A Marriage Worth Waiting For - Susan Fox P. Mills & Boon Cherish

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hurt?”

      Selena glared into his blue gaze. “I said, I can walk.”

      “It’ll hurt less to pick you up from here than it will be when those knees give out.” With that, Morg plucked her off the seat, stepped back, then pushed the passenger door closed with his boot.

      This time his musky aftershave scent filled her nostrils and the sensation of being cradled securely against him made her hurting body forget its various aches and pains.

      The cotton of his shirt did little more than add a textured veneer over the warm, hard flesh and iron muscle of the shoulders beneath her bare forearm and palm. Selena tried to keep her gaze away from Morgan’s harsh profile as he effortlessly strode up the front walk to the door of her building.

      She was a flyweight for a man like him, and the stark awareness of his brutelike masculinity made her feel fully feminine and helplessly attracted.

      In no time they were past the security door. Morgan, of course, had managed to use her passkey to open the door without putting her down. When they reached her first floor apartment, he did the same thing.

      Selena expected him to set her on her feet once they were inside her door, but he walked through the tiny entryway into the living room then on toward the short hall that led to her bedroom.

      Her soft, “Wait,” brought him to a halt.

      “You need a nap.”

      Selena made a restless move, and was relieved when Morgan set her on her feet.

      “After you’re gone,” she told him, then moved to a nearby armchair to sit down. “I’d be grateful if you’d bring in my things before you start back to the ranch.”

      Selena heard the impatient rattle of her keys in his hand and she knew the significance of his silence in the wake of her none-too-subtle invitation to leave. He’d not responded to it verbally because he didn’t waste breath on what he called “pointless arguments.”

      Of course, Morgan Conroe defined “pointless arguments” as ones that centered on what he called “settled facts,” which was something akin to the legal term “settled law.”

      And on Conroe Ranch, Morgan’s word was very much settled law. That attitude had been bred into him by generations of autocratic forbearers, and made him almost too formidable to take on. But she’d have to.

      Selena could only hope to somehow scrape up the strength—and sadly, the will—to stand up to him. She couldn’t allow herself to be dragged back into his sphere of absolute rule.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SELENA couldn’t relax until she heard Morgan walk out of her apartment to get her things. Once he was gone, she leaned her head back against the chair cushion.

      A year and a half ago, she would have loved to have had him barge into her life like this, but back then she’d only been gone from Conroe Ranch six months. Six months was almost nothing for men as stubborn as Morgan, and during that time she’d still had hope they could somehow be reconciled. She’d never truly understood why he’d continued to freeze her out those last years.

      But that first six months had dragged into seven, then on into eight, then into a year, pounding home and confirming the painful idea that her life at Conroe Ranch was well and truly over, and that she and Morgan would be permanently estranged.

      It had taken monumental effort to move on, but she’d done it and she wasn’t about to let herself think it could ever be possible to go back. Morgan was too harsh and unbending to ever again trust his friendship. If she ever gave any indication of attraction, he might freeze her out again, and she’d be faced with another painful struggle to get over it.

      After all, Morgan’s out-of-the-blue intrusion into her life might only be because he’d found out she’d been hurt and he’d felt a bit of leftover family obligation to her. She wasn’t surprised by that because his sense of family and duty were two more things about him that she’d admired and been in love with while she’d still felt secure in that magic circle of privilege.

      Since neither of them had much family left beyond a handful of distant cousins they rarely saw, his showing up now was probably more because of that than anything else.

      Even so, why would he bother? She hadn’t been family to him for years, not since that time when she’d been seventeen and spoiled everything between them. Her mother and his father had passed away by the time she’d moved from the ranch and after two years of no contact, Morgan shouldn’t even have found out this soon about her accident, much less put in an appearance. If ever.

      Selena was finally too weary to try to figure it out. It felt so good to simply sit there and feel herself sink into the warm comfort of the chair that she was dozing before she realized it.

      The next thing she knew, she was being lifted.

      “Oh, would you leave me alone.” The plea was as weak and drowsy as she felt, but Morgan didn’t so much as hesitate as he strode to the hall then walked on into her bedroom.

      She didn’t have the physical strength to fight him, and her heart quailed at the realization because Morgan’s nearness and attention after so long of being starved for even a crumb of care from him was almost impossible to resist.

      But then he was laying her on the bed and she stirred enough to realize that he’d managed to pull down the comforter and top sheet. Her eyelids were too heavy to open so she lay there, unable to rally a protest as he made quick work of her shoes then pulled the covers over her.

      As suddenly as if someone had switched off a lamp, Selena fell deeply asleep.

      She’d slept the day away, and it worried him. He’d almost paged the doctor, but when he was able to rouse her and she’d muttered, “Go away,” Morgan decided she was resting naturally.

      Once she woke up, she’d feel like hell after sleeping in her clothes, but there was nothing he could do about that. If he’d gotten her to the ranch, there’d be women around to help her with things like nightgowns.

      And bathing. He doubted she could stand up by herself very long, especially on a slippery shower surface, so she’d need help or close supervision. He couldn’t handle that for her either. He’d spent too many years keeping on his side of that line, and he didn’t expect to ever cross it.

      The reminder made him wonder again why he was here, why he was doing this, but he didn’t let himself think too deeply on that subject. The tension in his gut was proof of something; instinct warned him to leave it alone.

      All he wanted to see was that he’d gotten a call and he’d been compelled to do something for Selena. She didn’t have family who’d close around her at a time like this, so he’d had to at least look in on her. That was explanation enough for why he was here. That and the fact that she might have been killed.

      Most of the time, he didn’t let himself think about Selena Keith. But the notion that she’d had a brush with death—and if the impact had hit the driver’s side door just a little more squarely, she might have died—had given him a peculiar sense of foreboding that still rode him hard.

      Though he rarely allowed himself think about her, he suspected it was partly because he’d known exactly where she’d been all this time, that she was making her own way and doing well. Until now, he’d let it be enough to know she was somewhere within easy reach. If he’d ever felt inclined to see her, he’d known where to look.

      She was still on that same invisible tether he suspected they might always have between them, but her brush with death had jolted that sense of connection. He’d suddenly known that if he didn’t do something to take up the slack between them—and quick—that their invisible tether might snap.

      It was a hell of a way to feel, a hell of a thing to want to keep, and it made him restless. There was nothing useful to do in her apartment but wait for her

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