Page 120 of Spindrift

Slowly,deliberately, Emilia took Morgan’s hands and pinned them over her head.

“ShouldI call you captain?” she managed to say.

“I’dlike that.”

“ThenI’m all yours, Captain.”

Morganbroke against her as Emilia put her full weight into her kiss. All of herhunger and confusion distilled into desire beneath that weight, and she triedto communicate what she couldn’t say in words:please stay with me, I loveyou, please stay.

• • •

Emiliafidgeted with the hem of the crop top she’d thrown on after a quick shower. Theshirt had a tendency to slip off one shoulder, and she rather hoped Morganwould take advantage of the opportunity. Morgan, who was coming here, fordinner, in her father’s house.

Thelarge pot on the stove stood waiting for the mussels, and a smaller pot andsaucepan occupied two of the remaining three gas burners. A simple dish. Pastawith mussels in a white wine sauce. She could manage that even with her headfull of ghosts.

Morgan’sknock broke into her reverie. She wiped her palms on her shorts and wassurprised to find them sweating. This wasn’t a big deal. She’d eaten withMorgan numerous times at the farmhouse. All that had changed was the location.

Herthoughts flew to the urn on her dresser. Was he watching? What would he thinkabout the dream she’d been keeping close to her chest since she’d met with thereal estate agent?

“Comein,” she said. Nell sniffed the paper bag in Morgan’s hands enthusiastically.Morgan, Emilia saw, hadn’t gone home to change. She still wore her workCarhartts, but she’d swapped her clinic polo for a soft blue T-shirt. Part ofEmilia wished Morgan would wear less blue; it made her eyes impossible toignore.

“Notfor you,” Morgan told Nell as she stepped into the house and shut the door.

Nell’scontinued attempts to investigate the bag of mussels helped muffle the impactof the door clicking shut.

“Wow.This is Ray’s place?”

“Giveor take a coat of paint and a few dozen animal heads.”

“Thatmakes more sense. You painted all this?”

Emiliafollowed Morgan’s gaze. The front door opened into the living room, with only asmall foyer area for boots and coats and dog toys. They could see into thekitchen from here, and the only other room on the first floor, besides thebathroom, was a small, multipurpose room that had served as an office,toolshed, and storage room when her father was alive. The house looked sodifferent now, and yet most of the furniture was the same. It still amazed herwhat paint and a few light fixtures could do to a room.

“Idid,” she said in answer to Morgan’s question. “I think I like it.”

“Youthink?”

“Thewalls were so dark, before, and my dad’s tobacco stained them pretty badly.”She didn’t say the rest of her thoughts out loud, but Morgan seemed tounderstand.

“Changeis hard.”

“Yeah.”

“Whereshould I put these?”

Gratefulfor the shift in conversation, Emilia led Morgan into the kitchen. “I hope youlike pasta,” she said as she put the mussels in the sink.

“Howvery Italian of you.”

“Iwill throw a potato at you,” she warned Morgan.

“Luckof the Irish is on my side. You’d miss.”

“Tryme.”

Morganleaned against the counter a few feet away. Emilia started steaming the mussels;then, once the pots were all lidded and on their way to boiling, she steppedinto Morgan’s embrace. They stood like that in the kitchen. Morgan had acuriously serious look in her eyes, and while Emilia’s body still ached fromthe kiss they’d shared earlier in the boat, she refrained from acting on anywayward impulses.

“Thisis the first time you’ve had me over,” Morgan said.

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