When Morgan stumbled again, I lifted her into my arms, careful to make sure her skirt covered her ass as I carried her from the bar. I tucked her into my passenger seat, then clipped the belt in place as Mia got into Sam’s car under Garrett’s supervision a few spots down.

“Jackson?” Morgan tugged at my hand.

“Yes?” I leaned back into the car.

She locked onto the back of my neck and kissed me. Her tongue slid between my lips, and I opened on pure instinct.

Fuck, she tasted like a raspberry lemon drop, citrus and berry and the sweet burn of alcohol. I licked into her mouth, then took her deep, my fingers tunneling into her hair as she moaned. It was just as electric as the first kiss—I hadn’t blown it out of proportion or romanticized it. She lit my blood on fire.

I kissed her breathless and then did it again. I fell into her so deep that I knew this thing between us would only go one of two ways—we’d end up together, or we’d destroy each other in the process of trying.

Groaning, I pulled back, breaking the kiss. “God, Morgan.”

“Thank you.” She let go of my neck.

“For what?”

“For coming to get me.” She gave me an embarrassed smile.

“Anytime.” I closed her door and turned around to see Garrett, Sam, and Sawyer leaning against her car.

“You about done over there? Because my car’s at your place.” Sawyer smirked.

“Yeah, yeah.” I motioned him over, and we all filed into the cars.

Morgan was asleep by the time we got to her house. I parked in her driveway, then carefully lifted her into my arms after sending Sawyer and Garrett on their ways. Her head rolled against my chest, and she mumbled something about sleep and burrowed closer.

“I’ve got you,” I said softly.

“I’ll get the door,” Sam said, rushing ahead to open the front door for me.

I carried Morgan up the stairs, into the house, and then up another set of stairs to the master bedroom. I’d only been here a few times when Diane and Carl had owned the place, and it looked entirely different now. Morgan had painted the room pale blue, contrasting with her white furniture. The result wasn’t overly feminine but clean and minimalist.

I put her on the queen-size bed and started on her boots.

“I’ll get her changed,” Sam said from the doorway.

“Don’t go, Jackson!” Morgan demanded, kicking her boots off the rest of the way.

This is a bad idea, Montgomery.

“I’ll wait outside,” I told Sam, then retreated to the relative safety of the hallway, where I counted my breaths and planned an escape that didn’t include crawling into bed with the woman who’d had me hard for two months—no matter how badly I wanted to.