Her Private Avenger. Elle Kennedy
a grin. “You kept ordering me to get on the ‘damn chopper.’”
“And you kept refusing,” he replied mildly.
She shrugged and leaned back in her seat. “My story wasn’t finished. And the threat didn’t feel real.”
But it had been real, hadn’t it? Quinn’s team was sent in to extract all the relief workers and journalists at the camp, after intel came in that a rebel group planned to raid it. Morgan held on to the end, though, leaving on the last chopper out of the Congo. Twelve hours later, the rebels had massacred half the camp.
“I wish we could have helped them,” she whispered.
“We could only help ourselves.”
Morgan swallowed, blocking the images of the carnage from her mind. She hadn’t seen it firsthand, but she’d viewed the photos later, horrified by the deaths of all those innocent victims. And yet amidst chaos and disaster, she’d fallen in love with Quinn, the big, tough mercenary who for some reason had fallen for her, too.
“I don’t know what you saw in me,” she confessed, turning to meet his dark green eyes. “I was a total mess. Dirty clothes, rumpled hair. But when we landed in D.C., you called me beau tiful.” Her throat tightened at the memory.
His hard gaze softened. “You were beautiful.” He half grinned. “Not to mention stubborn, irritating, demanding…you wouldn’t quit until you got me to agree to an interview.”
“Which you didn’t end up doing,” she reminded him.
No, they never got around to that interview. Drinks at his hotel led to dinner, which led to a nightcap, which led to a night of spontaneous lovemaking that left them both shocked and breathless. A one-night stand, that’s what she thought it would end as, but two years later, they’d been engaged to be married.
“That first night,” she continued, her voice coming out wobbly. “It was the best night of my life, did I ever tell you that?”
Their eyes locked again, and Morgan heard a hiss of at traction in the air. Before she could stop it, the memory of their first time shot to the front of her brain. Quinn’s chest, rippled with hard sinewy muscles, pressed against her bare breasts. The delicious heaviness of his body covering hers, the feel of his arousal slowly sliding inside her body. Completion. That’s what it felt like, the first time he entered her.
From the flash of lust and remembrance in his eyes, she knew he was thinking about it, too, how right it had felt. How perfectly they’d fit together.
God, she wanted him back. So badly that her lips ached with the need to tell him she loved him, she missed him, she couldn’t live without him.
But just before she could open her mouth, the fire in his eyes died, replaced by ice. A muscle twitched in his powerful jaw, and she saw his hands tighten over the steering wheel.
“Don’t go there,” he finally said, the ice in his eyes freezing his tone as well. “We’re not taking a trip down memory lane, Morgan. We’re finding out who tried to kill you.”
She released a shaky breath. “I know. I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, you meant it, all right.” Quinn’s hard gaze slid over her face. “Reminding me of the day we met isn’t going to make me forget the day we said goodbye.”
“I know. I—”
“Don’t play games with me, Morgan. I’m not interested in rekindling our affair.”
Hurt seized her insides. “Affair? I think the two years we spent together means we went far past the affair stage.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he said harshly. He cocked his head. “But considering everything, I’ve rethought that. You made it quite clear in the end what your priorities were, and our relationship wasn’t one of them.”
“That’s not true,” she protested. “I never wanted to end it. I just—”
“We’re not going there,” he said again, silencing her with another deadly look. “What’s done is done. We’re not together anymore and I don’t plan on changing that in the near or distant future.”
Each word was like a bullet straight to the heart. Was it possible for words to cause such extreme physical pain? Evidently so. Morgan’s entire body felt bruised, her chest raw, her insides twisted with intense agony that brought a wave of nausea. Cruel. When had he become so cruel? Her heart ached again as she realized she was probably the cause of this new personality defect of his. God, why had she ever chosen her father over Quinn?
In hindsight, she knew she’d let her father dictate a large part of her life with Quinn. Constantly caved in to his demands, all the while knowing she was doing the wrong thing. Why hadn’t she acted differently?
Stand by your father. Help him when he asks. He doesn’t like to ask for help.
That’s why. Her mother’s words, the plea she’d made before she died, that’s why Morgan made the choices she had.
But that didn’t make it any easier. She knew she’d hurt Quinn, but she hadn’t imagined the extent of the pain she’d caused him.
“Thanks for making that clear,” she finally said, her voice as stiff as her shoulders. “I’ll refrain from bringing up the past, if it makes you so uncomfortable.”
With that, the conversation came to a screeching halt. Morgan glued her gaze to the window, watching the scenery whiz by. Tall pine trees lined both sides of the road, along with the naked skeletons of the oaks that had shed their leaves for the winter. The abundance of trees told her they were nearing Autumn. She’d loved growing up there, at least when her mom had been alive. Their estate rested on the edge of a forest, and during the summers she and Tony enjoyed hiking and exploring the woods.
Layla came along on their hikes, too, though not often. Tony had the annoying habit of teasing Morgan’s best friend mercilessly when they were growing up, so Layla avoided him whenever she could.
Layla. Just thinking about her friend brought another jolt of pain to Morgan’s belly. Layla’s bones had been found in that forest. Not near the Kerr estate, closer to the outskirts of town. Whoever killed her buried her in the woods. Left her there to rot.
Morgan’s throat tightened. Her friend hadn’t deserved to die like that.
“We’re here,” Quinn said, breaking the silence.
Yep, they sure were. Morgan glanced at the bright green sign with the words Welcome to Autumn, experiencing a knot of trepidation. It was a familiar feeling, one she suffered each time she came home over the past ten years. And after what happened on her last visit, her anxiety levels were at an alltime high.
Quinn slowed the SUV as they drove into Autumn. It was past one o’clock in the morning, and the town was dark, but even bathed in darkness, it held an unmistakable charm. Quaint shops and little brick buildings lined each side of Main Street, the sidewalks were cobblestone, and old-fashioned lampposts stood proudly along the street. An enormous yellow banner had been strung from two lampposts on opposite ends of the street, advertising the annual winter festival the town held each November.
Quinn glanced at the banner. “What exactly are sapsicles?” he asked warily.
She bit back a laugh. “Maple syrup Popsicles, snow cones, too. Old Mr. McMurty sells them at the festival every year.”
He made a face. “Hope the town has a good dentist. I imagine the rate of sapsicle-related cavities is quite high.”
“Still living sugar-free, I see,” she said drily.
He raised a brow in her direction. “I’m thirty-two years old and cavity-free. Can you say the same?”
Morgan hid another smile, then grew annoyed with herself for even feeling the urge to show mirth after the way he’d spoken to her earlier. So