Chapter 18 Morgan
Morgan
Morgan woke to the delicious aroma of coffee and the sound of movement in the kitchen.
The blinds were open and sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the bedroom in warm golden light.
She stretched languidly, her body pleasantly sore from the night’s—and early morning’s—activities.
The memories of dawn flooded back, bringing a flush to her cheeks.
Their whispered confessions in the darkness, the breathtaking intimacy they’d shared, his unexpected invitation for her to stay longer.
It had all felt like a dream, yet the rumpled sheets and the lingering scent of him on her skin confirmed it had been wonderfully real.
“I’m falling for you too. Despite every rational reason not to.”
Her own words echoed in her mind. She’d meant them, completely and without reservation. In just one week, this mysterious man had become central to her world, reshaping her priorities and challenging her expectations of what a relationship could be.
The bedroom door opened slightly, and Archer’s voice—unfiltered—came through the crack. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” Morgan replied, pulling the sheet up to cover herself, though after the intimacy they’d shared, the modesty seemed almost comical.
She was surprised when he entered. Instead of the helmet, he had on the sunglasses and fabric covering his lower face. His deep chestnut hair catching the light that made pieces of it look auburn.
He had two plain white mugs in his hands, and as he got closer, he sat on the side of the bed closest to her and placed one of the warm mugs in her hand before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I brought you coffee,” he said, his voice deep and warm.
“My hero,” Morgan replied with a smile, taking in his hair and the small glimpses of his facial features that he was willing to share.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee made her stomach growl, reminding her of their activities from the night before.
“Thank you for the coffee,” she said, taking a sip. It was perfect—strong but not bitter, with just the right amount of cream.
“Of course, and we’ll eat breakfast soon as well.”
Morgan smiled, wondering what it would be like to wake up to his actual face, to see his eyes and smile first thing in the morning. The thought brought both longing and frustration. When would they move past this barrier?
“What would you like to do today?” Archer asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Morgan considered the question. In her normal weekend routine, Saturday mornings usually involved laundry, grocery shopping, maybe meeting Tessa for some girl time.
But nothing about her current circumstances was normal—not her suspension from work, not her relationship with a man whose face she’d never seen, and certainly not waking up in a luxury penthouse with the city spread out below her.
An idea occurred to Morgan, something she’d been curious about since first setting foot in his apartment. “Could you show me more of your place? Last night’s tour was... abbreviated.”
There was a pause, and Morgan wondered if she’d overstepped. Then Archer said, “There are some areas I’d rather keep private until you know more about me, but yes, I can show you more.”
“I understand,” Morgan assured him, recognizing that his need for privacy extended beyond just his face.
After finishing her coffee and taking a quick shower in his luxurious bathroom that featured multiple showerheads and a rainfall fixture that made her own bathroom seem woefully inadequate by comparison.
Morgan dressed in the clothes she wore the night before.
Archer had thoughtfully laid out a new toothbrush for her use.
When she emerged, he was waiting in the hallway. “Ready for the full tour?”
“Lead the way,” Morgan replied with a smile.
The penthouse, as it turned out, was even more impressive by daylight.
What she’d glimpsed the previous evening was merely a fraction of Archer’s living space.
Beyond the main living area and kitchen, there was a state-of-the-art home gym, a meticulously organized office with multiple monitors on the desk, a soundproof music room with several guitars and a piano, and a rooftop terrace with breathtaking views of the city.
“You play?” Morgan asked, gesturing to the instruments as they passed through the music room.
“No, my parents did. They had quite the collection. They tried to teach me for years, and I was in and out of different music schools, but the lessons never stuck.” Archer admitted. “It’s strictly sentimental, but I occasionally come in here to read and feel close to them.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s the same with my rotary phones at home. I’m sure you noticed them.” At his nod she continued, “They were my mother’s. It’s nice to have something to remember those you loved.”
The rooftop terrace was Morgan’s favorite discovery—a private oasis above the city, complete with comfortable seating, a small garden of potted plants, and even a hot tub discreetly positioned to take advantage of the view while maintaining privacy from neighboring buildings.
“This is incredible,” she said, taking in the panoramic vista. “Do you spend much time up here?”
“Not enough,” Archer replied, moving to stand beside her at the railing. “Work keeps me busy.”
“Security consulting must be demanding,” Morgan observed, the familiar phrasing causing Archer to tense slightly beside her. She noted his reaction but didn’t comment on it.
“It can be,” he said after a moment. “The hours can be long and unpredictable.”
Morgan turned to face him, studying the inscrutable black visor where his eyes would be. “Do you ever get tired of it? The secrecy, the pressure?”
Archer was quiet for so long that Morgan wondered if he would answer at all. Finally, he said, “All the time. But it’s the life I’ve built.” After another pause, he added, “Until recently, I hadn’t considered alternatives.”
“And now?” Morgan prompted gently.
“Now I’m... reevaluating certain priorities.”
The admission hung between them, weighted with implications neither was ready to fully explore. Morgan reached for his hand, twining her fingers with his in silent acknowledgment of the complexity of their situation.
They stood that way for several minutes, hand in hand, looking out over the city that seemed so distant from this private sanctuary.
Morgan found herself wondering what it would be like to share this space with him on a more permanent basis, to wake up to this view every morning, to make this incredible penthouse feel more like a home.
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. It had only been a week—far too soon for such considerations. Yet something about their connection defied conventional timelines. The intensity of feeling between them seemed to compress time, making a week feel like months of shared experiences.
“We should go inside,” Archer said eventually. “I thought we could have brunch on the terrace, if you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” Morgan admitted, suddenly aware of the hollow feeling in her stomach. Their late night and early morning activities had certainly worked up her appetite.
Back in the main living area, Archer guided her to sit at the kitchen island while he prepared brunch. Morgan watched with fascination as he moved efficiently around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and cookware with the confidence of someone comfortable in their space.
“You cook?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
“I have many hidden talents,” Archer replied, a smile evident in his voice, “However if you’re hoping for something grand, it’s just scrambled eggs.
Pretty much the only thing I can cook without burning the place down.
My mother figured eggs were enough of a complete meal that she called quits on the cooking lessons once I stopped burning them. ”
“Tell me about your family,” Morgan asked while he cracked a few eggs.
“Not much to tell,” Archer replied, as she watched him whisk the eggs. “My parents died when I was in my twenties. No siblings. A few distant relatives I rarely see.”
“I’m sorry about your parents,” Morgan said softly, remembering her own loss.
“It was a long time ago,” Archer said, his tone suggesting the wound had scarred over but never fully healed. “What about yours? You mentioned they passed away recently?”
“Two years ago,” Morgan confirmed. “My dad had a heart attack, and my mom followed a few months later with cancer. They were together for thirty years, completely devoted to each other.”
“They sound like remarkable people,” Archer observed.
“They were.” Morgan smiled at the memories. “My dad was an architect, my mom a pediatric nurse. They taught me about work ethic, about integrity, about not compromising on the things that matter.”
“They would be proud of you,” Archer said with conviction. “Standing up to Richard, refusing to be manipulated.”
“I hope so,” Morgan said, a lump forming in her throat. “I keep wondering what my dad would advise me to do with this work situation.”
“What do you think he’d say?”
Morgan considered the question. “He’d tell me to fight. Dad never backed down when he knew he was right.” She paused, then added, “But he’d also tell me to be strategic, to understand the battlefield before charging in.”
“Sounds like a wise man,” Archer commented. “And your mother?”
“She’d remind me to take care of myself in the midst of the fight,” Morgan said with a sad smile. “Mom was always worried I’d burn myself out trying to prove myself.”
They fell silent, each lost to their own thoughts. Morgan found herself missing her parents with a fresh intensity, wishing she could introduce them to Archer, wondering what they would make of her unusual relationship.
“Breakfast is ready, let’s bring it up to the terrace to eat.” Archer said as he handed her a plate with more eggs than she could possibly hope to eat herself with a side of some cut fruit he’d pulled from the fridge.