Coltons ultimate test, p.11
Colton's Ultimate Test, page 11
But she shied away from even a hint of risk. Stability and certainty were cornerstones to the law practice and home life she’d built for herself. She craved safety.
Morgan opened Roman’s refrigerator and stared into it without really seeing. So why had she fallen into bed with him when she’d so specifically told herself doing so would be a mistake?
She thought back to his promises of comfort, pampering, pleasure. His appeal for her to consider her own needs instead of always taking care of others. And he had pampered her, pleasured her—three times!—and made her feel...well, safe. She blinked, and her pulse tripped. Roman, who for all intents and purposes was a living, breathing risk with a capital R, made her feel safe. How was that for irony?
She took out the carton of eggs and milk, and as she went about the mundane tasks of starting coffee and finding a bowl to crack the eggs into, she found herself humming. Dvořák’s New World Symphony, of all things. Because she’d been reminded of the music during their late-night conversation? Probably. Who knew how the human brain worked?
She considered, too, how, at one point, when she’d discovered the tattoo on Roman’s chest, she’d jolted for a moment. She’d somehow blocked out thoughts of tattoos—his and...others’—last night. Maybe because of the dark. Or her slight inebriation. Or the distraction of the pleasant things he was doing to her.
She sighed as she cracked an egg and tossed the shell in the trash. Would Roman’s tattoos forever be a trigger of her worst day? She shivered, thinking of the parade of ink Roman’s body bore, most covered up by his winter clothing, but still there, stirring bad memories at the oddest times.
She picked up another egg, but instead of cracking it, she stared without seeing, awash in a fresh flood of memories.
Her shoes beat a staccato rhythm as she hurried down the shadowed street, eager to get back to her car. She should never have come to this side of town alone. She’d been warned. Caleb had offered to come with her, but she’d been too stubborn. Too self-sure. Too...foolish. Call it what it was. Bad judgment. She tucked her purse more securely under her arm and pushed her pace faster. She was practically running.
The sound of heavy feet thudded behind her. The scent of cigarette smoke found her, and before she could turn and look over her shoulder, an arm snaked around her waist from behind. An arm covered in tattoos. Her purse was tugged, hard, but she clung to it for all she was worth. “No! Help!”
The grant check to pay for her last semester was in her purse, and without it how...?
Her purse slipped with the man’s next yank, but her fingers dug into the strap for all she was worth.
Something hard smacked the back of her head, and she blinked against the black spots that swam in her vision. The arm around her dragged her backward then. She stumbled and almost fell as he forced her into a dark side alley. She fought, twisting and screaming. Tried to stomp the man’s foot with her heel, to kick back at him, desperately attempting to wiggle free of his python grasp. When she got one arm free, she clawed at the man’s tattooed arm with her fingernails.
“Stop it, bitch!” he snarled. His fingers on her other arm dug deep into her flesh, and he slung her to the ground with a tooth-rattling jolt. Stunned as she was by the fall, her attacker was able to snatch the purse from her. The loss of the means to pay for her last semester of college was wrenching. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth to catch the wail of despair that rose in her throat.
That’s when the attacker hesitated. He’d been prepared to flee with his stolen booty, but he’d spotted the ring she wore. A large ruby surrounded by diamonds. An antique passed to her from her maternal grandmother. A ring worth far more to her because of the sentimental value, even if the jewels were themselves quite valuable.
He stepped back to hover over her. “Gimme that ring!”
She shook her head. Fisted her hand. “No! Please! It’s my—”
He lunged toward her, grabbing her hand. She tried desperately to keep her hand balled, to jerk her arm from his grip. The whole time that she battled him, her vision was filled with that beefy, tattooed arm. Then, with a terrifying dark glare over his shoulder at her, he backhanded her. “I’m taking that ring if I have to cut your finger off to get it!”
Terror roiled from her in a piecing scream, and like a woman possessed, she fought. And was battered and bloodied in return. At some point she was knocked out, and when she came to in that dark alley that smelled of garbage and urine, her grant money, her ring, her earrings and a simple gold chain necklace were all gone. Along with her sense of safety. She’d pulled herself to her knees to sob, when—
A tattooed arm slipped around her from behind, across her collarbone, and she was tugged backward.
She screamed. Batted at the encumbering arm, dropping the egg she held—Egg?
“Morgan, easy. It’s me!” A male voice. The arm loosened, and she spun around still struggling, still slapping...
And blinked hard as the alley melted into a homey kitchen.
Morgan drew a shuddering breath and covered her face with her hands, her whole body shaking. Tears flooded her eyes, and she hiccupped as a sob tore from her.
“Hey, I’m sorry, Peaches. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Roman put a hesitant hand on her elbow and gently nudged her forward. “Morgan, honey, what...? I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head and swiped at the moisture dripping onto her cheeks. “I’m... I’m okay. I just—” Another hiccup cut her off, and she leaned into the welcome warmth of Roman’s offered embrace.
“You sure don’t seem okay. Geez, you’re shaking all over. Did I really scare you that badly?”
“It’s only... My head had gone to a bad place, and when you grabbed me—”
“Hugged you. It was hardly a grab.”
She levered back to look up at him. “Because of the where my thoughts went, it felt more ominous.” She took a step back from him, noticing his state of dress—or undress, as it were. He had jeans on, but that was all. His feet and chest were bare. The flaming heart tattoo that she’d discovered last night was on full display, along with the few on his arms, his wrist. Fresh on the heels of her walk down Nightmare Lane, it was all a bit too much. She averted her eyes from him, unable to even savor the masculine beauty of his well-formed shoulders and muscled arms.
Instead she ripped paper towels from the roll by the sink to clean up the egg that had broken when she dropped it. She felt a bit like that egg. Fragile. Shattered. A mess. How could she build a relationship with a man who conjured her worst fears simply because of his body art? Why couldn’t she get past his ink?
And did she want to? Did she want a future with Roman?
* * *
Something more than Morgan being startled out of deep thoughts was going on here. That much Roman knew. And based on how Morgan couldn’t hold his gaze, could barely look at him, he had to wonder if in the sober light of day, she’d considered everything she’d learned about him last night—all the myriad ways they were different, the sum of his somewhat checkered past—and regretted sleeping with him. She was clearly having second, even third, thoughts about him.
Crouching beside her, he took the wad of paper towels from her. “I’ll do that. You take a minute to catch your breath. Can I get you anything?”
“I, um...” She stood and tugged on the belt of the robe she’d borrowed. “Really, Roman. I—I’m okay now.” She dragged fingers through her hair. “But if you don’t mind, I will get a shower. Then, uh...you’ll have to drive me home. Remember?”
He tossed the soiled paper towels in the trash and nodded. “Right. Whenever you’re ready.”
She disappeared into his bedroom, and the shower came on. Turning back to the bowls on the counter, he finished cracking eggs, toasting the bread and frying some bacon. The least he could do after scaring her so terribly was feed her a nourishing breakfast.
Rufus rubbed against his legs, reminding him Rufus needed feeding. His thoughts elsewhere, he got the cat food bag from under the counter. Why had Morgan been so scared of him? What bad place had she gone to?
She’d seemed fine last night, seemed to enjoy their dinner...when he’d been decked out in his best Wall Street attire. But under the sheets, when the business suit and tie had come off, they’d spoken of their pasts. She’d come face-to-face with the real Roman DiMera, bad choices, blemished life and all. And this morning she’d balked. In the harsh light of day, she’d seen him for the inked bar owner he was and retreated. Hard and fast.
He stewed over her withdrawal, her drastic reaction to him this morning, and couldn’t reconcile it with the warm and willing woman who’d purred her satisfaction in his arms last night. When Rufus bumped his furry head against Roman’s leg, his thoughts focused enough to recognize that Rufus already had food before he poured more. Morgan must have done that. Rufus would have demanded it. The corner of his mouth twitched. “You beggar.”
He turned back to the bowl of eggs and sobered again as Morgan’s wide, fearful eyes flashed in his memory. Damn it!
He didn’t need a mercurial, fickle woman in his life, no matter how much he liked Morgan. From what she’d told him during their pillow talk before sleeping, the Coltons were like lodestones for drama and conflict of late. He didn’t want anything like the tumult she’d described the family going through this past year coming close enough to taint the Corner Pocket.
Selfish? Maybe. But he’d worked too hard to build the bar from nothing, dragged himself out of the quagmire of his own folly and imprisonment to make a fresh start to put it at risk.
Self-protective? That, too. He didn’t want to lose his heart to a woman who couldn’t accept him and his past. Disappointment arrowed through him, sharp and merciless. Morgan was symphonies, a big family and law and order. He was hard rock T-shirts, the streets of Philly and second-chance employees. He needed to forget about Morgan Colton and move on.
A hollowness opened in his chest, imagining his life without Morgan. He’d quickly become fond of her and her sharp wit, sexy kisses and engaging conversation.
He shook his head to clear it. Don’t be an idiot! he could hear his sister Adrienne telling him, echoes of his youth when he’d brag about his wild exploits with his friends. Thank goodness Adrienne had fallen in with a good crowd, had found a loving man and happiness. Was it so terrible that he wanted the same happiness? He’d finally gotten his life on track, and he was staring down forty without a family of his own.
After prepping the eggs, he returned to the bedroom to finish dressing. He was pulling on his shirt when he heard the shower water stop.
Ten minutes later, Morgan reappeared in the kitchen, wearing the same clothes from their dinner the night before, her face free of makeup, her wet hair slicked back from her hot-shower-pinkened cheeks. She padded across the room in bare feet and sent him a bright smile. “There. Much better.”
He set plates loaded with the food he’d finished preparing on the table. “Perfect timing. Breakfast is served.”
Her expression grew sheepish. “I’d intended to be the one serving up hot food to you. Before—” She sighed.
He sat at the table and picked up his fork. “Yeah. Before. Do you want to talk about this bad place you went? Is there anything I can do to help?”
After pouring herself a fresh mug of coffee, she joined him at the table, put a napkin in her lap and met his eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about it now. Maybe someday, but...not over this terrific breakfast.”
After the openness they’d shared last night, her deferral stung a bit. Further evidence of withdrawal, of Morgan erecting defenses around herself.
Roman slathered a piece of toast with butter and strawberry jam. “Why don’t you tell me more about Ronald Spence, then?”
“Spence?” She pulled a face. “He’s another topic that will ruin a meal.” Morgan wiped her mouth, then lifted her mug of coffee. “But I do owe you a better case history, thanks to your assistance connecting me with Tim, helping me get that lead on the warehouse where Spence might still be doing drug business and cleaning his money.”
She drummed her manicured fingernails on her mug. “So last night I told you how we learned our father had been taking bribes and kickbacks and handing down wrong and overly harsh sentences. When Spence first appeared on our radar, we considered him one of the men our father had wrongfully convicted. We took on his case through the Truth Foundation to get him released from prison earlier this year.”
Roman groaned.
“Exactly,” she said, raising her mug to acknowledge his moan of dismay.
He opened his mouth to reply just as Rufus jumped up on the table and made a stealthy grab for a bite of eggs. Scowling, he lifted the cat back to the floor and returned his gaze to Morgan. He could imagine how Morgan must feel about her family’s mistake, helping Spence when the man was actually duping them.
“In fact, we have every reason to believe he’s responsible for ordering a hit on a man in prison,” she continued as if not having noticed the feline’s antics or, at least, not being bothered by them. “The murdered man took the fall for Spence’s crimes, and still Spence thought he needed to silence him. Of course, Clay Houseman’s murder—he’s the guy Spence had killed—sent a chilling effect to others connected to Spence. No one would talk. We had a hard time substantiating our suspicions that Spence was dealing again. But he sent warnings to the family. He’s behind a good bit of the bad stuff I told you my family has suffered of late. He even tried to kill our mother and our sister Alexa before he went into hiding.”
If someone had tried to kill his own mother and sister, he’d be apoplectic. “No wonder you’re out for his blood.”
“Well, not blood if we can help it. Just getting him back behind bars would suffice. To correct our overzealous attempt to right our father’s wrongs.” She sipped her coffee, then cradled it as she added, “Then he must have heard about the money hidden at Kayla’s family ranch, and that’s when he faced off with her and my brother Jasper earlier this month.”
“Got it.” He chewed a bite of bacon as he thought. “An all-around bad guy. And where are the police in all of this?”
“Oh, they’re involved at various levels. Of course. How could they not be when our mother is romantically involved with the chief of police?”
Roman blinked and tugged a corner of his mouth in a grin. “She is?”
Morgan nodded, cracking a small grin of her own. Then, sobering a bit, she continued, “But while the police are aware of Spence and are helping, we have members of our family—and their significant others—with experience and skills in finding people. And we have the personal connection to make it a priority.” She set the mug on the table and flipped up a palm. “That’s really where we are at this point. Finding Spence. When we do, we’ll let the police or FBI or whoever claims him step in and arrest his sorry ass.”
“Which is why you came to me for tips as to where a man of Spence’s character might launder fifty thousand stolen dollars.”
“And you were a great help. Thank you.” She took a last bite of toast and pushed her plate away. “It’s getting late. I need to get back to the hunt. Back to the office and clients, and I plan to follow up on that warehouse.”
Roman, too, gobbled down the last bites of his meal, matching her sense of urgency to get the day started. Morgan hustled back to the bedroom, returning with her shoes and purse.
He rinsed both plates and their mugs but left them in the sink to deal with later. Morgan was clearly ready to go.
“Well, time for the walk of shame,” she said, hiking her purse strap onto her shoulder and straightening her back as if preparing to march to the gallows.
Her characterization was a gut punch to Roman and further confirmation of her feelings about their ill-advised relationship. “Why is it a walk of shame? Are you ashamed of what happened last night?”
She blinked. “Wow. No one could ever say you weren’t blunt.”
“I’ve said before, I don’t go for a lot of bull—malarkey. Just say what you mean and be done with it.” He cocked his head and narrowed his gaze on her. “So...are you ashamed?”
She huffed and pulled a dismissive face. “No!”
He hated to admit how much he’d wanted her to deny it, wanted to hear her say their lovemaking had been...making love for her, too. That they’d planted the seeds of a possible relationship, if they could find a way past all their differences. But hearing her denial didn’t mean he fully believed it. Actions spoke louder than words, and he’d seen her wariness, her backpedaling, her fear this morning.
She waved a hand, and her mouth opened as if she were fumbling for words. “I just... It’s an expression. Maybe awkward is a better word? It’s the morning-after march in the clothes from the night before and—”
“I know what the expression means.” He crossed the room to her and stroked a hand down her arm. He ducked his head a bit to meet her eyes straight on. “I’m just wondering how you really feel about walking out of here, past my employees and early-morning vendors. Do I need to sneak you out the back door?”
She pinched her lips, twisting her mouth in deliberation. “Your employees are here already?”
“Penny won’t be in for a little while yet, but Hector does food prep, and Gibb meets deliverymen and cleans bathrooms, that sort of thing. I actually need to get down there and do my part.” He stepped toward the door as she pulled on her coat. “So...front door or back?”
She kicked her chin up as if in challenge. “Front, thank you.”
“All righty, then.” He held the door for her and ushered her down the stairs. She might have been putting on a good front to spare herself more questions or soul-searching, but her response heartened him just the same.
