Текст книги "Loving The Highlander"
Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
But on the fourth morning the prospector had not returned. His body had been discovered sticking out of a snowdrift about a mile north of the logging camp.
“That’s it,” Sadie said, pulling Morgan to a stop so abruptly he stumbled backward.
“That’s what?” he asked.
Sadie brushed the hair from her face and shifted her bundle of clothes to her right arm. “I was thinking about Jedediah’s gold mine,” she said. “And when he died.” She looked around the forest they stood in. “It was near here, according to the cook’s diary I have.
Someplace just north of the logging camp.”
Morgan also looked around, frowning. “North? How far?”
Sadie shook her head. “The diary said about a mile or so but wasn’t specific. But I remember from my dad’s research that Jedediah’s body was found near the base of a cliff that was at least a hundred feet high. Only we were never able to find that cliff because we never knew where the logging camp was.”
She shot Morgan a bright smile. “Until now. Thanks to you and Faol, I can discover exactly where Jedediah’s body was found. And I’d bet my kayak that the old prospector died close to his gold mine.”
“A tall cliff?” Morgan whispered, looking north. “About a mile from camp?”
Sadie dropped her bundle of clothes and threw her arms around Morgan’s shoulders.
“Forget our swim,” she said with a laugh of excitement, hugging him tightly. “Let’s go north and look for that cliff.”
Morgan slowly untangled her arms from around his neck, setting her away from him. He bent down, picked up her clothes, and gently placed them back in her arms. He smiled at her, but his face was drawn, his expression tight.
“We have the rest of the week to look for that cliff,” he said, his voice even-toned. “After our swim.”
Sadie could only stare at Morgan, confused by his reaction. Why wasn’t he excited about this?
Morgan took hold of her hand again and started them walking down the mountain, west, away from where she really wanted to go. Sadie followed along meekly and thought about her pretend husband’s sudden change of mood.
With Mercedes’ hand firmly tucked into his,Morgan headed to where his magical stream ran into the Prospect River. Sweat broke out between his shoulders and ran in a trickle down his back. His right hand involuntarily curled into a fist, and his feet felt like stones as every step he took led him closer to the magical stream he wanted to keep secret from Mercedes.
Of all the hundreds of square miles in this valley, why did Plum’s accursed mine have to be located in his gorge? And why now, after all these years of searching with her father, did Mercedes have to be the one to find it?
Thedrùidh’s vision rose in his mind, and Morgan started to shake with the force of his thoughts. He released Mercedes so she would not feel his trembling. He walked ahead in silence, holding back branches for Mercedes when the trail became thick.
They broke from the woods and stepped onto a sandbar jutting into the magical stream.
Upstream the water rippled with gentle current over gravel worn smooth by time. But the stream’s path bent around the sandbar and eddied into a deep pool of calm water—
perfect for swimming, Morgan decided, and for making love to his wife.
Mercedes wasted no time. She dropped her bundle of clothes onto the sand and quickly followed it down, immediately unlacing her boots.
“Go away,” she told him succinctly, pulling off her boots and then her socks. Her hands went to the snap on her pants. “Find your own swimming hole farther downstream.”
Morgan pulled his sword from his back and set it on the ground, then unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, letting it fall beside his sword. Mercedes turned her head to discover he had not obeyed her order. She frowned at him.
He smiled at her. “I stink, too, wife,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “And I like this swimming hole,” he added, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down to his ankles.
His wide-eyed wife suddenly squeaked and turned to face the stream. “It’s broad daylight, Morgan. You can’t… we can’t just… ”
Morgan ignored her flustered sputtering and stripped naked, setting the rest of his clothes neatly beside his shirt. He hesitated, then took the cherrywood burl from around his neck and set it on top of his pile.
He didn’t need its help today to froth up the water. He and Mercedes could do that all by themselves.
Stretching his muscles against the cool autumn air, Morgan strode past his speechless wife and waded into the stream. He slipped under the water and kicked his way to the center of the pool before he turned and resurfaced. He let his feet sink to the bottom and stood facing Mercedes, the water only as deep as his chest. He brushed back the hair from his face and smiled at his still gaping wife.
“Hide in the trees to change,” he told her. “And wear only your shirt if you feel you must hold on to your modesty.”
He sent a splash of water toward her. “It’s not cold, Mercedes. Hurry up and join me.”
He bobbed his eyebrows and spider-walked his fingers through the air. “I’ll wash that beautiful hair of yours if you want.”
She darted a nervous look up and down the length of the stream, then suddenly jumped up and ran for the forest. Morgan lay back in the water and floated, smiling up at the deep blue sky. For all of her shyness, Mercedes seemed to be a willing wife, playful and energetic and eager.
And so comfortable here in these woods.
Now, if he could only get her comfortable with him.
Morgan watched from the corner of his eye as Mercedes silently tried to sneak into the water. The littlegràineag had emerged from the forest a good fifty paces from where she’
d entered. Now she was tiptoeing up the stream toward him, trying not to make any noise or ripple the water.
Morgan closed his eyes, smiled, and waited.
Strong feminine hands—both of which were naked, he was pleased to feel—landed on his shoulders with surprising force and drove him under the water. Morgan twisted and reached for the tails of Mercedes’ shirt, pulling her down with him.
His mouth captured her squeal under the water as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled their bodies together, snaking her legs around his waist and trapping him tightly. Morgan shouted, still underwater, the moment his groin came into contact with the naked, delicate, down-covered folds at the juncture of her thighs.
He ravaged her mouth while she stole the breath out of his body. Her hands tugged at his hair and dug into his shoulders. She wiggled her hips, further arousing him, setting him on fire as he hardened to stone.
They needed air.
Not that he cared at the moment. But Morgan had a thought that Mercedes’ eagerness might drown them both.
He planted his feet and stood, keeping his very passionate wife firmly locked against him. They both tossed their heads back the minute they surfaced, taking in large gulps of air. But before he could catch his breath, the littlegràineag’s mouth was covering his.
Morgan fell forward, sinking them both to the bottom, placing Mercedes between the gravel and his now rock-solid manhood.
And that was when Morgan suddenly remembered the foil packet that was still in his pants. On the beach. Much too far away right now. But Morgan simply didn’t care at that moment. This woman was his. He was hers.
He kicked his feet just enough to bring them to the edge of the pool, lifting Mercedes’
head above water and resting it on the shore. Still covering her, still locked in the embrace of her legs, he slid down just enough that he could touch the tip of his manhood to her feminine center.
Her eyes opened, blinking the cascading water away, and Mercedes smiled in anticipation of the passion he offered. Her hands dug marks into his shoulders as she used the heels of her feet to lift her hips against him, opening herself to receive him inside.
But he hesitated and pulled back.
“We don’t have protection, wife,” he said, closing his eyes against the urge to drive forward. “I need to go to my pants.”
“I don’t care,” she whispered, lifting her hips again and trying to pull his mouth back down to hers.
Morgan held fast. “Well, I do,gràineag. I will not have you crying foul in two months.
You’ll say the words in front of a priest before I put a babe in your belly.”
She gave him a fierce shove. And before he could right himself, Mercedes was up and running toward his clothes. Morgan didn’t know if she was going for his pants or his sword.
“Why didn’t you bring it into the water?” she growled as she knelt down and rummaged around in his pockets, making a mess of his neatly stacked clothes.
Morgan stood up and backed deeper into the pool while he appreciated the view of her beautiful backside. Soon she had the foil packet in her hand and was running back to the stream, her wet flannel shirt clinging to every delectable curve of her body, her long legs making short work of the distance between them.
Morgan heard the rifle shot the instant Mercedes lunged into his arms. When she landed against his chest, she was dead weight. He dove them both into the water, holding on to her with desperation. He covered her back with his hand and sank to the bottom of the pool, feeling the warmth of her blood against his palm as she lay limp and unmoving against him.
Morgan rose to the surface and frantically waded to the sandbar, turning to shield Mercedes from the direction of the sniper. He crossed the sandbar in less than three strides and ducked into the forest just as another shot cracked through the air, hitting the dirt at his feet.
Morgan kept running deeper into the woods, heading downstream toward the sniper, hoping the villain wouldn’t expect him to move in that direction. Morgan ran a few hundred yards, then finally stopped and set Mercedes gently on the ground.
She was a bloody mess, nearly all of her flannel shirt soaked red, both front and back.
The bullet had gone straight through her body.
With shaking hands, Morgan popped all the buttons on the shirt and spread it open, revealing a small wound just below Mercedes’ right breast. Her breathing was labored.
She was unconscious, her face as pale as a winter’s moon, her eyes already sunken beneath eyelids that were blue with the promise of death.
Morgan forced his hands to remain steady as he worked the shirt off her shoulders and held her in a sitting position. He wrapped the blood-soaked flannel around her back and over her breasts and the wound, using the sleeves to tie it as tightly as he dared.
Swiping his forehead with a trembling and bloody hand, Morgan looked up and cocked his head, listening for sounds of the sniper moving in for the kill.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. They were miles from nowhere, and Mercedes would bleed to death before he could get her to civilization. He had to get to Daar’s magic burl and the stream to heal her before it was too late.
He heard a sound then, on the other side of the valley, the distinct shout of a man being surprised. A wolf’s growl was followed by another shot, but this time the muzzle was pointed in another direction.
Confident that the sniper was now occupied elsewhere, Morgan gently picked up Mercedes and ran through the forest again, back upstream. He kept to the woods and passed the sandbar, running until a bend in the stream concealed him from the other side of the valley. He set his wife down gently on the gravel and then ran back to the sandbar.
With only a negligent look across the valley, Morgan stepped onto the sand and gathered up his clothes and his sword, quickly draping the cherrywood burl around his neck as he ran back to Mercedes.
He tossed everything onto the ground beside her and picked her up, wading into the stream until it was deep enough for him to sit down. The moment the burl got wet, it started to hum against his chest. The water began churning, frothing around them and sparking to life with thousands of bubbles that rose to the surface as exploding green light.
He untied the shirt and pulled it from around her waist. Mercedes moaned, arching her back in pain. Morgan clasped her to his chest and lay back, sinking deeply into the stream. His body felt on fire as blinding green light blazed around him. He tightened his arms around his wife’s limp body and held her head just above the surface for a good ten minutes, gritting his teeth against the heat assaulting him.
He sat up finally and looked at her wound. It was still bleeding, frothy red bubbles oozing from it. She’d grown paler, more limp.
Morgan roared. The magic wasn’t working. “Dammit! I command you to work!” he shouted, grabbing the burl and tearing it from his neck.
Supporting her with his knees, Morgan tied the leather cord around Mercedes’ neck and straightened his legs to lower her into the water.
The green bubbles suddenly turned yellow, snapping with angry pops that filled the air with steam. Morgan lifted Mercedes just enough to see her wound. It wasn’t throbbing as the cut on his thigh had, but the bleeding seemed to have slowed.
It still wasn’t enough.
She was still dying.
Faol stepped out of the woods but stopped at the edge of the water. Morgan looked up to see the panting wolf frantically dancing from foot to foot, as if agitated. Faol whined, then barked, then trotted several paces upstream.
Morgan turned his attention back to his dying wife. Faol barked again, louder. He stepped into the water, then retreated, trotting upstream again, his bark turning into a keening howl.
Upstream.
The waterfall.
Nearer thedrùidh’s magic.
Morgan stood up and gently settled Mercedes against his chest. He waded out of the water and followed the wolf, who was now trotting quickly up the edge of the stream.
The desperate journey seemed to take forever before he finally reached the waterfall.
Morgan simply kept walking until he was standing shoulder-high in violently frothing water.
This time the light snapping around them was neither green nor yellow but a pure, blazing white that forced Morgan to close his eyes or be blinded. Heat radiated from Mercedes in waves so intense his arms and chest felt scorched.
The mist rising around them warmed the air with summerlike heat, making sweat break out on his forehead and scalp. Morgan stood solid against the assault, reciting prayers he’d all but forgotten since he had been a lad on his mother’s lap.
And he prayed, willing thedrùidh’s magic to save Mercedes’ life, to heal her wounds and bring her back to him whole and hearty and spitting mad. He stood until his muscles trembled with fatigue, willing Mercedes to live.
“I had a wonderful dream.”
Morgan snapped open his eyes and stared down at the woman in his arms. She was smiling sleepily up at him, her face flushed pink around heavy-lidded blue eyes.
“And what was it you dreamed about?” he whispered, his voice shaking as violently as his legs.
“I visited Daddy and Caroline. We had a picnic high up on a mountain overlooking a beautiful valley.”
Sweat broke out on his forehead again when Morgan realized that Mercedes had actually died for a while. She’d been with her father and sister and very well could have ended up staying.
“Caroline doesn’t blame me,” Mercedes whispered, drawing his attention again. “She told me the fire wasn’t my fault.”
“I’m glad you saw your family,” Morgan whispered. He shook her slightly. “Don’t go to sleep again, Mercedes,” he softly commanded when she closed her eyes.
“I’m so tired, Morgan. My muscles feel like jelly,” she mumbled, turning her face into his chest. She smiled again, snuggling comfortably against him.
Morgan waded to shore and fell to his knees on the sand, still clasping Mercedes tightly, finding himself unable to set her down. He knelt there for several minutes, silent tears rolling down his face. Over and over he repeated his thanks to God that his wife was alive.
Faol suddenly appeared and quietly padded up to them and nuzzled Mercedes’ hair, his tongue washing the entire side of her face. Morgan didn’t send the wolf away but let the animal see for himself that Mercedes was okay.
And still Morgan couldn’t put her down.
Faol started to whine and dance from foot to foot again, turning in circles, trotting to where the pool emptied out of the cliff-surrounded grotto they were in. He barked sharply and sat down, whining as his tail thumped the edge of the stream.
“I don’t care,” Morgan said softly to the wolf. “I will find our sniper and deal with him later. Mercedes needs my attention now.”
Faol yipped again, standing and looking nervously downstream.
“Go, then,” Morgan told the wolf. “Stand guard.”
Without further urging, Faol whirled and shot out of the grotto, his tail disappearing from sight in a blur.
Morgan looked down at Mercedes.
She was still sleeping, her eyes no longer sunken into her head, her cheeks a warm, healthy pink. He looked around for a soft place to set her down, inching forward on his knees just a bit before he gently laid her on a carpet of thick green moss.
He straightened, brushing back the hair from her face, feeling the heat of life on her skin.
He traced the shape of her cheekbone, letting his finger trail over her chin, then down the length of her throat.
He halted and stared at the empty piece of leather tied loosely around her neck.
The cherrywood burl was gone.
Morgan turned to look at the pool. The waterfall dropped from the cliff at the far end, sending a cloud of mist into the air that settled over the entire grotto. The water gently rippled with floating stardust that glittered and winked in the unearthly light that scattered its rainbow through the mist.
The magic was spent, the burl destroyed.
And Mercedes’ life had been saved in the process.
Morgan turned back to his wife, continuing his inspection with a still trembling hand, needing to assure himself that she really was okay. His gaze went immediately to where the gaping wound had once been, but he saw only smooth, milky-white flesh that carried just the hint of a blush from her own inner heat. His hands settled around her waist, and Morgan closed his eyes with relief.
She was perfect. Flawless. Completely healed.
With a sharp intake of breath, Morgan pulled back, staring at Mercedes’ body. He reached out, lifted her right hand, and turned her palm toward him.
No scars. Nothing but pink, healthy skin. He looked back at her left arm, then turned her just enough to see her back. There was no puckered skin. Nothing but flawless flesh.
Mercedes was completely healed.
Completely.
Morgan sat down on the ground and scrubbed at his face, shaking his head and grinding his palms into his eyes.
Now how in hell was he supposed to explain this?
His wife was going to wake up to find herself lying in this magical gorge, completely naked and flawless. It was bad enough he wouldn’t be able to explain why she hadn’t died from her bullet wound. But her old scars?
Morgan twisted to see the scar he had on his shoulder from a battle that had been waged more than eight hundred years ago. And he turned more, to feel for the long ridge of flesh on his waist, where a sword had nearly cut him in half.
They, too, were gone. Disappeared.
He looked out over the still shimmering water and shook his head again. Was he dreaming? Why hadn’t thedrùidh’s magic taken his old scars away the other day in the stream, when it had healed his thigh?
The light had been green then, not the pure, blinding white of today. The magic was more powerful here. Special. The strength of Daar’s thick old staff flowed into this grotto and was soaked up with the mist to nourish the towering trees.
It also had nourished both himself and Mercedes and given them perfect bodies.
And now he was left with the task of explaining to this modern-born woman just what had happened to her. And to do that, he would have to explain his own magical existence here.
Chapter Nineteen
She was dead.
She remembered the force of the bullet slamming into her back. Remembered falling against Morgan. Remembered the disbelief, the pain, and the regret that she would not get to spend a long and happy life with this man.
She’d died instead.
But Sadie didn’t know if she’d landed in heaven or hell.
Or maybe this was the purgatory she’d heard about.
It was hot. She was hot. But she was in the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.
Towering cliffs of gray-speckled granite formed a half-circle around her. Mist hung overhead in a suspended cloud, blanketing her in muggy summer heat. The roar of water falling from a great height echoed off the tall granite walls, and she was bathed in a fog-amplified white light.
She still had all five of her senses. She could hear, see, feel the tickle of moss beneath her, smell the warmth of the mist-soaked spruce mingled with pine. And she could even taste Morgan lingering in the back of her mouth.
Sadie slowly rolled over to face the sound of the falling water and widened her eyes as her gaze traveled up and up and up, following the stream of crystalline water that appeared to be shooting out of the side of the cliff like a giant faucet turned all the way on.
She scrambled to her knees and stood up, turning in a circle with her head thrown back, looking at the cathedral-like room surrounding her. Spruce and pine and oak and cedar rose so high over her head that their tops disappeared into the mist. Ferns grew so lush in long-feathered spikes that they looked prehistoric. The moss she’d been lying on was as thick as sheep’s wool and so green it was almost fluorescent.
It should have been dark from the abundant canopy of growth, but there was light shimmering everywhere, the source coming from the water instead of the sky.
Sadie raised her right hand to brush the hair off her forehead, only to halt with her hand suspended in front of her face. She stared at her palm, at the perfect flesh that should have been covered with ugly scars.
She looked down at her body and gasped again at the realization that she was naked.
She instinctively covered herself, folding her hands over her breasts.
And that was when Sadie noticed her arm.
The scars on the inside of her left arm were gone.
She twisted enough to see her back. The wide, jagged patchwork of skin grafts was gone.
She tucked her chin and peered at her right shoulder. There was no scar peering back at her. Pink, flawless skin covered her back from her shoulder to her waist.
Sadie folded her legs and sat down, covering her face with her hands.
Shewas dead.
She would never see Morgan again. He was back in their valley—all alone, mourning her, cursing his inability to protect her.
Sadie pulled her hands from her face just enough to look down at her hand. What was the point of having such a perfect body if Morgan was not here to enjoy it with her?
Sadie threw herself facedown on the sand and burst into tears. She didn’t care anymore that she’d been scarred. Better to have flaws and have Morgan than to be perfect without him.
Sadie cried loud, wrenching tears, mourning all that she’d lost. She’d come to this beautiful place, becoming beautiful herself, to spend eternity alone.
And that was when Sadie decided she’d landed in hell.
She lifted her head at the thud of something hitting the ground. She looked up to see Morgan, fully clothed, standing beside where the pool spilled out between the towering trees. At his feet was her bundle of clothes and her boots, his pack, and his sword.
Sadie jumped up and ran toward him but came to a stop several paces away when she noticed the look on his face.
He was as pale as snow, the skin drawn back on his cheeks in tight lines of tension. His eyes were the color of winter spruce, and his fists were clenched at his sides.
Sadie threw herself at him. She kissed his face, his hair, his mouth, whimpering her approval when his arms tightened around her.
“I think we’re dead,” she whispered into his ear. “I’m sorry, Morgan, that we’ve died, but I’m so happy you’re here with me. I love you so much,” she continued, kissing him again.
It took Sadie a full minute to realize he wasn’t kissing her back. And that he’d gone even stiffer the moment she’d started to speak.
He didn’t know yet, that they’d both died. He didn’t understand what had happened to them.
She unwrapped her legs from his waist and stood, dancing away from him and twirling in circles with her hands out.
“Look, Morgan. I’m whole. I’m as naked as the day I was born and just as perfect.” She spun to present her back to him, showing off her flawless skin. “The scars are gone, Morgan. I’m me again,” she said with a laugh over her shoulder.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He didn’t so much as blink.
Sadie rushed back to him and unbuckled his belt. “Let me show you,” she said, unsnapping his pants and pulling them down to his knees. “You’re going to be perfect, too.”
Sadie took his fisted left hand and set it over the spot on his thigh where he’d stitched up the wound from the moose. “There. See? It’s gone,” she said, looking up at his face.
He wasn’t looking at his thigh. He was staring at her. Sadie gave him a huge smile, straightened, wrapped her arms around his neck again, and kissed him soundly on the mouth.
“I truly am sorry we died, Morgan,” she whispered. “But we’re together, my love.” She rained kisses over his face as she spoke. “I was so afraid I’d lost you forever.”
Sadie felt him reach down and pull his pants back up before his arms came around her again. Morgan swept her off her feet and carried her back to her spot by the pool. He set her down and then sat beside her, unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging out of it and handing it to her.
“Put this on, lass,” he said softly, his gaze quickly roaming over her naked body before he turned his head and looked out over the pool.
“I wish you’d take your clothes off instead,” she said, disgruntled but doing as he asked. She slipped into the shirt and buttoned it up to her neck but stopped at the feel of something dangling over her collarbone.
Sadie lifted the leather cord and gasped, sending her gaze to Morgan’s chest. “This is the cord you wear.” She tucked her chin and pulled the leather out to see better, feeling for the wood that should have been there. “Oh, no. I lost the cherrywood knot that was on it.”
She turned, frantically searching the ground for the wood. Morgan grabbed her by the shoulders, then leaned them both over until he was lying on top of her. He brushed the hair back from her face.
“We’re not dead, Mercedes,” he said, his mouth mere inches from hers, his eyes dark and unreadable as he stared at her. “We are both very much alive.”
Sadie blinked at him, pressing her head into the ground to focus better on his face.
“We… we can’t be, Morgan. I don’t have any scars. And neither do you.”
“You’re alive, Mercedes.”
“But I remember the bullet. The pain. I remember falling against you. I was shot, Morgan. I… I died.”
He slowly nodded his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “Aye, lass, you did die,” he whispered, bringing one hand up to finger the leather cord on her neck. “But the old priest’s magic brought you back to me.”
“M-magic?”
He nodded again. “Aye.” He let go of the leather and waved at the air around them.
“This place, the mist, the very water that flows from the cliff. It’s special, Mercedes. It comes from a pond where thedrùidh’s staff was thrown two years ago.”
“D-drùidh?”
Sadie pushed at his chest, struggling to get up. He rolled off and sat up as she scrambled to her feet and turned to stare down at him.
“What are you saying?” she whispered, fighting the fear that was rising inside her. She took a step back. “Are you… are you saying you’re a… a witch or something? A warlock?”
He shook his head and then quickly stood.
She took another step back.
“I’m only a man, Mercedes,” he said, keeping his distance. “I know nothing of magic.”
“Then how… ” She fingered the leather cord at her throat, swallowing the lump that had lodged there. “Then how did you heal me?” she finished on a dis-believing squeak.
He nodded in the direction of her neck. “The priest’s gift,” he said. “The cherrywood burl and this water healed you,” he told her, waving at the pool behind her.
Sadie darted a cautious look at the water, turning just enough so that she could see it without losing sight of Morgan.
“Wh-where is the burl now?”
He waved his hand again. “Gone. Dissolved. The magic was spent saving your life.”
Sadie dropped her chin and toyed with the button on Morgan’s shirt that she wore. What he was saying was fantastical. But, more important, why was he saying it?
Could he not accept that they’d died?
“Morgan,” she said, looking at him, taking a small step closer, and holding out her right hand, palm up. “Do you see this?” she asked. “The scars are gone. And that’s not possible. There’s no such thing as the kind of magic you’re talking about. A person can’t get shot and then just… just heal. And eight-year-old scars can’t disappear as if they never existed.”
“Then explain to me what has happened,” he softly demanded, his eyes now piercing points of solid green flint.
“We died. Both of us, or you wouldn’t be here with me now. That cut on your leg wouldn’t be gone. It’s the only logical explanation, Morgan. We’re dead.” She suddenly smiled. “And we’ve landed in heaven.”
He took a step toward her. “Mercedes.”
Sadie beat him to it. She ran and jumped into his arms, laughing up at him. “And we’re going to make love now, husband, before God realizes his mistake and kicks us out of here,” she finished, planting her mouth on his. She pulled him down to the ground until she was sitting and straddling his waist.
Morgan let out a sigh that all but filled her lungs and settled his hands under his head.
“That still might happen,” he said, smiling up at her, only to sober suddenly as he softly feathered a trembling finger across her cheek. “I was so afraid I’d lost you, wife,” he whispered.
Sadie covered his hand on her face. “Me, too. I love you so much, Morgan. I couldn’t live without you.” She shot him a smile. “I couldn’t die without you, either.”
She leaned down and kissed the frown on his forehead. She stretched out full-length on top of him and wiggled until her nose was even with his beautifully naked chest, grinning again when she heard him moan.
