Page 16 of The Last Morgan

Lucy fell asleep against the window, lulled by the hum of the car.

When she woke up, Byron was watching her.

Not just watching — studying.

Like a hunter silently waiting for his prey to stir.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She blinked, pretending not to notice the way his eyes lingered on her face, on the soft curve of her lips, on the bare sliver of skin where her shirt slipped off her shoulder.

When they arrived at the mansion, he walked a few paces behind her.

She could feel his gaze burning into her skin with every step.

At the doorway, she turned, abruptly — and found herself chest-to-chest with him.

"Are you coming in?" she asked, voice sharper than she intended.

"Yes," he said, simply.

There was something so devastating about the way he said it — like an unspoken vow.

Lucy turned quickly and entered, hiding the way her cheeks flushed.

"Bring dinner to my room, please," she instructed the staff.

Byron’s voice followed, smooth and firm.

"And bring mine there too."

Lucy whipped her head around.

"Excuse me?" she snapped.

He smirked — that dark, dangerous smirk.

"Not supposed to leave your side, if you have a problem speak to Corey."

Lucy huffed, annoyed — and yet a part of her thrilled at his audacity.

She stalked to her bedroom, feeling him behind her like a second skin.

"I need to shower," she muttered, throwing open the door to her ensuite. "You coming in too?"

Byron’s eyes gleamed with something predatory.

"Are you asking me to?"

Her entire body lit up like he’d set fire to her skin.

Without another word, she slammed the bathroom door behind her, heart racing.

The hot water scalded Lucy’s skin, but she didn’t care.

She pressed her palms against the cool tiled wall, breathing heavily as the steam wrapped around her like a heavy blanket.

The day’s stress should have washed away by now.

Instead, it clung to her, humming under her skin.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

The way he said “Are you asking me to?” — it played on a loop inside her skull, gnawing at her sanity.

She closed her eyes, tilting her head back under the torrent of water.

And then she felt it.

Strong hands.

Gripping her hips, pulling her back against a hard, unyielding chest.

The scrape of rough fabric against her skin.

Lucy gasped, arching instinctively.

Fingers slid along her waist, trailing fire wherever they touched.

A hot mouth pressed against her neck, claiming her, branding her.

She whimpered, caught between fear and uncontainable desire.

The hands traveled lower, around to her stomach, pinning her there — as if daring her to fight it.

Breath ghosted over her ear.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Byron’s voice echoed, low and sinful.

Lucy shuddered violently.

Her head lolled back against a hard shoulder, mouth falling open as he pressed closer, harder, until there wasn’t a whisper of space left between them.

She turned her head slightly, desperate for more — desperate for him — and caught a glimpse of piercing silver eyes through the steam.

Their mouths crashed together.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate. Hungry. Carnal.

Lucy clutched at him, nails digging into his soaked shirt, the world spinning away under the brutality of his kiss.

The heat between them was volcanic.

The kind of heat that promised no turning back.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Lucy ripped herself away, spinning, panting.

The shower was empty.

No Byron.

Only steam and the rush of water and the frantic beat of her heart.

It was just a fantasy.

A cruel, vivid fantasy.

“Food’s here,” Byron’s cool voice called through the door.

Lucy sagged against the wall, trembling.

Her hands shook as she reached for a towel.

She dried off as fast as she could, throwing on a loose cotton T-shirt and shorts, her skin still tingling from the phantom touch.

When she opened the door, Byron was waiting outside the bathroom, arms folded, impassive as ever.

But his eyes…

Those grey eyes raked over her like he knew.

Like he had been inside her head—and approved of everything he found there.

Lucy’s cheeks burned as she marched past him into the bedroom.

Byron sat at the small table, casual, almost lazy.

A glass of wine already poured for her.

He watched her sit.

"You look good wet," he said quietly, voice like molten sin.

Lucy choked on her wine, spluttering as heat rushed up her body.

He didn’t laugh.

He just stared at her, slow and deliberate, his gaze lingering on the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck, the soft flush of her cheeks, the way the thin cotton of her T-shirt clung to the curves of her breasts.

He made no attempt to hide it.

Lucy shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest.

"So," she snapped, trying to kill the tension, "tell me about you."

Byron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his silver gaze never leaving her.

"I’m security. That’s all you need to know."

His voice rolled over her, thick with unspoken promises.

Frustrated and embarrassed, Lucy shoved her chair back and stood.

"Fine. If you want to be like that—"

Before she could finish, Byron was in front of her.

He grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly, pulling her in so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"I don’t know what this is," he murmured against her temple, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "But it’s not going to stop."

Lucy stared at him, unable to speak, her whole body taut with electric need.

"You interest me."

His words vibrated against her skin, full of dark promise.

There was a knock at the door, Byron didn’t flinch. Instead, he walked to the door, pulled it open, and disappeared down the hall without another word.

Corey poked his head in, frowning.

"What the actual fuck is going on in here?"

Lucy was still standing there, stunned and trembling.

"Oh my God," Lucy said, staring at his face. "You told him to stay by my side."

Lucy glared at him half-heartedly.

"Go check on Barnaby," she muttered, still breathless. "I’m going to bed."

The weekend settled over the Morgan estate like a heavy, expectant hush.

No meetings. No office staff.

Just long, endless hours stretching ahead.

Lucy sat on the edge of the grand staircase, watching Corey pace back and forth, stuffing gear into a tactical bag.

“I’ve got a few errands to run,” he said, adjusting the strap. “Need to sort some… reinforcements for next week.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “So you’re abandoning me.”

Corey grinned. “Not quite.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Byron leaned casually against the doorway, arms folded, dark as a shadow.

“He’s staying. Your own personal grim reaper.”

Lucy’s stomach fluttered violently. Great.

Just what she needed — to spend the day locked in a mansion with the man who haunted her daydreams.

Lucy found Barnaby buried behind three computer monitors in the library, headphones over his ears, a bubble tea already half-drunk beside him.

She tapped lightly on the doorframe.

Barnaby slid one earphone off and looked up.

“I’m tracking Rebecca,” he said briskly. “Please only disturb me for food, bubble tea refills, or the end of the world.”

Lucy laughed softly, saluting him.

“Got it.”

Barnaby put his headphones back on, disappearing back into his digital world.

The first few hours passed in a strange, loaded silence.

Lucy made herself coffee. Byron followed silently, keeping his distance but never truly leaving her orbit.

She pretended to scroll her phone, pretended not to notice the way his gaze lingered.

She took a book from the library and sat curled up on the couch.

He leaned against the far wall, pretending to check the windows, the locks.

Pretending not to notice the way she stretched, the way her shirt rode up just a little too high.

By evening, the tension was a living thing between them.

Lucy couldn’t stand it anymore, “I’m going for a swim,” she announced, tossing the book aside.

Byron’s head lifted slightly.

“I’ll keep watch.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Of course you will.”

Now dressed in a bikini, Lucy dived into the deep end of the pool, letting the cold water shock her system.

The icy rush barely dulled the heat coiled inside her.

She surfaced, hair slicked back, gasping.

And there he was.

Byron.

Leaning lazily against the wall in a loose black T-shirt and jeans, arms crossed.

“Always watching” she muttered to herself.

She swam a few lazy laps, trying to ignore the way her heart jumped every time she caught his Grey eyes tracking her every move. The tension was deepening with every length she swam until Byron could no longer take it.

He pushed off the wall and pulled his shirt off with one hand, tossing it carelessly on the floor.

Lucy froze, unable to look away.

His body was a masterpiece.

Broad shoulders. Powerful arms. He was the shape of a diamond. The kind of torso sculpted from pure, brutal strength — deep lines carving down his chest to a firm, flat stomach.

His skin was a canvas of dark tattoos curling across his right shoulder and wrapping down his bicep.

Her mouth went dry.

Without a word, he kicked off his boots, stripped off his clothes and slipped into the pool.

Lucy turned away quickly, trying to hide her flaming cheeks.

The water rippled, and suddenly he was there — too close, too casual.

“Are you teasing me, Lucy?” Byron murmured, voice low and lethal.

She blinked, heart hammering.

“What?” she croaked.

“Are you purposely trying to drive me wild?” he exclaimed.

Lucy’s breath caught painfully in her throat.

She opened her mouth to snap back — but he surged forward, trapping her gently against the edge of the pool.

Not touching her.

Only the barest whisper of heat between them. Lucy felt him growing, he looked down unapologetically.

Lucy’s pulse thundered.

Byron smirked, " You look good wet."

She whimpered without meaning to.

The tension shattered.

He reached for her — cupping her jaw with one strong, wet hand, tilting her face up.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t careful. It was raw.

Byron kissed like a man starved, like he'd been holding back for far too long.

Lucy clutched his shoulders, feeling his powerful muscles flex under her touch, drowning in him.

His mouth slanted over hers, taking everything, giving everything.

She gasped when he bit her lower lip, when he growled softly against her mouth, deep and primal.

His hands slid down, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him under the water.

Lucy moaned into the kiss, her body igniting, her mind spiraling out of control.

She slid her fingers up into his wet hair, tugging slightly, and Byron answered with a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through her whole body. He moved his hands down and slid the bottom of her bikini to the side and asked her gently, “Can I?” Whilst gently stroking her clit. Lucy was a virgin, she had never been, kissed let alone fucked before.

They broke apart foreheads pressed together, panting. “I can't, not like this. I'm a virgin.” He pushed his lips hard against hers “Fuck! He screamed, don't say that, you're making it harder for me to move”

The world outside didn’t exist.

There was only this.

Only him.

Only her.

His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered.

Lucy shivered, her body singing.

“So are you.”

He kissed her again — slower this time, deeper, as if memorizing the taste of her. And then he jumped out of the pool.

Lucy knew, without a doubt: She would never be the same again. As she dunks her head under the water to really cool off this time.

Byron didn’t say a word about what had happened at the pool, he jumped back straight into his role as security.

And Lucy?

Lucy was going mad.

Her body still buzzed from the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at her like he’d drown himself in her if she let him.

But now — now it was like none of it had happened.

She hated it.

She hated how much she wanted him to look at her like that again. ‘I need a distraction’ she thought as she walked to go check on Barnaby.

Lucy padded in, wearing soft leggings and an oversized hoodie, hair damp from the pool.

“How’s it going?” she asked, voice hoarse.

Barnaby’s eyes didn’t leave the screen.

“I found something,” he said tightly.

Lucy’s stomach dropped.

“What kind of something?”

He clicked a few keys, bringing up a grainy, flickering server map. “This.”

One server blipped red — buried under dozens of fake routes, dead-end IPs, and ghost firewalls.

Barnaby leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face.

“It’s an old offshore server. One of Rebecca’s old one, it just came online.”

Lucy leaned over his shoulder, frowning.

“That’s good, right?”

Barnaby exhaled slowly.

“Yes and no.”

He clicked on another window. Streams of data poured across the screen.

“She’s baiting us. Sending out dummy signals. Making it look like she’s everywhere at once.”

Lucy swore under her breath.

“She’s in the city,” Barnaby said grimly. “I’m sure of it. She’s close. But she’s hiding behind layers of garbage data.

He slammed the keyboard lightly in frustration.

Byron drifted into the room like a shadow, watching silently.

Lucy crossed her arms, thinking hard.

“What if we bait her back?”

Barnaby raised an eyebrow.

“How?”

Lucy smiled grimly.

“Make her think she’s gained access.”

Lucy made the call for Corey to come back to the house as soon as possible as there had been developments, and it wasn't too long before he came storming through the door.