Free Morgan's Son by Lindsay McKenna Page A

shyness in her eyes that drew him. As he realized she was blushing over his dress code—or lack of it—he smiled to himself. Should he tell her he walked around draped in a towel after every shower? That it was one of his many eccentricities?
    The look in Sabra's eyes spoke of more than shyness; he saw a pleasure in them, that made him feel powerful and good. It was nice to be admired—especially by her. Still, he was touched by that shyness. Despite her many strengths, Sabra was vulnerable, he discovered. How did she balance that against the cruel realities of their work? A desire to sit down and talk with her at length overcame him as he walked toward her. She was the kind of woman he usually liked—intelligent and her own person, with a good sense about herself as a human being.
    Sabra tore her gaze from Craig's beautifully sculpted form. The ache to reach out and touch him, to see if he was real—if he was as dangerous as her spinning senses told her he was—was almost her undoing. Gripping her hands together in front of her, she forced herself to turn back to the photos. She could literally feel him coming toward her as a strange, flooding warmth enveloped her like a blanket, triggering her senses. Merely standing and waiting for his approach was excruciating.
    Craig draped the smaller towel around his shoulders and picked up one of the gold-framed photos. "This is my older brother, Dan, and his new wife, Libby."
    He handed the picture to Sabra, and as their fingers touched, she inhaled sharply. If Craig noticed her reaction, he didn't show it. Holding the photo, she tried to concentrate on it. Dan Talbot wore his Marine Corps dress summer uniform; his beautiful bride was dressed in a pale blue suit. "They look very happy," she murmured.
    Craig managed a nod of his head, wildly aware of her closeness. He picked up the faint, lingering scent of her perfume—spicy and tantalizing, like her. "Dan deserves some happiness. He went through hell with his first wife, who turned out to be a closet cocaine user for seven years of their marriage."
    "Oh, no…" Sabra spun toward him and was caught by his blue eyes, which were banked with some unknown emotion as he studied her. A wild sensation bolted through her and she momentarily lost her train of thought at his smoldering inspection. How close she was to him. She merely had to lift her hand and reach out a few scant inches to tangle her fingertips in the dark mat of hair on his chest. She exhaled shakily. This man was virile in a way she'd rarely encountered.
    Craig forced himself to talk. If he didn't, he was going to reach out and stroke that wonderfully rich black hair tumbling across Sabra's proud shoulders. Would it feel silky? Warm, like her? "Dan didn't know it when he married her," he said stiffly instead. "He discovered it after they'd been married a year. He went through hell and back for her. I told him there was nothing he could do to change her if she didn't want to quit. He got pretty angry with me when I advised him that the only recourse was to divorce her. But eventually he was forced to see I was right."
    Sabra fingered the gold frame, trying to concentrate on the photo. She could smell the fresh pine fragrance of the soap he'd used and feel the natural warmth of his body because he was standing so close. Her voice went unintentially husky as she said, "A dose of your usual blunt realism?"
    He slid his fingers through several damp strands of hair plastered to his brow. "You could say that, I guess." Craig saw unexpected panic in her eyes. Over him? Was he too close? Consciously, he stepped back, creating a safer distance between them. He longed to study her face as minutely as a scientist looking through a microscope, but didn't dare.
    "Have you always had this hard sort of realistic take on life?"
    "Yes." He stared down at her clean profile. Sabra had the most beautiful lips he'd ever seen. They were soft, slightly full and gently curved at the