Page 39 of The Last Morgan
Barnaby put his headphones back on, disappearing back into his digital world.
The first few hours passed in a strange, loaded silence.
Lucy made herself coffee. Byron followed silently, keeping his distance but never truly leaving her orbit.
She pretended to scroll her phone, pretended not to notice the way his gaze lingered.
She took a book from the library and sat curled up on the couch.
He leaned against the far wall, pretending to check the windows, the locks.
Pretending not to notice the way she stretched, the way her shirt rode up just a little too high.
By evening, the tension was a living thing between them.
Lucy couldn’t stand it anymore, “I’m going for a swim,” she announced, tossing the book aside.
Byron’s head lifted slightly.
“I’ll keep watch.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Of course you will.”
Now dressed in a bikini, Lucy dived into the deep end of the pool, letting the cold water shock her system.
The icy rush barely dulled the heat coiled inside her.
She surfaced, hair slicked back, gasping.
And there he was.
Byron.
Leaning lazily against the wall in a loose black T-shirt and jeans, arms crossed.
“Always watching” she muttered to herself.
She swam a few lazy laps, trying to ignore the way her heart jumped every time she caught his Grey eyes tracking her every move. The tension was deepening with every length she swam until Byron could no longer take it.
He pushed off the wall and pulled his shirt off with one hand, tossing it carelessly on the floor.
Lucy froze, unable to look away.
His body was a masterpiece.
Broad shoulders. Powerful arms. He was the shape of a diamond. The kind of torso sculpted from pure, brutal strength — deep lines carving down his chest to a firm, flat stomach.
His skin was a canvas of dark tattoos curling across his right shoulder and wrapping down his bicep.
Her mouth went dry.
Without a word, he kicked off his boots, stripped off his clothes and slipped into the pool.
Lucy turned away quickly, trying to hide her flaming cheeks.
The water rippled, and suddenly he was there — too close, too casual.
“Are you teasing me, Lucy?” Byron murmured, voice low and lethal.
