They were all more relaxed by the end of the meal. Erica mellowed as Kyle seemed to, feeling a glow of warmth inside every time her husband laughed at Morgan’s deliberate and sometimes outrageous wit. It was the first genuine laughter she had seen in him in an age, and she noticed, too, as they rose from the dinner table, that the weariness and tension had left his features.

“I wish to hell you’d get tired of her,” Morgan complained lazily to Kyle as he drew his arm around Erica’s shoulders in a hug, urging her down the steps to the living room. “And if I haven’t told you recently,” he added to Erica, unvarnished deviltry in his brown eyes, “I’ll give up the whole bit-wine, women and song-the day you divorce him.”

He meant Kyle to hear his comment. Morgan’s nonsense was nothing new to either of them. “It’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” Erica assured him dryly. “If I weren’t attracted to men with blue eyes-”

“Thanks,” Morgan complained. “It’s not as though I offer marriage every day of the week, and to be rejected because of-”

“You used to offer once a month, Morgan.” She pressed an affectionate kiss on his cheek to apologize for extricating herself from his hold. Banter was an integral method of communication for Morgan, and Erica expected it of him; yet for some reason the way he had held her, hip-to-hip, had grated in an unfamiliar manner. There was something so deliberate, so calculated about it. Not for the first time, she thought, remembering an earlier impression that Morgan wore his sexuality like a fashionable coat, bright in color to draw attention and a walking advertisement for the luxury of the fabric. He really couldn’t help it.

Morgan nestled down in an easy chair with a contented sigh, surveying first Erica and then Kyle, who had followed just behind them. “You haven’t said a word,” he accused Kyle casually. “I take it you don’t mind if I steal Erica away from you? You don’t deserve her, you know.”