A - Immortal Sea

But when Zack looked in the mirror this morning, it wasn‟t Ben‟s face he saw.

It was Morgan‟s.

Hands shaking, he grabbed cans, slung them to the back.

“Last aisle,” Wiley said behind him.

Zack‟s hand clenched around a can of chunky chicken soup, two-sixty-nine . He faced it out carefully before he turned.

“Yes, sir.”

“You did good tonight. We‟ll finish early.”

The praise made Zack uncomfortable. He hung his head, staring at his feet. Big feet, like his . . . like Morgan‟s. “Yes, sir,”

he said tonelessly.

Wiley chuckled. “Southern boy, aren‟t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Calling me sir. Makes me feel damn old.”

Zack didn‟t know how to respond. He was old, as old as Zack‟s mom, anyway. Too old for . . .

Another image of his mother standing with Morgan at the foot of the stairs seared his brain.

Too old for . . .

“Any questions before we call it a night?” Wiley asked.

“No, sir. Um, Mr. Wiley.”

Maybe his mother didn‟t feel old either. The tightness returned to Zack‟s chest. Maybe . . .

“I need to buy cat food,” he blurted. “Oh, and some litter. To take home.”

“You have a cat?”

“We do now,” Zack said grimly. Morgan‟s cat. But they could take care of it without Morgan‟s help.

Wiley rubbed his chin. “You can‟t buy anything now. I already closed out the register. But you pick out what you need.

You can settle up when you come in tomorrow.”

“Sure. Thanks. What time?”

“Be here at twelve. I post the schedule on Monday.”

“Twelve o‟clock,” Zack said, committing it to memory. His heart knocked against his ribs. “Is Stephanie working

tomorrow?”

Wiley shot him a sharp glance. “Everybody works weekends in the summer.”

Zack swallowed. “I just, um, wondered. Since she wasn‟t here tonight.”

Oh, God, could he please shut his mouth?

“She stayed home,” Wiley said. “Some guy coming over, I think. You need a ride?”

Zack‟s gut churned. She had some guy coming over.

Not him.

Disappointment nipped at him.

Wiley was watching him with astute blue eyes like his daughter‟s, waiting for an answer.

“No,” Zack said. “I don‟t need a ride.”

Not where he was going.

Liz was breathing. Barely.

She lay cocooned by the hammock, pinned by Morgan‟s weight, dazed, sated, satisfied. Her legs were numb below the

knee, her mind empty and at peace.

If she could have summoned the energy to smile, she would. For the first time in years, she hadn‟t thought like a doctor or

a mother. She hadn‟t thought at all. She had let herself desire and be desired, let herself feel like a woman again. She was more

than relieved. She felt smug. Triumphant.

Gradually her heart rate slowed. Her skin cooled. A chorus of discomforts and doubts crept back, pervasive, persistent as

the tree frogs in the yard, and began to compete for her attention. A crick in her neck. A cramp in her thigh. A knot digging

into her back. She was wet from sex and nearly naked, hot where Morgan covered her and cold everyplace else.

She ran her hand down his back, savoring the feel of smooth skin and solid muscle. She didn‟t want to get up. Didn‟t want

to let him go. The realization trickled down her spine like ice dripping.

She was a grown woman, she reminded herself. She could have sex—heart-stopping, mind-blowing, jungle-thumping sex

in a hammock if she felt like it—without things falling apart. Without falling in love.

She could have Morgan.

She pressed her lips together, staring over his head into the dark. As long as she didn‟t think too hard, say too much, feel

too deeply.

Life had already dealt her the bitterest blow it could and she‟d survived. Surely she could survive . . . she could enjoy an

affair without romanticizing reality? Without expecting promises or guarantees, without neglecting her children or

responsibilities.

Her children.

Her heart jolted with panic. Her mind clicked back into gear. “What time is it?”

Morgan‟s lips moved against her neck. “What does it matter?”

It mattered. Her world hadn‟t changed, even if for one magical moment the earth had rocked on its axis.

She pushed at his shoulder, dragged her arm from under him to peer at her wrist. The dial of her watch glowed in the

dark—10:05.

Her head dropped back in relief. She had time to clean up, to compose herself, before Zack came home.

If she could move. Morgan‟s solid weight still pressed her into the webbing.

She poked his upper arm. “You‟re heavy.”

He trapped her arms and rolled with her, somehow avoiding overturning the hammock. A quick lurch, and she sprawled

against his naked chest, straddled his naked thighs. Her breath caught.

“You are delicious.” His warm mouth captured one nipple. His big hands kneaded her butt.

She trembled in discomfort and delight, trapped between his hot body and cold reality. “I‟m cold.”

Conflicted.

He nuzzled her other breast. “I can warm you.”

Yes.

No.

“That‟s not . . .” His erection rose against her stomach, hot and hard. Oh. She sagged. “The point,” she finished weakly.

He ran his fingertip along her jawline, blew his hot breath in her ear.

For one moment, she let herself be tempted, let him drag her into the warm sea of desire. Her body yielded, softened, and

flowed over his.

Mistake.

She may have temporarily lost control. That didn‟t mean she‟d lost her mind. Her perspective. Her heart.

Her breath hissed.

What was she doing?

It was one thing for her to risk her own happiness on a relationship that would not last, on a man who would not stay. She

would not compromise her children‟s sense of stability.

“I have to get up.” She pushed on his shoulders. Their legs tangled. She blundered from the hammock, knocking over the

glass of wine. “Shit. Oh, shit.”

“Elizabeth, what is the matter?”

“Nothing.” All she could see was an image of Zack walking through the house and out the back door to find them. To find

her, naked. “It‟s not broken, see?” She set the wineglass by the back door, the cool air tickling her bare ass, and tugged on a

sleeve of her blouse until Morgan rolled to release it. “I need to get dressed.”

Slowly, he sat upright, watching as she scrambled for her clothes.

Hopping on one leg, she shoved her other foot inside the damp fabric. “Damn, I have to change my pants.”

“Then you will change.”

“Right.” She pulled herself together, summoned control and a smile. “No use crying over spilled wine.”

He eyed her oddly. “Indeed.”

“Thank you.” She buttoned her waistband, bundled his clothes, and thrust them at him. “That was wonderful. You should

go.”

“Why?”

A flutter of panic. Because her voice wanted to shake, she sharpened it. “Zack will be home soon. I don‟t want him to find

you here. To find us together.”

“The one has nothing to do with the other.”

Maybe not. But she couldn‟t separate out the pieces of herself, the mother and the lover. And she couldn‟t put them

together.

“You can say that because you‟re a guy. Men can compartmentalize.”