Naughty By Nature

“Usually, I get up at five,” he confessed, uttering a rough, very male sound of longing, “but right now, Lucy, I can’t move.” He clasped his hands behind his neck. “Wish we could have breakfast in bed. Maybe an omelette and English muffins, with some champagne.”

“A rose in a discreet little bud vase?” Lucy queried dryly. Her gaze was slowly panning the room, widening in disbelief as she assessed the damage—condom wrappers on the floor, rumpled clothes, a cell phone, an overturned wastebasket. He couldn’t help but release another soft chuckle. “It was a hell of a night.”

“I’ll say,” murmured Lucy.

Glancing at the tangled bedding heaped beside him, he discovered that, in the light of day, the matching sheets and duvet were printed with pink whales and ocean waves. He bit back a grin. The covers were such a piled mess that, if he didn’t know better, he’d think somebody else was hiding under there. “A hell of a night,” he repeated, his heart tugging when he remembered how, on an emotional level, what he’d experienced with Lucy had been raw and passionate, then slow and tender. Occasionally, of course, it had gotten downright pornographic. And here, ever since his little brother Conner’s engagement to Sharon McConnell, Morgan had been thinking he’d never meet the right woman. But maybe he and Lucy would wind up together. She was so down-to-earth, his family would love her. They hated snobs. He eyed her. “What time is it?”

“Six.”

No wonder she looked so distressed. There was no time to sample another taste of what they’d feasted on last night. Drifting a potent gaze over her, Morgan didn’t stop until he’d traversed her uniform and support stockings and was staring at the toes of practical white crepe-soled shoes. “It’s risky, but maybe we could take a few more minutes….”

During a long, contemplative pause, Lucy crossed her arms, and when the movement lifted fuller breasts than what she’d possessed last night, Morgan credited himself for knowing she wore Wonderbras. He’d overheard his sisters Meggie and Fiona discussing their enhancing abilities.

“Morgan,” Lucy finally said, looking exasperated. “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing in my bed?”

“You’re so right,” he murmured apologetically. By hanging around, he was tempting fate. The Vernes didn’t usually get up this early. Vanessa, vamp that she was, stayed in bed until Morgan’s lunchtime, which meant ten. But what if today was an exception? He nodded. “The last thing I want to do is get us pink slips.”

“Then I suggest you leave.”

“Good point.” That was another thing he liked about Lucy. She was smart. Forward thinking. Reaching a long, well-muscled arm over the mattress, he fished around on the floor until he found his briefs. The sheet slid off his thigh as he moved, and when he glanced up, Lucy’s brown eyes were wide and startled, riveted between his thighs.

He chuckled again. “Meet me in broad daylight, Lucy.”

Her eyes lurched drunkenly upward, and she stared at him, slack-jawed. She whispered, “Have you lost your mind, Morgan?”

“No,” he assured her. “I’m leaving. I promise. As much as I’d love to stay, we’d better finish this later tonight.”

“Finish…?” Lucy managed to speak faintly, her eyes alighting briefly between his thighs once more before studiously focusing on the wall behind him.

“I don’t know how you feel about it, Lucy.” He couldn’t help but say it since after last night, he didn’t understand her shyness. “But that was the best sex I ever had.”

She gasped. “The best…what?”

Cursing his male insensitivity, he winced, then his eyes pierced hers significantly. “I know,” he assured her quickly. “I shouldn’t have called it sex. It was more than just sex. Much more.” He wasn’t inclined to divulge feelings this early in a relationship, but last night was so special that he gave in to his impulses, tossed aside his briefs and continued. “Two words,” he said. “You’re amazing.”

“Amazing?”

Her uncertainty was heartbreaking. “Don’t you know that about yourself, Lucy?”

She looked flabbergasted. “Well, I guess, Morgan, but—”

“Amazing,” he repeated. Surely from his response, not to mention her own, she’d realized how unusual last night had been. Smoothing a hand over his head, he tried to tame the hopelessly disheveled curls, and while he searched for the right words, he recalled how her long fingers had caught his hair in fistfuls, how she’d cooed his name during orgasm after orgasm. “I never experienced anything like this,” he admitted, taking another deep breath. “I don’t know what to say, where to begin….”

“Maybe it’s better if you don’t say anything more because—”

“I know it seems like too much, too soon, Lucy,” he interjected, feeling compelled to bare himself with her as he had with no other woman, “but after last night, we owe it to ourselves to be honest.” Pausing, he laid it on the line. “Lucy, with you, I don’t want to play the usual male-female games. There’s something more here, something real.”

Her eyes had fixed behind him again, on the piled covers, making Morgan realize how shy she was. Probably that was why she’d left off the lights last night. “You’re such a sweetheart,” he murmured.

“No, I’m not,” she denied hoarsely, taking a weaving step toward the bed. “And I think something really strange happened here last night. I think you’ve misunderstood….” Her voice trailed off. “Morgan, I really don’t think you should say—”

“Anything more?” Gently, he pushed aside the covers. Forgetting his nakedness, he rose and strode boldly toward her. “You’re wrong. What happened in this bedroom last night wasn’t strange. Just better than we expected. Maybe we didn’t count on it being the beginning of a relationship. Maybe we figured it would only turn out to be a one-night stand. But that’s why we need to talk about this, Lucy.”

Seeing how overwhelmed she was, his heart went out to her. “What are we going to do?” he asked reasonably, molding his hands over her shoulders and gazing deeply into her eyes. “Make a casual date? Go out to dinner? Start all over again and pretend we haven’t already made each other insane with lust?”

“No, Morgan,” Lucy whispered, rapidly shaking her head. “No!”

“That’s right,” he agreed, relieved she was on the same wavelength. “We can’t pretend we didn’t share the kind of passion that keeps people together forever.”

“Morgan.” She ground the word out.

Something in her tone stopped him. “What?”

“Get a grip!”

Why was she getting so upset? “We don’t need to get a grip. We need to let go, Lucy, to follow this wherever it takes us.”

Her face had turned sheet-white. “Morgan,” she said in a rush, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

Was there another man—as there had been with his ex-fiancée, Cheryl? Or had Lucy taken a job in another city? Was she moving? This didn’t sound good, but Morgan wanted to earn her trust. “You can tell me anything, sweetheart. After last night, nothing you say could change how I feel.”

“I doubt that,” Lucy announced ominously.

Blinking sleep from his eyes, Morgan suddenly realized that even though she was practically in his arms, she no longer had any effect on him physically. That was weird. Just a few hours ago, the simplest touch had aroused him beyond compare. Had the sparks already burned out? The magic vanished?

His fingers curled more possessively over her shoulders, and he bit back a curse, wanting to recapture those feelings and wishing she’d quit staring behind him. Last night’s intimacy was serious stuff, but was she really so shy that she couldn’t even look him in the eye this morning? Suddenly, he froze. From behind him, he could swear he heard the covers rustle, but that was impossible.

Lucy’s in front of me, he thought. He was touching her, so he knew he wasn’t dreaming. No, somebody else was in the room! Just as another rustle sounded, he realized that Lucy’s dress felt as cold as ice. Maybe she really had come from outside. In tandem with a missed beat of his heart, Morgan’s eyes widened, and very slowly, he turned and craned his neck to stare at the bed.

Behind him, the covers wiggled. Because of the print on the sheets and duvet, bright blue waves seemed to be undulating and pink whales seemed to be swimming as whoever was buried under there punched their way out. Quickly, Morgan tried to tell himself that he, not the covers, was moving. He’d almost convinced himself that he was just woozy from having too much great sex when, with mounting horror, he saw evidence that he’d slept with someone other than Lucy.

Her hand appeared first.

Slender, pale and long-fingered, it groped over the pillow, extending French-manicured nails that Morgan instinctively knew had left the welts pleasantly tingling on his shoulders. When the covers were whisked back, bare skin flashed right before a whale and cresting wave respectively were pressed to breasts that were definitely smaller than Lucy’s.

No WonderBra was involved, after all. A blue turban was half tangled in hair that was plastered to a head with dried green goop the color of split pea soup, but Morgan barely noticed that because his worst fears had just been realized. He was staring at the lust machine with whom he’d spent the night.

“Three words,” he whispered.

It’s Vanessa Verne.

2

LATER, VANESSA would curse herself for not throwing Morgan out of Lucy’s bedroom immediately, but when she dragged herself from wildly sensual dreams, punched her way out of the covers and saw him standing there stark naked, her response was to feel so soft, warm and female that the hands clutching the sheet to her breasts loosened a fraction and her throat constricted, aching with emotion. Had she really spent the night in those strong arms? Pressed to that naked, muscular, hairy body that had a temperature hotter than molten lava?

Later, after Vanessa fully registered how Morgan felt about her, she’d berate herself for feeling shivers prickling between her shoulder blades at that moment and she’d deny she sighed wistfully while staring with unchecked adoration at the dark, devilish and very naked angel who’d shamelessly pleasured her until dawn.

He had rich, brown-black hair that curled like chocolate shavings on the world’s most delectable dessert. He had dangerously dark, gleaming eyes. For a second, everything in their expression said he enjoyed last night’s fall from grace, but then the look vanished, leaving only high cheekbones. Long smooth cheeks. A straight nose and a mouth that was by turns petulant or bemused. An indentation in a rounded chin as if gently pressed there by a loving thumb.

Even in dark lackluster suits, Morgan Fine was…well, fine, but now he was stripped to the buff and towering over Lucy, one of his huge, strong hands enveloping her shoulder. His bare skin was sleek and glowing, except where wild black hair erupted, looking far coarser than Vanessa recalled it feeling against her fingertips. Inhaling sharply, she averted her gaze, since it landed where he was unabashedly exposed…

Meet me in broad daylight, he’d said.

“Indeed,” whispered Vanessa, her eyes widening.

Suddenly she realized Lucy was trying to inch away from his grasp. “Uh, hi, Vanessa,” Lucy managed to say.

Lucy! Only now did Vanessa register that, when they’d made love, Morgan thought she was Lucy! Not that the misunderstanding would matter, she assured herself—she and Morgan had been so perfect together—but Vanessa felt self-conscious. She was still nude in Lucy’s bed, and when she casually raised a hand to her hair—realizing in the process she’d broken a nail—she dislodged the turban, which fell to the mattress. Wincing, she gingerly probed the green-coated strands of hair plastered to her head and almost groaned out loud. Why had she chosen last night, of all nights, to use this overnight conditioner? And why did it happen to be the same green color as aliens from Mars?

Feeling like a cross between Lisa Kudrow in a screwball comedy and Medusa, she hoped she didn’t look too ridiculous, but it was hard to gauge Morgan’s reaction. Only his eyes moved, following dried green dust as it sprinkled from her hair, flaking over her bare shoulders. Otherwise, he remained stock-still, each of his stone-hard, well-toned muscles tense.

Lucy cleared her throat loudly, as if trying to retrieve her voice from as far away as the stratosphere. “Hey,” she suggested in an overly bright tone. “Why don’t I leave you two alone? I bet you’d like to talk!”

There was a long, otherworldly silence as if the planet had spun to a stop on its axis. And then Morgan growled, “Oh, no, you don’t, Lucy. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here.”

Ignoring his commanding tone, Lucy stepped backward, attempting an escape toward the stairs to the kitchen, but Morgan flexed his fingers and tightened the grip on her shoulder in a way Vanessa imagined had to hurt. Still groggy from lack of sleep and confused because he didn’t seem to want to be alone with her, Vanessa rapidly blinked, another thrill coursing through her when she saw all the empty condom packets strewn across the red carpet.

“Roll out the red carpet,” she whispered in shock, more images of last night racing back to her. That many condoms? Drawing a wavering breath, she counted five. Feeling renewed awe over Morgan’s unparalleled virility, she made a mental note to thank Lucy for stocking the drawer in the bedside table so adequately. There would be a special thanks for the ribbed condoms, which, from reading the wrappers, Vanessa now knew came in neon colors. Yes, she and Morgan had definitely added new meaning to the phrase rainbow coalition.

“Vanessa?” Lucy prompted. “Are you awake yet?”

“Huh?” Vanessa’s eyes bounced from the condom packets to Morgan, who stared back as if he’d never seen her before. That didn’t bode well. When she averted her gaze, biding her time, she was staring through the windows. Someone had pulled back heavy red velvet drapes, and outside, the winter sky was milky-white. Water had frozen in a fountain on the lawn, and snow flurries were lazily falling through bare tree branches. Two floodlights, which were on an automatic timer, snapped off.

But what was happening in here? Vanessa was starting to wake up. Just a minute ago, hadn’t Morgan announced he cared about her? Yes, she recalled, still rousing herself from the dazed, stuporous afterglow left by his lovemaking. He’d said theirs was the best sex he’d ever had. The kind of passion, he’d assured, that kept people together forever.

Vanessa’s thoughts exactly. But the atmosphere had changed. Snuggled under the covers, listening to Morgan’s compliments, she’d felt ecstatic, but she’d better face facts. Morgan had meant to sleep with Lucy. Glancing over her shoulder and judging the distance to Lucy’s bathroom, where she’d left her clothes, Vanessa considered making a run for it. Maybe she could lock herself in there until Morgan left. Or at least wear something other than this sheet while they addressed the misunderstanding.

It was a lost opportunity, however. Morgan, who was still staring at her dumbly, hoarsely said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Verne. Honestly. I had no idea it was you.”

And clearly, if he had, he wouldn’t have slept with her. Vanessa exhaled shakily. What did he expect her to say? That she was sorry, too? She wasn’t, so she settled on saying, “Uh, under the circumstances, why don’t you call me Vanessa.”

Morgan managed a curt nod. “Whatever you say.”

Given his tone, he might as well have said, You’re the boss. What did the man have against her, anyway? After last night, how could he treat her this way? Was he rejecting her because he was an employee?

“I’d better get to work,” Lucy said chirpily, embarrassed pink spots splotching her cheeks. “You two need some alone time.” You two. She’d said it as in you two lovebirds, which only worsened an already delicate situation.

“Alone time?” Morgan echoed in his most professional, discreet, Secret Service voice. “With Ms. Verne?”

“Vanessa,” she emphasized.

With images from their past night of alone time still in her mind, Vanessa forced herself to scoot from the bed Morgan’s mouthwatering body had left so warm. Flattening the covers to her chest, she started toward Lucy and Morgan, hoping to straighten things out. Unfortunately, her foot tangled in the dragging tail of the sheet, and as she lurched Morgan edged backward, his gorgeous body retracting like a crab into its shell instead of lunging to catch her.

“Some Secret Service agent,” she huffed.

“Sorry, Ms. Verne,” he said stoically as she regained her balance. It was as if the man couldn’t get out of this bedroom and away from her fast enough. A man, she tried not to remind herself, whom she’d been trying to get into bed for weeks.

“Don’t worry—” her gaze locked into his, and she wondered how much longer she could bear this humiliation “—I realize you’re not on duty right now. So, why should you save me from tripping?”

“You didn’t trip.”

“Not this time,” she returned darkly. “But it’s not like I was going to bite you. I promise, Mr. Fine.”

“Morgan,” he corrected, his mouth quirking in something resembling a smile. “Under the circumstances.”

“Morgan,” she repeated.

And then he raised a thick eyebrow as if to say, You did bite last night—which, of course, Vanessa had. Drawing a calming breath and hoping he wouldn’t guess at her mortification, she tried to ignore the stubbled jaw she’d nibbled and the slightly curved lips she’d caught between her teeth. The next thing she knew, she was recalling other, more private places she’d found tasty.

She couldn’t believe it. She’d never even had oral sex with Hans Breakman—and she’d almost married him. Another voice followed in the wake of that thought. Morgan thought I was Lucy! What am I going to do now?

You’ll think of something. She was Senator’s Verne’s daughter, after all. Sure, she’d been a party animal, at least according to the tabloids. And sure, she’d been booted from three colleges without graduating, but she’d learned social skills along the way. Still…what were you supposed to do when you’d slept with somebody who’d only slept with you because he thought you were somebody else?

At a loss, Vanessa wrapped a steadying hand around Lucy’s unengaged arm, the one Morgan wasn’t gripping. Vaguely, she realized her heart was beating dangerously fast and that she and Morgan were each holding Lucy’s dangling limbs as if intending to tear her into two even pieces.

Lucy read her mind. “Am I being drawn and quartered?”

“No,” Vanessa said, surprised at how absurdly stern her usually well-modulated voice sounded. “But Morgan’s right, Lucy. You’re not going anywhere. Not until we, uh, figure this out.”

Lucy looked uncertain. “What’s to figure out?”

Lucy had a point. Vanessa and Morgan had enjoyed amazing sex, but the whole time, Morgan thought Vanessa was Lucy. “Right.” Vanessa could barely find her voice. “This is a pretty clear-cut case.”

“Case?” murmured Morgan. “Of what?”

Mistaken sex, Vanessa thought, but didn’t say it.

Very slowly, Lucy was tearing her eyes from Morgan’s bare, hairy chest and staring where Vanessa’s fingers were digging into her upper arm. “What?” she said indignantly. “Are you pulling rank on me, Vanessa? Because if you are—”

“Oh, please,” Vanessa interjected, tamping down her temper and piercing Lucy with a long, level stare. “Give me some credit.” This was no time to argue with her best friend. Couldn’t Lucy see they were in a jam? One for which they were equally responsible? Trying to disguise her pleading tone, she added, “I just think it’s best if you wait while Morgan gets dressed.”

“Best for whom?” challenged Lucy, speaking as if Morgan wasn’t even there. “I don’t want to…watch.”

“Fine by me,” agreed Morgan, shaking his head as if to say he couldn’t believe their situation. “Why don’t you both keep your eyes shut?” Abruptly releasing Lucy, he strode around the room. Under the circumstances, Vanessa didn’t blame him for being upset, but she still thought he looked magnificent as he retrieved his clothes.

“I have to go downstairs,” Lucy argued in a faint whisper, keeping her eyes trained on a far wall. Vanessa didn’t bother with modesty, but remained studiously absorbed with Morgan as he searched for his briefs in the remaining bedcovers. Chippendale men had nothing on Morgan Fine.

“Your dad’s in the kitchen,” Lucy continued urgently. “Apparently Mrs. Bell called in sick, so the senator’s down there, making Pop ’n’ Serve biscuits—”

Vanessa’s knees were nearly buckling from the exemplary view of Morgan’s honed male physique. Still using her grip on Lucy to support her body weight, she managed to speak in a breathless-sounding voice. “I know. Daddy called up here last night, to say Mrs. Bell wouldn’t be coming to work.”

“If we don’t get your father out of the kitchen,” Lucy insisted, “you two are trapped up here. He’s going to see Morgan leave or realize you slept here. Have you gone crazy, Ness? You know how your father feels about—”

“Premarital sex?” Vanessa asked.

“He doesn’t even approve of postmarital sex.” Lucy huffed.

So true. This was hardly the first time the women, both staunch Democrats, had wished the retired senator was something other than a family-values Republican. Ellery Verne had gone to great lengths to separate Lucy from her boyfriend, Bjorn, and Vanessa from any living, breathing male. “He can’t find out about this,” Vanessa acknowledged slowly, still unable to tear her gaze from Morgan or release her hold on her friend. “But it’ll be okay,” she added. “Right? I mean, this isn’t the first time we’ve been in a jam.”

“I never would have guessed.” Morgan tossed the words dryly over his shoulder, his voice calm and too controlled.

“Not this kind of a jam,” Vanessa assured him, feeling a need to defend herself at his tone. “It’s not as if I sleep with every cute Secret Service agent who works here.”

The man didn’t even pick up on the hint, grin and say, “Do you really think I’m cute?” Instead, in a disbelieving voice, he said, “Really?” He’d stepped over the trail of condom packages and into his briefs, and she watched as he upended the overturned wastebasket, scrounged inside it and lifted out a cell phone and rumpled shirt.

“Lucy’s mother worked here since before I was born.” Vanessa found herself explaining as she watched him shrug into the shirt. “She was a single mother, so my father was naturally protective of her and Lucy, who’s three months older than me. Anyway, Mrs. Giangarfalo recently moved to Arizona, where she’s pursuing a career in real estate, but Lucy and I have always been best friends. We don’t get into trouble, not really, but we did grow up together, in the same house, and so naturally—”

Suddenly aware she was rambling like an idiot, she lost her voice. Morgan’s fingers had stilled on a buttonhole, forcing her to remember how she’d lustily grasped the shirttails and tugged, ripping off his shirt. Had she really done that? Yes, she realized. The evidence, a trail of small white buttons, gleamed in the red carpet. As she stared at them, tactile memories of smooth pectorals and the tangled hair between them made her palms tingle.

“And…well, I suppose we pulled our share of silly pranks.” Lucy plunged on with a helpful, nervous chuckle, her eyes following Vanessa’s as they trailed, one by one, over the buttons. Lucy edged backward, but Vanessa held tight.

“Innocent pranks,” Vanessa added, watching Morgan pull on gray suit slacks that were wrinkled beyond repair. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure which was the worse of two evils this morning—Morgan or her father. “Just stay another minute,” she whispered to Lucy, tightening her grip and trying not to notice how desperate she sounded. “Please, Luce.”

Lucy looked torn. Vanessa only used the nickname when things were serious. “This is how you repay me?” Vanessa asked, uncharacteristically stooping to guilt tactics. “I slept here so you could go out to the garage and see Bjorn.”