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It was her long, pulsing, internal contractions that finally toppled Garrett over the edge he'd been precariously balanced on.
His arms slipped beneath Murphy's back. He held her close, burying his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. Her soapy scent filled him, even as he filled her. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to submit to the chaotic release he'd only barely been able to hold in check.
Being hit by a bolt of lightning could not have had the same effect as being buried deeply inside Murphy McKenna when he spilled the hot liquid of his soul. His climax went on and on—longer than it should have, not nearly as long as he would have liked for it to.
With a shuddering sigh, he collapsed on top of her. In the vague, sleepy corner of his mind still able to function, he realized that, in their impatience, he hadn't completely taken off his pants. He wasn't embarrassed, wasn't remorseful. In fact, that they'd wanted each other so badly they'd only half undressed made him feel a fresh rush of excitement.
His grin, as he snuggled his face against her neck, was one part contentment, two parts raw masculine pride that his lovemaking could have such a devastating effect on a woman who was usually so composed.
And on himself.
There was no denying the devastating affect making love to Murphy McKenna had on him.
Chapter 12
Murphy's Law #12: If you think you are doing the right thing, chances are it will back-fire in your face.
THE AFTERNOON dwindled into early evening. Murphy barely noticed the passing time. How could she? Beyond the safe circle of Garrett's arms, where she'd languished for the last two hours, nothing else existed.
His heart hammered out a steady, familiar cadence beneath her ear. The sandy hair pelting his chest tickled the center of the palm she'd splayed over it. His sleep-rhythmic breaths washed over her head and scalp like a misty summer breeze.
She felt at peace. Physically and emotionally sated. Were it up to Murphy, she would never leave this bed. Not ever.
Moonshine, on the other hand, had other plans. For fifteen minutes he'd been scratching insistently at the door. Now, he'd added a loud, indignant yowl to his demands for food. It was only a matter of time before the cat woke up Garrett.
Grudgingly, Murphy slipped from Garrett's embrace. His arms tightened their hold on her for a brief, sleepy second, but he soon shifted, tossed restlessly, and his hands dropped limply back to the mattress.
Murphy glanced down at him.
They'd removed their clothes before making love the second time. Garrett was now lying on his stomach, his face buried in an over-sized, fluffy white pillow. How did he manage to breathe? Even in sleep, the muscles in his shoulders, back, and thighs looked tight, ready for instant action. From this angle, she could see the scar on his upper right thigh from the accident and subsequent surgery. Her heart twisted. The wound was still a painful shade of red, but it looked like it was healing well.
She grinned when she noticed the way his rugged, unabashedly naked body took up over two thirds of her bed.
And speaking of naked…
Bending, she retrieved Garrett's shirt from the floor. The linen felt cool against her skin as she shrugged into it, sighing her pleasure as she worked the buttons closed. The spicy scent of his aftershave still clung to the fabric.
Garrett's duffel bag had been stored in the very back of her closet. She removed it, then quietly tip-toed across and out of the room.
Moonshine was sitting in the hallway. He glanced up as she pulled the door closed, his blue eyes regarding her as though to say, “Well, it's about time!”
Murphy grinned. The cat gave a haughty toss of his head and full swipe of his tail, then turned and pranced arrogantly into the kitchen, obviously expecting her to follow. She did.
Three quarters of an hour later, Murphy was sitting on the couch in her living room with the duffel bag and the paper bag Garrett had brought with him on the cushion beside her. In the kitchen, Moonshine was happily munching on leftover Bumble Bee tuna—her way of apologizing for his dinner being tardy. The living room had been cleaned up—Murphy wanted no trace of her klutziness in evidence when Garrett woke up.
Nibbling her lower lip, she frowned indecisively. To open the paper bag or not to open the paper bag? That was the question. She was curious about its contents, yet didn't want Garrett to think she was prying. Still…
“Go ahead,” a sleepy voice said from the doorway. “It's for you anyway. Well, sort of.”
She glanced up in time to see him walk past the stereo. Murphy swallowed dryly. His only concession to dressing had been to tug on his jockey shorts. He may as well have stayed naked. Her concentration was distracted by the part of his body that the skimpy white cotton had to strain to conceal.
Clearing her throat, she averted her gaze to the paper bag. It crackled when she toyed with it. “What's in it?”
“Open it and find out,” he said as he sat on the opposite end of the couch. Stretching his legs out, so his ankles and heels were crossed and balanced atop the freshly polished glass top of the coffee table, he watched her with sleep-hooded blue eyes.
“Okay, I will.” Since the bag wasn't sealed, it was only a matter of unrolling the top and parting it. Murphy glanced inside, hesitated, then with a wide smile pulled out the bag's contents. “You remembered!”
“Uh-huh. They were all out of ugly, over-sized, over-armed turtles,” he explained around the yawn he stifled with the back of his fist. “I hope Dana doesn't mind beasts.”
