single long stroke down his back would soothe the ruffled fur that seemed a by-product of his frantic lifestyle.
“I look at you and Kyle,” he said frankly, “and I’m jealous. I’ve always been jealous. The way Kyle just picked up and moved, chucked everything on a whim. I wouldn’t choose this lifestyle, but that’s not the point. It’s the inner freedom, the courage to just get out and do it. Change. Even if it’s only short term.”
Erica half frowned. Neither freedom nor choice had motivated their move to Wisconsin. Nor were they engaged in a “hobby.” It had never occurred to her before that Kyle hadn’t told his closest friend the real circumstances following Joel’s death. But before she could say anything, Morgan was rambling on. “I’ve been tied to the business ever since I got out of school, and there are times I’d just like to say to hell with it.”
“Morgan,” Erica said gently, “you have so much to be proud of. You’re a lot younger than your father was when he-”
“Yes. I’m a huge success, money-wise,” he said dryly. “And money buys a lot of toys. In the short run, it buys a lot of women as well.”
She was silent, not so much shocked as saddened by his attitude-for
“Who’s kidding whom? That’s the life I lead,” he admitted quietly, and looked at her, his features impassive. “But women like you aren’t just walking around, love.”
“Sweetie,” she said affectionately. His compliment, so out of the blue, had warmed her. More than that, she simply wanted to help Morgan if he needed help. But she also felt a strange sort of unease. Where was Kyle? She stood up and teasingly ordered Morgan ahead of her toward the kitchen. “What kind of lady do you expect to pick up in a singles bar anyway?”
If Kyle had been there, she wouldn’t have hesitated to remain sitting with Morgan, to reach over and hug him, to urge him to talk and get his troubles off his chest. But Kyle wasn’t there, and Morgan’s eyes on her had been just a little more than friendly, more than just superficially appreciative. She felt a touch of guilt. It felt good to be wanted, to feel needed-and perhaps
Chapter 2
When Kyle walked in, Morgan was putting foil on the broiler for the steaks. Fresh mushrooms were simmering in soy sauce; the table had been set with china Erica hadn’t used in months, and the second bottle of wine was on the table ready for pouring. In the past hour, Erica had turned all her attention toward urging Morgan out of his depression, and in the process had cheered herself. Candles on the table and a chance to dress up were part of that; for weeks she and Kyle had only snatched a bite in work clothes.
Her laughter was low and musical as she teased Morgan about his fastidious efforts in the kitchen, the effect of his elegant suit spoiled by the towel she’d given him to wear as an apron. When the front door opened, they were both hovering over the stove, with the bright lights of the kitchen haloing them in a little island of light.
Kyle stopped short, for a moment saying nothing, his eyes riveted on the two of them. There was a bag labeled McDonald’s in his hand.
He was in shadow with the sunset behind him, his black hair disheveled. Erica set down her fork with a clatter as she hurried down the three steps to the darkened living room and gave him a brilliant smile. There was only Kyle for that moment, as she went to him anticipating the change of mood that he, too, needed; anticipating his pleasure at seeing Morgan after so long; anticipating, in the most feminine ways, being with him again. It wasn’t that Morgan suddenly didn’t exist, that he shriveled in some imaginary way, that he was any less pleasant company, less good-looking, less fun to be with…but he
She bounced up on tiptoe and curled her arms around his neck…yet the greeting kiss somehow ended differently than she had intended. Kyle’s lips were cool and his eyes unreadable above hers, though for one instant his grip on her shoulders was so possessively tight that it hurt. He was looking past her, toward Morgan… Her smile suddenly froze on her face. She didn’t try to understand his reaction; she was too busy handling her own. Not long ago he had welcomed her touch, openly courted her affectionate nature…
She buried the flicker of hurt. Two glasses of wine had muted that unnameable fear that he was tiring of her, that he no longer loved her. Pride insisted that she play it as normal. As she wanted it to be. She kept an arm around Kyle’s narrow waist as they walked back up to the kitchen, reminding herself that he’d told her once she could not have looked sexier in that dress, and he had always loved her barefoot…
“Looks as if we won’t be needing this,” Kyle said dryly as he extricated himself from her embrace and set the McDonald’s bag on the counter. “And it looks as if you two have been entertaining yourselves while I’ve been gone. Morgan-” The handshake was quick and automatic, Kyle’s blue eyes bearing down on Morgan’s brown ones with a strange deliberateness. “I’ve been expecting you, for some unknown reason. Actually, long before this. How’ve you been?”
“In trouble, regularly. You?”
“Morgan brought the steaks,” Erica explained, feeling a sudden niggling worry that Kyle might have seen the fancy dinner and her dressy attire as efforts on her part to please Morgan. She appreciated the gesture of the McDonald’s takeout supper more than she would have caviar; it was an acknowledgment that they were both sharing twelve-hour workdays. The worry passed. Morgan was Kyle’s closest friend; Kyle could not possibly misunderstand. “You’re just in time,” she said brightly.
Morgan went out of his way to be entertaining throughout dinner. The wine flowed freely and the steaks were delicious; Erica and Kyle alternately praised and teased the chef. They were all more relaxed by the end of the meal. Erica mellowed as Kyle seemed to, feeling a glow of warmth inside every time her husband laughed at Morgan’s deliberate and sometimes outrageous wit. It was the first genuine laughter she had seen in him in an age, and she noticed, too, as they rose from the dinner table, that the weariness and tension had left his features.
“I wish to hell you’d get tired of her,” Morgan complained lazily to Kyle as he drew his arm around Erica’s shoulders in a hug, urging her down the steps to the living room. “And if I haven’t told you recently,” he added to Erica, unvarnished deviltry in his brown eyes, “I’ll give up the whole bit-wine, women and song-the day you divorce him.”
He meant Kyle to hear his comment. Morgan’s nonsense was nothing new to either of them. “It’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” Erica assured him dryly. “If I weren’t attracted to men with blue eyes-”
“Thanks,” Morgan complained. “It’s not as though I offer marriage every day of the week, and to be rejected because of-”
“You used to offer once a month, Morgan.” She pressed an affectionate kiss on his cheek to apologize for extricating herself from his hold. Banter was an integral method of communication for Morgan, and Erica expected it of him; yet for some reason the way he had held her, hip-to-hip, had grated in an unfamiliar manner. There was something so
Morgan nestled down in an easy chair with a contented sigh, surveying first Erica and then Kyle, who had followed just behind them. “You haven’t said a word,” he accused Kyle casually. “I take it you don’t mind if I steal Erica away from you? You don’t deserve her, you know.”
Kyle stretched in the opposite chair, propping his long legs on an ottoman. His head rolled back as if the meal had depleted his last vestiges of energy, and he laced his fingers behind his neck. “Don’t carry your kidding too far, okay, Morgan?” he said mildly. “I’d hate to have to worry about taking you seriously one of these days.”
There was something in his tone… Erica could not look at him suddenly. From out of nowhere, a strange friction had stolen into the room, and now it crackled around both men.
