“No,” Zack said. “I don‟t need a ride.”
Not where he was going.
Liz was breathing. Barely.
She lay cocooned by the hammock, pinned by Morgan‟s weight, dazed, sated, satisfied. Her legs were numb below the
knee, her mind empty and at peace.
If she could have summoned the energy to smile, she would. For the first time in years, she hadn‟t thought like a doctor or
a mother. She hadn‟t thought at all. She had let herself desire and be desired, let herself feel like a woman again. She was more
than relieved. She felt smug. Triumphant.
Gradually her heart rate slowed. Her skin cooled. A chorus of discomforts and doubts crept back, pervasive, persistent as
the tree frogs in the yard, and began to compete for her attention. A crick in her neck. A cramp in her thigh. A knot digging
into her back. She was wet from sex and nearly naked, hot where Morgan covered her and cold everyplace else.
She ran her hand down his back, savoring the feel of smooth skin and solid muscle. She didn‟t want to get up. Didn‟t want
to let him go. The realization trickled down her spine like ice dripping.
She was a grown woman, she reminded herself. She could have sex—heart-stopping, mind-blowing, jungle-thumping sex
in a hammock if she felt like it—without things falling apart. Without falling in love.
She could have Morgan.
She pressed her lips together, staring over his head into the dark. As long as she didn‟t think too hard, say too much, feel
too deeply.
Life had already dealt her the bitterest blow it could and she‟d survived. Surely she could survive . . . she could enjoy an
affair without romanticizing reality? Without expecting promises or guarantees, without neglecting her children or
responsibilities.
Her children.
Her heart jolted with panic. Her mind clicked back into gear. “What time is it?”
Morgan‟s lips moved against her neck. “What does it matter?”
It mattered. Her world hadn‟t changed, even if for one magical moment the earth had rocked on its axis.
She pushed at his shoulder, dragged her arm from under him to peer at her wrist. The dial of her watch glowed in the
dark—10:05.
Her head dropped back in relief. She had time to clean up, to compose herself, before Zack came home.
If she could move. Morgan‟s solid weight still pressed her into the webbing.
She poked his upper arm. “You‟re heavy.”
He trapped her arms and rolled with her, somehow avoiding overturning the hammock. A quick lurch, and she sprawled
against his naked chest, straddled his naked thighs. Her breath caught.
“You are delicious.” His warm mouth captured one nipple. His big hands kneaded her butt.
She trembled in discomfort and delight, trapped between his hot body and cold reality. “I‟m cold.”
Conflicted.
He nuzzled her other breast. “I can warm you.”
Yes.
No.
“That‟s not . . .” His erection rose against her stomach, hot and hard. Oh. She sagged. “The point,” she finished weakly.
He ran his fingertip along her jawline, blew his hot breath in her ear.
For one moment, she let herself be tempted, let him drag her into the warm sea of desire. Her body yielded, softened, and
flowed over his.
Mistake.
She may have temporarily lost control. That didn‟t mean she‟d lost her mind. Her perspective. Her heart.
Her breath hissed.
What was she doing?
It was one thing for her to risk her own happiness on a relationship that would not last, on a man who would not stay. She