Krys was trying to find the right way to word what was on her mind when Morgan’s voice broke into her unformed thoughts. “Just what the hell were you thinking?”
She stared at him, completely thrown by his question coming out of left field the way it was. “Excuse me?”
“When you threw yourself at that woman, just what were you thinking?” he demanded. He had relived the whole thing again on the way home and it brought a chill to his heart. “I had the drop on her.”
“What I was thinking was that if I didn’t push her weapon up, out of the way, that crazy witch was going to kill you.”
“With you throwing yourself at her like that, she was more likely to shoot you than me—right in that beautiful face of yours,” he emphasized. “What the hell were you thinking?” he repeated. “And where did you learn to move like that?” he asked, referring to some of the self-defense movements she had executed.
“The kind of solo work I do makes self-defense a vital part of my survival,” she said matter-of-factly. “And all I could think of was that she was going to shoot you—and I couldn’t let that happen.” Even as she relived the event, her heart was in her throat all over again. “If you died saving me, I couldn’t live with myself.”
“Instead, you were willing to die to save me,” he pointed out. Did she really think that was a better solution?
“You were willing to do that, too,” Krys insisted angrily, her eyes blazing.
Morgan blew out a breath. “I guess this is what they call a stalemate.”
“I guess so.” She paused, pressing her lips together. She could tell by his body language that he was just about to walk out. She had to say something to stop him. “You know, you don’t have to leave tonight,” she said, despite the fact she had promised herself on the ride home that she wasn’t going to say anything to him on the subject.
But she just couldn’t bear the idea of seeing Morgan walk out the door.
When he raised one eyebrow, she started talking fast. “I mean, it is late and all and we’ve both had a really draining day. You could always clear out your things tomorrow.”
Morgan examined the words she had just used. Was she really saying what it sounded like she was saying? He just didn’t know.
“Then you want me to go?” he questioned.
“I didn’t say that,” she answered defensively and much too quickly to her own ear. Krys cleared her throat, doing her best to sound calmer. “I mean I just thought you’d want to, what with the case finally being over and all.”
His eyes never left hers. “I didn’t say that.”
So much had happened today, her head was throbbing as her disjointed thoughts became even more jumbled. She knew what she wanted—she wanted him to stay, but she wasn’t about to sound as if she was begging. He had to be the one to make the all-important decision and make it clear that he wanted it to be this way.
She let out a breath, struggling not to allow it to sound shaky. “What are you saying?” she asked.
He didn’t want to be taking anything for granted. “That I don’t want to be underfoot.”
She stared at him. He had to be kidding, right? “What made you think that I thought you were underfoot?” she asked him, confused.
“Well, for one thing, you are fiercely and incredibly independent,” he pointed out. “I practically had to sit on you to get you to accept any sort of protection—and,” he went on to remind her, “when you thought you’d lose out on what you were sure was going to be an exclusive story, you deliberately disregarded every shred of common sense, eluded everyone who was determined to protect you and bolted. And then—”
“I was wrong,” she told him.
Morgan came to a skidding halt midsentence. He stared at her, dumbfounded. He hadn’t expected this from her. “What did you say?”
“I was wrong,” Krys repeated, sounding repentant. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you have any idea what I went through when I realized you were missing? Do you know the kind of awful thoughts that went through my head, torturing me?” he demanded.
She hadn’t even stopped to think of what he might have gone through. Now that she did, she felt guilty. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
“No,” he agreed with passion, “you definitely shouldn’t have.”
“How can I make it up to you?” she asked him, looking, in his opinion, extremely contrite as well as sincere.
Was he being a total fool, taken in by the look on her face? But when he thought of the way he’d felt, afraid that she was in trouble, none of the rest of it mattered. He didn’t want to win this argument, because it wasn’t about winning. It was about having her. Loving her.
All he wanted was her.
And all it had taken was a crazy woman to bring that home to him.
“Well,” he said slowly, “if you’re serious abut making it up to me...”
“I am,” she answered with enthusiasm.
“Then I can think of several ways you could do that,” he said, the makings of a wicked smile on his face.
The smile that slipped over her lips was the first smile he had seen on her since they had had breakfast this morning. Looking back, it felt like that had been a hundred years ago.
“Does one of those ‘ways’ involve you staying the night?” she asked him.
He pretended to consider her question. “It might involve staying even longer than that,” he told her, then asked,
