Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [61]
“On that point. But I'm very puzzled about the rest of this,” she admitted. “And I've got this weird feeling that you've distracted me again.”
Gravely, he said, “We always seem to cover a remarkable amount of ground when we talk, don't we?”
“Seems like. But it always comes back to this. What's between us.”
“Morgana, if you want to continue to be aloof in public—”
“No, I don't mean public. I mean private. I mean this, between us. The reason you're distracted, the reason I'm distracted. What we both keep dancing around. What are we going to do about this, Alex?”
After a moment, he said slowly, “It would be a bad idea, you know that. Without trust between lovers—”
She was mildly incredulous. “Trust? Alex, stop and think a minute. I am a sensible, rational, law-abiding woman who never so much as cheated on a parking meter before I met you. So what happened the night we met? I lied to the police when I didn't tell them you stole that dagger. And what happened the night those thugs grabbed you? Not only did I risk life and limb to try to help you, but then I more or less betrayed my good friend and employer, Max—I thought—by warning you that Mysteries Past was a trap. And I didn't call the cops when you lay bleeding on my floor. Does any of this suggest something to you? Like maybe that I seem to have a certain lack of good judgment where you're concerned?”
His eyes were even more vivid than usual, and his mouth curved in a slight smile. “But do you trust me?”
Morgan sighed and abandoned her last shred of dignity. “I love you, and that'll have to be good enough.”
She had the satisfaction of knowing she had surprised him at least, but she couldn't read anything else in his suddenly still face and brilliant eyes.
“Say that again,” he murmured.
“I love you.” She said it quietly and without drama, but with utter certainty. “I've known that for weeks.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
“It isn't safe to love me,” he said.
“Do you think that matters?”
“Morgana, I don't want to be something you regret.”
“You won't be. I promise you, Alex. You won't be.”
Quinn leaned forward slowly, releasing her hands so that his arms could encircle her, pulling her toward him as his head bent and his warm, hard mouth found hers. Morgan made a little sound, much as she had when he'd picked her up, and her arms slid up around his neck eagerly. She could no more temper her instant, fiery response to him than she could voluntarily stop the runaway beating of her heart.
Her body seemed attuned to him, to his touch, in a way she'd never felt before. It was nothing so simple as passion; what he ignited in her was a craving so elemental and absolute it was akin to the need of her body for sustenance. She had the dim realization that some part of her would starve to death without him.
He lifted his head at last and looked at her with eyes so dark there was only a hint of green visible. Huskily, he said, “I promised myself I wouldn't let anything . . . irrevocable happen between us until I could be completely honest with you. Until you could know the truth, all the truth. Morgana—”
She slid her fingers into his thick golden hair and pulled him down so that she could kiss him, and against his mouth she murmured, “Alex, I want you—and that's the only truth I care about right now.”
Quinn hesitated for another moment, his entire body tense, but then he made a rough sound and kissed her hungrily. His hands moved down her back, probing through the material of her sweatshirt, while the tip of his tongue teased the sensitive inner surface of her lips. Morgan heard herself utter another of those primitive little whimpers, wordless but urgent with wanting, and then all her senses went haywire.
Just like before, the relentless need Morgan felt for him was stunning—but this time she was aware that he was every bit as involved in what was happening as she was. He wasn't holding back, wasn't detached, and wasn't trying to distract her. And he didn't have to try to make her want him.
Morgan hadn't intended this to happen tonight, she really hadn't,