Jennifer Greene - Sunburst

When the lights went back on, Morgan groaned his displeasure over the ending. “He should have ditched her. My God, he had a terrific life before he got involved with her.”

Erica shook her head with mock gravity. “He was wearing himself out, undoubtedly would have died at an early age.”

“Too much sex never killed anyone,” Morgan assured her wickedly. The comment ended as a whisper in her ear because he was helping her on with her coat.

“Who’s talking about sex? He deserved to be murdered, a slow boil in oil. One of those jilted women was going to get smart.”

It was nonsense, their dissection of the movie, but it lasted until they reached the car. The rain had stopped, but the wind was still tugging at anything not bolted down. Wisps of paper fluttered in the air, and the clouds were restless above, skimming across the night sky. Morgan had grabbed her arm and had it captured in his, his head bent a little to the wind as they walked. Now he opened the door and helped her into the Porsche, tucking in the hem of her raincoat, which had been trying to trail. “Do you mind if we just drive for a little while?” he asked her abruptly as he got in on his side.

Between a physically tiring day and the emotional weariness of too many before it, Erica was exhausted. “Of course I don’t mind,” she said softly. Morgan had been doing his best to entertain her and chase away the doldrums; she could hardly say no. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. Her aching muscles echoed another kind of ache inside. She had a sudden picture in her mind of Kyle working alone all evening, his eyes narrowed in intense concentration, his jaw set the way it did when he had his mind totally on what he was doing.

She suddenly recalled the first movie she’d gone to with Kyle, during which he’d hidden those shoes she invariably took off. She remembered his disgusted “I guess I’ll have to carry you,” which he had proceeded to do to her intense embarrassment, kissing her every third step out into the darkened night until he made the mistake of stumbling, and one of her shoes popped out of his pocket…

Morgan stopped the car, and her eyes opened. They were nowhere, the town lights behind them. It was just a side road cradled on both sides by huge oaks and maples, their branches overhanging the pavement, wet and glistening. “Could we walk for a bit?” he asked.

It was past time to be home, but Morgan was already out of the car, waiting in front of it for Erica to join him. The night breeze was rippling the black turtleneck, and his blond hair was silvery in the moonlight. She felt a shiver of worry that seemed too ridiculous to voice, and stepped out of the car, leaving her purse on the seat. They walked along the side of the road for a while, both silent, the breeze lifting Erica’s hair in sensuous swirls that tickled her throat. She dug her hands into her pockets and walked with her head down, watching the gleaming stretch of black road ahead, inhaling the sharp woodsy scents around them. She was almost unconscious of Morgan until he stopped. “Erica?”

She tilted her head up to look at him. His tone was oddly pleading, as if he were begging her to notice him. The darkness touched odd shadows on his face so that he appeared to be in pain, his cheekbones stark and his eyes in hollows. “What’s wrong, Morgan?” He had been quiet for an age-Morgan who was so rarely quiet-and she had been so immersed in her own world that she had barely noticed. Inside her, guilt stirred, for the friend Morgan was to Kyle and for how little the two of them had given back to Morgan since he came here.

“Erica, just let me hold on to someone… God, don’t take this wrong…” The thread of anguish in his voice seemed to come out of nowhere, startling Erica far more than when he claimed her shoulders, pulling her close.

He talked of Marissa, whom he’d been seeing the previous spring. Erica had heard the name before; Morgan had even made a rare admission months before that he cared for this woman. In spite of all Morgan’s playing around, Erica had understood that there might have been marriage potential there, until he’d brushed off talk of that-and the lady-when he visited in June. It was his own fault that he’d lost her, and the breach was irretrievable, but he was taking hard the loss and the loneliness.

“Erica…” His cheek nestled in her hair as he rocked her to him. The strain in his voice evoked the compassion that was so much a part of Erica’s nature…yet his hold on her shoulders was so tight that her neck ached and her hair was pulling taut. She was touched that he had turned to her, and she hurt for him. Still, there was something alien, a sense of wrongness because breast and chest were pressed together, thigh and thigh…but she didn’t know what to do. Not to offer comfort was unthinkable. To move away might be interpreted as rejection.

“Erica?” His head finally tilted back from hers, and she thought he was releasing her. She offered a soft smile to the dark, anguished eyes above her. You’ll find someone else, she wanted to tell him, but it seemed better to offer it in silence. The caring presence of a friend was worth more than platitudes. The moonlight touched the delicate bones of her face, etched silvery streaks in her hair blowing behind her. She felt very small and very feminine in the velvet night. There was nothing but a lonely road surrounding them for miles. Her tentative smile abruptly died when she saw Morgan’s head bending in slow motion toward her.

His lips touched hers once, then deepened the kiss. For seconds, she was totally still. The shock seemed to stop the flow of blood in her veins. She understood that he only needed to hold someone for a moment, that he really didn’t mean anything by it. But it was not exactly that kind of a kiss. His mouth pressed harder, his hunger and urgency unmistakable, and when his hands started an exploration, so skilled, so knowing, so quickly finding the supple, smooth sides of her breasts…

She inserted her hands between them in a kind of helpless panic. Morgan pulled away immediately, stepping back from her. “You did take it wrong,” he accused her gently. “I’m sorry, Erica.”

“I…of course I didn’t,” she assured him breathlessly. There were twelve years of friendship between Kyle and Morgan… Of course she couldn’t make too much of the kiss. She could see the pulse throbbing in his throat; his breathing was strangely harsh, guttural. He had eyes as soft as midnight, full of apology, but somewhere within Erica, still, stirred that sense of seeing a predatory creature when she looked at him.

“I knew you’d understand,” he said as they made their way back to the car. Erica was shivering from the night chill and trying not to; she kept her pace brisk, afraid he would put his arm around her shoulder if she didn’t stop shivering. “For a long time now, I haven’t come just to see Kyle. It’s been because of you, Erica. You’re different from any woman I’ve ever been involved with. You listen, for one thing, and yet you never seem to judge. I’m not taking anything away from Kyle, darling. Surely you know I see you in a completely different way?”

He opened the door for her, and she slid in; a moment later, he was on the seat beside her. His words were sweet, and rationally perhaps she had understood for a long time that Morgan wanted something special from her in the way of friendship, apart from his friendship with Kyle. She was a woman who posed no threat to him, obviously. She’d never seen anything wrong with that, anything wrong with catering to his need, for that matter. But his embrace was something else. There was need and there was need, and she was suddenly not absolutely certain which need Morgan was talking about, and she didn’t have the least idea how to ask. Surely that wasn’t what he was talking about-Kyle’s best friend?

“It works both ways, you know.” Morgan glanced at her with a smile that brought a handsome look to his features. “I’m ready to listen if you want a sympathetic ear, and I think you already know you can trust me.”

Erica shifted uncomfortably and managed a tentative smile for him in return. He wasn’t blind; she knew he was talking of her relationship with Kyle. “It’s Kyle who needs that ear of yours,” she temporized quietly.

“So you don’t want to talk? It’s all right, Erica. Just know that if there’s a time you need someone-for anything-I’m here. If I’m not in town, I expect you to call me. Will you do that?”

She nodded, but his eyes had returned to the road and he didn’t see the nod, so she said simply, “Yes, thank you.”

She would never call him. She could not have said why, when Morgan knew her and Kyle more intimately than anyone else. It even seemed a little crazy for a moment that she didn’t at least try to confide in him. Until a few minutes ago, she had believed Morgan cared for Kyle as a brother and for her as a sister, and that if any outsider could have helped with their marital problems it would be Morgan. For that matter, Morgan would surely understand her side better than anyone else would; hadn’t he just confessed to loving someone who hadn’t loved him in return?

But she knew she would never call, even heard the dismissive note in her voice as she thanked him. It was a closed subject, one she didn’t want brought up again. Evidently, Morgan heard the tone in her voice as well, for there was an odd sound to the gears as he careened around a corner and forced the Porsche to a burst of speed on a straightaway. They were almost home.

A single lamp burned in the living room when Erica opened the front door. The clock over the refrigerator told her it was eleven; the movie had been over long before ten. She glanced around seeking Kyle, but the room was empty.