A Man Like Morgan Kane (14 page)

Morgan Kane stood on the lattice-framed wooden deck at the back of Bethany's house and breathed in the delicious aroma of sizzling steaks. The cozy, secure atmosphere of this family-style dinner within the cloistered courtyard of Bethany's backyardcould easily deceive any onlooker. Anne Marie and James frolicked in the pool, whileBethanyhummed Air Supply's "Making Love Out of Nothing at All," the song on the portable CD player that she'd brought out on the deck.

He watched Bethany as she raised the grill lid and flipped over the steaks, then checked on the foil-wrapped potatoes and ears of corn. She'd pulled her long, dark hair away from her face and secured it with a silver clasp. Loose sepia strands curled about her face. Lowering his gaze down the length of her slender neck and across her bare shoulders, he drank in the sight of her. Small-boned and delicate, her body rounded into feminine curves that tempted a man to reach out and touch. Did she have any idea how sexy she looked in that red halter top and sarong-style floral skirt, a hint of thigh peeping out between the side folds?

He remembered her as a soft, fragile girl with skin like silk. A tender-hearted angel who cried over sad movies and songs. The softness was gone, replaced by a strength, both physical and emotional. Only a hint of the fragility remained. In her facial expressions. In her sad eyes. But her skin looked as if it was still as smooth as silk.

Anne Marie squealed. Water splashed. Morgan turned his attention to the pool. The two teenagers tossed a huge beach ball back and forth. He glanced again at Bethany and caught her staring at him, an odd look on her face.

Was she thinking the same thing he was? That the four of them appeared to be a normal all-American family having a summer cookout. In their case, appearances were most definitely deceiving. Their
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foursome was comprised, not of Mom, Dad and the kids, but of an accused murderer, a former Navy SEAL-turned-bodyguard, the son of a man recently shot to death and the daughter of the accused.

Morgan was amazed by Bethany's ability to produce order out of chaos, to create warmth and love out of anger and hurt. To see her now, no one would guess that her life hung in the balance, that unless they could find Jimmy Farraday's real murderer, she might well spend the rest of her life in prison.

The very thought that Bethany—his beautiful, sweet, caring Beth—would have to spend one day in prison hurt him deeply, in the very depths of his soul. She was the last person on earth who deserved such misery. She was such a good person. A dutiful, loving daughter, not only to her own mother, but to his. And she was a wise and loving mother herself, providing her daughter with stability and security, even without a father.

He glanced around at the homey setting Bethany had produced in her fern- and flower-adorned rock patio. Festive pink tablecloths covered both black wrought-iron tables and matching pillows decorated the chairs. Candles and fresh-cut flowers graced the center of each table, which had been set with pink and green ceramic dinnerware and pale green goblets. Colas in a silver ice bucket sat on the teenagers'

table; a bottle of wine awaited the adults.

Suddenly he was taken back twenty years or more to the garden parties his mother used to give. Huge affairs with hundreds of guests milling around the manicured grounds at their Redmont estate. Claudia had been blessed with an abundance of style and excellent taste, but her old, genteel Southern family had been practically penniless. The Morgans had depended upon their daughters to marry well. Claudia had exceeded their expectations when she'd married Judge William Kane's only son. But Danielle had been unable to snare herself a rich husband, and her son, Amery, had spent his life trying to fit into his wealthy relatives' lives.

Morgan closed his eyes and allowed the pain to spread slowly from his gut to his entire body, then he took a deep, cleansing breath and released the hurt. He could not change the past. He could not undo the damage he'd done. All he could do now was take care of Bethany, and then, when she was truly free, walk away and leave her unharmed by his desire. If only he could have seen years ago, beforehe'dleft Birmingham, what he saw now. If only he could have seen Bethany for the woman she was and not as a potential duplication of his mother.

He'd been so wrong about so many things. His errors in judgment had cost him the one thing he had discovered—too late—he wanted most.

Reminding himself that this modest garden, this small patio, this intimate dinner bore little resemblance to his mother's elaborate affairs, he absorbed the ambience of the moment. Only the beauty of the surroundings and the impeccable good taste of the hostess were similar.

This was a family affair. But not his family. Regretfully he admitted to himself that they could have been his. Just as Bethany could have been his woman forever, Anne Marie could have been his child.

When he left Birmingham sixteen years ago, he hadn't wanted a wife or children. Or so he'd thought.

And once he'd lost Bethany, he'd never again considered a permanent relationship with another woman.

Now it was too late. He was too old, too set in his ways. If he'd ever been capable of truly loving a woman, he'd lost that ability long ago. He might put his life on the line repeatedly. But he never took a chance with his heart.

And his gut instincts told him thatBethanymight have become stronger, wiser and more cautious, but she
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could still be easily hurt. No matter how much he wanted her, he had no right to pursue her. No matter how tempted he was to try to break through the barriers she'd built around herself, he had to be careful not to let his passion overrule his common sense.

But heaven help him, he had to have her, common sense be damned! He'd never wanted another woman as much as he wanted Beth.

"Hey, Morgan, aren't you coming in for a swim before dinner?" Anne Marie called out to him as she climbed out of the water and up onto the pool's deck.

Smiling, he waved at her. "Not now. Maybe after dinner."

James lifted his muscular body out of the pool and reached for a beach towel lying across the back of a wrought-iron chaise longue. "Hey, Anne Marie tells me that you used to be a Navy SEAL. I bet you can swim like a fish, huh?" The boy eyed Morgan's shoulder holster.

"I do all right." Morgan grinned at the boy, wondering if the kid had any idea just how adept he really was in the water. James couldn't imagine what it felt like to swim in liquid ice off Alaska. He knew nothing of being part of a team that had to carry a 150-pound rubber raft through treacherous waters and overcome every barrier between them and their objective.

"I've heard that SEALs go through something called Hell Week, kind of like fraternities put guys through." James shook the moisture from his dark hair, then vigorously rubbed the towel over his arms and legs.

There was no way he could explain to this eighteen-year-old high school senior what Hell Week meant to a SEAL, Morgan thought. It was the rite of passage to becoming a warrior. Time never forgotten, etched in a man's memory forever, as was the number for his class.

Hell Week taught a man how to turn off pain and focus on his mission, a lesson he should apply to his present situation. He had to turn off the pain of wanting a woman who had told him that she would fight her attraction to him with every breath she took. He needed to focus on his mission—protecting Bethany and proving her innocence.

"I think fraternities are a bunch of bull." Anne Marie dried off her long, slim legs, then wrapped the huge blue-and-green-striped towel around her hips. "And sororities aren't much better. I don't think I'm even going to consider a sorority when I go to college."

"Whatever you do, don't tell Grandmother or Nana." Bethany pinched off a twig from the grape cluster on the fruit plate beside the wine bottle. "They'll expect you to join either Nana's or Grandmother's sorority."

"Mum's the word for the next four years," Anne Marie said. "No need to upset either of them before it's absolutely necessary. You won't mind will you, Mama, if I don't join your sorority?"

"No, sweetheart, I won't mind at all." Bethany shifted the small grape cluster from one hand to the other.

"I want you to make your own decisions and live your own life. You know I'll back you up, whatever you do."

Walking over to Morgan, James nodded toward the shoulder holster he wore. "Do you wear that thing all the time? It makes you look like a cop or something."

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"Couldn't you remove it?" Bethany asked. "Just for this evening. After all, I hardly think I'm in danger in my own backyard."

No, she probably wasn't in any danger in her own backyard. Morgan doubted any of Jimmy Farraday's fans would risk arrest just to harass his accused murderer at her home. And the real killer was undoubtedly too smart to get up close and personal, without a damn good reason.

"I'm sorry it bothers you," he said. "But it's necessary." He undid the holster, removed it and laid it on the table. "I'll take it off if it makes you feel more comfortable, but I want it close by."

"Just in case, huh?" James asked.

"Yeah, just in case," Morgan said.

The CD changed from
Air Supply's Greatest Hits
to Christopher Cross belting out the pulse-pounding

"Say You'll Be Mine." James pulled Anne Marie into his arms and danced her around the patio.Bethany popped several grapes into her mouth, then dropped the cluster on the table. Clapping her hands in time to the rhythm, she laughed as she watched the kids cavorting playfully.

Morgan couldn't keep his eyes offBethany. God, but she was beautiful, her face aglow, her eyes sparkling, her lush body undulating to the music's beat. Without thought, without care, he grabbed her and drew her into his arms. She stared up at him with startled eyes, but allowed him to lead her into a dance. As her breasts brushed across the lower part of his chest, her nipples hardened. Sucking in his breath, he spread his open palm across her spine. The tips of his fingers bit into the top edge of her buttocks.

Lowering his head, he nuzzled her neck and whispered in her ear. "Ah, Beth. I want you."

Her body tensed. She pulled away from him. He cursed himself for a foul. He'd ruined a perfectly beautiful moment. Don't push her, you idiot, he chided himself. Coax her. Seduce her. Win her over slowly. Don't rush. Even if it kills you by slow degrees.

"I think the medium-rare steaks should be ready,"Bethanysaid.

"That's mine and yours, Morgan," Anne Marie said. "I can't believe Mama and James want theirs burned to a crisp."

"We don't want ours burned, do we, Bethany? We just want ours cooked, not still bloody inside,"

James said.

"Right." Bethany lifted the grill hood. "Anne Marie, you and James go get the slaw out of the refrigerator and bring the salt and pepper. I forgot to bring the shakers out here."

The moment the teenagers went inside, Bethany turned on Morgan. "Don't ever touch me like that in front of my daughter!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the way you were pawing me. The way you were doing all that heavy breathing in my ear." Bethany glared at him. "How can I teach Anne Marie the wisdom of restraint and abstinence if she
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sees me allowing some man to practically make love to me in front of her?"

"I was hardly making love to you in front her. And I wasn't pawing you." Huffing loudly, he turned his back to her. Dammit, he had not been pawing her! All right, maybe he had held her a little too close. And maybe he had let his hand stray a little too far south. And maybe the whisper in her ear had been a little too suggestive. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I was just enjoying the feel of you in my arms, your body pressing against mine. For a few minutes there, I forgot we weren't alone."

"Please, don't forget again," she told him.

* * *

After dinner, Anne Marie helpedBethanyclear the tables, while James and Morgan cleaned the grill.

"We'll be back out as soon as we load the dishwasher," Anne Marie called from the open door leading to the kitchen.

"Yeah, OK," James said, then turned to Morgan when Anne Marie closed the door.

"Hey, man, you've got the hots forBethany, haven't you?"

"What?"

"Anne Marie told me that you and Bethany used to be an item, back before she married Anne Marie's father."

"That was a long time ago." Morgan wanted to tell this brash young boy that he was involving himself in something that was none of his business. But his own actions had created James's interest. Maybe Bethanyhad been right Maybe James and Anne Marie had been aware of the way he'd been touching her.

"Look, I don't blame you.Bethanyis a gorgeous woman. If she wasn't my stepsister and nearly old enough to be my mother, I'd be all over her myself." Narrowing his bright blue eyes, James frowned as he stared directly at Morgan. "Anne Marie has put you up on a pedestal, as if you were some sort of god. She's got it in her head that you're going to be sticking around permanently, that maybe you'll wind up marrying her mother."

"Did she tell you that?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah. Tonight. She said, 'See the way he's holding Mama and the way they're looking at each other.'

Face it,you'dhave to be blind not to have noticed. Anne Marie noticed all right, and she's convinced that you and Bethany are going to fall in love all over again. You know how romantic girls her age can be."

"Yeah, I know." Her mother had been a romantic, to whom love and sex were synonymous. "So, why are we having this man-to-man talk? Who are you trying to protect, Anne Marie or Bethany?"