Guarding Morgan (Sanctuary 1) by RJ Scott

Author:RJ Scott
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-11-22T14:14:40+00:00

Chapter 8

The lake was deep in the center of the kettle hole, probably as much as forty feet, maybe more, and the water was so clear Morgan could see to dive and view the lakebed. He couldn't make it all the way to the bottom with his arm injured, and it had started to ache so he satisfied himself with diving and swimming just below the surface. The water was icy and clear, and there was the usual collection of stuff you would find at the bottom of a lake—gravel, large stones, the odd boulder—but there was no rubbish like there had been in the lakes he used to swim in as a kid. No bicycles, or tires, or bricks. It was beautiful. He swam to the side and ducked under the surface, pushing aside branches fallen from the trees above. Part of the joy of swimming in the open, in lakes and rivers, was to unearth what had lain undisturbed under the water for so long.

Every time he surfaced, he glanced over to where Nik was standing. The bodyguard was a solid presence among the ruins of the jetty, and he was staring out over the water. Serious and clearly in full-on protector mode, he made an incredibly sexy picture, and if Morgan didn't know better, it looked posed.

He wasn't swimming enough to keep heat in his body, his arm telegraphing that it really wasn't handling the exercise or the cold at all well, and he began a lazy crawl back to where Nik sat. He hesitated as the water level dropped to waist height, adjusting his boxers to stop them dragging down with the weight of water, and then casually began to climb out over the twigs and stones collected on the small shore.

"Cold?" Nik's voice sounded strained, and with a shiver, Morgan shrugged.

"Not too bad. I'm getting a warm shower. You coming?" He could have bitten his tongue off. The cold had obviously affected his brain. "I didn't mean you… and me… in the… Shit." Angry at his near teenage levels of embarrassment and his runaway mouth, he collected his clothes and began to walk back to the cabin. He didn't know what was worse—that Nik hadn't said anything, or that he wished Nik had said something. All he heard was a low chuckle and then the sounds of boots crunching through undergrowth. It was slow going for Morgan. With prickles pushing into the soles of his feet and exasperated, he dropped his sneakers and slipped bare feet into them.

"Nice look," Nik offered, and narrow-eyed, Morgan turned to him.

"I make sneakers and boxers look hot," he said, realizing Nik wasn't looking at his sneakers but directly at his cotton-wrapped ass.

If he added a wiggle to his walk when he strode ahead then he couldn't be held responsible. He was a gay man and had received a frank look of appreciation so it was natural to react.

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