She’d slept in his guest room once before. But that’s not where she wanted—or needed—to be tonight.
The sounds of soft piano chords floated down the hall. The poignant lyrics of “Tears in Heaven” pulled her into the living room. Lance sat at the piano. He wore gray sweatpants and a snug black T-shirt. His short hair was still damp from his shower. A tumbler of whiskey occupied a coaster on top of the gleaming mahogany.
She knew he used music to express emotions he couldn’t verbalize. Sadness poured out of him. Was he thinking about the suffering of the woman they’d rescued? Her grandfather, his own long-missing father, or the damage his disappearance had done to his family?
If anyone understood her grief, it was Lance.
She crossed the room and sat next to him on the bench.
He paused, hands over the keys. His eyes grew worried as he scanned her face. “Are you OK?”
“Please, don’t stop.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
He continued. His voice was soft and gentle, doing justice to the pure and simple anguish in the song.
When he’d finished, he turned his head to plant a soft kiss on her head. “Did you call Peyton?”
She nodded. “She says he’s the same, and she’ll call if that changes. Did you talk to Sharp?”
“I did. He’s still at my mom’s house. He’s too tired to drive home and is staying there tonight.”
Lance craned his neck to view her face. “It’s been a long few days. You should get some sleep. Are you sure I can’t feed you? Scrambled eggs or toast maybe?”
“I’m not hungry.” And she wasn’t ready to settle either. Restlessness pawed at her. “Do you believe in heaven?” Morgan had lost her father, her mother, and her husband. With her grandfather’s life in jeopardy, she wanted to think they were somewhere, waiting for him.
That he wouldn’t be alone.
He picked up his whiskey and drank. “I don’t know. I hope so. I hate to think this is it.”
And on that note, she reached for his glass.
He held the glass tight. “Remember what happened last time?”
“I’m not going to get drunk.” She had no tolerance for alcohol, something she’d demonstrated to him in the past. “I could get a call at any time. But I need the warmth.”
“I could make you a cup of tea,” he said as he released the glass.
“This is fine.” She took a small sip and handed it back to him. The whiskey burned a path down her raw throat. “Do you think your father is alive?”
He touched a key and pressed it softly. “Whatever happened, I can’t believe he’d just walk away from us.”
“How do you deal with not knowing?” Morgan asked.
His face went tight, his voice pained. “It wasn’t a choice.”
“No. It wasn’t.” The sigh that rolled through her grated like shards of broken glass. Pain welled up in her chest until she felt as if her heart would crack. Her next breath vibrated with it.
She reached for his face with both hands, cupping his jaw between her palms and drawing his face close enough to press her lips to his. The kiss started out soft and gentle then shifted to needy.
She needed him.
Her hands slid down to his shoulders.
“Morgan,” he said against her mouth, his words more breath than words.
She deepened the kiss.
He grabbed her wrists and broke their lip lock. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
A quick flash of anger shot through her. “I know exactly what I want.”
“You’re vulnerable.”
“What’s the alternative? Not to care about anyone? That’s not really living.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He shook his head. “You’re hurting. I want to be here for you, but I don’t want to take advantage of you because you need to release some emotions.”
“I don’t want a release.” Morgan shook her hands free, frustrated. “I’m scared.” Her voice softened. “And I don’t need sex. I need you.”
When she’d lost her husband two years before, she thought her heart was too damaged to love again. She’d been wrong. She wasn’t sure if she loved Lance or not, but there was heat and longing and a connection that was all at once familiar and unique.
What she felt for him was different. Not less. Not more. It was unique and separate and belonged to them and them alone. There was no comparison, just as there was no need to compartmentalize one love from the other.
Lance froze. The honor and determination in his eyes heated into something else.
Hunger, she realized with a shock.
He needed her as much as she needed him.
“You’ve been a good friend, Lance.” She reached out and cupped his jaw. “I want more, but if you can’t give it, I understand.”
He covered her hand with his, turned his head and kissed it. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words. I’m here for you.” He lowered his head. “For as long as you want me.”
Their lips met.
This kiss was different than others they’d shared. This kiss was knowing. This kiss brimmed with anticipation and discovery and even friendship.
Her body pressed against his as if telling her brain to shut up. She looked up into his eyes. They were dark and intense and entirely focused on her. Heat bloomed over her skin and desire unfurled in her belly.
His hand slid down her arm to grip her hip and pull her even harder against him. His thumb brushed an exposed strip of skin between her T-shirt and the sagging waistband of the sweatpants. She surged forward, other body parts demanding attention.
She twisted, intending to crawl into his lap, but her knee struck the piano. The keyboard cover slammed down with a crash.
Lance shoved the piano bench backward. He turned and lifted her. In one smooth motion, he picked her up and turned her around so she could straddle him. She was no tiny waif, and as superficial as it was, the ease with which he maneuvered her body was a huge turn-on.
All those muscles weren’t for show.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her core down against his.
Yes.
Definitely yes.
Breathless, he lifted his mouth from hers. “As much as the thought of making love to you on my piano is hot, the actual orchestration eludes me.”
She laughed against his mouth. “We would probably wreak havoc on the keys.”
“It would be worth it. I can get a new piano. But as it’s our first time, I’d rather have some room to do my best work. I’ll only get one chance to make a first impression.”
“Wow. No pressure, right?” A sudden burst of nerves shook her. It had been so long for her. She splayed a hand over his heart, taking comfort in the steady thud of it under her palm. “I haven’t had sex in years. I hope it’s like riding a bike.”
“I hope it’s nothing like riding a bike.” His brows shot up with mock indignation. “I want to rock your world.”
“OK, then.” She slid off his lap. She’d seen Lance almost every day for months. Her sudden shyness was unexpected.
Smiling, he stood and offered her his hand. “Trust me.”
“I do.” She took it and let him lead her to his bedroom. Standing next to his bed, he turned her to face him. He switched on the nightstand lamp. The glow was soft, just enough to see the intensity of desire in his eyes.