Summer Breeze (26 page)

“Okay,
stop
!” Slade shuddered. “You are the weirdest chick I’ve ever met.”

“Well, Slade, you have to understand, I’ve got a master’s degree in biosafety. I don’t go around campus with rubber gloves cleaning up shit. I supervise. I run programs. I train and I test, people as well as equipment. I do most of my work at the computer and at the phone. I work with an enormous team.…” Morgan went quiet. After a moment, she said, “Rather, I
worked
with an enormous team. At Weathersfield College. I gave it up to come here. With Josh, because he got such a plum job at Bio-Green.”

They’d arrived at her house. Slade pulled into the drive. “I’ll unlock the door and just check the house phone,” she told Slade hurriedly. Josh hadn’t called her on her cell yet.

He hadn’t called on the house phone either. She fixed the screen door to remain fully open and went back down the steps to the van. Slade was inside, undoing the packing straps. Morgan climbed up to join him. It was warm, shady, even gloomy inside the van.

“Let’s edge it to the end, then I’ll jump down and take it until you have to get down,” Slade instructed. “We can rest it on the floor while you jump down.”

Morgan checked to be sure her hands were clean. The settee was so white. But it was protected by lots of Bubble Wrap. She hefted the far end of the settee and slowly moved forward as Slade inched backward.

“You’re at the edge!” she called. “Don’t fall!”

“Thanks, Mom.” Slade jumped down.

Raising his arms, he took the far end of the settee and carried it out of the van into the light of day, pausing for Morgan to jump down. Together, they lugged it across the lawn, up the steps, and through the open door into the house. They turned into the living room and gently positioned it in the spot in front of the window facing the street.

“Got scissors?” Slade asked.

He wasn’t even sweating, despite the hot day, but Morgan was puffing after carrying the solid old piece of furniture.

“I’ll get scissors and some ice water,” she told him, and went off to the kitchen.

She returned to find Slade lifting one end of the settee to slide protective rubber squares beneath the ornate mahogany claw feet. She handed him the scissors, not sure where to start the process of unveiling, and stood back to watch. He sliced at the top, cutting quickly and surely, and before long they were both tearing at the wrap, pulling it away to expose the exquisitely carved, curled, and embossed back and arms of the settee and the Arctic white silk of the seat and back.

“What was I thinking?” Morgan chuckled. “Petey will turn this into a Mondrian in two minutes.”

“Really?” Slade asked, looking at Morgan.

“Actually,” she replied, “maybe not. Mostly he plays in the kitchen or the den or his playroom or his bedroom. In fact, Josh and I are hardly ever in the living room unless we have company.”

“Lots of rooms in this house.” Slade had an odd expression on his face. He said, “Let’s sit on it.”

“What?”

“Sit on it. The new settee. It
is
a piece of furniture meant for sitting on. Don’t you want to try it out?” He wasn’t sweating, yet he gave off heat. Or, no, not
heat
, more like an exotic incense, as if he were some sort of plant she wanted to lean into and inhale.

Why did Morgan suddenly feel so flustered? “Of course!” She pretended more enthusiasm than she felt. “It’s just …” Bending, she tried to scan the back of her shorts.

“They’re clean,” Slade told her. “So are mine.”

Morgan sat down on the new settee. Not at the far end, because that might seem rude, but not in the middle either. “Ooooh.” She hadn’t expected it to be quite so cushy.

“When we refurbished it, we added foam stuffing to make it softer. When they were first built, the seats contained horsehair and were about as hard as wood.” Slade sat down next to Morgan.

Their arms almost touched.

It had been a long time since Morgan had been alone in a room with a full-grown male other than Josh.

“It’s luxurious,” she said, running her hand over the silk. She was aware of her bare legs extending from the hem of her shorts. His legs, next to hers, were longer, leaner. She was aware of her bare arms, her bare neck.

“It suits you,” Slade said, and he ran his eyes up and down her body.

She knew she should pull away, stand up, grab her glass of ice water and hold it to her burning cheek, but she only croaked, “Hah. First time anyone’s equated me with luxury.”

“I think you’re very luxurious,” Slade assured her. Angling his body toward hers, he lightly touched her hair, which she’d pulled up in a high ponytail to keep it out of the way when painting. “Such thick, glossy hair. Skin like satin.” He drew the tip of one finger down the side of her face, down her neck, stopping at her collarbone.

“Slade.”

“Did you know this old settee is long enough for most people to lie down on? To sleep on? Or … whatever?”

She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. He looked like some dark prince materialized from one of the gothic romances she’d read as a teenager.

And he had said what no one else in the world had ever said about her. That her skin was like satin.

Turning, she rammed her face at his before she could change her mind, and smashed a kiss on his mouth. Taken by surprise and by the force of her lunge, Slade fell backward, but he was quick enough to wrap his arms around her and pull her with him. On top of him. They tangled together on the white satin, adjusting arms, torsos, mouths. Slade was too tall to get all of his long body onto the couch, so he had to keep his legs turned sideways, and Morgan slipped onto her side, only the embrace of Slade’s arms keeping her from falling to the floor. His mouth was salty, hot, and much more knowing than any other mouth she’d ever kissed. As she pressed forward, Slade gently brushed his lips along her cheek, her jaw, the pulse in her
neck, the tender tip of her ear. She arched upward, eyes closed, surrendering to a kind of lust she couldn’t even remember.

“This isn’t working.” Slade struggled to sit up, forcing her to sit up, too.

“It’s not?” Morgan’s hair had come out of the band and hung down on one side of her face and against the back of her neck. “It’s working fine for me,” she panted.

“I mean, the settee. It’s long enough for a short man, but not long enough for me and not wide enough for two people.” Slade’s eyes were half closed, his lips wet with her saliva, his cheeks flushed with heat. His chest was heaving. He was as vivid as a poppy, as breathtaking as a thunderstorm.

Morgan understood what he meant. He didn’t have to say that if they were going to continue what she had started, they’d have to move to a bedroom.

She couldn’t do that. She was married. To that irritating jerk Josh.

“Slade,” she apologized, pulling away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I don’t know what came over me.”

Slade’s grin was crooked, astute. “Beauty queen, we’re just getting started.”

Beauty queen
. Morgan had never been that. His words, and the desire in his eyes, tugged at her, pulling her into the force field of his sexuality. Morgan had never been sexually wild. She’d never surrendered, she’d never been
taken
. She had always been interested in safety.

She still was, if only for Petey’s sake.

Morgan stood up on trembling legs, walked to the coffee table, picked up a glass, and held it out to Slade. “Ice water?”

His laugh exploded. “Yes, please.” He stood up, arranging his clothing.

Morgan slugged back her own ice water as if it were an anesthetizing Scotch. “We should get back. Help paint.”

“Right.” Slade walked away, carrying his empty glass out of the living room, down the hall, and into the kitchen. He returned. His face was blank, his posture stiff. “I’ll wait for you in the van.”

Morgan carried her own glass to the kitchen. Petey’s toys were on the floor. No sign of Josh, not even a coffee cup in the sink. He’d left so quickly he hadn’t even taken time for the coffee he loved. What the hell was Josh doing?

She locked the house and climbed into the passenger seat of the van. Slade wasn’t there. For a moment, her heart stopped—she had no idea why. Then she saw him coming out of his aunt’s house with a portable CD player in one hand and a pile of CDs in the other. He tossed them in back, then slid into the driver’s seat.

“Natalie called,” Slade told Morgan. “She wants some music.” He didn’t look at Morgan.

“Slade.” Morgan’s throat was raspy. She cleared it. “I’m not sure what to say—”

“No need to say anything,” Slade told her. He seemed to have recovered, and the smile he sent her was gentle, even kind. “It’s like it never happened, okay?”

“Okay, Slade. Thanks.” Morgan smiled, but she was all at once on the verge of tears.
As if it never happened?
Was she sure that was what she wanted? Could the sheer power, the
deliciousness
, of those few moments be erased from her memory?

Slade blasted the radio as they drove back to Bella’s. He didn’t speak again; his mind seemed to have retreated into a privacy she could sense he did not want invaded.

The van turned into the parking lot. Dennis, Brady, and Ben were up on ladders, painting one wall, and Aaron was squatting by a gallon of paint, prying the lid open with a screwdriver.

Saying “I’ll help the men,” Slade was out the door before she could speak.

Morgan jumped down from the van. “Right. I’ll go inside.”

Bella, Louise, and Natalie waved at Morgan with their paintbrushes.

“Look at what we’ve accomplished!” Bella called triumphantly.

“Well, I’ve got a great new piece of furniture,” Morgan told them. As she headed toward a ladder, she experienced a bubble of relief in her chest: She hadn’t done anything stupid. She was glad to be back among her friends.

17

I
nside the shop, Natalie and Bella started painting the walls. Bella had chosen an umber shade to give the place an antique aura. They would have to do at least two coats to cover Louise’s murals.

She noticed Morgan going off in the van with Slade, and she noticed Bella noticing. Honestly, her brother. But she was glad for a few moments alone with Bella.

Trying to sound nonchalant, Natalie said, “Morgan told me she had lunch with Ben the other day. On campus.”

Bella was squatting next to a gallon of paint, stirring it with a wooden stick. Preoccupied, her only reply was “Hmm.”

“With Dr. Takamachi,” said Natalie. She opened the sturdy metal ladder, pulled down the shelf, and slowly mounted the steps, lugging her own paint and brush.

“Doubt it,” Bella said. “Ben would never mix work with pleasure.”

Pleasure?
Natalie wanted to shriek. Ben would consider being with Morgan
pleasure
?

“I don’t know much about what Ben does,” continued Bella, “but I do know there was a conference Ben had to attend. Takamachi’s visit to campus is a very big deal. Morgan is a scientist, true, but she’s in a different field. She wouldn’t speak their language.”

“Well.” Natalie couldn’t think what else to say. She was all too familiar with the experience of girls being her friend so they could attract her brother’s attention, and she didn’t want to go anywhere
near that sort of thing. She liked Bella for herself. It would be too childish, anyway, too high school, to whine,
Bella, Ben kissed me and said he’d call me and he hasn’t called, what can I do? Plus, Morgan had lunch with him
. No. Natalie was a grown-up now. If Ben hadn’t called her, it was her own problem to deal with.

Although she
was
glad to hear about the conference and that Dr. Takamachi’s visit was a big deal.

She began to paint, swiftly, with great concentration.

“Morgan and Slade are certainly taking their time,” Bella remarked from the other side of the room.

“Don’t worry,” Natalie mumbled. “I don’t think even my brother would mess around with a married woman.”

“Oh, well, that’s not what I mean,” Bella hastily replied. “Damn. Got a big glob on my shirt.”

“We should have brought some music,” Natalie said. “I’ve got a portable CD player and some good discs. I’ll phone Slade and tell him to pick them up and bring them over.”

“Great idea!” Bella agreed.

Natalie carefully backed down the steps; crossed the floor, which was covered with protective plastic sheets; and went into the back room, where she’d dumped her purse. She dug her cell out and hit Slade’s number. As she waited for the phone to ring, she leaned against the door jamb and let her eyes rest on the windows and open door. She could see Dennis, Aaron, Brady, and Ben crossing back and forth, carrying ladders, paint cans, rags, hammers. She’d been inside when Ben’s car pulled into the parking lot this morning, and she hadn’t wanted to rush out, all dewy-eyed and eager, to say hello, and he hadn’t come inside. Ben and the other men were talking and laughing, their voices low, rumbling, and lighthearted. She couldn’t hear their words, but Natalie knew they weren’t discussing personal relationships.