“Oh, she has tons of secrets,” Mallory confided, with a grin to me. “And I know all of them.”
Morgan, one arm slung on the back of his chair, made a beckoning movement with his free hand. “Let’s go. Keep ’em coming.”
“Mallory,” I warned, but she only laughed.
“Well, let’s see. I bet you didn’t tell him about the secret kitchen drawer. You should clean that out while you’re over here.”
Morgan sat up straight and slid a glance behind him at the kitchen door. “Secret kitchen drawer?” Then he looked back at me, winged up eyebrows.
My answer was quick and vehement. “No.”
He slid back his chair.
“Morgan, no.”
He was halfway to the kitchen before I was out of my chair, laughing as I rushed after him. “Morgan! Damn it, stop! She was kidding. There’s no such thing.”
By the time I made it to the kitchen, he was pulling drawers open left and right. I jumped on his back and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “She was kidding! I swear.”
I expected him to throw me off, but he laughed, pulled my legs around his waist, and kept searching.
“Merit, Merit, Merit. You’re too quiet. So many secrets.”
“She was kidding, Morgan.” In a desperate attempt to keep my secret drawer, well, secret, I kissed the top curve of his ear. He paused and cocked his head to the side to give me better access. But after I put my chin on the top of his head and said, “Thank you,” he started searching again.
“Hey! I thought you were going to stop!”
“Then you’re naïve.” He pulled open another drawer, froze. “Holy shit.”
I sighed and slid down his back. “I can explain this.”
He pulled out the drawer—a long, flat bay intended for silverware—as far as it would go, and stared into it. He gaped, mouth open, at its contents before turning his head to look at me. “Anything you want to say?”
I gnawed the edge of my lip. “My parents didn’t let me have candy?”
Morgan reached in and grabbed a handful of the drawer’s contents—South American chocolate bars, bags of chocolate-covered dried cherries, chocolate pastiches, chocolate buttons, chocolate stars, chocolate lollipops, chocolate shells, chocolate-covered gingerbread Christmas tree cookies, a white-chocolate-covered Twinkie, chocolate caramels, cocoa from a small-batch chocolatier and a foot-long Toblerone bar. He looked at me, tried not to laugh, and, for all that effort, made a strangled, hiccupped sound. “And so you’re compensating for that?”
I crossed my arms. “Do you have a problem with my stash?”
He made that sound again. “No?”
“Quit laughing at me,” I ordered, but I was grinning when I said it. Morgan redeposited his handful of chocolate, closed the drawer, grabbed my hips, and arranged my body between his and the island.
He looked down at me with an expression of mock gravity. “I’m not laughing at you, Mer. Chortling, maybe, but not laughing.”
“Ha.” I gave him a baleful look that even I knew was unconvincing.
“Um, not to get personal, but I saw that dessert you brought. Were you planning on sharing that, or was that just your portion?”
“HA,” I repeated.
“It’s a good thing you’re not obsessive. Oh, wait,” he said dryly, “yes, you are.”
“Some people like wine. Some like cars. Some,” I said, tugging at the hem of his undoubtedly designer T-shirt, “like fantastically expensive clothes. I like chocolate.”
“Yeah, Mer, I can see that. But the real question is, do you apply that passion to other areas of your life?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar,” he said, closing his eyes and lowering his lips to mine. Our lips had just touched when the silence was broken.
“Would you please stop feeling up my Sentinel?”
CHAPTER 13
THEY’LL EAT YOU ALIVE
Ethan, in black pants and a snug, long-sleeved black shirt, stood at the threshold of Mallory’s kitchen, hands in his pockets. His hair was tied back, the casualness of the ensemble indicating he had plans that didn’t involve negotiations or diplomacy. Mallory and Catcher stood just behind him.
Morgan’s eyes snapped open, emotion tightening his features and, for a fraction of a second, silvering his eyes.
I was just kind of dumbfounded. Why was Ethan here?
“If you want me to court her properly, Sullivan, you’re going to need to give us some time alone.” The words and tone were for Ethan, but his gaze was on me.
“My apologies for the . . . interruption,” he said, but he couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic. In fact, he sounded plenty happy to interrupt.
It was a long, quiet, awkward moment before Morgan finally looked over at him. They exchanged manly nods, these two Masters, the two men who together controlled the fates of two-thirds of the vampires in Chicago. Two men who claimed a little too much authority over my time.
“I’m sorry to steal her away,” Ethan said, “but we have Cadogan House business.”
“Of course.” Morgan turned back to me, and in full view of God and the assorted houseguests, kissed me softly. “At least we got dinner.”
I looked up into baleful eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Sure.”
Uncomfortable silence fell again until Morgan offered, “I guess I should get going and leave you two to your . . . business.” His tone was petulant, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced Ethan was here for Cadogan-related reasons. God only knew why Ethan had decided to darken Mallory’s door. If he needed me, why hadn’t he just paged me?
“I’ll walk you out,” I said.
Ethan, Catcher, and Mallory turned to their sides in the hallway, allowing us egress from the kitchen. Morgan walked out, me behind, both of us ignoring Ethan as we passed him.
I walked him to the door and resumed my position on the stoop.
“It’s not your fault,” Morgan said, his eyes on the house. There was no doubt about that—it’s not like I invited Ethan over—but I wondered if he really thought me truly blameless. I’m sure he mostly blamed Ethan, but Morgan had raised questions before about my relationship with my Master. This probably wasn’t helping.