simple pleasure of hearing her breath hitch, of seeing her eyes darken before she wrested her mask back into place.
“Nice job, Doctor.”
Some of the wariness left her shoulders. She smiled, the lines digging deeper at the corners of her eyes. “Margred did the
work.”
“The bulk of it,” he acknowledged. “But you helped.”
“So did you.”
He moved in, stalking her. “We were good together.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat, edging toward her vehicle.
“Thanks. You‟ll have to tell me sometime how that trick with the water works. But right now, I have to—”
He fingered a strand of her hair, cutting off her voice. He heard the quick intake of her breath. He knew her adrenaline was
still high, her pulse still racing. She was ripe with sweat and salt and birth, earth and sea commingled.
He wanted her, craved her, the way he had never craved anything but the sea.
He had not seen their son born, his and Elizabeth‟s. He had not thought about it before, what it must have been like for her,
what he had missed.
All he was missing.
He thought of Caleb tenderly supporting Margred‟s wracked body, of Dylan and Regina working instinctively as a team.
Elizabeth‟s words teased him. “Is that what you want?”
“Was he there with you when our son was born?” he asked. “Your husband.”
“I, um . . .” It pleased him that it took her a moment to focus, to find her place in the conversation. “No. Ben and I weren‟t .
. . We were just friends then. We got married about a year later.”
She had told him once she was estranged from her parents. Did that mean . . .
“You were alone,” he said.
Elizabeth‟s brows twitched together. She raised her chin, on the defensive. “The nurses were there for me. The doctor on
call. I was a student there. I knew people.”
His jaw set until it cracked. She would not admit to being vulnerable. She would not admit to needing him.
Her strength was laudable. Her pride was understandable. He had the same strength, the same pride. He must persuade her
to lean on him, to trust in him.
He raised his arms, caging her against the side of her SUV. She stiffened. “I will be there for you,” he murmured. He
pressed his lips to her cheek, her brow. “I will stay with you.” Remembering her words, he amended quickly. “I want to stay.”
He nuzzled her throat, delighting in the wild leap of her pulse, her involuntary tremble. “You need me.”
Her hands tightened in his hair. “I need you.”
He kissed the tender hollow under her ear, scenting her capitulation, tasting victory. “Yes.”
She tugged, pulling back his head. “ I need you .”
He nodded cautiously, alerted by the shift in her emphasis, the spark in her eyes. “Yes. There is no harm, no shame, in
needing someone.”
Her gaze was pointed, her smile rueful. “Not unless he doesn‟t need you back.”
Morgan gaped. She had played him. With one neat sentence, in one swift reversal, he was hooked. Reeled in. Eviscerated.
“I won‟t ask you to be anything less than what you are,” Elizabeth continued, inexorable as the tide. “But I can‟t be less
than who I am either. I‟m not some coddled, weak woman in need of protection. I‟m a woman who‟s made a career for herself,
a life, and a home for her babies. I don‟t need you to take care of me. To take care of us. I need you to love me.”
He floundered, out of his element. “I do not see you as weak. I want to care for you because you are . . . precious to me.
You and your children.”
“But do you love me? Can you love us?”
Fear and frustration churned inside him. His head was reeling, his heart in turmoil, his pride in tatters. “I want you. I trust
you. I need you.” He shot the words at her. “Is that love?”
Her breathing hitched.
She held his gaze, her brown eyes softening, glistening with tears. Morgan cursed silently. He had not meant to make her
cry.
But slowly, her lips curved. “It‟ll do. Thank you. It will do wonderfully. For now.”