The best he could come up with? That flowerpot to the head had knocked a few screws loose.
“Thank you for doing this,” Morgan said as she slid into the passenger seat.
He started the engine, then turned on the heat full-blast, hoping it might thaw the useless block of ice his brain had become. He couldn’t do this. Just being near this woman was pure torture. He was aching for her, angry at her, torn between pulling her into his arms and pushing her far, far away.
Setting his jaw, he spared her a glance and said, “Buckle your seat belt.”
He was about to move the gearshift when she reached out to stop him. Her hand was cold, but feeling her slender fingers on his hand sent a shot of pure heat to his groin. Unable to stop himself, he thought about the kiss they’d shared in the woods.
Again, what was he thinking? Kissing her had been foolish on so many levels. It had been wrong, and pointless, and … unbelievable. The second their lips met, he was transported back in time. The jolt of arousal, the sense of belonging, the sheer rightness of having Morgan’s mouth pressed against his own. It was almost as if they’d never parted.
He abruptly shrugged off her hand, angry at his train of thought. No matter how mind-blowing that kiss had been, it didn’t change a damn thing. He and Morgan had parted. She’d cast aside the man she supposedly loved so her dear old daddy’s reputation wouldn’t be tainted.
“Let me clean you up first,” she said softly, completely oblivious to the turmoil riddling his body.
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly.
“Humor me.”
Gritting his teeth, he watched as she rummaged around in her purse, finally pulling out a small pack of tissues and a travel tube of hand sanitizer. “This will do the trick,” she said with a nod. She squirted some hand sanitizer on a tissue. “Lean forward.”
He didn’t move. No way was he leaning closer to her. Last time he got too close, he’d ended up with his tongue down her throat.
Morgan rolled her blue eyes. “Why is it that when it comes to injuries, men are either big babies or irritating tough guys?” Without waiting for an answer, she slid toward him and swiftly pressed the tissue to his temple.
He flinched, ignoring the tiny sting of pain, and patiently sat there as she wiped up the dried blood on his cheek. When her scent wafted up to his nose, that intoxicating dose of flowers, honey and woman, he held his breath, determined not to let it affect him. Damn it, she was too close. Way too close, and … why was she running her fingers through his hair?
He hissed out a breath, and her hand froze. “You have … ceramic in your hair,” she said, her husky voice coming out shaky.
Quinn curled his fingers around her slender wrist and moved her arm away. “I can do it,” he muttered. Avoiding her eyes, he raked the tiny shards from his hair, then repeated his earlier request. “Will you buckle up now?”
When she was strapped in, he shifted gears, drove off the gravel shoulder and pulled onto the dark two-lane road.
“So…I guess I should call my father,” Morgan said. “Do you have a cell phone?”
His voice came out brusque. “There’s no service out here. We’ll call him when we get closer to civilization.”
That was one call Quinn wasn’t looking forward to. No doubt the senator would be furious when he found out where they were headed, nor would he be pleased that Quinn had decided to stick around and help her.
“Tony will be worried, too,” Morgan said absently. “Remind me to call him after I speak to Dad.”
“How’s your brother these days?” Quinn found himself asking. He’d always been fond of Morgan’s older brother. The guy had a lust for life, a perpetual lopsided grin and a contagious live-in-the-moment attitude that Quinn had always found oddly refreshing.
“He’s doing well,” Morgan replied, smiling. “He’s happily working at that advertising firm. And he actually has a girlfriend. Finally got over his commitment issues.”
Ah, commitment issues. Quinn knew all about those. In fact, when he’d first met Morgan, the last thing he wanted to do was enter into a relationship with her. For a former foster kid who’d pretty much been abandoned by everyone he’d ever cared about, getting close to someone had been as appealing as having his legs waxed.
Yet Morgan managed to break down his walls. Snaked her way right into his heart, until he’d actually started to believe happily ever after didn’t just exist in fairy tales.
Evidently he should’ve stuck to his original viewpoint.
“I think the first item on our agenda should be talking to the medical examiner,” Morgan said, snapping him from his thoughts. “I was in town the day Layla’s body was found, but the M.E. couldn’t meet with me until the next morning. Unfortunately, my car wound up in the river that night, so I never made it to the meeting.”
“Were Layla’s remains buried or cremated?”
“Neither. The M.E. still needed to properly examine them, so we held a memorial service at the church. There might be a burial in a few weeks, if Layla’s parents feel up to it.”
“You need to be careful about who you speak to,” Quinn warned. “We still don’t know who tried to kill you, but there’s a high probability that someone from town caused the accident.”
She swallowed. “What if they try again?”
He could feel those beautiful blue eyes on him, and when he turned, he saw the anxiety in them. It was almost the exact same expression she wore the week before their wedding, when she’d asked him if he minded postponing it until after her father’s reelection campaign.
He’d minded, all right. Minded so much he’d dropped an ultimatum in her lap, one she promptly tossed right back at him.
“Quinn?” she prompted.
He knew she wanted reassurance, a promise, a guarantee that he would stick by her side during this potentially dangerous investigation.
He was tempted to tell her to go to hell.
But when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “As long as you’re with me, you won’t get hurt, Morgan.”
Too bad he couldn’t say the same for himself.
Chapter 4
They were about forty minutes from the town of Autumn when Quinn pulled in to the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour gas station. He didn’t need gas. Nature wasn’t calling, either. But the past half hour, which involved long silences broken by Morgan’s tentative attempts at making conversation, had finally gotten to him.
Parking in front of the small, well-lit building, he shut off the engine and grabbed his cell phone from the cup holder he’d shoved it into.
“Are we calling my father?” Morgan asked, that husky voice tinged with—shockingly enough—bitterness.
Well, it was about damn time he heard that tone in relation to the senator. God knew he’d felt that same spark of bitterness hundreds of times over the years. Yet he’d tried to be decent about it, hadn’t revealed precisely how much he loathed the man who’d sired her, all the while wondering how Morgan could be so blind to Senator Kerr’s machinations, why she constantly defended the bastard.
Her father’s constant interference in their lives had been annoying, to say the least. If Quinn made dinner