Part 19 (1/2)
So, at least until Quinn's trap for Nightshade was sprung, her instincts told her to accept whatever he offered and be as patient as she could. Once that was over and he could tell her the truth, then perhaps there would be a discussion about some kind of future for them. Or perhaps not.
Perhaps Quinn would return to Europe and the life he enjoyed and knew so well. Without her.
There was, in any case, absolutely nothing she could do to either make him love her or make him stay with her. She had a better chance of catching lightning in a bottle than she had of capturing him and, besides that, the last thing she would have chosen would be to see him trapped. Whatever he did in the end had to be his own decision, without pressure from her.
She returned to the bedroom, still thoughtful, and briefly debated before pulling a gold silk robe from her closet. It was one of those garments a single woman might buy for herself but then not wear simply because it was designed for a man to look at, something rich and elegant that caressed the body in a touch of pure sensuality.
Well, she acknowledged silently, there was pressure . . . and then there was pressure. pressure. After all, no woman worth the name would just stand by and let the man she loved make up his mind about things without at least reminding him of a few advantages a sensible and rational woman could provide. That was certainly fair. After all, no woman worth the name would just stand by and let the man she loved make up his mind about things without at least reminding him of a few advantages a sensible and rational woman could provide. That was certainly fair.
Even Quinn would probably agree.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
Without vanity, Morgan knew she looked good in in the deceptively simple robe. The color suited her, and the s.h.i.+mmering material clung to her body in all the right places. She couldn't help smiling a little as she tied the belt at her waist, remembering last night's sweats.h.i.+rt and pants-and the fuzzy slippers. Talk about from the ridiculous to the sublime! the deceptively simple robe. The color suited her, and the s.h.i.+mmering material clung to her body in all the right places. She couldn't help smiling a little as she tied the belt at her waist, remembering last night's sweats.h.i.+rt and pants-and the fuzzy slippers. Talk about from the ridiculous to the sublime!
Barefoot, she padded out into the living room. Empty, with music videos playing quietly on the television. She continued on to the kitchen and there found Quinn, his back to her, busy preparing what looked like an appetizing brunch of pancakes with fruit. Since he'd helped in the kitchen while recovering from his wound, Morgan wasn't surprised by his skill. And he was wearing jeans and a white s.h.i.+rt, some of his own clothes that had been left behind here weeks ago.
She knew very well that his still being here today was a good sign; she had half expected him to leave before she awakened. But Morgan refused to let herself attach too much importance to that. One step at a time, that's the way to go One step at a time, that's the way to go.
”Hi,” she greeted him casually.
He looked over his shoulder at her, mouth opening to say something that never got said. Instead, he stared at her for a moment, brilliant green eyes scanning her from bare toes to gleaming hair, then turned a dial on the griddle, set the spatula on the counter beside it, and came to her.
Somewhat breathlessly a few moments later, she said, ”I always forget how big you are until I'm standing close to you. Why is that?”
”I have no idea.” He nuzzled the side of her neck, inhaling slowly. ”You smell wonderful.”
Her arms up around his neck-and her feet off the floor since he'd lifted her-Morgan murmured something wordless in response and wondered vaguely how his body could feel so hard and yet so pleasur-able against hers. He had both his arms tightly wrapped around her so that she was certain there wasn't a square inch of her front not pressed to his, and since her silk robe was whisper-thin, it felt like only the slight barrier of his clothing separated them.
Then he lifted his head suddenly and frowned, and Morgan felt herself being lowered back to her feet.
”I was enjoying myself,” she protested.
He smiled slightly, but the frown remained in his eyes. One hand gently brushed her hair back away from her neck. ”Sweetheart, did I do this?”
She didn't feel pain when he touched her very lightly just below her ear, but she knew he was looking at a faint bruise because she'd seen it in the mirror. ”No, I think our friend on the fire escape did it. If he hadn't been wearing gloves, you could probably get his thumbprint off me. It was when he was holding that cloth over my face.”
Quinn nodded slightly, an expression she couldn't read flaring in his eyes. He lowered his head and kissed her, still as hungry as before but brief. ”I heard the shower, so I thought you'd be ready for breakfast.”
Morgan smiled at him. ”I'm starving. But you turned the griddle up instead of down, and the pancakes are burning.”
Swearing rather creatively, he released her and hastily went back to the counter to pry smoldering pancakes off the griddle. Morgan turned on the exhaust fan over the stove, hoping to avoid having the smoke detector outside her bedroom door go off, then opened the kitchen window for good measure. A cool breeze wafted in obediently, and the smoke dissipated before it could do any harm.
”I'm glad I made extra batter,” he commented ruefully as he dumped blackened pancakes into the trash can. ”I must have known you'd come in here looking like Helen of Troy when she launched all those s.h.i.+ps.”
”You sweet-talker, you,” Morgan said.
Stirring his batter, Quinn sent her a smile. ”Tell me something, Morgana. Do you believe anything I say?”
”'Bout half,” she conceded mildly as she poured herself a cup of coffee. ”I'd consider myself in serious need of therapy if I believed more than that.”
He chuckled, but then sent her another glance, this one more sober. ”Regrets?”
Remembering what he'd said about what could happen if they became lovers without trust, she shook her head and smiled at him. ”No, no regrets. I knew what I was doing.”
For a moment he concentrated on his cooking, expertly flipping the golden pancakes. Then, softly, he said, ”We were both reckless.”
Having realized this discussion would take place, Morgan was ready for it and responded calmly. ”If you mean birth control, it's all right. My doctor put me on the pill a couple of years ago for an irregular cycle.”
He looked at her, very direct. ”You don't have to worry about anything else.”
”Neither do you.” Leaning back against the counter, she conjured a rather regretful smile. ”It's become a dangerous world, hasn't it? Even in the bedroom.”
Quinn leaned over and kissed her, gently this time. ”It always was, sweetheart. The only difference is that now the dangers aren't so obvious-and too often tend to be potentially fatal.”
”Yeah. Sometimes it's the pits being a grown-up,” Morgan observed. But then, being a naturally optimistic woman, her absent attention fixed on him as he turned the pancakes onto two plates, and her gaze wandered over his broad shoulders, down his back to his lean waist, and then to his narrow hips and long legs. He looked awfully good in jeans, she reflected. Only half aware of making the sound, she sighed. ”Then again . . . sometimes it's not bad at all.”
Her thoughts must have been obvious from her voice, because he smiled without looking at her and murmured, ”You're a wicked woman, Morgana.”
Somewhat dryly, she said, ”No, just human.” Then she refilled their coffee cups and helped him transfer the food to her small kitchen table.
It wasn't until later, when they were finished with the meal and had cleaned up the kitchen, that Morgan somewhat cautiously turned their casual conversation in a more serious direction. ”Alex . . . you aren't going to tell me who Nightshade is?”
He had followed her into the living room, and when she asked the question he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. ”We've talked about this, Morgana. If you came face-to- face with a man you knew was Nightshade, could you trust yourself not to react to that knowledge?”
”I suppose not.” She looked up at him steadily. ”But I would like to know how badly I screwed things up by climbing that fire escape last night.”
He hesitated only an instant. ”Hardly at all-if I can persuade Nightshade that you were going up there to visit Alex Brandon, with no idea I'm also Quinn.” I can persuade Nightshade that you were going up there to visit Alex Brandon, with no idea I'm also Quinn.”
”Why would I think I could find Alex on a rooftop somewhere around midnight?”
”Help me think of a reason, will you? The last thing I want is for Nightshade to start wondering if you know I'm Quinn. Because, once he does that, he might also wonder why a woman of well-known honesty and integrity such as yourself would be keeping quiet about that.”
”And smell a trap?”
”I would, in his place.”
Morgan bit her bottom lip for a moment, then eased back away from him and went to sit down-in the chair rather than on the couch. She had trouble thinking clearly when he touched her, and she wanted to think about this.
Quinn sat down at the end of the couch nearest her chair, watching her gravely.
”Alex . . . he he knows you're Quinn. I mean, he knows that Alex Brandon is Quinn.” There was a faint question in her voice, even though she was sure she was right about this. knows you're Quinn. I mean, he knows that Alex Brandon is Quinn.” There was a faint question in her voice, even though she was sure she was right about this.
”He knows.”
”Then I don't understand. He knows you're Quinn, and you know he's Nightshade-and you're both wanted by the police in several countries. You're both eyeing Mysteries Past Mysteries Past because the Bannister collection is something any thief would want-and each of you knows about the other's interest in it. How does that add up to a trap?” because the Bannister collection is something any thief would want-and each of you knows about the other's interest in it. How does that add up to a trap?”