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Page 174
her and sat down on the bed. ''You're safe,'' he repeated softly.
She plucked at the blanket, her eyes still blank. He reached over and took one of her hands. She clutched his hand with all her strength, and pulled him toward her, dropping the blanket and exposing her breasts, mouth searching for his hungrily. Her other hand was around his neck, fingernails digging into his flesh.
For one long moment, Morgan hesitated, every instinct demanding caution. But Anna threw off the blanket, rising to her knees and pressing against him, pushing him back onto the bed. Morgan said under his breath, "Oh, the hell with it," and responded, fumbling with the zipper on his pants, pulling his shirt over his head.
She was near to frenzied in her demand. It was an encounter of the senses, without tenderness. She lay back across the bed and pulled him down on her, guiding him into her, moving frantically under him until they both came to an explosive climax.
Morgan's head was pressed into the pillow as he savored the physical release. His sex life had been coarse since Joan died. Anna lay passively under him, eyes closed, as he stroked the damp hair away from her scarred forehead.
"Don't," she said, turning her head to hide the scar.
"All right," Morgan said. He rolled over onto his back.
She lay still on the bed, eyes closedto shut him out? Okay, Morgan thought, that's the way it is. He stood and dressed as quietly as he could. Anna lay still, her breasts rising and falling in deep breaths. She was a million miles away, in some private preserve of her own.
He walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water over his head, drying his hair with one of Ave's thin, dingy towels. He looked at himself critically in the mirror and borrowed Ave's razor to shave. Her rebuff had stung him. But I was out of line, he thought, as he ran the blade over his cheeks. I'm supposed to be a caretaker, a protector, not a stud.

 
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