled her close against his chest.
"Tell me to go, Rachel. Right this second. If you don't, I'm going to kiss
you." His face lowered by inches until his lips brushed hers. "Toss
me out."
"No," she murmured, sliding
her arms up around his neck. She melted against him, parting moist and pliant
lips to admit his tongue. Her tongue met his and they shared a deep, prolonged
kiss.
"Christ, but you've got my head
swimming," he whispered. "I can't tell you how desperately I've
wanted to do that. But you shouldn't have allowed it, Rachel."
"Maybe not, but I've wondered what
your lips would taste like... Ale ," she teased. She lowered her face
and snuggled against his chest. "I wondered how your arms would
feel." She glanced back up. "Safe."
"That's not the usual
adjective," he remarked, cocking an eyebrow. She only smiled. "Don't
smile at me like that, or I'll suspect you enjoy kissing me." Her lips
curved even wider. "Are you deliberately trying to provoke me,
madam?"
She felt his arousal pressed too
intimately against her through her skirts. "No sir. I'm glad you got the
signet back. Thank you for a pleasant evening." She slipped from his arms
and moved to the door, waiting, once again the prim and proper office clerk.
The smile she gave him now was polite, but gone was the playful side she'd
revealed just seconds before.
Morgan stared at her. "This alters
things, Rachel." He stepped closer and let his lips brush hers again.
"I won't just stand in the shadows next time. I'll use my key."
She firmly shook her head. "I'd be
forced to toss you out then. I'm still your clerk, and you're still Pamela's
beau."
"Piss on Pamela. I'm finished with
her. It's you haunting my nights, Colonial." His voice was strained as he
stared into her eyes. "When do you give up the black?"
She
out, mayhap I should show you something else." He fished a folded square
from a pocket of his coat and handed it to her. "Your list." There
was only one name on it.
"I don't underst—"
"Aye, you do. I've purposely kept
myself at odds with you because you're in mourning and you work for me. You're
my tenant. To think we could be—" He stopped and lowered his voice.
"I've been over this a dozen times in my mind, but it doesn't stop me from
prowling my rooms at night, unable to sleep for thinking of you. I've stood
across the street and fought the urge to pound on your door."
"One night I thought there was
someone hiding in the shadows. It frightened me, until I recognized you. Or thought
I did. I woke up thinking it must have been a dream."
He snatched the paper from her hands and
threw it on the flames. "Perhaps it was. Forget I said anything, Rachel.
Too much ale this afternoon, then your tears. Never expected them from you,
even as you never expected sentiment from me. Well." He cleared his
throat. "Now that I've made a complete fool of myself, I beg your
forbearance and take my leave."
"I don't think you're a fool."
She'd followed him to the entry. She laid her fingertips on his sleeve.
"Christ, don't tell me what you do think! My sole interest is in myself and trade. I'm arrogant, incapable of
compassion or genuine feeling. I've heard it before from the local wenches. I
don't need to hear it from you."
"I'm not a local girl, remember?"
she asked softly. "You're capable of compassion. You just proved that. I
know there's more to you than handsome looks. Though certainly no woman could
complain on that score." She couldn't resist grinning at having turned his
own words back on him. "You wouldn't be the first man I've known to hide a
soft heart under a gruff exterior. My father's like that at times." She
remembered Jeremiah's fist banging down on the table as he insisted she must
stay with Violet. "I understand about trade being so important. You're not
a fool, Morgan."
His mustache curved up as his arms slid
around her waist. "Finally, my Christian name."
"It seems appropriate
tonight."
He pulled her close against his chest.
"Tell me to go, Rachel. Right this second. If you don't, I'm going to kiss
you." His face lowered by inches until his lips brushed hers. "Toss
me out."
"No," she murmured, sliding
her arms up around his neck. She melted against him, parting moist and pliant
lips to admit his tongue. Her tongue met his and they shared a deep, prolonged
kiss.
"Christ, but you've got my head
swimming," he whispered. "I can't tell you how desperately I've
wanted to do that. But you shouldn't have allowed it, Rachel."
"Maybe not, but I've wondered what
your lips would taste like... Ale ," she teased. She lowered her face
and snuggled against his chest. "I wondered how your arms would
feel." She glanced back up. "Safe."
"That's not the usual
adjective," he remarked, cocking an eyebrow. She only smiled. "Don't
smile at me like that, or I'll suspect you enjoy kissing me." Her lips
curved even wider. "Are you deliberately trying to provoke me,
madam?"
She felt his arousal pressed too
intimately against her through her skirts. "No sir. I'm glad you got the
signet back. Thank you for a pleasant evening." She slipped from his arms
and moved to the door, waiting, once again the prim and proper office clerk.
The smile she gave him now was polite, but gone was the playful side she'd
revealed just seconds before.
Morgan stared at her. "This alters
things, Rachel." He stepped closer and let his lips brush hers again.
"I won't just stand in the shadows next time. I'll use my key."
She firmly shook her head. "I'd be
forced to toss you out then. I'm still your clerk, and you're still Pamela's
beau."
"Piss on Pamela. I'm finished with
her. It's you haunting my nights, Colonial." His voice was strained as he
stared into her eyes. "When do you give up the black?"
She
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