Page 69 of Decoding Morse

I’d have to look at the pictures after we finished with my parents. I turned to go find clothes, but Morse caught my arm and my gaze. “Hey.”

Despite my roughed-up appearance, he studied me with the same awed expression he’d worn last night when he called me his angel. My stomach flipped, and I fought the urge to lean into him.

“Hi,” I replied lamely.

“How’s your leg?”

I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine, but his concern bled into his eyes. He wanted to know. For real.

“It feels like my nerve is too tight, but it’s not as bad as it was last night.”

He nodded. “What about you? Are you okay? You seem… stressed.”

I didn’t want him to think my anxiety was about him, so I told the truth. “My parents are…. complicated. I avoid them most of the time, but they’re helping me out by paying for the kids’ school. They’re not used to being kept waiting, and they don’t like it. I’d rather not piss them off when it’s avoidable.” Pulling away, I turned and headed for the dresser.

Morse followed, his expression unreadable. When I reached for the top drawer, he said, “I brought you a change of clothes.”

I stopped and stared at him because we hadn’t had time to grab much of anything before fleeing the SUV. “From my suitcase?”

“No. I bought you an outfit for the go bag.”

“How do you know my size?”

Alarm flashed in Morse’s eyes, there and gone so quickly I couldn’t be sure I’d seen it. “They’re stretchy.”

What does that mean?

“They’re stretchy?”

He nodded. “Comfortable.” He could tell I wasn’t buying it, so he switched tactics. “We really need to talk, Amelia.”

“That sounds ominous.” When he didn’t crack a smile, I assured him, “We will. Later. After I smooth things over with the folks. And don’t worry about clothes for me. Mom keeps the room stocked since my wardrobe isn’t up to her standards, and we might be seen in public together.”

His eyebrows shot up, but I’d already said too much. Anything more would make me sound like a spineless doormat or an ungrateful brat. Snapping my mouth closed, I rummaged through drawers, selecting under clothes, a pink cashmere sweater, and a pair of white tailored slacks. I couldn’t stop wondering what type of stretchy outfit Morse had chosen for me. Biker clothes? It couldn’t be anything leather. Whatever it was, Mom would likely disapprove, and I was here for Morgan. I’d risked too much to get here to screw up over clothes.

Since Morse had already seen me naked, I should have stayed in the bedroom, but like a chicken, I dipped back into the bathroom before dressing. White pants never looked good on my ass, but a glance in the mirror confirmed the sweater covered most of that problem area.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Morse lowered his phone and looked me over.

“That’s… a different look for you,” he said after he got an eyeful.

“I call it my Wife of a Middle-Aged Golf Pro look.” I held up my hands and spun in a circle. “What? You don’t like it?”

I’d expected him to shrink back in disgust—or at least to joke with me about it—but the heat in his eyes threatened to burn up my curves. “You could wear a potato sack, and I’d still find you sexy as hell.”

Then he crossed the distance, slid an arm around my waist, and kissed me.

All thoughts of my impatient parents fled the building as I leaned into Morse, letting him steal my breath away.

Someone knocked on the door. Before I could answer, it swung open. “Mom?”

Recognizing the voice immediately, I spun out of Morse’s embrace to find my son staring at us, eyes and mouth wide open. “Theo! It’s so good to see you. What are you doing here?” I crossed the room and wrapped him in a hug.

Theo patted me on the back. When I released him, he took in the scene—thrashed bed, abandoned towels, and all—before focusing on the man I’d been making out with. His eyes widened with recognition. “Levi?”

“You remember him?” I asked, surprised since Theo had been in preschool when Morse stayed with us. Then again, Morse promised to contact Theo, but he hadn’t asked for his contact information. “Did you guys stay in touch?”

Theo didn’t answer either of my questions because he was too busy scrutinizing the bed as if it were a murder scene.

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