Morgan’s entire being blazed. Beads of sweat popped along his hairline and trickled between his and Fallon’s chests and stomachs.
Her face was pressed to the nook of his neck and shoulder and she was breathing as heavily as he was, her pants of warm air teasing his skin as much as her silky strands.
Devon unraveled from them and stepped away, only to plop down on a plump cushion and shove a hand through his hair. He looked as dazed as Morgan felt.
Because this really was like nothing they’d ever experienced before. Even that night with the blonde in the red dress.
This was so many levels of insanity and complexity above that. So many levels of excitement and passion above that.
Morgan wrapped one arm around Fallon, keeping her close. The fingertips of his other hand grazed her spine, slowly sweeping downward, then back up. Stroking languidly with a feathery touch that made her shiver against him.
He kissed her temple and said, “Just rest.”
She didn’t seem to have any inclination to move from this spot.
Morgan had no desire for her to move, either. He was still inside her, his cock still pulsating. His heart still thundering.
He just wanted to hold her and let her catch her breath, her bearings. Process anything she might need to. The way they’d taken her, the way she’d responded, the whole aftermath . . .
Which, he needed to consider as well.
Having Fallon in this way was unlike any other encounter he and Devon had agreed upon. It was Fallon, after all. Their feelings for her had always run deep. They’d protected her, they’d cherished her, and in all honesty, they’d always considered her theirs. Not sexually or romantically, but certainly emotionally, territorially.
But tonight changed things up a bit. Morgan knew because he felt it—felt something significant and consuming arcing between him and Fallon. And the intense expression on Devon’s face clearly relayed he experienced the same thing.
This had varying implications.
On the one hand . . . Fallon had proven in the past thirty-six hours or so to be the one woman capable of reuniting him and Devon in this capacity.
On the other hand . . . Morgan and Devon were considering selling the Bayfront club. Leaving town. Going their separate ways and living on opposite coasts.
So this night with Fallon wasn’t meant to be the start of something.
And yet, Morgan felt as though it was the start of something. Perhaps that rocked Devon as well.
Damn it.
How could the most amazing sex—wrapped around soul-deep emotion—be the absolute worst thing they’d ever done?
Worse than that line they’d almost crossed that they’d both fixated over for an entire year.
When Fallon finally stirred, Morgan loosened his embrace. She sat up and sighed. Her hair fell in sexy disarray over her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes glimmered in the flickering light. Her lips were swollen and rosy and slightly parted, tempting him to keep kissing her senseless.
Her skin glowed and her very essence seemed to seep inside Morgan. More effervescent than the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay champagne he favored.
Unable to resist that luscious mouth of hers, he kissed her softly. Then whispered, “You okay?”
“Sure.” Her voice was sultry and provocative, touching Morgan in his core and his heart the way everything else about her did.
He gently brushed her silky locks away from her face. His thumb whisked over her cheek, back and forth.
“You seriously are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her emerald eyes misted. “Kept thinking you were looking right through me. Not seeing me at all. Or . . . Not liking what you saw.”
“Ah, Fallon.” He kissed her again. Then said, “You are impossible to overlook. And you should already know that. With or without this makeover. Dev and I have always adored you. Haven’t we always been there for you?”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “Yes. But, Morgan . . . Sometimes a girl wants to be more than just the tagalong gal-pal.”
“You weren’t a tagalong,” Devon said from behind her. “You were always an invite-along. And, Fallon, admit that you never once demonstrated or expressed an interest in being more than a gal-pal.”
“How could I have even considered it back then, Dev?” she asked as she glanced at him. “With glasses and braces and short, mousy brown hair? I was president of the chem club, for God’s sake.”
Devon chuckled.
“Not funny.” She sniffled.
Devon got to his feet. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic here. The past is the past, sweetheart.” His gaze shifted to Morgan. “Right?”
Morgan winced inwardly. He knew precisely what Devon was getting at. But that—like the potential sale of the Bayfront Yacht Club—was not a conversation to have tonight. So he said, “Let’s just go back to the marina so we can dock the boat. Help her off of me.”
Devon wrapped an arm around her at the small of her back. She used her palms on Morgan’s shoulders to push herself up. Once on her feet, she faltered slightly and let out a tiny laugh.
“I’m completely boneless. What did you guys do to me?”
Devon said, “Exactly what you asked us to do.”
“Hmm. Right you are.”
“Let’s get you down below. Snuggle under the covers, stretch out your body, get the circulation going again.”
They left the deck.
Morgan cleaned up the remnants of dinner. Located his clothes and dressed. He was up on deck again when Devon joined him.
“She crashed. I barely tucked her in and she was suddenly in snooze-land.”
“We wore her out. Probably went a bit overboard our first night with her,” Morgan said from the helm.
The sails were secure, the anchor pulled. Morgan hit the engine to motor them back to the slip.
Devon, wearing nothing but boxer-briefs, crossed his arms over his chest. “Where’s the fire? We can stay out here overnight.”
“I’ve got a seven a.m. tee time and work to finish that I blew off this afternoon.”
“Or . . . You don’t want to confront all the shit that’s going on between us.”
“Until we come to terms with the transaction on the club, Devon, we really can’t address all the other stuff.”
“That other stuff being the fact that we got so caught up in a ménage with a hot blonde one night that we were both pretty much on the verge of doing whatever the hell she wanted us to do in bed? In the end, we balked. But with Fallon . . . We might not hesitate? If it’s what she wants?”
“I learned tonight that I wouldn’t deny her anything.” Morgan rubbed the knot of tension forming at the base of his neck. “Would you?”
“No.”
“Then we’re worse off with Fallon than we were with Missy and on top of that, we have serious feelings for Fallon. She’s not a woman we met at a fund-raiser and then went back to her penthouse suite in the city. This is Fallon we’re talking about.”
“Which is why we have to talk this out. And not exclude her.”
“I refuse to hurt her.”
“Think that one through as you take us back to the harbor,” Devon said angrily. Then he returned downstairs.