A Man Like Morgan Kane (20 page)

"I hate you for doing that to Seth." Crossing her arms over her waist,Bethanygripped her elbows. She was not going to fall apart. She wasn't going to cry. She'd already cried too much as it was. Tears wouldn't solve her problems. "I don't want you to rip apart the people I love in your quest to prove my innocence."

"Who are you really angry with?" Morgan inserted the key into the ignition switch and turned over the motor. "Are you angry with me or with yourself, because deep down inside you aren't a hundred percent sure Renfrew didn't kill Farraday?"

Bethanyswung around in the seat, her hazel eyes flashing angrily. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Clenching her jaw tightly, she sat there glaring at Morgan, her shoulders trembling as she tried valiantly not to succumb to tears.

Damn! He hated seeingBethanylike this, on the verge of tears and struggling desperately to remain in control. "I can imagine how difficult it is for you to accept the possibility that someone you care about might actually be responsible for putting you in this unbearable situation."

"Seth didn't kill Jimmy."

Morgan clutched the leather-covered wood steering wheel. "You can't be sure. Even if Renfrew had denied killing Farraday, you could—"

"When you asked me if I'd killed Jimmy and I told you that I hadn't, you believed me. Why can't you believe that Seth is innocent? I know, deep down inside—" she laid her hand over her heart "—that despite a few silly doubts on my part, Seth didn't kill Jimmy."

"I don't know Seth Renfrew, but I'll take your word for it that he's a good guy. He seems to be devoted to your mother … and to you and Anne Marie." Morgan turned his head just a fraction and glanced at Bethany. "I've learned that only a fool trusts too easily. Often things are not what they seem. That's a lesson I learned the hard way. I don't trust anyone. Except…"Turning back around, he stared out the front windshield, deliberately avoiding eye contact withBethany. "The reason I believed you when you said you didn't kill your stepfather is because I
do
trust you. You're the only person I've ever trusted completely. I know you'd never lie to me."

Oh, dear God!Bethanywanted to die on the spot. He trusted her. She was the only person he'd ever trusted completely. He knew she'd never lie to him.

How would she ever be able to explain to him that she had lied to him for sixteen years, lied by omission? If it became necessary for her to tell him the truth about Anne Marie's parentage, would Morgan ever forgive her for a lifetime of silence?

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She sat beside him, but separated herself from him mentally, putting as much distance between them as possible. She didn't dare glance his way for fear he would see the truth in her eyes.

Morgan revved the powerful V12 motor, shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking slot.Bethany sat perfectly still, only the muted sound of her breathing mingling with Morgan's pierced the utter silence within the car. Morgan crossedMontclair Roadas he headed forForest Park.

They would be home soon. Home and alone together. She couldn't face him. Not now. Not yet. His confession had not only unnerved her, but it had forced her to accept a hard truth. No matter what happened to her, she had to tell Morgan the truth about Anne Marie. Even if by telling him the truth, she destroyed his faith in her and made him hate her. Morgan deserved to know that he had a daughter.

Chapter 9

«^»

The moment they arrived at her home,Bethanyrushed up the stairs, pausing only long enough to make a halfhearted excuse. "I have a terrible headache. I'm going to take something for it and lie down awhile."

Morgan wanted to tell her not to run away, not to run from him. He hadn't meant to upset her, and God knew the last thing he wanted was to ever hurt her again. But he said nothing. Standing at thefoot of the stairs, he watched her until she disappeared from view. He didn't doubt that she had a headache, but he knew it wasn't the real reason she'd fled to her room. She wanted to escape from him. He understood if she was still angry with him for making her face the possibility that a dear and trusted friend might be responsible not only for Farraday's murder, but for her present predicament. What Morgan didn't understand was why, when he had explained how much he trusted her, she had suddenly gone deadly still. She hadn't so much as glanced his way during the drive home, and she'd all but run from him the second he pulled into the driveway.

What was it that hadBethanyrunning scared, running from him? His gut instincts told him that her fear had nothing to do with Farraday's murder. No,Bethany's reluctance to face him, her urgent need to get away from him, stemmed from something far more personal. But what?

Why had his statement about her being the only person he'd ever completely trusted upset her so much?

Did she realize that, despite everything that had happened between them in the past he had always cared about her and still did? Was it easier for her to believe that he'd never cared, that not once in all their years apart had he had any regrets?

Maybe he'd forcedBethanyto examine her own feelings more closely than she wanted to. Neither of them could deny the desire—stronger than ever—that still existed between them.Bethanyhadn't changed so much that she had developed a cavalier attitude toward sex. No, if she still wanted him that meant that she still cared about him, perhaps even still loved him.

The thought thatBethanymight still love him rattled Morgan. He knew for sure that he didn't deserve her love. He never had. And he wasn't even sure he wanted her love, not if it meant he'd wind up hurting her all over again.

After removing his jacket and tie, he went into the kitchen, opened the pantry door and glanced around.

Neither he nor Bethany had eaten a bite since their early-morning coffee, juice and toast. Their salads
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had just arrived whenBethanyran from the country club and barreled straight into their waiter. She was bound to be starving. Maybe part of her headache was due to hunger. He wasn't much of a cook, but living alone all his adult life, a guy learned how to open cans and heat stuff in the microwave.

* * *

Bethanyunbuttoned her yellow silk blouse, slipped it off her shoulders and tossed it into the dirty clothes hamper. Luckily she had ordered her salad dressing on the side, so the spots on her blouse had come from the moisture on the fresh vegetables in her salad and not any oils that could have done permanent damage.

She laughed at herself. Here she was worrying about some stupid blouse that could easily be replaced, when her whole world was crumbling down around her. She was walking on quicksand, and with every step she took, she sank deeper and deeper into the muck. If she wasn't careful, she'd get sucked under and be lost forever.

Opening the medicine cabinet above the sink, she raked through the various bottles until she found the aspirin. Good old reliable aspirin. She hadn't lied when she'd told Morgan she had a headache. Tension throbbed in her temples and shot up the back of her neck.

Downing two tablets with a paper cup of water, she closed her eyes momentarily and sighed. If only she could lie down and take a nap. If only she could find forgetfulness in sleep. Forgetfulness and peace.

She walked out of the bathroom, removed her brown gabardine skirt and laid it over the chair at her dressing table. She kicked off her brown leather heels and stripped out of her sheer hose. Wearing nothing but her yellow lace teddy, she lay down atop the beige brocade spread on her bed.

Lying there wide awake, she wondered what Morgan was doing downstairs. She'd been surprised but thankful that he had allowed her to escape so easily. Had he sensed that she needed to be alone? There had been a time when Morgan had known her every mood. But that had been in another lifetime, in a world without secrets between them.

Closing her eyes,Bethanyprayed for sleep.

* * *

Morgan stood outsideBethany's bedroom. Hesitating only briefly, he balanced the tray in one hand while he reached down and opened the door. Glancing inside, he sawBethanystretched out across the big, white, four-poster bed. Soft, pale shadows cloaked the room like a velvet cape. Captured in the blue curtains, in the beige silk bed linen and the fabric-covered chairs, the faint scent of her floral perfume lingered. Sweet. Delicate. Alluring. Like the woman herself.

His gaze moved slowly from the bottoms ofBethany's bare feet up the luscious expanse of her slender, naked legs to the delicate French-cut silk teddy that emphasized her curvaceous hips and tiny waist.

His heart thundered like a wild beast in his chest. His sex hardened instantly. The intensity of his desire forBethanyfrightened him. After that first kiss in his mother's garden so many years ago, it had always been this way. Whenever he looked at her. Whenever he touched her. A wanting so deep, so primeval, so possessive that it superseded everything else, rendering him a mindless creature of pure sensation. He hadn't realized back then that no other woman would ever affect him in quite the same way. Only Beth.

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He wasn't sure whether to leave the tray for her or take it back downstairs. He didn't want to disturb her rest. God knew she got little enough as it was.

Bethanyheard a faint noise. It sounded like someone breathing. Drowsily opening her eyes, she glanced around the room and saw nothing out of place. Lifting her head off the spread, she looked toward the open door. Gasping, she jack-knifed straight up in bed, pulled her knees up and clutched the front of her teddy.

"Sorry," Morgan said. "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you might be as hungry as I am, so I fixed us some sandwiches."

"Thank you." Curling her feet under her, she crawled to the foot of the bed. She lifted a beige, wool-knit throw off the deacon's bench that spanned the width of the four-poster and wrapped the nubby cloth around her shoulders. "That was very thoughtful of you."

The last thing she had expected was for Morgan to walk into her room and see her practically naked.

How long had he been standing in the doorway looking at her? A shudder of pure sensual awareness rippled along her nerve endings.

This room was her private domain, and no man had ever been given permission to enter. It was so like Morgan not to ask permission, to not even consider that he needed to ask. He'd always been a man who did what he pleased, when he pleased.

He walked across the room and placed the tray on the large English pedestal table in front of the oversize how windows. Dark clouds once again obscured the sun and cast a gray gloominess on the afternoon light.

Sensing her unease, he kept his back to her. "It's nothing fancy. Just ham and cheese. Dill pickles. I found some kind of low-fat chips in the pantry. And there was iced tea in the refrigerator."

"You shouldn't have bothered bringing the sandwiches up here."Bethanyscooted to the edge of the bed.

"I would have come downstairs, and we could have eaten in the kitchen."

"Hey, I don't go around fixing lunch and serving it on a silver tray for just anybody, you know." Turning around, Morgan smiled when he looked at her. She sat there on her knees at the edge of the bed, staring at him, her small hand gripping the beige shawl where it crossed her chest. "I wanted to do something to make up for what happened at the country club. I had no idea questioning Seth Renfrew would upset you so much."

"I suppose I overreacted again." Sliding her legs off the bed, she touched the floor with the tips of her toes. "I seem to be doing that a lot lately. My nerves are so on edge that I can't think straight anymore."

"With good reason."

"Seth has been more than a friend. He was a godsend when I was looking for an investor so I could open my first boutique." Standing,Bethanyeased the beige throw down to cover her hips, tied a knot in the material at her waist and padded silently across the floral area rug overlaying the lush beige carpet.

"He's been like a big brother to me and an uncle to Anne Marie. And of course, he's stood by mother through thick and thin."

"I don't doubt that Seth is a good man."

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Morgan turned the Provincial accent chair so that it faced the pedestal table. Gripping the wood-trimmed back of the chair with one hand, he held out his other hand toBethany, inviting her to sit.

After seating her, Morgan rounded the table and eased his big body down on the chair opposite her. He handed her a paper napkin, then lifted a glass of tea and offered it to her.

Willing her hand not to tremble, she reached out and took the glass. Their hands touched for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to send a jolt of electric awareness throughBethany. She should ask him to leave. She should tell him that he'd had no right to desecrate the sanctity of her bedroom with his masculine presence.

Glancing over the rim of her glass as she sipped the cool, sweet tea,Bethanynoticed that Morgan seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her. His gaze traveled over the room, inspecting each piece of furniture, each lamp, each pillow, each picture on the wall.

Was he as unsure of himself as she was? Was he as afraid of what might happen between them? He knew as well as she that their being alone like this, in her bedroom, with her only partially dressed, was inviting trouble.

"Is that a picture of Anne Marie?" he asked.

"I have a dozen pictures of Anne Marie scattered around the room. Which one are you talking about?"

She followed his line of vision to the oil portrait hanging over the mantel on the wall opposite her bed.