CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

Have you ever wanted to put yourself in the hands of a man whose sole purpose is to give you

pleasure?

The words flashed across Morgan O’Malley’s laptop screen. She sucked in a sharp, shocked

breath. She’d met this man in an online chatroom less than three minutes ago. How could he know that?

He must have guessed, had to have guessed. She hadn’t told him anything about herself, not one single thing, except her name and the fact she wanted to interview him for her cable TV show.

But even through her stunned silence, he kept peeling back the layers of her secrets.

Do you want a man to see inside you, all the way to your fantasies, the darkest ones you don’t even tell your friends about, and make every one of them come true?

A surge of arousal coiled in her belly. Her palms began to sweat. Morgan swallowed hard.

In the silent living room shadowed with the many colors of dusk, Morgan squirmed on the black leather sofa, shoving desires she didn’t dare admit to the back of her mind.

This was business. He was business. It wasn’t a good idea to have the hots for the next interview subject for her show. It might be late-night cable talk, but Turn Me On was her job, her brainchild, her little rebellion. . . her life.

Besides, aching for a guy whose real name she didn’t even know, whose face she’d never seen—

whose lifestyle she shouldn’t even ponder—was just dumb.

So, Master J, is that what a dominant does? she typed in response, determined to keep the

conversation light. Dish out fantasies?

One of the things, he responded at length. But that would be oversimplifying the relationship. His most important goal is to earn his partner’s trust. Trust is important in any relationship, but especially in one involving Dominance/submission. Without that, how can a woman freely put herself in a man’s care and know that her well-being and safety will always be first? How can she know her master will understand her so he can make her every wicked fantasy come true?

Dominance wasn’t just about tying someone to the bed and screwing them into the mattress?

Surprise wrinkled Morgan’s brow. Trust, care, understanding—she had to admit, that all sounded like a fantasy in itself. Certainly, she’d been lacking those qualities in her relationship with her ex-fiancé, Andrew, especially the understanding.

Trust allows a woman to connect with the primitive part of her that craves the utter surrender of being at her master’s mercy, despite not knowing if plans for her involve pleasure, pain, or both.

Morgan couldn’t deny that Master J intrigued her even more now than when one of the production assistants, Reggie, had given her his bio.

Toggling to her email, she opened the bio she’d been given and scanned it again.

A member of the BDSM and D/s scene for nearly ten years, Master J is experienced in all facets, but continues to learn. He owns a personal security company and has been bodyguard to senators, international diplomats, and athletes. A West Point graduate, he also served in military Special Forces as a team leader before being honorably discharged.

Morgan clicked the email closed. The paragraph revealed a lot about the man whose words made

her shiver with dark fantasies. Self-discipline, honor, strength. Yet the blurb said very little at the same time. Who was this guy? Could he really bind and tease a woman into making her beg?

Morgan? Her name flashed across the screen. You still there?

Sorry. Just thinking. Clearly, I have a lot to learn about in order to do the show properly. I guess I thought it was all about velvet ropes and handcuffs.

It’s about that, too.☺

She laughed, pushing down the ache curling in her belly…and lower. A little curiosity didn’t

make her depraved. Definitely not. It was just interesting to see how the other half lived.

But it’s also an exchange of power and trust, he typed. A woman chooses to give her master

dominion over her body and her mind. She surrenders her flesh and free will to anything and

everything he desires.

What sort of surrender? a voice inside of her demanded to know. A thousand dark images pushed themselves into her brain from the depths of her fantasies: her kneeling to this stranger’s cock, him ordering her to spread her legs wide so he could simply look at her, her bound to his bed as he prepared to take whatever he wanted.

Disturbed by the shocking turn of her thoughts, she shook them away. And ignored her rapid

breathing.

Lots of people had bondage fantasies at one time or another, she’d read. Having one or two

herself was normal, no matter what Andrew said.

Morgan squirmed against the leather cushions again, ignoring any extra moisture between her legs.

But a D/s relationship is also about a lot more, Master J typed.

How do you put someone in manacles, blindfolds, and dark rooms, but still earn their trust? How do you develop an emotionally gratifying relationship when one person has all the power?

It’s not like that.

Morgan’s gaze stayed riveted to her screen as she waited for more. For a long, silent moment, she held her breath…but nothing. Master J wasn’t going to reply further. Just like in the bedroom, she supposed. He had the power to give or withhold.

Finally, a longer reply appeared in the little chatroom window.

Sorry, but I’ve had an urgent call. Have to go. If you feel I have the background to assist with your show, let’s meet. I’ll answer your questions then. Someplace public, so you don’t worry I might be a serial killer luring you into danger. I can talk faster. I’ve mastered a lot, but not typing <g>. I still hunt and peck.

Morgan scuttled her impatience. Not hard when the man made her smile at his jokes.

I understand, she answered. Can we meet tomorrow at 3? I Googled and found a place that seems to be popular there in Lafayette called La Roux. Know where that is?

Cher, I’m a native. I know every crack in the sidewalk around here.

Morgan smiled and typed, Cher? I’m not that tall or old enough to have had a singing career since the 60s!

LOL. It means dear in French, he translated. I’m Cajun, so I grew up speaking the language.

Morgan read his reply and ignored the little flutter in her belly. Flirtation was a French thing, and he’d been raised with the culture. It was as natural to him as breathing, no doubt.

<blushing> I’ve lived in Los Angeles too long, I guess. I’ll see you then?

You will. How will I know you? Lots of pretty girls in Louisiana. I want to make sure I reveal my innermost secrets to the right one.

He was a charmer, Morgan bet. He’d have to be with his interest in wielding whips and chains.

Certainly, most “normal” women would run screaming in the opposite direction at the thought of a little pain and a lot of obedience with their sex.

I’ll be wearing a straw hat, sunglasses, and a big, boxy coat, she answered.

Sounds more like a disguise, Master J returned.

He had no idea. And she wasn’t advertising the fact she had a stalker. Morgan only hoped the

reason she needed a disguise would be caught and start rotting in hell soon.

See you tomorrow, she jotted back.

Au revoir.

The message on her screen told her moments later that Master J had left the private chatroom.

With a sigh, she moved to close the chatroom window.

Her hand trembled. No, her whole body trembled, despite the heat snaking under her skin.

She was tired, that’s all.

Tired doesn’t make you ache in very personal places, the voice in her head taunted. Tired doesn’t make you wet.

She tried to push Master J, the man, aside and focus on the questions she’d ask him tomorrow.

The show’s outline had to be in soon, and she wanted to be prepared to launch her second season with a bang. Already, she had a growing cult following. With the right material, the show could skyrocket.

Which meant she had to keep her eye on the prize and focus on work.

But after ten minutes of staring at an empty screen, Morgan admitted that Master J wouldn’t leave her mind. What was it about him?

Other than the fact he lives out the fantasies you’ve ached about?

Morgan shook her head, determined to ignore the maddening little voice. She was curious, not

deviant. No matter what Andrew said or her mother would think.

With a sigh, she reached for the phone and dialed the number of the production assistant in Los Angeles.

That was a relief—but it wasn’t. Reggie had quickly become like a surrogate father to her, and she trusted him. But ignoring her curiosity about Master J would have been much easier if Reggie hadn’t been able to vouch for him. If only she could have written him off as another crackpot who wanted to talk about sex on TV.

Morgan bit her lip. . .but her inquisitive nature won out. “What did everyone say about him?”

Hey, you’re not interested, are you?”

a bully who gets off on making a woman feel inferior?”

Reggie said nothing. Distress coiled through Morgan.

A rattling of the lock at the front door had Morgan’s head zooming in the other direction. She sighed with relief when her half-brother, Brandon, shouldered his way inside.

Shoving the conversation with Reggie out of her mind, she rose and stepped up on tip toe to hug him. “Hi. Good day?”

His aristocratic mouth pursed into a frown. “Not exactly. I have to go to Iraq for the next three weeks.”

Surprise, and if Morgan was honest, trepidation punched her in the stomach. “Iraq? I thought you sat behind a desk most of the time.”

She swallowed. Brandon had already done so much by taking her in, despite Daddy Dearest’s ire, protecting her from the scum who stalked her. She was afraid, but she couldn’t let Brandon feel guilty for doing his job.

Morgan gaped at him, holding in a sarcastic scoff. “He may be your dad. He’s my biological

father—the one who’s been denying I exist for the last twenty-five years.”

Brandon sighed. “Morgan, you know how it is with politics, especially in the south. If people knew he’d had a fling with a barely-legal volunteer while he had a wife and three little boys at home.

. .”

Morgan had her doubts but said nothing. “Too bad we can’t just tell him I’m your fiancée. It’s working with everyone else.”

Nodding, Brandon started to sift through the day’s mail. When he came to a big manila envelope, he frowned. “Does anyone know you’re here in Houston?”

Other than Master J, whom she’d met online all of fifteen minutes ago, Reggie, and a few close friends back home? “No.”

Anxiety thundered across Brandon’s face. “Someone here knows you. This was in the mailbox.

No name, no postage. It was hand-delivered.”

He held out the package to her, and Morgan took it with dread boiling in her stomach. She knew that handwriting.

Dear God, how had he found her here? And so quickly?

No!

Hands shaking, breath short, she opened the envelope and extracted the contents. As she did, red rose petals with moist centers and dead edges fluttered downward, skittering across the blond hardwood floor. They looked faintly like fat drops of blood splattered all around her.

Morgan gasped. He knew she was here. How had he found her?

Then her gaze fell to the photos. Pictures of her, one arriving at LAX the day she’d fled to

Houston. The next of her in Brandon’s backyard wearing thin sweatpants and a tank top with nipples teased hard by a cool morning breeze. The last a photo of her in her sage silk-and-lace shift with matching robe, kissing Brandon’s cheek as they stood in the driveway before he left for work. Just this morning.

Fear biting at her belly, Morgan didn’t protest when Brandon grabbed the photos from her numb fingers. He flipped through them with a snarled curse.

through his brown hair, ruffling the banker’s cut. “I’m calling the police.”

God, she wished it was that simple. “They can’t do anything. The police in L.A. told me he was going to have to do something illegal before they could spend any energy finding him. Taking pictures isn’t against the law.”

Houston home, his big fingers wrinkling the photo. “My backyard is private. The only way he could take this picture is by trespassing. There’s a law broken.”

He grabbed the nearest cordless phone and dialed 911. Morgan just shook her head.

While Brandon was right, she doubted the Houston police were going to be any more motivated to do something than the cops in L.A. Whoever this was hadn’t stolen anything, vandalized anything. He hadn’t hurt anyone—yet. Morgan could feel his anger building in the frequency of his contact, the fact he’d followed her to Texas. And the police wouldn’t care what her gut told her.

Brandon hung up the phone. “They’ll be here soon.”

Morgan just shrugged. . .and tried to calm the panic bubbling inside her.

With nothing to do but wait, she started to shove the pictures back in the envelope. When she encountered an obstruction, she realized something else lay inside. She stuck her hand between the layers of paper, perplexed. Usually the disturbed bastard only sent pictures—disconcerting,

disturbingly private pictures, but nothing more.

Not today.

Out of the benign brownish envelope she yanked a scrap of paper with a scrawl of ugly black

writing.

You belong to me. Only to me.

Morgan swallowed a huge lump of fear. Now he was communicating with her. To her. Conveying

his possessiveness, his fury that she might have another man in her life. This lunatic didn’t know that Brandon was her half-brother. He’d bought the cover story Brandon concocted, as much to explain her presence at his house to others, as to warn off her overzealous psycho.

While the thought of being alone little scared Morgan, part of her was glad Brandon had to leave tomorrow. If something happened to him, it wouldn’t be because her stalker had decided to get the

Maybe, like Reggie suggested before she left L.A., she needed a bodyguard…

shoulder.

My ex-fiancé left me, not the other way around.”

Morgan shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve received odd fan mail before, but nothing this threatening or

privacy-invading.”

At times like this, Morgan wondered how she and Brandon were descended from the same loins

as Senator Ross’s other sons. They were nothing like the man and his other greedy, powerhungry offspring.

The car is picking me up at ofive hundred, and the timing couldn’t be worse. Shit! Uncle Sam can be a demanding mistress.”

Morgan didn’t know exactly what Brandon did; he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. From things

he’d said in the three years since he’d found the skeleton in their father’s closet and tracked her down, she’d guessed he was in Intelligence. She had no idea who for.

For the first time she could remember, Brandon wouldn’t meet her gaze. He turned away, fists

clenching.

He unclenched them with obvious effort, then said, “I can’t.”

#

The following day, Morgan dropped down into a wroughtiron chair at a little sidewalk café in a quaint cluster of unique shops. The February afternoon hung thick, lazy, and surprisingly sultry all around. Fighting off exhaustion after a nearly sleepless night, she glanced at her watch. Three o’clock.

She’d made good time on her drive from Houston. Master J should be here very soon.

Her stomach tightened at the thought.

That wasn’t the only reason, though. She also felt eyes on her, watching, assessing, probing. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She looked around, scanned the crowd. Nothing.

Morgan took a deep breath, trying to quell her uneasiness. It wasn’t hard to imagine that if a psycho would follow her from Los Angeles to Houston, he’d go the extra mile to trail her to

Lafayette. She was probably safe sitting here in the middle of a sunny public square, but if he recognized her, he’d see her with Master J and make assumptions that would make him even angrier than the appearance that she was marrying Brandon. Then when night fell, and she was alone in Brandon’s house…

No, she couldn’t think that now. She would have to keep this all business, so that if her stalker identified her and watched this meeting, he wouldn’t assume anything sexual between her and Master J.

She adjusted the scarf and hat to make sure they completely covered her hair, and pushed the

sunglasses up on her face. Maybe she was being paranoid. No one should be able to recognize her like this. Maybe after this interview, she would slip away to that cozy European-looking bed and breakfast she’d seen on her way into town and catch up on sleep so she could figure out how to shake this stalker.

A waiter came by with a wide smile, white teeth stark against his ebony skin. Morgan did her best to smile back as she ordered iced tea.

Once he’d gone, she tugged the boxy, lightweight coat she’d dragged out of Brandon’s closet

down over her hips and flipped up the collar. The waiter arrived with her tea. She checked her watch again. Five after three. She’d give Master J another few minutes. Sitting here in the open, vulnerable to the sick man who’d been following her…suddenly it struck her as very unwise.

The deep whisper came from behind her, delivered right in her ear. His warm breath cascaded

down the side of her neck, and she gave an involuntary shiver.

She started, turned, stunned anyone had been able to sneak up on her, as jumpy as she was. But he’d been utterly silent.

And he was breathtakingly gorgeous.

Thick, dark hair teased his broad forehead. An angular jaw and cleft chin dusted with a five

o’clock shadow shouted his masculinity with all the subtlety of a sonic boom. His wide mouth curled up with an expression that looked half smile, half challenge. But, oh, his eyes. They captured her.

Accented by a sweep of black brows, those knowing eyes of his watched her, as if he could see deep inside her. As if he knew all her secrets.

Allowing her gaze to wander south didn’t help tame her pulse, either. Master J stood about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a body of well-honed muscle evident under a tight black T-shirt that made her think of a mountain with its solid, quiet permanence. No one could move a mountain.

No one was going to move this man either, unless he wanted to be moved.

Just staring at him jolted her with attraction and a healthy dose of lust.

Thank goodness their time alone would be limited to this one meeting in public. Otherwise,

Morgan didn’t think she could be responsible for her behavior.

She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “Yes, I’m Morgan.”

When she stuck out her hand, he didn’t just shake it. Too simple. Tangling his gaze with hers, he bent and brought her hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on her fingers.

Oh, dear God. . .

Fire raced up her arm, turning her heartbeat into a staccato chug. He lingered, a hot breath

caressing the back of her hand, his fingertips teasing the sensitive center of her palm. Tingles burst across her skin, up her arm.

His effect on her didn’t end there. Instead, the impact of his presence, his touch, dove deep inside her, where an ache began to pulse gently between her legs. As if her clit needed to announce the fact her libido wanted to get naked with this man.

Business, business! The demand chased itself in her head.

With a discreet tug, Morgan pulled her hand free. Master J smiled as he sat beside her—rather than across—and scooted his chair a few inches closer. She tried to ignore her awareness his thigh brushing hers, the tingling under her skin.

your name?”

That grin seemed to taunt her with her own uncertainty and his wicked knowledge of their

forthcoming sexual discussion. “For now, just call me sir.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Morgan realized how sexual they sounded. How

sexual he’d intended they sound. Not just deferential, though they were that, too. But around Master J, she just couldn’t seem to muster enough air to power her voice beyond a husky murmur.

What would it be like to call him sir in private?

Despite the dark sunglasses shielding her, his dark eyes seemed to dance with the knowledge of her every thought, every sinful feeling, as he held her gaze, as if he could read the desire all over her face.

Morgan used the untouched tea in front of her as an excuse to look away and scoured her brain for a safe, neutral topic.

Hard to do that when she’d invited him here to talk about sex.

bodyguard?”

A hint of humor curved his wide mouth to something nearing a smile. “Too flaky. Politicians are liars, but at least you know what to expect. You Hollywood types are either paranoid, self-absorbed, or as psycho as the people stalking you. No thanks.”

Morgan couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or amused. “I’m none of the above.”

Incorrigible described him perfectly. A hint of arrogance laced with a healthy dose of sex appeal and teasing humor. The mixture went down real smooth, thanks to his flirtation skills and a hint of Southern charm. No doubt, he was lethal to a woman’s common sense. Morgan swallowed.

The waiter came by, and Master J ordered a cup of thick Louisiana chicory coffee. She shuddered when the waiter brought it to their table moments later.

established couples and the newly dating, from the vanilla to the way out there. Last season, I did a show one week about sex etiquette on a first date, another about ‘friends with benefits,’ then followed it up with couples who had tattoo fantasies. This will be my second season, and I was thrilled to be renewed. Since the network provides cable programming geared toward women and couples, I think it’s a perfect fit.”

Again, another subtle command. “Well, we’re still at the ideas stage, but we’re definitely

pursuing shows about boudoir photography, couples massage, erotic finger painting and—“

Morgan swallowed. She’d been caught up in enthusiasm for her show and almost forgotten they

were going to discuss that topic. The topic that fueled her shameful late-night fantasies.

He quirked a dark brow at her expectantly, somehow managing to look sharp, displeased, and

nonthreatening all at once.

Puzzled, Morgan stared. What did he want?

His smile dazzled, rewarded. “Very nice.”

Morgan tried to suck in a breath, stunned to find it ragged beyond her control. His eyes flared hot with approval.

That’s exactly what Morgan was afraid of.

She did her best to send him an expression that was all business. “It doesn’t matter if I like it.

After all, I managed to finish taping the show about couples’ tattoo fantasies successfully without ever getting a tattoo myself. It’s all about understanding why it’s important to them.”

With a gulp, Morgan realized he was right. Worse, that nibble he offered was starting to sound like a feast to her neglected sex drive.

No. This time around, Adam was offering the apple of temptation to Eve, and she was smart

enough to know better. If she seemed interested, it was because he filled her head with suggestion. He was hard to ignore. She wasn’t depraved, wasn’t the kind of woman to get off on letting a bully chain her down and tell her what to do. The idea was just novel. She had a purely intellectual curiosity in the concept. Okay, mostly intellectual. That didn’t mean she should indulge.

Even if Master J looked like the kind of man who could have invented the concept of pleasure.

Myself.

She looked away from his intent gaze. “It’s just not my thing.”

That displeased brow snapped up again. His glare filled with impatient demand.

His expression softened. “In the few minutes I’ve been sitting here, your skin has flushed, the heartbeat pulsing at your neck has accelerated, and your nipples have hardened. I know the scent of arousal. I can smell yours. I’m going to ask you again; what are you afraid of?”

Shock punched her gut. Oh, my. . . She’d been as easy to read as a book. Easier, even. Morgan closed her eyes, drew in a breath. Then another. Her mind raced.

He stared for a long moment. “I told you yesterday online that a relationship of this sort requires a great deal of trust. I trusted that you were who you said you were. In order to earn a little of your trust, I allowed your production assistant access to some very personal information about me. That’s right. No need to look surprised. I knew the minute he started calling around about me. If I hadn’t advised my clubs in advance they could give your guy information, no one would have even said good morning to Reggie, much less confirmed the details of my sex life.”

He shifted in his seat, brushing his thigh against hers again, then lifted her chin with his finger.

Morgan melted—a combination of shock and arousal, topped with the delicious thrill of Master J’s overwhelming sex appeal.

A loaded question, one she didn’t know how to answer. Rejection. Being ridiculed again. Shame.

Fear of pain and degradation. A stronger fear that she’d love being mastered by someone like him and be unable to deal with the shame and guilt.

She couldn’t admit that—not any of it. She might as well hand him her soul on a silver platter.

Master J’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed. For some crazy reason, she hated letting him down.

She owed him nothing, damn it. Nothing at all. He was an interview subject and he’d be compensated for his time and information. Period.

Fighting the dueling impulses of resisting until hell froze over and giving in, it took Morgan a few moments to realize that their waiter had returned to refill Master J’s coffee. Then the young guy looked at her with a confounded sort of smile.

He handed her a regular mailing envelope—with very familiar handwriting.

The waiter departed.

Her heart started pounding. The speed of light had nothing on her as she opened the envelope to find a handful of red rose petals with soft centers and dead edges. They spilled through her fingers, and she gasped, feeling all blood drain from her face.

She looked at him with wild eyes. “He’s here. Here. Followed me. Oh, my. . . I have to go.” She sucked in a scared breath and clenched trembling fists. “Hide. Now!”

Master J grabbed her by the shoulders. “Who is here and where are you going?”

Shrugging free of his touch, she looked around frantically for any face that might be dangerous or familiar. Most other chairs in the square sat empty, as did a few nearby windows and balconies.

Shadowed storefronts held any number of people, but they all looked like natives. The little

coffeehouse’s other patrons either took little notice of her or cared even less. Like every other time her stalker had approached, he’d been as silent as smoke, as invisible as air. Panic ate at her gut.

He grabbed her again, looking determined to shake answers out of her. Instead, he froze, his gaze zeroed in on something across the street.

Morgan felt the energy burst through his body a second before he pushed her to the ground.

He shoved her under a table and covered her body with his an instant before a gunshot erupted above her head.

CHAPTER TWO

Jack Cole curled his body protectively over Morgan’s tiny female form and used the

small iron table to shield her as another shot rang out. People around them screamed

and scrambled away in the melee. He swore as she trembled violently beneath him.

Damn it! Revenge was so close, and now this? He couldn’t fuck his enemy’s woman

until she screamed his name if she was dead.

Fury rattled through him, but the fact someone was trying to thwart his revenge

wasn’t the only reason. Nope, he was downright pissed that some asshole had filled such

a small but vibrant woman with complete terror.

Admittedly, he’d lured Morgan here to use her, but never to physically hurt her. Just

the opposite. He would find out what made her tick and fulfill every one of her fantasies

until her body hummed with satisfaction.

Until she no longer had any interest in Brandon Ross and left the son of a bitch.

The jackoff currently at the other end of the gun, however, had other ideas, like

planting a bullet between her eyes.

Another shudder went through Morgan. She held in a cry. Jack hugged her tighter,

shoving her right against the iron table. Saving her was instinct. An occupational hazard.

A necessity. Brandon Ross had earned this revenge three years ago, and Jack planned to

deliver him humiliation in spades. He wasn’t about to let Morgan die.

His churning gut demanded he draw his .38 and return fire. But there were too many

people around to take that risk. And he sensed it would scare the hell out of Morgan.

She was already terrified, damn it. She smiled pretty for the camera for a living, not

dodged bullets.

When the waiter had delivered the letter to their table and he’d seen the sweet flush

drain from her face, leaving behind chalk-white shock as half-dead rose petals spilled

into her hands, he’d smelled her fear. After catching a glint of gunmetal in the sunlight

on a roof across the street…Jack’d had no doubt what would happen next.

He hated to be right about shit like this.

Glancing at the chair Morgan had occupied moments ago, he saw the discolored

gouges left by unforgiving bullets. He swore again.

Beneath him, Morgan tried to sit up. Jack held her in place.

A quick glance over the table at the rooftop across the street showed their shooter

had fled. Either that, or come in for a closer shot during the chaos. That meant they were

easy targets and he had to get Morgan out of this open area fast.

hurt?”

She shoved the hat back over her head and tightened the scarf beneath, which

covered her hair. “No.”

He grabbed her small, cold hand in his. Engulfed it. Damn, she was tiny, much

smaller than a powerful name like Morgan implied.

Taking off as fast as his legs would carry him, Jack tugged Morgan behind him,

ducking behind upturned tables when the shots rang out again. He dragged her behind

the cover of the café’s coffee bar, then pulled her around the corner of the building,

silently urging her to keep up. She did, clutching her hat against her head with her spare

hand. Jack looked beyond Morgan with a frown. No way to tell if the shooter was

following in this crowd, but he assumed so. Better safe than dead.

Jack didn’t answer; he was too busy improvising a plan in his head. In silence, he

pulled her up streets, down alleys. More gun shots rang out. A bullet whizzed past his

ear, and he swore. If this son of a bitch harmed a hair on Morgan’s head, Jack was going

to enjoy beating him senseless with his bare hands.

Ducking into a busy store, they narrowly avoided crashing into an elderly woman.

Stepping aside so the scowling grandma and her walker could pass cost them precious

seconds.

As soon as the path cleared, he took Morgan’s small hand in his again and tugged,

forcing her to run again. Out the back of the store, down a narrow walkway, into a

darkening alley. Thank God he knew this town as well as the shape of his own face.

Another series of staccato blasts sounded again, this time in front of the store they’d

just exited.

Shit!

Panting, sweating, she merely nodded. And picked up the pace.

At the far end of an alley, they came to a metal door with scarred black paint and red

lettering that read Sexy Sirens. Even with the door closed, it vibrated with the pounding

of raucous music and the rowdy crowd inside—despite the fact it was barely three in the

afternoon.

From experience, Jack knew the door would be locked. Raising a fist, he hammered on

it with all his might, not caring if he left a dent. While he waited, he looked over both

shoulders to see if they were being followed.

A blast of gunfire erupted, kicking up chunks of brick not six inches from Morgan’s

side.

With a quick scan of the alley, he cursed. It was ripe with trash bins and overgrown

with crawling vines, providing plenty of places for her shooter to hide.

damn door.”

Finally, a familiar bleached blonde wrenched the door open. “Jesus, Jack. What the

hell is wrong?”

He pushed Morgan inside, then followed into the back room cluttered with empty

beer cans. “Shooter out there. I need your help.”

A child’s stick pony and a riding crop lay right next to the stage entrance. Angelique

had apparently just performed.

He slammed the door the door behind him and again scanned the darkened room,

illuminated by a single red bulb and decorated with peeling black paint. One thin door

separated this area from main stage and the throbbing music in the club beyond.

show—”

Morgan, who had doffed her sunglasses, extended her hand to Alyssa. Hmm. Blue

eyes rimmed in red, a smattering of freckles, very fair skin—not Brandon’s usual type.

But times changed, he supposed.

Jack drawled, “Then I’m assuming you’d like to help me keep her alive long enough

to do more shows. The shooter was aiming at her.” Jack turned to the other woman.

—gentleman’s club in southern Louisiana, depending on your point of view.”

Brandon’s little woman flashed a weak smile, trying her damndest not to stare at

Alyssa’s inch-thick makeup, near indecent skirt, and fuck-me boots. There was nothing

subtle about Alyssa. She still dressed like a stripper, though she hadn’t danced around a

pole in years. She sucked a cock like a woman trying to ingest the brass off a doorknob.

She had worse language than him. But she also had a big, big heart.

Alyssa would use her wicked tongue to take the skin off his balls if she had any idea

that Morgan wasn’t a client but the means to achieve revenge. She might run an

establishment where women took their clothes off for horny men, but she made sure no

one crossed the line with any girl under her roof. Jack planned on crossing every line he

could think of.

gaze, one he hoped like hell would persuade her to tell him the truth. He hadn’t had the

chance yet to establish more than the barest amount of authority. She had little reason to

trust him. Damn it, another few hours, and he would have spent time in her bed, deep in

her body, establishing his dominance. He would have had some assurance that she

would accept his help. As it was now…he had nothing.

Not at all the way he’d planned his revenge.

He wasn’t pleased to hear the edge of fear and wariness in her voice. He much

preferred a sultry “sir” coming from that pillowy mouth while she pretended

indifference.

But they’d get back to that, just as soon as he got to the bottom of this shit.

Her skin still had all the color of a corpse, especially framed by the dark coat and the

floppy hat, which was too large for her small body. She was terrified out of her mind, but

still managed to nod. Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

different places, mostly public. Weird, but not threatening. About five weeks ago, he

started taking pictures of me in and around my house, through windows. O—one he took

of me pulling out of my driveway while he was in my garage. I can tell he’s angry. I don’t

know why.

forged ahead. “He followed me. I didn’t know it until yesterday when this arrived.”

She unzipped her boxy coat just enough to fish out a folded-over envelope from the

oversized purse bisecting her chest. Morgan handed it to him with a shaking hand.

Tension gripping his gut, Jack ripped it open. Pictures spilled out. Morgan in an

airport, dressed in low-rise jeans, a baggy T-shirt, and her hair shoved into a baseball cap.

He only recognized her profile, her stubborn chin, the freckles across her nose that made

him wonder how far they extended down her body. They gave him an insane urge to play

connect the dots.

The next one was of her reading a magazine on a patio chair. The magazine covered

her face. He saw only her hands, the cover of People, a splattering of delicate freckles on

her arms— and sweet, unbound breasts, nearly visible through a thin white tank top,

with ripe cherry nipples that made his mouth water.

From the instant he’d heard whispers that she was his former pal Brandon’s fiancée,

he’d been intrigued. Talking to her online had only heightened his interest. Morgan in

these pictures, in the flesh, engorged his cock. He couldn’t wait to get her bound to his

bed and begging to come—granting his revenge.

But there was something else about her…something pounded him with familiarity.

He felt as if he should know her, like he’d seen her before and not just her picture on her

show’s Web site. Had he ever met her? No, he would have remembered a woman like

Morgan. Still, there was something about her. He’d figure it out.

Swallowing a lump of rising lust, Jack flipped to the last picture and froze. The

always-elegant Brandon Ross in a designer suit. He had his back to the camera as he

leaned down to kiss Morgan. Jack could see only her half-bare legs covered by a bit of

green silk and black lace, and the lightly freckled arms she curled around the Brandon’s

neck. The sight made his gut roll.

And the haphazard scrawl of the note at the bottom of the envelope, with its

ominous, possessive tone did nothing to ease his tension.

The last picture, the wife-to-be saying goodbye to her man before he left for a day at

the office, also confirmed that Morgan O’Malley was Brandon Ross’s woman. She was the

means to pay his old buddy back for his stab in the back. He had to get Morgan out of

here alive and undetected to do it.

Jack sighed. “Dedicated and sick. Not a good combination. Clearly, he’s smart if he’s

able to take pictures of you without you knowing it or his identity. He knows his way

around a gun. I don’t think you can just walk out of here on your own unharmed,

Morgan. You need help. I can give it to you.”

She hesitated, then spoke in a surprisingly smoky voice. “You’ve gotten me out of the

path of bullets that would have likely killed me. I can’t ask you to risk—”

and Morgan didn’t look like the kind of girl with training in weapons and hand-to-hand

combat. It was up to him to keep her alive. “Morgan, I’m a bodyguard. I won’t watch you

die when I can get you out of here in one piece.”

Jesus, someone had been shooting at her and she wanted to barter? “On the house.”

Surprise widened her mouth. “Why?”

He sent her a cool shrug. “If you’re dead, there goes my fifteen minutes of fame.”

She lifted her red-rimmed blue eyes to him and shot him a cynical glare. “Seriously.

It’s clear you’re not a famemonger.”

So she had better sense than to fall for his line. But Jack still wanted to make her look

at him with those innocent blue eyes while he force-fed her some logic. She couldn’t be

sane and deny that she needed help. But he understood why she’d try.

He was a relative stranger—but that wasn’t her only hesitation. He’d bet every dime

in his pocket on that. From their brief face time before the shooter arrived, he realized

Morgan had some interest in him. And that she had curiosity about his sexual leanings.

More curiosity than someone merely researching a TV show. Her reluctant arousal drew

him like nothing had in years.

building. You can’t just walk out now. I can get you out of here.”

Morgan set her jaw. Jack watched her fighting the urge to bite off a refusal. She

didn’t, proving once again that she was smart.

A quick glance at Morgan proved she had a mere hint of cosmetics on her pale face.

Waiting for her to process the truth he couldn’t afford to soften for her, Jack watched

Morgan. Up close, he could see wellproportioned features, a full mouth, a nearly poreless

complexion that was too fair to be caused by anything but fear. Arched brows in some

indiscernible color in this dim light. Without Dracula’s complexion, the crappy hat and

scarf, or the three-times-too-big coat, he suspected that, as an all-around package, she’d

be gorgeous. Senator Ross’s son wouldn’t settle for less.

She sighed. “I don’t have any other ideas.”

got any more of those wigs?”

Morgan glared. “It still won’t work.”

Jack scanned the two of them. “She’s taller. But you can wear her stiletto boots to give

you some added height. What size shoe do you wear?”

She looked startled by the question. “Six and a half.”

Jack sent Alyssa a questioning look.

something. It’s temporary.”

enhanced attributes, currently struggling to stay within the confines of a bikini top.

Jack let his gaze cascade over Morgan’s small form again. He couldn’t see much of her

beneath the coat, but the pictures he’d seen told him that what she had under there was

a 100 percent natural and not on par with Alyssa’s D cups.

enough to be a centerfold.”

her unwanted admirer to burst through it at any second.

someplace safe until this mess can be sorted out.”

Morgan bit one bee-stung lip, eyes anxious and wary. She wanted to agree but didn’t

trust him completely. Jack could see that on her face. Still, she hesitated, meeting his

gaze squarely, as if taking his measure. Jack wondered how much, if any, Morgan knew

about the past. Had Brandon ever mentioned him?

me. I’m not going to let him come within a hundred yards of you, Morgan.”

She hesitated an instant longer, then sent him a shaky nod. “You’re the professional.

We’ll deal with what’s next once we’re away from here.”

What was next would involve her naked and cuffed and open to the complete

pleasure he was impatient to give her. Repressing a smile, he affixed his gaze to the

puffed pout of her lower lip. Something about her, even in her awful getup, made the

man in him take notice. Or was it the knowledge that she belonged to Brandon?

No, it was more. Under that ugly hat, scarf, and coat, he could tell Morgan was one

damn pretty woman—somehow innocent and fresh, but also sexy, sassy, expressive.

Corrupting her would be a treat. His desire chugged up another notch.

Who knew revenge would be so satisfying in every way? #

Surrounded by music pulsing so loud that the walls shook, Morgan made her way up

the club’s narrow stairs, following Alyssa, the blonde who apparently owned Sexy Sirens.

Morgan had no idea how anyone with decent vision would ever mistake her for the

stripper, no matter how much makeup she slathered on. Alyssa had an ingrained

sexuality that just about every woman wished for…and so few possessed.

Still, Morgan knew she had to try, put on her best act until she could escape Lafayette

and the psycho hunting her. The only alternative was death.

Like it or not, that made Master J—whose real name was apparently Jack and a

relative stranger—her only hope for salvation.

With a few glances and fewer words, Jack had made it clear he was no saint. Even

now, she felt his gaze burn her back. Against her will, she peered over her shoulder. Jack

stared up with an intent gaze, eyes looking nearly black, as he watched her ascend the

stairs. A speculative smile creased the chiseled features of his strong-jawed face.

She knew absolutely nothing about the man, except that he had the kind of looks that

made women do double takes and drool. Oh, and that he liked to dominate in bed. Hard

to forget that. But his smile made her nervous. Why would anyone look happy in the

aftermath of a near shooting?

Finally, she and Alyssa reached the top of the landing. The blonde led her through

the door at the end of the hall, into a small but surprising luxurious suite.

Alyssa shut the door behind them, blocking out the loudest of the music’s throb. The

floor beneath them still shook. The sexy tempo resonated around her, stark in its

suggestion.

Morgan looked around the room. A large, rumpled bed lazed in the center, as a

standing lamp cast muted golden light over the white sheets. Hardwood floors gleamed

cherry beneath her feet. Soft beige walls accented flowing white sheers at the large

window. Four black-and-white landscape photographs formed a grouping above the bed.

with a cocked brow.

Embarrassment stung Morgan. She had wondered… “I had no idea what to expect.

This is lovely.”

Some of the starch bled out of Alyssa. “It’s peaceful. C’mon, let’s get you out of that

ugly rag.”

Before she could ask for privacy and a bathrobe, Alyssa was unbuttoning Morgan’s

coat and prying it off her shoulders.

With a casual toss to the bed, the coat flew away. Like the mom of a toddler, Alyssa

reached next for Morgan’s purse and subdued floral-print T-shirt. Before she could

sputter a protest, the stripper had them over her head and tossed them on the floor.

Alyssa ignored her and plucked at the front clasp of her lacy white bra. With a drag

and a tug, it was gone…and Morgan stood nude from the waist up before a total stranger.

Alyssa studied Morgan’s breasts, lifting one in her hand to test its weight. “We can

work with these.”

Morgan tensed, resisting the urge to cover herself like a self-conscious seventh grader

in a locker room. “What are you doing?”

her body, and Alyssa added, “You wear a size six. Right?”

She smiled. “It’s my business. Strip out of everything else and hang tight.”

Alyssa disappeared out the door, shutting it gently behind her. Morgan stared after

her. Strip out of everything else? Like it was easy. Like she took her clothes off every day

in front of people she’d never met. Well, Alyssa probably did, so it probably didn’t faze

her in the least. And Morgan realized that if she wanted to get out of here without a

bullet in the head, she’d better get over her modesty quickly.

With a sigh, she took off her jeans and white cotton panties, folding them neatly and

setting them on the edge of the bed. She looked around for a robe or spare blanket. A

towel—anything to cover herself. Nothing. Morgan was not accustomed to prancing

around without a stitch on. Clearly, that didn’t trouble Alyssa.

The blonde returned with a black satin bra and a matching thong. With her teeth, she

ripped the tags off, slipped a pair of gel inserts into the bra, and handed it all to Morgan.

Before Morgan could ask for privacy, Alyssa disappeared again, this time into the

suite’s adjoining bathroom. Grateful for the reprieve from the woman’s keen gaze,

Morgan wriggled into the thong. Not comfortable—who wanted a string up their ass?—

but a perfect fit.

Alyssa emerged from the bathroom, carrying some very brief garments and her black

high-heeled boots. In the doorway, the blonde paused, waiting. Morgan pretended not to

notice her. Instead, she frowned at the gel inserts in the bra. The grown-up version of

wadded-up tissues?

When Morgan winced, Alyssa laughed. “You gotta do what you gotta do. They’re like

an instant boob job. With clothes on, no one will know the difference.”

Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Morgan realized that was likely true. She

had no business bemoaning the fact she wasn’t a D cup.

Morgan began to don the bra, acutely aware of Alyssa watching her every move. It

was damn uncomfortable. She’d kill to have Alyssa’s easy attitude about nudity, but she

just hadn’t been raised that way. She had been nearly twenty-one before she’d worked up

the nerve to masturbate. After all, with a born-again mother who’d sent her to an all-

girls’ school, she’d heard little about sex before turning eighteen. Until she’d gone to

college, Morgan hadn’t really known the difference between her cuticles and her clit.

Pushing away the thought, Morgan fastened the bra and lifted her breasts into the

cups—what there was of them. The bra was slung low on wire-thin straps. A slash of

black lace barely covered each of her nipples. The gel inserts pushed the top swells of her

breasts up and out on display. Instant cleavage.

Alyssa whistled and shot her a saucy look. “I’ll give you a piece of advice: Don’t show

Jack your tits unless you want to drive him insane with lust.”

The blonde turned away, heading back into the bathroom. Morgan stared at the

woman’s slender back and silky blonde strands clinging to her shoulders.

Centerfolds were less attractive than Alyssa. Though probably over thirty, she was

still very striking. Morgan knew for a fact, based on Reggie’s extensive research, Jack

wasn’t gay. Given those facts, it seemed logical that he and Alyssa were…involved. From

the woman’s offhanded comment, it sounded like Alyssa didn’t care if she enticed Jack.

Lord, she’d left Los Angeles, where she’d always thought of life as being somewhat

surreal, and landed in Cajun country, a place she began to suspect was the south’s

version of Oz.

cover.

Morgan frowned. “Based on what? I was interviewing Jack for my show. And then,

when the shooting started, he offered to protect me—”

rack.”

As if she’d just announced something as mundane as night falling, Alyssa turned and

lifted a makeup case off the counter. Setting the case aside, She studied Morgan’s face

with nothing more than a mild case of impatience.

Her gaze strayed to the bedding, looking too rumpled to be caused by mere sleep.

Morgan wondered if Jack had been here before meeting her—and why the thought

bothered her.

Morgan frowned. Too weird. “Nothing’s going to happen between us. I have no

intention of getting involved with Jack.”

laugh.

Before Morgan could wade through her confusion and reply, the blonde switched

topics again. “Let’s get your make-up on.”

Alyssa lifted a slender hand and took the straw hat and scarf from Morgan’s head.

A moment later, she began her cosmetics frenzy. A thick foundation coated Morgan’s

face. Concealer came next, and Morgan hoped it would cover the worst of the damage

wrought from missing so much sleep. Next came the bright rosy blush, the siren-red

lipstick painted on thickly with a brush. Dark eyeliner and eyeshadow was applied in a

quick blur. Black mascara followed, lifting and separating her lashes. An eyebrow pencil

and brown mascara hid the fact that her brows were not the same pale brown as the

other woman’s.

When Alyssa stepped away and prodded her into the bathroom before the mirror,

Morgan only recognized her blue eyes and the basic oval of her face.

whether you’re me or not. But just in case they’re not, the clothes I’ve picked out will

ensure no man’s gaze gets above your tits.”

Morgan wanted to protest—the words lay on the tip of her tongue. She stilled them. If

dressing like a stripper kept her alive, well…she could survive embarrassment much

better than a bullet to the head.

to look blonde.”

Morgan shrugged. The discomfort was a small price to pay to stay safe.

let you set foot outside until he’s convinced you can pass the test. He takes protecting

clients seriously.”

The idea of Jack inspecting her made her stomach jump. Jack was gorgeous, and the

fact he was a dominant man only intrigued Morgan more, despite her wariness and fear.

Securing the long blonde wig in place, Morgan pushed the thought away. She was just

tired. Lord knew she was stressed. She would not be having sex with Jack, so his sexual

preferences made absolutely no difference to her.

Someone pounded on the door. Morgan started, her heart racing. Had the shooter

managed to follow her here? She cut her gaze to the window, hoping it might prove to be

an escape route.

Then the door opened. Jack entered, wearing a ratty T-shirt and faded jeans, a

backward baseball cap, and a false moustache. Those few external changes made him

look considerably different. But she still couldn’t miss his pissed-off expression.

said with a smile, then kissed his cheek. “And good luck to you,” she threw back to

Morgan.

Then she exited, leaving Morgan alone with Jack.

His gaze flew across the room and latched onto her. Black eyes scorched her, and a

slow, sinful smile spread across his mouth. That look made her stomach clench. Quickly

realizing she wore nothing but a revealing bra and thong, she glanced around for

something—anything—to cover her.

She darted across the room and reached for the white satin sheet draped off the bed.

Jack ripped it out of her hand.

that was decidedly Cajun French.

His body buffeted her backside, legs glancing hers, chest brushing her shoulders. The

heat he gave off warmed skin she hadn’t realized was chilled. Despite his heat, goose

bumps multiplied their way across her skin and a shiver ran down her spine. Her nipples

made a sudden, unwelcome appearance.

She swallowed. He might be one of the good guys, but at the moment, his posture

was pure predator.

convinced you can pass for Alyssa.”

hurricanes and sex. People are used to seeing me touch her. Often. But you…” He snaked

a hand around her and laid a palm flat on her belly.

She jerked and gasped when his broad hand blanketed her bare midriff, his heat

seeping under her skin, insidious, unstoppable.

people will know you’re not Alyssa.”

With every word, Jack made her more aware that he was male—all male—and she was

female. He had the kind of personal power that drew her. Her stomach flipped when he

spoke. Her breasts swelled. She felt jumpy, unsettled, when he stood too close. Morgan

swallowed tension so thick she thought it might choke her and tried to ease away from

him.

Jack didn’t budge—or let her go.

Gnashing her teeth, she said, “There must be another way out of here besides you

pawing me.”

stalker recognizing you through your disguise, you’ve got to act right. We’ve got to look

real.”

The hand on her stomach started inching slowly north.

Morgan’s brain buzzed with the intimation in his words. He would touch her out in

public, where complete strangers would see. Instantly, her breasts swelled again.

Moisture gathered between her legs.

This is impossible. She wasn’t into public displays. And Jack’s caveman tendencies

shouldn’t be arousing her. Having such fantasies was one thing. Living them…that was

completely different. Stupid to indulge, especially with a stranger.

Jack interrupted her thoughts by cradling her breast between his thumb and fingers

—and continuing to inch up.

Until Morgan slapped her hand around his wrist to stop him. “I don’t believe you.

You don’t need to touch me that intimately to get me out of here.”

He stopped the upward progress of his hand. “Less than an hour with me, and

suddenly you’re the security expert?”

be out there tonight, seeing me with a woman they think is Alyssa. If you’re gasping and

fighting and pushing every time I put a hand on you, they’ll know you’re an imposter.

And if the man chasing you offers them money for information about a suspicious

female…you’ll be an easy target to spot.”

And an easy one to kill. Jack didn’t say it, but he thought it. Just as Morgan did.

emergence of a nun from a strip club would send up a few red flags?”

He was right, damn it. She had to get a grip. If dressing like a stripper and letting a

good-looking guy fondle her for a few minutes was all it took to keep her safe, she’d

survive the embarrassment and the blow to her modesty.

There was just one problem: She reacted to Jack not like a decoy, but a woman. Her

body heated for him with a few whispered words and a glance. Still, the embarrassment

she felt for responding to him was short-lived, particularly compared to death. When this

fiasco was over and she could find a new place to hide, she’d never have to see Jack Cole

again or care that he knew he could arouse her.

Taking a deep breath, she let go of his wrist.

Morgan sensed him, his watchful gaze over her shoulder as he turned his wrist until

her entire breast rested in his palm. She swallowed. God, her flesh felt heavy in his hot

hand. He hovered there, breath scorching the back of her neck. Tension ramped up in her

stomach…and lower, tightening with an ache she wanted to deny—and couldn’t. Her

nipples hardened impossibly under his hot gaze. Morgan squeezed her eyes shut.

Then he swiped a thumb over the taut tip. Electric pleasure shimmied down her

spine.

Unable to resist, she arched, pushing her breast into his hand.

his lips.

Arousal tightened again, pulsing low and hard. Her heart pounded away like a hoard

of hammering carpenters. She squeezed her thighs together.

His left hand joined the right, taking possession of her other breast in a hot swarm of

fingers. She didn’t jump, but fought the need to squirm, as pleasure battered her senses

with the double assault. It took biting her lip to hold in her groan.

Why did her body react this way to a man she didn’t know and who practiced a sexual

life she didn’t participate in?

It ceased to matter when he pinched the hard pinpoints of her nipples between his

fingers, rolling them slowly with erotic patience.

Need spiked in her belly, arrowing straight down between her legs.

right.”

All right? If he did that again, she’d be melting.

He didn’t. Instead, his right hand left her breast to glide down her stomach, lower,

lower, until his fingers edged underneath the damp black lace of her thong and

unerringly found her swelling, hungry clit. She gasped and tightened her thighs against

him. God, he’d feel how wet he made her. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to touch

her there in public.

gasps will give you away. Relax.”

He snorted a cynical sound. “Spoken like a girl who’s never run from a killer. He

followed us here. Did you forget?” “No, and I’m not a girl.”

out of here in one piece. I’m trying to save your life, not steal whatever virtue you might

have.”

now, and the party is about to start. Being too good would make us stand out in the

crowd, cher.”

He was probably right. She had to trust him. She had no reason not to, since he’d kept

her alive so far. “Sorry.”

Behind her, she felt him nod. “Spread your legs.”

Oh, God. Why? What did he have planned?

Morgan froze in indecision. If one finger brushing her clit sent shockwaves through

her body, what might a whole hand do? Would he laugh if she orgasmed? As it was, she

felt closer than she would have thought possible…

At his warning growl, a fresh wave of moisture gushed from her, coating her already

swollen flesh. Oh, how mortifying. If Jack realized she’d responded to that threat... She

shivered.

With surprising force, Jack wedged a booted foot between her bare feet and pried

them apart. “Put your hands on the wall above your head.”

Morgan struggled to close her legs, only to find Jack’s hard thigh between them. Lord,

would he feel her juices leaking through the thong and onto his jeans? Think her weak or

easy?

get a whole lot more serious.”

More serious? What was left, besides having sex? Her body jumped in anticipation at

that thought.

But she wasn’t sure she hadn’t lied. The idea of bondage sounded primitive and tacky

on the surface. Something only people who couldn’t respond to “normal” sex did. But in

a handful of minutes, Jack had forced her to face her own fantasy.

isn’t a negotiation.”

That grated against her independent nature…even as it made the knot in her belly

clench tighter.

there will be consequences.”

Morgan wanted to rail at him, deny that his power appealed to her. It would only start

a fight they didn’t have time to finish. If she wanted to get out of here with her pride in

tact, she needed to convince him she was ready to leave here and fool her stalker. And

she needed to convince the people they’d see that she was completely familiar and

comfortable with Jack touching her.

grope me in public. I’ll keep any surprise or discomfort to myself. Can we end this now?”

His hand slid back inside her thong, fingers circling her clit before dropping down to

her slick opening. He pushed two fingers deep inside her. His left hand traveled down

her stomach, then covered her clit.

Unable to help it, she gasped.

embedded inside her toyed with her until they encountered a bundle of nerves Morgan

hadn’t known she possessed. He rubbed there unmercifully, slow, insistent strokes

ripping a scream of tingles deep inside her.

Orgasm raced toward her, like a car speeding through traffic lights to the edge of a

cliff. Her channel clenched in weeping hunger around his fingers, her body begging for

release. His teeth nipped at her neck again. Then he pressed himself against her

backside, grinding an unmistakably large erection into the cleft between her ass.

At least she wasn’t the only one affected, she thought as her head lolled back on his

shoulder, perspiration breaking out all over her body as his fingers continued to fill her,

toy with her clit. Her chest heaved with every breath. This was insane. Madness! The edge

of pleasure was killing her. When had she ever been so aroused so quickly?

The feelings built, until she felt pleasure fill her up, nearly to the exploding point.

Then he withdrew his touch, easing his hands out of the thong and onto her hips. “No

coming, not unless I say so.”

Before she could stop it, a whimper escaped her throat.

Jack kissed her neck again, a brush of lips, a sting of teeth. “You’ll thank me later.”

Morgan couldn’t imagine why he thought so. Her body was so tightly strung. He’d

aroused her so thoroughly, she was tense, her mind racing. If he touched her in public,

she’d probably climax so viciously, she’d black out.

His hands grazed up her abdomen again, to her breasts. He fondled them, rolled her

aching nipples between his fingertips once more. She arched into his hand, grinding her

ass against the impressive erection behind her, biting her lip to hold in a groan.

He stepped away with a laugh. “Nice try.”

around the bad guys when her body ached so badly?

The tone of his voice told her that would be a very bad idea. But leaving her wanting

like this was no better. Still, a glance over her shoulder at his suddenly forbidding face

stilled the plea on her tongue.

finger— “did this…”

Pleasure shot through her again, fresh and ferocious. She whimpered and thrust her

hips into his touch. So, so close…

Again, he withdrew. “Excellent. Now you don’t jerk away when I touch you.”

in her ear.

Jack liked to tie women down and own them, body and soul. The thought screamed

through her mind. What the hell had she done?

Let him get away with anything, everything…

inside. The thought of hearing you scream your throat raw while I fuck you turns me on.”

Oh, God. Her, too. “You’re the subject of an interview. That’s all.”

With a chuckle, he swatted her bare ass with his wide palm. “Get dressed.”

Morgan started to whirl on him, take him down for revving her up, but then the sting

in her ass turned to pure fire. Instead, she found herself biting her lip to hold another

groan inside.

Just get your clothes on and get out of here. That will make all this go away.

Stomping past Jack, Morgan shimmied into an indecently tight purple leather skirt.

Next she put on a matching leather bustier that emphasized her small waist and shoved

her cleavage so high, it was practically a shelf. All the while, she felt Jack’s gaze boring

into her back and the ache of the lust he’d created sizzling her body.

Finally, she wriggled her feet into a pair of black thinheeled boots with pointed toes.

Shockingly, they were actually somewhat comfortable.

He eyed her. “You ready for what happens when we walk out this door?”

lived through your worst.”

He led her out the door with a smirk. “You think so?”

CHAPTER THREE

Jack made his way down the stairs, holding Morgan’s hand. He barely refrained from

using the other the adjust the length of his hard cock in his jeans. Damn, the woman

about made him bust a zipper.

After their episode in Alyssa’s bedroom, he knew several undeniable things about

Morgan O’Malley: One, she had a body that called to him. The way she looked, felt,

smelled—all of it reached him on a primitive level and urged him to chip away at her

until she surrendered completely. Two, she’d be unbelievable to fuck. High breasts with

sensitive nipples, a beautiful mouth and an unexpected independent streak that told him

she would be both a trial and a triumph to the man who could tame her. Three, she had a

wide submissive streak…and didn’t want to admit it. Her wet, nearly orgasmic reactions

to his slightly—okay, way-over-thetop—demands that she become accustomed to his

touch were very telling. Every time he’d threatened her with bondage, she’d gushed with

fresh moisture. He’d needed a surprising amount of selfcontrol to withhold her orgasm

and keep from plunging himself deep inside her cunt while she had it.

He knew a few other things about Morgan: She didn’t panic or surrender in the face

of danger. She was scared, sure. Only an idiot wouldn’t feel at least a twinge of fear,

knowing that a stalker who followed her across the country to end her life stood right

outside the door. But Morgan had listened to his logic, pushed back when she disagreed

with offered advice, and resisted his initial offers of assistance. Those facts told him a lot about her— and how to deal with her. Patience, persistence, a combination of tenderness

and alpha demands.

Last, if Morgan was Brandon Ross’s fiancée, she’d be wasted on the boring, uptight

bastard. Brandon would ignore the needs he didn’t understand and couldn’t fulfill,

fantasies Jack would bet his eyeteeth she had. Satisfying her fantasies required someone

with more balls, tenderness, and self-control than Brandon ever thought of possessing.

He almost felt sorry for Morgan. In fact, he might be doing her a favor in the long run…

But pity wasn’t going to stop him from getting his overdue revenge against the

asshole who’d fucked up his life.

First, though, he had to get Morgan out of the club alive.

As they hit the door at the back of the dark strip joint, he dragged her through a

curtain that led to a backstage area. Abruptly, the pounding music stopped and wild

clapping began. A slender brunette with large artificial breasts wriggled her hips at the

crowd of men shoving bills in her miniscule G-string. Morgan stared, clearly

uncomfortable with that much nudity and touching with complete strangers. Good.

Despite the fact he’d been to dozens of places like this, he wanted a woman willing and

eager only for him, not a whole room full of stiff dicks.

Looking away from the dancer, Jack scanned the crowd. He knew the mood of the

clientele, the feel of revelers seeking hedonistic fun. Across the smoky room, a guy in

jeans and a black sweater looked around the room, rather than at the stripper exiting the

stage and giving the audience a prime view of her ass. A few feet from him, another in a

suit lurked in the corner, wearing a watchful scowl. He didn’t fit in. The bulge inside his

jacket hinted to Jack that the guy might have a shoulder holster full of weapon.

Either of these dudes—or neither—could be Morgan’s would-be shooter. But Jack

knew they couldn’t afford to take chances.

As nonchalantly as possible, he turned Morgan to face him and covered their sudden

stop in the crowd by pulling her against him and planting a series of kisses on her neck.

She tensed.

Others near them would hear an endearment. Morgan’s nod told him she took it as

the warning he intended. She forced the tension from her shoulders.

her neck. “Anyone look familiar?”

She hesitated, and Jack took advantage of her distraction and breathed in her sweet

raspberry scent, brushed his lips against her soft-as-sin skin.

He dropped a hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, more because he

wanted to than because it was necessary. But it helped with the image that they were

lovers who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

Morgan breathed out a four-letter word, and Jack smiled. If her curse hadn’t told him

that he was getting to her, the pulse picking up speed at the base of her neck would. The

scheming part of him loved knowing he affected her. So did his sexual side. Oh, he didn’t

forget that the shooter was probably somewhere near, but the asshole was too smart to

shoot with so many able to see his face. And the sick jerk had no reason to believe that

Morgan wasn’t Alyssa.

True on both counts. Damn!

Curving both arms around her body, Jack anchored Morgan against his chest. The top

of her head barely reached his shoulder, reminding him how small she was. With her big

personality, her size was easy to forget.

Given her story, she’d been through a whole lot lately. He couldn’t help but admire

her grit to go on, her strength to fight.

Morgan nodded, but he felt her trembling. Jack eased back to look at her face. Under

the thick makeup, her blue eyes clearly reflected the knowledge that she was being

hunted. But equal parts fear and determination tightened her lush mouth. She wasn’t

giving up.

Neither was he.

Good enough. Now, follow me out the door.”

Slowly, Jack wended his way through the crowd, working the far side of the room as

much as possible. He stopped to answer a greeting, endure some backslapping from frat

boys he’d helped out of a scrape once, all of whom assumed fucking Alyssa would be

every man’s version of paradise.

The suspicious characters cast glances over them as they neared the door. The dude

with the suit kept his gaze glued to Morgan. Jack covertly watched the man assess her,

eyes narrow with speculation. Running would only alert the asshole if he was Morgan’s

stalker.

Instead, Jack whirled Morgan around and grabbed her. Her eyes went wide as he held

her face between his palms and slanted his mouth over her own.

Right away, her softness assaulted him. After a gasp of protest, Jack sensed Morgan

forcing herself to relax. To submit. At the press of his lips, she opened to him slowly,

slowly, with shy hesitance that made him burn with need. A delicious uncertainty

flavored her kiss, making him hard as a pike. But it wasn’t enough—either to convince

the assassin chasing her or to assuage the hunger that churned like a violent storm in his

gut. He couldn’t wait for more.

A growl erupted from this throat as he dove into the kiss and urged her soft lips to

part wider. He entered her mouth with a ravaging thrust of his tongue. And groaned as

her wet, sugary heat and hot cinnamon-spice flavor exploded across his senses. Tangled

with the taste of her fear.

Morgan began to kiss him tentatively. Unfurling to him, softening. Soon, she uttered

a soft moan and matched his rhythm, her tongue seeking his when he retreated. She

clasped his shoulders and clung, slanting her head until their mouths fit perfectly.

Gripping her tightly, he sank deeper into her. The flavor of fear on her tongue receded.

She trembled—but now her reaction didn’t have a damn thing to do with fright.

Morgan gasped…then surrendered, opening completely.

Crushing his delight at her lush response, Jack promised himself there would be

plenty of time later to fuck her, screw Brandon out of a bride, and enjoy every moment of

her soft, shy responses. Later.

Ending the kiss with a nip of his teeth on her plush lower lip, Jack opened his eyes in

time to see the slick in the suit talking to some of the regulars around him. Jack made

sure he blocked Morgan from the view of guys who hung out here at least once a week.

He hoped like hell none of them would remember that they’d never seen him kiss Alyssa

like that.

Mr. Suit listened, then nodded his thanks. Disappointment shadowed his face. The

guy in the jeans and sweater had disappeared.

Again, he took her hand. He led her right out the front door. The crowd on the street

swallowed them up quickly, and Jack smiled.

Once the danger had passed, once he knew they hadn’t been followed, he could

concentrate on Morgan—and every delicious way he could think of to make her

surrender. #

Within minutes, Jack led her to his truck, parked on a dark side street. Morgan

hesitated. Brandon wouldn’t be happy that she’d left his car behind, but what were her

other options? She couldn’t argue with Jack’s logic that her stalker would be looking for

it on the roads since he’d followed her here.

That settled, Jack tucked her into the passenger’s seat of his sleek black truck. She’d

have to be blind not to see his gaze lingering on the length of her exposed thigh and

cleavage offered up by Alyssa’s purple leather slut garb. The miles of skin it exposed

made her want to find the nearest tent and throw it on quickly. Another part of her,

though, heated at his look. The arrow of need that shot straight to her still-aching clit,

encouraging her to inch her skirt a bit more and flash Jack a come-hither glance. She

resisted the dangerous temptation.

The familiar dark desire, coupled with the stress and uncertainty, crashed in on her.

How had her life gone downhill so quickly? How had she found herself at the mercy of a

stranger who made her ache with a longing that shamed her?

Jack looked away in his own good time. “Why not? You look good.”

Faster than lightning, he leaned across the cab and crowded her personal space. He

smelled like midnight and elemental male. Like danger.

Jack said nothing more for long moments. He eased away and started the truck, then

pulled away from the tree-lined street and took off into the dusk. Then they headed

southeast, toward the heart of the bayou.

With another hot glance at her, Jack finally explained, “When a woman looks for sale,

a man checks his wallet before looking twice. Available and willing just makes a man hot.

Available and willing for him alone makes a man boil with need. Right now, I’m hard as

hell.”

The night began closing around them finally, dark and absolute. Morgan swallowed.

The way Jack looked at her through the inky closeness of the truck’s cab gave her pause.

And if she was honest, made her wet. Did he realize that she’d never dressed this

provocatively for any man, for any reason, before?

elegant in public. But in private…” He smiled, a flash of white teeth, illuminated by the

moonlight drifting into the shadowed truck; it was a smile that promised satisfaction. “In

private, I’d dress you in less than you’re wearing now. Much less. Without those useless

lace panties you’re wearing.”

Morgan could barely catch her next breath. She didn’t want to dress like this. It had to

look cheap and easy.

Yet she could not deny it also made her feel aware of her body, of her feminine power.

Sexy and wanted and desired. How was that possible?

Jack simply snorted.

She gaped. “I’m not about to flash everyone in the first good breeze that comes

along.”

conceal as I saw fit.”

His words burned her with shock—and terrible, unmistakable desire. She gasped.

someone else. Your privacy, your body, your pleasure.”

He said nothing for long minutes, and Morgan lost herself in imagining. Would a

dominant man really insist his partner show any—or all—of her body to anyone of his

choosing? Anywhere? At any time? She squirmed in her seat at the thought. It was

disturbing and exploitative. But some little part of her found his words reluctantly

provocative. Forbidden. God, she’d gone insane.

But curiosity followed close behind. That, she allowed free rein. She was interviewing

him about this very subject, after all. Journalistic integrity and all that.

without regard for their feelings.”

his submissive and grant her every pleasure she desires. Many submissives aren’t aware

of their most secret desires.” He turned to face her, his chocolate eyes piercing, direct.

He was talking to her. About her. With a hot glance, he made that clear. Her

breathing shallowed, her heart beat accelerated. She couldn’t ignore the fact that her

stomach—and her nipples—went achy and tight.

though she may not want to acknowledge them.”

her to do new, unusual things…?”

fuck her however and wherever I want. I’m sure you see the obvious benefits.”

Yeah, hard to miss that point. Was it possible to be so aroused that she would beg in

such a way? A mental picture of Jack tying her down, feeling her up, as she writhed

under his hand exploded across her brain. A blast of heat sizzled her belly…and lower.

God knew his aggressive touch earlier today had flooded her with arousal so fast, she’d

nearly been dizzy with it. And his kiss had obliterated most thoughts of fear and

hesitation, the crowd, and her stalker.

She didn’t doubt he could make a woman beg for anything, everything. If she wasn’t

careful, didn’t keep her distance, she could quickly become another notch on his

bedpost. Worse, he could open her psyche and expose all the hidden fantasies better left

to the dark corners of her mind.

Time for a change of subject. “Thank you for getting me out of Lafayette. I would

have panicked and run when the bullets started flying. On my own, I would never have

been able to concoct this disguise and…distract him.”

Alyssa’s bedroom, she shot him a suspicious look. “In fact, I think you did more than

your job required.”

face. “Where are we going?”

The thought of being anywhere near Jack, even for just a few days rattled her. “Maybe

I should rent a car and drive back to Houston. I’ve already imposed—”

stupid. You want to be safe or dead? Besides, it’ll be a good opportunity for you to learn

about Dominance and submission. I can ensure you’ll sound like an expert on your

show.”

His smile could have melted butter. “You may not think you need it, but I know

better. You need it every bit as much as you want it.”

Morgan’s jaw dropped. “You are one arrogant bastard.”

already?”

His quip put her temper in a twist. “I am not— That’s it! Take me back to Lafayette.”

He sent her an amused glance. “Back to your friend’s car, the one your stalker

probably has his pretty rifle trained on as we speak?”

She bit her lip. Damn it. Why did he have to be right?

much help in stalker cases.”

Clenching her fists, Morgan said nothing, again knowing spoke the truth.

before he stopped shooting pictures and tried again to shoot you between the eyes? You

got a death wish?”

an off button for your mouth?”

Jack just smiled. “You’re too smart to want to face a killer more than your sexuality,

Morgan. I’ll ask you the same question I asked before your stalker started shooting:

What are you afraid of?”

He shrugged, as if he didn’t care about her response one way or the other. “Fine. It’s

your life. Am I taking you back to Lafayette or are you going to stay safe with me?”

God, she wanted to shock the bastard. Spit in his face and verbally cut off his balls by

demanding he take her back to Brandon’s car so she could zoom back to Houston, far

away from his challenging words and his wicked touch.

But once again, damn it, he was right. Putting herself back in the path of a killer

because Jack pushed a few of her sexual buttons was flat stupid. She had no place safe to

go, and despite Brandon’s suggestion, she was not calling Senator Ross. He wouldn’t lift

a finger to help her.

sleep.”

Morgan wasn’t sure she could. Being that vulnerable around a man like Jack,

especially while she still had a stalker on her tail. “I’m fine.”

He gestured to the open road and fields around them, completely devoid of headlights.

your stalker for good.”

She sighed, then shot him a reluctant glance. Again, he was right.

Morgan crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her body toward the passenger

window. But soon the rhythmic motion of the car lulled her. She closed her eyes and

drifted off.

Two hours later, Jack stopped the truck at the water’s edge, in front of the boat

waiting where he’d left it. After he scrambled aboard with a groggy Morgan, they cruised

down the river for a while, Jack poling his way down the swamp with Morgan drifting in

and out of sleep and shivering in the February air. He did his best to shelter her from the

wind with his body. She unconsciously snuggled into him when he wrapped one arm

around her.

That gave him a hard-on so stiff it hurt.

They reached their destination shortly before ten. Jack lifted a slumbering Morgan

into his arms, settled her in his grasp, and headed for the dark cottage.

He’d expected to have to talk fast in Lafayette, to hustle and sweet-talk her to a hotel

room to get his revenge. Having her here, in his domain, was better—and worse. Her

stalker had helped him maneuver Morgan right where he wanted her and never dreamed

he’d have her. He would have Morgan to himself, on his turf, where he could devote

hours to her seduction and his revenge. Sweet, yes.

But Jack couldn’t pretend her sick stalker didn’t concern him. At least here, with him,

he could protect her from the psycho who’d clearly decided that if he couldn’t have

Morgan, no one else would. He would keep her safe; he owed her that much. Particularly

since it was clear Morgan could no longer fend for herself and was exhausted beyond her

endurance.

But on a basic physical level, she trusted him. That trust shimmered through his

body, both hardening his cock and softening his gut. Why fight it? He liked her, even if

he hated her fiancé’s guts. She was by turns feisty and vulnerable, sharp and gullible.

And for some reason so damned familiar, as if he’d seen her somewhere before…

Shifting Morgan in his grasp, Jack shoved the key in the lock, then thrust open the

door. Inside the little Craftsman cottage, clean lines and pine floors reminded him of his

boyhood, of fishing with his grand-pere Brice. This place never failed to inspire great

memories, even if the old family legends his grandfather told here made him laugh.

Jack started—until he recognized the voice. “Holy shit, old man. You trying to scare

me to death so you can have your fishing hole back?”

Brice waved him away. “You wish. I wouldn’t have this place back for nothin’. Rat

trap.”

Jack knew better, but Brice was too old to live out here, so far away from a hospital.

is running. Use it sparingly.”

Morgan, whom Jack still held.

With narrowed eyes, Brice peered closer and stared at Morgan. “You sure he’s not just

out to bed her? She’s one jolie fille, but she dresses like a whore, that one.”

Brice frowned his gray head, disapproval still shadowing his strong features. Smiling

to himself, Jack stepped around his grandfather and headed for the cottage’s lone

bedroom. He set Morgan down on the bed, then bent to remove her black boots. If his

grandfather weren’t watching, he’d pull off the rest of her clothes for the mere pleasure

of looking at her…but Brice would both disapprove and get an eyeful that could damage

his heart at eighty-two.

Jack rolled his eyes, ruing the day he’d said anything. “They don’t mean anything.”

curse is a curse. If you’re dreaming about a redheaded woman over and over, you’re

about to meet her and she’s your heart’s mate.”

Here we go again with this bullshit, Jack thought with a sigh. If Brice wanted to use

the legend to justify his marrying an underage girl sixty years ago, goody for him. As it

was, Jack refused to believe that some faceless woman he’d seen in his dreams with red

hair glinting across bare shoulders in dawn’s light was destined to be his one and only

love. There was no such thing. The redhead was just a fantasy fuck his mind had

conjured up.

mean a thing.”

you’d been having those dreams about five months?”

Six, but who was counting? Jack shrugged.

The old man grunted, knowing that Jack was blowing off the famous family legend he

loved so much. The dreams…they had to be coincidence, a byproduct of loneliness and

the fact he hadn’t had a good lay in forever. Nothing else made sense.

boy?”

Jack sighed. “She’s not my pretty girl.”

And for some damn reason, it annoyed him to admit that. Probably because she was

wasted on an asshole like Brandon Ross.

Laughter cackling with both amusement and age, Brice left. Jack heard the slam of the

cottage door and returned to the bedroom.

He turned on the kerosene lamp in the bedroom, which emitted a soft glow over

Morgan. She looked uncomfortable, as he watched her twist and mutter in her sleep.

He removed a pair of gaudy earrings he hadn’t noticed before and lay them on the

side table. The purple leather…it wasn’t Morgan’s style, but would have to stay for now.

Trying to take it off would surely wake her up. Shrugging, he realized he could only do

one other thing to make her comfortable.

Gently, Jack reached under the sleek blonde wig and extracted a pin here and there.

She sighed in sleepy appreciation when he lifted the wig away and tossed it on the table

next to the earrings.

When Jack looked back, he frowned and lifted the lamp over Morgan.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

But with mellow golden light shining down on her, there was no mistaking the glint

of her fiery red hair.

CHAPTER FOUR

Morgan woke to an unfamiliar room pervaded by shadows. Mosquito netting draped

the warm, well-used bed. Beyond that, an old-fashioned kerosene lamp on a nightstand

with mission-style lines dimly lit the room. Where was she?

Blinking, she sat up with a creak. She frowned when she saw purple leather stretched

across her torso and hips. Purple leather? Her? It wasn’t uncomfortable…but had to be

discomfiting to be seen in. Why the hell was she wearing it?

Then she recalled. Her stalker shooting. Master J—no, Jack—to the rescue, his gaze

eating up her flushed skin, his hands on her body.

Still, she had to thank Alyssa for the shocking get up. It, along with Jack and his

outrageous behavior, had gotten her out of Lafayette alive.

A downy beige comforter warmed her legs. Black sheers floated at the room’s lone

window, made transparent by the silvery moonlight. A stout dresser of warm, old

cherrywood sprawled against most of the wall beside the window.

Turning her head, Morgan skimmed the other half of the small bedroom. The open

door led to beautiful hardwood floors, which gleamed in the dark, empty hallway.

And in the chair wedged between the door and an armoire sat Jack, shirtless and

tousled, alert—and focused on her.

Morning? His stare touched her through the moonlit inkiness of the room, caressing

her cheek, sweeping over her mouth, gliding down her neck to the rise of her breasts

above the leather bustier. With just a glance, heat bloomed inside her. Even eight feet

away, the potency of his sexuality broadcast in blaring waves. Everything they had done

in Alyssa’s bedroom came back to her in a rush…along with a tight, nagging ache

between her legs.

She remembered everything—the way he’d touched her, his kiss, his touch, the way

he took control. His mysterious scent, his growled words—they’d intrigued her. Even

after a few hours’ sleep, nothing had changed. Curiosity and desire gnawed at her as Jack

stared, knowledge hot in his chocolate eyes. The ache knotting her body tightened.

She couldn’t afford that, couldn’t afford him. Morgan looked away, breaking their

visual connection.

How he felt, how she felt—none of it mattered. She had to focus on staying safe and

doing research for her show. Drooling over the heavy slabs of muscles covering Jack’s

shoulders and chest that screamed virile and contemplating all the ways he could use

that power to pleasure her wasn’t going to improve her show— or her chances of staying

alive.

He shrugged and glanced out the window. “About five in the morning. You can go

back to sleep. I’ll be here to watch over you.”

Morgan stared back. The knowledge that Jack’s eyes were on her was really going to

induce her to roll over and sink into dreamland. As if. She could hardly breathe with

Jack’s gaze all over her. Sleep would be impossible.

What was it about this man? Sure, he was yummy, but she’d dated good-looking guys

before. Something about the way he stared?

The truth finally hit her like a slap. No, it was his intensity, his self-possession, his air of controlled power. She’d always been a sucker for men of power. And unlike the other

men in her past, Morgan knew Jack was the real deal.

He wielded one of the ultimate powers, a sexual one. He wouldn’t just tie a woman

down; he would dictate her response and his, be in complete control of her body, her

orgasms, and in that moment, her very soul.

The thought appealed to Morgan far more than was wise.

Easing toward the edge of the bed to put distance between them, she said, “No, I’m

awake. Do you want the bed to catch some sleep? I can get up.”

The single syllable ricocheted through her body. It was a command, pure and simple.

Every place it bounced around inside her, the heat intensified, confusing her. She didn’t

like being bossed around—by anyone. But Jack barking orders at her made her

uncomfortably achy in all the wrong places.

Hell, maybe she was just horny in general, and it had nothing to do with Jack. After

all, it had been nearly a year since she’d split up with Andrew.

He laughed. “Cher, go spend a few months in Afghanistan with the army. This chair

will seem like the Ritz.”

Morgan nodded, conceding the point.

She shuddered. “I don’t drink the vile brew. Too bitter.”

A flash of white teeth told Morgan that he smiled. “I wouldn’t say that too loud

around here. We’re known for our thick chicory coffee. Not drinking that is sacrilege.”

cousin’s G.I. Joe’s fingernails pink when I was five. I’ll just add that to the list.”

Jack laughed, a scratchy sandpaper sound. “Wow, that is vile. Satan’s got a special

place reserved just for you.”

Morgan nodded. Then the room turned quiet. The momentary banter drifted away,

leaving a tense silence in its place. Still, she felt Jack’s gaze on her, lingering on her hair.

Self-consciously, she pushed the strands off her shoulders, behind her back. “You

took off the wig. I—it’s red,” she stammered. “My hair, I mean.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t expect that.”

His stare changed then, turned pensive. Morgan frowned. What had he expected?

Why did the color matter? Maybe he only liked blondes. Maybe…but his stare said

otherwise.

The idea of Jack touching her as she slept unaware raised the heat coiling in her body

another notch. Had he touched anything more intimate than her head or feet, while she

slept?

That question ratcheted up her body heat again, now laser focused between her legs.

Morgan squirmed, seeking relief. She didn’t find it.

Jack’s slouched posture instantly gave way to a taut awareness. He leaned forward,

balancing his elbows on his knees. “How about we start with anyone you can think of

who might want to stalk and kill you?”

Boom. Direct. Morgan wasn’t really surprised. That really was the heart of the matter,

after all, and she suspected Jack would be a pretty bottom-line man.

family live, where you might run to.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me about your

relationships.”

the hard angles of his face and torso. She could stare at the man for hours and never be

bored. Hot and bothered, yes. But never bored.

Damn it, she needed to keep her mind on her safety, her show, not her protector

himself.

She shook her head. “The last one left me, not the other way around, so I doubt he’d

suddenly demand that I belonged only to him.”

Morgan felt a flush creep up her neck. “I was involved with a pro football player a

while ago, but when this started happening, he would have been on the road, so he

couldn’t be taking pictures and leaving them for me. I dated an ambassador briefly. He’s

currently abroad. So it’s not him, either. I hooked up with a guy in college who’s married

with a daughter now.”

The line of his jaw hardened. “Who else have you let fuck you?”

The intensity of his voice—and the words—suggested that he asked for reasons that

weren’t strictly professional.

His no-nonsense tone had returned, and she found it oddly difficult to argue. “No one

else. Actually, I didn’t even sleep with Ambassador Sweeny.”

She supposed that having only three lovers by the ripe age of twenty-five made her an

anomaly. But she wasn’t going to give him all the details about her sex life just to

appease his curiosity. The point of this exchange might be to build a list of suspects, but

the low-voiced probing in his tone had a sexual edge that shouted warning.

And he wouldn’t stop staring. With every clinging gaze, he lashed Morgan with

memories of his kiss, his touch, the way he took control. Her body kept warming like an

oven on pre-heat.

and the places I’m likely to go?”

He shrugged. “Cher, there isn’t a man alive who isn’t willing to kill to get a woman

he’s truly desperate for. But if she’s running from him, thwarting both him and his lust…

that man can get a hell of lot more ruthless.”

With a shiver, Morgan wondered if Jack somehow meant to imply that description

could apply to more than just her stalker. Did he include himself in that group?

Somehow, she didn’t picture Jack needing a lot of excuses to get ruthless, but she also

didn’t picture a lot of women turning him down.

know all the possibilities so I can check them out, run them down. Then we’ll get to your

other questions. Now, you’ve had just those three lovers?”

Morgan sighed, squirmed in her place, and looked down at her hands folded in her

lap. “Sean Gardner is…about five-ten, maybe. Sandy hair, brown eyes. I think he’s

twenty-eight by now. Last I heard he’s living with his wife and kid in San Diego.”

She nodded. “When I was a sophomore in college, yes.”

wasn’t that serious.”

and doesn’t like the thought that you’ve shared the pretty pussy he considers his with

other men.”

Morgan held in a gasp. She wasn’t used to those words, not with a born-again mother.

She’d never dated a man like Jack who used them so unapologetically. Her mother would

have fainted dead away…even more than she had after seeing the first installment of

Turn Me On.

major horn dog. Trust me, he was as over me as I was over him.”

Jack shrugged, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Number two?”

Jaw tight, he asked, “How’d you meet?”

for the same parent company that airs Turn Me On. I doubt he’s stalking me. We… It

was just one night.”

Jack scowled, looking decidedly unhappy about that. “Why did you let him fuck you?”

Brent had been built like the side of a mountain and the supposed leader of his

football team. He’d been quiet and seemingly in control. That illusion had drawn her in,

along with his good looks. A night had been all she needed to see how insecure and out

of control he’d been.

Jack stood, approached the bed, towered over her. Morgan looked up, past the ridged

abs and rippling shoulders that screamed power. Having him this near…it wasn’t good

for her mental health. He was part aphrodisiac, part beast. And she responded way more

than she wanted to.

lovers to turn stalker, since they know where you live, who you’re close to, and may even

know some of your friends and can get his information through them. You being modest

and treating me like an auditory voyeur is only giving him more time to hunt you down.

Do you have a death wish?”

practice,” Morgan grated out. “Do you think he followed us here? Did you see anyone

follow us on the road?”

hard-pressed to find us. But it’s not impossible. You can’t afford to underestimate

someone like this.”

Jack was right. Morgan’s stomach quivered with that truth. “I know.”

spank your ass.”

Morgan gaped. “You’re not touching my ass!”

minutes.”

A flame of desire burst to life between Morgan’s legs. Bad, bad, bad. Stop now! She

closed her eyes, blocking out the sensation, the longing. The rampant curiosity and the

ache.

games. Now, have you spoken to Pherson since that night?”

Her temper fired up a notch. “A few times. He sent me flowers the week after I spent

the night with him. He called every few weeks, whenever he was back in town. I just

wasn’t interested anymore. He finally got the picture and stopped calling.”

She shook her head. He let the subject of Brent drop.

turned thirty-nine. He was the producer for Turn Me On last year. We started dating

shortly after the…incident with Brent. Within a month, he asked me to marry him.”

not?”

He tensed—mouth, shoulders, abs. “When did it end?”

Because Andrew’s male ego had been frustrated by her difficulty climaxing in the

bedroom. He’d seemed so worldly, like a beacon of inner calm in a stormy life, she’d

been sure he would be the man to unlock that something inside her that would set her

body and heart free. He’d tried often…succeeded rarely. Finally, he coaxed her into

revealing her deepest desires, the ones that involved her being bound and dominated.

Thinking it would help them, she’d bared her soul and even revealed her most secret

fantasy: being taken by two men at once. Not that she’d really do any of the things that

spun in the deep recesses of her mind. They were just fantasies… A fact lost on Andrew.

He’d called her depraved—and some other less flattering things that seared pain

through her gut and a shame that boiled her temper every time she thought about it.

She’d thrown his ring back at him. He’d taken it and quit the show. They hadn’t

spoken since.

And not for anything would she share a whisper of that with Jack.

Morgan jerked away from the electric heat of his touch. “That’s all you’re going to get.

He left me, and I was happy to have him gone. As I’ve said, I doubt very much that he

suddenly wants me back.”

Jack’s thundercloud of an expression told Morgan he disagreed. “Time will tell.” He

took a step back. “Who is your ‘friend’ in Houston?”

Knowing she hadn’t heard the last of Jack’s questions about her broken engagement

with Andrew, Morgan took a bracing breath and answered, “His name is Brandon Ross.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Is he more than a friend?”

She hesitated. No one knew she and Brandon were related. Keeping the secret had

been part of her mother’s settlement with Senator Ross years ago. He would come after

her with both barrels if she let the truth out. So she and Brandon had concocted the

engagement hoax when she started staying with him.

Maybe…maybe if she used it here, it would ease the temperature down between her

and Jack.

Jack’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “Where is he now?”

into your house?”

when I got scared and left L.A.”

Sudden tears scalded her eyes, her cheeks, surprising her. She thought she was more

together than that. Tears weren’t going to help this situation. But the reality of it all was hitting her hard.

Jack sat beside her in a heartbeat, all hint of anger gone. Gently, he eased her back

and leaned over her, brushing a gentle hand across her cheek, wiping tears away.

Morgan stared at the man, the contradiction. Tenderness and compassion from a man

who’d forced the truth from her, threw her arousal at his touch in her face? A man who

bound his women?

and dangerous, no question.”

Embarrassed by her tears and too conscious of Jack’s closeness, Morgan looked away.

with, the better.”

A furrow wrinkled her brow as she tried to recall. “Reggie, my production assistant.

My neighbor, who’s watching my cat. Sabrina, who does my makeup for the show. I can’t

remember. I left in a blur…”

loop.”

Jack took her hand, sandwiched it between his strong, calloused palms as he hovered

over her in the shadowed moonlight. Holy cow, he was so good-looking he hurt her eyes.

Strong jaw, chiseled mouth, two days’ growth roughening what might have been an

otherwise pretty face. Wide, muscle-capped shoulders topped off a hard, six-packed torso

any woman would drool over.

Morgan wanted to be unmoved by him, his aura of power, his touch. It wasn’t in the

cards. His gaze roved over her, part reassuring, part hot remembrance. God, she couldn’t

forget either, his breath on her neck, his hands palming her breasts, his fingers buried

inside her, nearly bringing her to orgasm. His mouth on hers.

Survival first, pleasure later. Much later. And not with Jack.

Yes, she wanted a self-possessed man, but this one…he was too much. Of everything

that called to her, of everything she didn’t need at this point in her life. She had no

business thinking about him. Jack possessed lethal power, barely concealed by careful

restraint. The primal male animal lurked just under the surface of his skin, leashed by

his control and air of authority—and a thin façade of civility.

A woman didn’t handle a man like Jack. He had all the subtlety of a steamroller, and

if Morgan gave him the slightest hint that his brand of domination interested her, she

knew he’d roll over her fairly inexperienced body and leave her flat. No thanks.

Now if only her lust-saturated thoughts would catch on. He was a business contact

and the man trying to protect her. Her response to him needed to stop there. She was

focused on expanding her career, not the need moistening her vagina.

But she knew what Jack was and what he wanted from a woman. Curiosity could be

almost as powerful as desire. And none of her admonishments could douse the arousal

that seeped through her blood.

Morgan took a deep breath. Okay, so he could bring her pleasure. Surely lots of other

guys could, without all the domination and bondage. Without the frightening sense that

he could control a woman’s body with little more than a stare, a stern word, and a

naughty smile. True, Morgan hadn’t found such a man yet.

She sighed at her circular logic. Nothing mattered now except that Jack could keep

her safe. She needed that so badly— assurances that she wasn’t going to wind up dead in

a ditch somewhere, that she could escape from the nightmare her life had become

virtually overnight.

Jack squeezed her hand. “After dawn, I’ll call a buddy of mine who has a lot of

contacts inside the FBI and see if he can start a profile.”

could get on with her life and on with her show.

Tension rose up like quicksand, threatening to drown her. “I’m done sleeping. Too

worried. Too wired.”

Jack leaned in and fondled a lock of her hair between his fingers and frowned. He

turned dark chocolate eyes on her. The air between them turned so thick, Morgan

couldn’t drag a lungful in. Heat radiated from him, warming her all the way to her bones.

His scent hit her with the force of a battering ram—spice, sweat, swamp, and pure

mystery.

Damn it, she was so aware of him as a man…

know when you might need it.” #

Jack escaped the cottage into the emerging dawn, spitting a curse.

Four lovers, two of them fiancés, including Brandon. Had the pansy-ass senator’s son

ever told Morgan about him? His guess: no.

As far as his revenge went, that was good news. Morgan had no idea who he was.

And through her entire confessional, her blue eyes had eaten him up with hunger.

Damn, he’d never gotten so hard from just a woman’s glance.

He still wanted his pound of flesh, but revenge wasn’t all he wanted anymore. The

shitty fact was, Morgan aroused him unbearably. Being in the same room with her and

not touching the pale silk of her skin, or tasting the cinnamon spice of her kiss, the

musky cream of her pussy, was making him hard enough to drill holes through steel. He

barely restrained his impatience at being denied the opportunity to cuff her to his bed

and coax her into submission. Need gnawed at him, demanding he clamp those pretty,

pale nipples and toy with her clit until she begged for a hard ride. She nearly pushed him

past sanity. He was dying to see just how submissive she was, taste her strength as he

shoved his cock so far inside her, she’d never forget him.

Damn it, he had to get control. Feeling more than the need for revenge was stupid.

So why was he? The question plagued him like an annoying song he couldn’t get out

of his head. He’d never been particularly hot for redheads. Or short women. Or women

already claimed by another man. So why her?

His grandfather’s matter-of-fact voice echoed in his head, If you’re dreaming about a

redheaded woman over and over, you’re about to meet her and she’s your heart’s mate.

He’d always thought the family “curse” utter bullshit, propagated by the colorful loons

and romantics in his family who believed it because they wanted to.

Now, it still didn’t make sense. He still didn’t believe it.

But he couldn’t deny that he’d never responded to a woman this strongly.

Muttering an even uglier curse than the last, he headed around the left side of the

cabin and began walking the perimeter, the marshy soil soggy beneath his boots.

He’d seduce Morgan, no question. Not even a blind man could miss the curiosity and

awakening need in her eyes. He was far from blind. But he also sensed something

holding her back. Latent affection for Brandon? Or a fear of being dominated, despite her

curiosity and submissive nature? There was more to her past relationships than she was

admitting, particularly her break-up with her former producer.

Her reason for denying her desire to submit didn’t matter. He’d overcome it and have

Morgan bound and hungrily accepting his every demand, gasping as he sank his cock

into her mouth, her pussy, her ass. Give her things straight-laced Brandon Ross would

never dream of.

Would that be enough to make her leave Brandon in the end?

Jack paused at the bedroom window and peered in. Empty. No Morgan in the bed or

anywhere in the room. Damn it, she’d defied his good advice to rest. No doubt, she

needed a strong man to heat up her ass to keep her in line.

His palm itched at the thought, but he shoved the tempting idea away. After the last

thirty minutes—hell, the last few hours of watching her sleep—his pike-hard cock was

finally getting the clue that he wasn’t getting lucky. He welcomed a rest from having

most of the blood in his body nowhere near his brain.

In fact, he needed to get her some clothes. Preferably made of flannel and three sizes

too big. If he watched her parade around in tight purple leather and stiletto boots for too

long, he’d be too distracted by wanting to fuck her to protect her in case the worst

happened. The fucking would happen, he reminded himself, but not yet. Not until he

was sure she was safe. Not until he’d earned a bit more of her trust and figured out how

to get under her skin.

He’d need all that if he wanted her to completely surrender to him.

He walked on, pulling his cell phone from his belt clip and dialed Brice. He’d get his

grandfather to pick her up a few things. But after the sixth ring, he hung up with a curse.

The old codger was probably having coffee with the “boys” at the local diner, playing

Bourée, and solving all the ills of the world. Too bad he couldn’t convince Brice to buy an

answering machine or a cell phone. He’d call back later… but that meant waiting to cover

Morgan’s tempting form.

At the back of the cabin, Jack paused, listening to the bayou, watching alligators slosh

into the water and disappear beneath the murky surface. Cicadas sang the last of the

night’s song as dawn approached. Even in the February chill, moist air clung to

everything.

This place had always represented peace to him. Not today. In the last few months

since Brice had given the cabin to him, he’d made some modifications and upgrades—

really made it his. It was the closest thing to a home he had. He rarely brought anyone

here. He meant to…but in the end, he hid this place from submissives and all but his

closest friends. So why had he brought Morgan here so readily?

Not looking too hard for the answer, Jack peered at the video equipment well hidden

by the trees and the eaves. Looked good, functional, as it scanned the area behind the

cottage. Then he continued on, trudging around the corner of the little house.

Flickering golden light emanated from the little window in the middle of the wall.

Morgan was in the bathroom and had found the candles. What she hadn’t done was

completely close the shutters. She’d tried, but the broken one wouldn’t extend over the

window.

On quiet feet, Jack approached the small glass pane. He shouldn’t look; he knew that.

But he didn’t have a lot of scruples where she was concerned.

Edging closer, Jack peered in, looking into the narrow bathroom. Steam rose from the

claw-footed tub. Beside it, Morgan ran a hand under the water stream. Apparently

satisfied with the temperature, she set the plug in the tub then backed away.

Her hands settled on the first button of Alyssa’s leather getup. At a push of her

thumb, the button came loose. A second followed suit. The soft, rounded edged of her

cleavage and a hint of the black bra he hadn’t forgotten peeked out to torment him.

A sweat broke out across Jack’s chest and back. His cock, which he’d just managed to

get under control, rose up swiftly to full staff and saluted the view.

But the view only improved. A third button, centered around her naval, came loose

from its mooring. As the fourth and final button came undone, so did Jack’s ability to

breathe.

Morgan peeled the garment off and laid it on the counter. He glued his gaze to her

slender torso and high, round breasts as she reached behind her to unfasten the tight

mini skirt.

With an alluring wriggle, a sexy shimmy, she peeled the garment down the sweet

curve of her hips and past firm thighs.

When she stood again and set the skirt aside, the only thing stopping him from fully

taking in the pale temptation of her body was a lacy bra that did nothing to hide her hard

nipples, and a teeny-tiny thong.

Damn, was it possible to have a fatal heart attack at thirtyone?

He should walk away now. Focus on surveillance until he knew she was safe. Stop

fixating on a woman he planned to fuck once…just so Brandon could appreciate the pain

and rage a man felt when he knew his woman had surrendered willingly to another hard

dick.

But walking away from Morgan was easier said than done. At this point, he couldn’t

find the will to try.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he watched as she reached behind her to unclasp the bra.

The movement thrust her breasts forward, accentuating their round, firm shape and

those pretty nipples he thirsted to suck into his mouth.

A moment later, they came into view. Plump, soft, blushing pink, and swollen, they

beckoned like little bits of heaven topping the pale beauty of her breasts, which

shimmered with dancing, golden candlelight. He grabbed the ledge outside the window

and let out a ragged breath.

How the hell was he going to keep from fucking her into oblivion in the next ten

minutes?

Before he could answer that question, she slid the little black thong off and tossed it

away, revealing the last of her secrets to him. And boy, was it a doozie.

The tiny patch of hair covering Morgan’s pussy was fiery red.

Now Jack knew how a bull felt when someone waved something red in its face:

enflamed, ready to charge.

Toro!

He braced his hands against the side of the cabin to steady himself as Morgan

stepped into the tub and sank into the steaming water, eyes closed.

Damn, he had to stop spying on her like some loser sicko who couldn’t persuade a

woman to undress for him. And he would…as soon as she stopped slashing water over

her shoulders, on her breasts. The water beaded up on her creamy skin, running in

rivulets that dripped from succulent nipples. He’d love to lick her up with his tongue.

The sun edged up over the horizon behind Jack, making it harder to see inside the

little bathroom. It was probably a sign that he should be noble and stop acting like a

peeping Tom.

Morgan dragged a thumb over one of her hard nipples, and her lips parted in a silent

gasp.

Fuck nobility.

He stepped closer to the window to improve his view.

Her nipples responded to their wet state and the cool air, beading up even tighter,

turning a shade darker. She lay against the back of the tub and sighed.

Then she lifted her hands from the water—to cup her breasts. A moment later,

Morgan stunned him when she dragged her thumbs across the rigid peaks deliberately

and moaned.

A fresh gallon of blood ran south to engorge his cock even more. God, he was going

to go insane. He, who had never had even a hint of mental illness in his family, would be

certifiable before Morgan finished her bath.

Jack held his breath as she pinched her lush nipples, rolling them between thumb

and fingers, pulling at them harder than he would have imagined. First one, then the

other, finally together, she worked them with her small fingers. She threw her head back,

neck arched, moist lips parted. She looked like a sensual goddess, like the ultimate fuck.

In that moment, he would have charged into the house, plucked her damp, naked

body from the water and plunged his steel-hard cock right into her. But he wanted to

know too damn bad just what she would do next.

As her nipples darkened and swelled from her fondling, she sank deeper into the tub,

until only the twin peaks of her breasts rose from the water, wet and tempting. She lifted

her right leg and rested her heel on the rim of the tub, then bent her left knee and spread

her legs wide.

Jack couldn’t see Morgan’s pussy under the water, but glimpsed an occasional flash

of red hair. But his imagination filled in the gaps. Fiery curls shielding swollen pink

flesh, slick and pouting and ready.

If she was his, he’d keep her like that—naked and hot. Always wet. He’d spend

mornings lapping at her nipples. While she ate breakfast, he’d eat her. They’d shower

with her mouth around his cock as she took him deep, all the way to the back of her

throat. And then he’d get serious, push her to the limits of her body, her trust. He’d

leave no part of her untouched. There would be nothing he wouldn’t do with her, to her,

to hear her scream her throat raw in pleasure.

Morgan jolted him out of his reverie when she trailed her hand from her breast, down

her abdomen and between her legs.

She began to stroke herself.

Oh, shit… If he hadn’t yet lost his mind, it was going to go up in flames now—just

like his body.

He shifted his aching cock in his jeans and edged closer to the window until his face

was nearly pressed against it. Eyes closed, Morgan made lazy circles with the hand

between her legs while the other continued to pluck at her nipples, keep them hard and

ready.

Soon, the slow circles of her fingers gained speed. Water sloshed in the tub, dousing

the ends of her silky hair, which hung wildly about her shoulders. Her hips began to lift

to meet her fingers. Jack caught electrifying flashes of red, along with slick, spread flesh.

Lust pooled in his belly, demanding relief, demanding her, as her chest rose and fell with

quick, panting breaths. Morgan tightened the circle, moving faster than ever. Her lips,

now a deep red, opened on a silent gasp. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Jack

stepped closer still to the window for an even better view, clutching the window ledge

with a white-knuckled grip, his own rapid breathing creating circles of damp heat against

the glass.

Then her legs stiffened, her back bowed. She bit her lip to trap in a cry as orgasm

washed over her in a long rush of shuddering sensation. Morgan rubbed at her clit

furiously, extending the pleasure, extending Jack’s hell.

She kept panting, teasing, bucking against her hand, stretching for the next orgasm.

Moments later it came, crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She cried out, no longer

able to hold in the sound. But the desperate pleasure in her voice stabbed Jack with a

fresh bolt of lust.

God help her. God help them both. There was no power strong enough on this earth

to keep him out of her body right now. Fuck his plans. Fuck the consequences.

He was going to fuck her. Now.

As Morgan rose to the pinnacle of her peak, arching and flushed, her eyes flew open.

Her gaze connected with his.

CHAPTER FIVE

Oh my God!

Morgan leapt from the tub, grabbed a towel with shaking hands and wrapped it

around her, covering as much of herself as she could. He’d seen her—and everything

she’d done!

She turned back to the window, eager to assure herself Jack had had the decency to

leave and give her privacy, now that she’d caught him being a voyeur. But Jack still stood

there unblinking, shirtless, his massive chest rising and falling with harsh, tightly

controlled breaths. Worse, he watched her with a hot, predatory gaze. Completely sexual.

Totally lacking in apology. His gaze told her that she aroused him. He wanted her. He

meant to have her. Period.

The ache between her thighs she’d tried to quench pulsed back to life. Morgan

squeezed her eyes shut, struggling against the morass of feeling swirling inside her.

Desire and fury galloped in her stomach. They raced neck in neck, mortification a close

third.

But at the finish line, fury won.

Damn him! Jack might have saved her life, but that didn’t entitle him to invade her

privacy, to watch…whatever she did by herself—and arouse himself doing it. Arrogant.

Rude! So like a man.

The famous O’Malley temper her mother had always talked about was rising hot and

fast inside her, greedily lapping at propriety and calm.

Shooting him a venomous glare through the window, Morgan whirled and left the

little bathroom, then stalked down the hall, into the kitchen/living room area. She

barreled toward the cabin’s front door.

Before she reached it, the door opened. Jack stepped in, fierce and silent. And so taut

she could probably bounce knives off him. He closed the door behind him with a quiet

click that was nearly lost in the hard stamps of her wet feet across the gleaming wood

floor.

apart. “How dare you? Did you think I wouldn’t notice or care? Or maybe you thought

—”

She started, clutching her towel around her, her chest rising and falling with anger.

His voice filled the room. A command burned in his eyes. He was angry with her?

Unbelievable.

Before she could tell him to pound sand, he said. “I had no right to watch you, cher. I

went outside to check the perimeter security. You left the partially shutters open, and I

couldn’t look away. I’m sorry.”

An apology? That was it? No arguing, no defending himself?

Fury dissipated—much faster than she wanted it to. Hard to stay frothing furious at

someone who’d offered an apology, damn it. Even harder to stay mad at a man who’d

been transfixed because he liked the sight of her.

But she was an O’Malley and not nearly ready to give up the fight.

He edged closer. “Of your body? Of being a woman with needs?”

the star of some sort of freebie sex show.”

and a desire that wasn’t going away. “Morgan, admit something, though: Knowing I

watched you, that I couldn’t look away, arouses you.”

gushed between her legs at his words.

peepfest? Did you think I’d say, ‘Sure, I know we just met yesterday, but feel free to spy

on the most intimate moments of my life?’”

you’d have no reason to selfpleasure, cher.” He quirked a smile. “Of course, I’d love to

see you stroke yourself now and then for the pure viewing fun.”

Risking a glance down, she couldn’t miss the outline of his rigid erection straining the

front of his jeans. Morgan felt a flush rise to her skin and that ache tighten between her

legs again. No! She needed her anger, all whipped into a nice, frothy fury.

Instead, she became all too aware of how close he stood. Of the fact he was half

dressed, while she was barely covered at all. Dangerous territory, especially with Jack

looking at her with a dark flame of want blazing in his eyes. Especially with her body

warming in response.

Morgan retreated a step.

His quiet tones rang with command, vibrated through her. Morgan hesitated, mind

racing. She didn’t have to listen, didn’t have to stand before him nearly naked and follow

orders. In fact, it was much better if she didn’t…

Jack reached for her.

Run! she ordered herself. Instead, he encircled her wrist with a gentle grip, but she

felt its steel beneath. And his heat.

For some reason, something in his voice… She couldn’t not listen to him.

Maybe that’s because Jack embodied every sin she’d ever yearned to experience, ever

masturbated to in her dark, lonely bed, only to have frustration douse her satisfaction

when she realized none of it was real.

He released her slowly and began to pace around her with unhurried steps, brushing

her shoulder with gentle fingertips as he stepped past. Her heartbeat accelerated. Goose

bumps erupted across her arms. She didn’t even want to think about what was

happening to her nipples or how bad they ached.

He stopped behind her. Jack’s hot breath tickled the sensitive spot between her neck

and shoulders. His heat radiated along her back and legs. Morgan sucked in a breath.

God, he was standing close. Too close to ignore. Too close to deny the effect he had on

her.

The ache between her thighs zinged to new heights, as if she hadn’t stroked her way

to climax mere minutes ago.

She sent a cautious glance over her shoulder. Jack stood right there, waiting, as if he’d

known what she would do. Their gazes connected, his full of fire and demand. He

hovered a mere breath away, tall and towering.

He was going to touch her.

A zip of electric thrill raced through her, even as she called herself twenty kinds of

stupid. She tore her gaze from his and stared at the front door again, clutching the towel

around her body. He said nothing, but Morgan could feel his eyes on her, taking in her

still-wet skin, her rapid, telling breaths.

Now what? This had gone from an ass-chewing to an assviewing in about two

minutes. If she didn’t want him doing anything else with her ass, she had to get away

now.

She couldn’t. It would only confirm what he must know: That some deviant, out-of-

control part of her wanted him, felt more than journalistic curiosity about what he could

give her.

He wanted her to call him sir. Trembling, she stood still, thoughts and heart racing

between uncertainty and forbidden thrill. She felt…claimed by Jack’s words. His iron

commands reached something inside her and called forth a barrage of need.

What would it be like to surrender? To give in to that voice?

Dangerous. Bad. Giving into everything Jack represented and everything she

shouldn’t want. If she did, she’d only be forging a new path to hell.

face him. “Don’t bully me.”

She waited for his angry comeback, for a growled command of frustration. It didn’t

come.

Instead, he shuffled a heartbeat closer, until a mere whisper separated her from the

raging heat of his body. “There is no reason to be embarrassed about your desires.”

orgasm,” she snapped.

Swallowing, Morgan tried to tear her gaze from his knowing, sexual stare. His scent

assailed her next, full of man and mystery, spicy as Cajun food and as hard to fathom as

the swamp itself.

She inched back. “Do you think you know me now?”

desires you don’t like to admit to. I see them all in your eyes. A craving to be bound and

dominated—”

Jack reached for her again, determination all over the fierce masculine angles of his

strong face. She didn’t want to know exactly what he was determined to do. Panic flared,

and she batted his hand away and leapt out of his reach. Her back hit the door.

And Jack kept coming for her with soft, slow steps. The pace of a hunter. She had to

get away. Had to. Now.

Morgan lunged to her left to evade him. He blocked her way with a strong arm, then

anchored it on the door, sealing off that avenue of escape. He used the same tactic on the

right before she could make a move in that direction.

Then Jack leaned in, placing one hand on the door, just next to her head. She couldn’t

look at him, refused to. As if to get her attention, his body brushed hers, detonating

ruthless sparks of desire that burned through her body. Still, that brief contact was

enough to light her up like a firecracker.

Something inside her wanted to obey. That smooth, rich voice with the hint of French

lilt and explicit command tugged at her. The thought of surrendering made her stomach

clench with anxiety…and desire gnaw at her clit. The man was a giant contradiction. An

aggressive protector. A man who bound women was going out of his way to keep her

safe.

It was confusing her. He was confusing her.

Finally, she raised her stormy gaze to clash with his. “What the hell do you want from

me?”

give you…whatever it is you want.”

A half smile curled up the side of his mouth. “You’re half right. I do want you to give

in, cher. I want you to spread your legs when I tell you to. Not because you’re spineless,

but because you’re not.” He moved in closer, brushing his body against hers again, all

hint of a smile gone. “I want you to burn for me. I want all your fire and independence

and sass underneath me. I want to show you what you secretly yearn for and try not to—

and how good it can be.”

Morgan swallowed, then opened her mouth to speak. How was she supposed to reply

to that? What did a woman say to the man trying to spoon-feed her every sexual fantasy

she’d ever denied?

Try thinking of the ways I could please you.”

Oh, she’d thought of those.

One of his hands eased away from the door. He brushed the back of his fingers down

her neck, over her collarbones…and kept delving down. He caressed down the terrycloth-

covered slope of her breast, then brushed down over the erect nipple begging for his

touch.

Even through the towel, she felt that touch all the way to her toes. A hot tingle sizzled

her insides like bacon in hot grease. She gasped, felt her gaze locked in place by his dark

stare.

He repeated the process again, then once more. Pleasure assailed Morgan from the

aching points of her tight nipples, streaking through her tightly coiled body, straight to

her vagina. She dropped her head back against the door, unable to hold in her moan.

hand joined the first in the soft torment of her nipples with only the thin towel in

between.

towel.”

Desire bubbled within her, at full boil, even as a last bit of sanity screamed

somewhere in her head. The memory of his touch at the strip club and the jolting

pleasure it suffused her with still haunted her. The lingering remembrances, coupled

with his potent command, sent her self-control reeling.

Of all the men she could desire, why him? Of all times, while being chased by some

whacked-out stalker, why did she have to want him now?

Gee, maybe it was because Jack was the embodiment of every midnight fantasy that

had ever kept her awake. Maybe it was because he lowered his hand to the part in her

towel and swirled his palm across her stomach, over the curve of her hip, then moved in

to press an impressive erection against her. Certainly, he and all that testosterone…

diverted her mind from the whacked-out stalker issues.

Her mother had always said, You make your choices in life and live with them. Could

she live with herself if she walked away from the forbidden allure of Jack Cole without

one taste?

He curved his hand over the rise of her ass and began to stroke his way down—

fingertips lightly toying with the crease between her cheeks. A new rush of tingles filled

her. Clever move, she acknowledged. If she arched into his touch, he had a handful of

ass. If she arched away from it, she pushed herself right against his erection. How could

he lose?

How could you? a little voice inside her head dared her.

In the next moment, his fingers stroked the cleft between her cheeks again, this time

a little harder, deeper. A dark thrill zoomed up her spine. Without thought, she gasped

and arched right into his hand.

His thumb toyed with her nipple, now so hard she could feel every brush of skin,

every callous. She moaned again.

voice strained but still in control. “Show me your pretty body.”

Oh, God. The command in his voice turned the ache between her legs into a throb.

She wanted to obey…so bad. Sizzle coursed through her. Blood rushed everywhere,

swelling her clit. Already wet from orgasm, she felt moisture pooling in her most

intimate recesses, threatening to overflow. Jack’s spicy, earthy scent was scattering

rational thought. The parts of her body aching for his touch were in control.

What’s the worst that could happen if you gave in? a voice inside her asked.

More disappointment and frustration. More rejection and ridicule.

Then again, it took her at least a dozen pairs of shoes to find the right fit. Were lovers

the same way? Maybe three hadn’t been enough.

Confusion spun in her head.

about sex for a living. I don’t need to have it to do the show.”

cheeks and hard nipples made her words an obvious lie.

He grabbed her jaw in one hand. “You lie to me again, and I’m going to spank you so

hard you won’t sit for a week. Tell me why you’re resisting what you want.”

Jack held firm. “Cher, I’m going to do more than touch you. Way more. And the

longer you hold out on answering me, the more I’m going to make you beg.”

Oh, God. His words alone made Morgan hot as she weighed them and the relentless

demand in his eyes against her fears. He could do it; he could make her beg. And the

thought raced a shiver down her spine. “Fine. If you have to know, I’m not some femme

fatale. I don’t respond much to sex.”

Cajun charm softened pushy arrogance with a mere curl of his sin-inspiring lips. He

placed hot kisses on her neck, nibbled at the curve to her shoulder. “You responded just

fine to everything I threw your way in Lafayette.”

Surprise. That’s all it had been. She’d been too shocked to really react. To want, then

bow to the pressure of self-doubt. Then clam up until, tense and frustrated, her body

gave up. Besides, she might be curious about his…lifestyle, but participating committed

her far more than simply wondering. And she had a bad feeling that one taste of Jack

Cole would be as addicting as heroin to a junkie.

Jack’s fingertips cascaded over her shoulder, leaving nothing but anticipation and a

fresh crop of goose bumps in their wake. “I know enough to know how to make you

scream. But that isn’t what’s stopping you.”

He kissed her neck, her jawline, inched up toward her mouth. She melted under his

mouth. God, that felt good. And his smell… Did it contain some ingredient that was like

Kryptonite for her restraint?

kiss—a kiss she wanted so bad, her gut clenched with desire.

Again, he smiled, a flash of white teeth visible in the room bathed with predawn

light. “I’m liking you just fine right now, cher. I liked you the first time we talked online.

I like that you’re smart and gutsy and sexy as hell.”

He whispered the words against her mouth, and Morgan felt her resolve fraying

around the edges. Back in Lafayette, Jack had touched her breasts, stroked her clit,

fondled deep inside her, yes. But his kiss lingered, haunted her. Like the smoothest wine,

all wrapped in sin and velvet, with a kick of lust that promised pleasure. His kiss gave her

a preview of his strength and selfcontrol. Almost against her will, she leaned toward him.

For a wild moment, Morgan thought he would pull away. Tease her, enflame her with

what might be. Instead, he grasped the sides of her face and kept her gaze locked to his

dark one.

sleep was torture. I kept thinking about lying next to you on the bed, peeling your clothes

away and devouring everything underneath. I want to get my hands on you, cher. My

mouth on you. Get inside you, drive deep and sure. I want you to scream my name when

you come.”

Morgan couldn’t breathe. The impact of every word did more than rev up her libido;

they struck her like body blows, every syllable battering her resolve with hot intent. He

robbed her of air, of the will to resist. How would he feel? Taste? That terrible vise of

desire clamped her clit with need. She hardly contained her whimper with the need to

come again. And he’d barely touched her.

What if she gave him free rein? What would it be like to let go and give herself to

someone with his mastery, just this once?

She exhaled on a ragged sigh. Arousal flared like a forest fire under a harsh wind,

burning her from the inside out. About to rage out of control.

Moisture threatened to trickle down her legs. She licked her dry lips, but when his

gaze followed the motion, it only made her temperature spike hotter.

pictured you on your knees, my cock in your luscious little mouth.”

Morgan knew next to nothing about oral sex from personal experience. Reading and

talking about it to prepare for her show didn’t make up for that fact. At this moment,

with a mountain of man like Jack in front of her, pressed against her, that seemed

irrelevant. Jack inspired an urge to sample everything wicked, including his cock.

this…”

As he’d done before, Jack stroked her nipples through her towel, now painfully hard,

with brushes of knuckles and fingertips. She gasped and couldn’t stop herself from

arching toward him and seeking an end to the erotic torment of his touch.

Would he? The suggestion made her faint with pleasure.

croak in her voice made her protest a joke.

No, no, no! Jack might be thrilling her beyond belief— beyond bearing—but

tomorrow…how messed up would her head and her life be tomorrow if she gave in now?

Wasn’t having a stalker enough? She’d agreed to meet him to facilitate an interview for

Turn Me On, not to find a dominant looking for a plaything.

Your nipples are as hard as diamonds.” Suddenly, he found the fold in her towel down

her abdomen again, parted the halves of terrycloth and planted his hot palm on her skin.

He was so warm, it startled her. Stung. She jumped…closer to him. Now their chests

brushed. His mouth was only a whisper away from hers as he dragged that hand over her

hip, across her belly—then started heading down.

Morgan hesitated. If she was smart, she’d scream “no” now. She’d jerk away from

him, march back to that claw-footed tub of his, fill it up with cold water and dive in. But

his fingertips whispered swirls and circles across her belly, over her thighs, brushing

over her mound just enough to entice.

She clenched her thighs together but it only magnified the ache. It climbed up into

her belly, spread down her thighs. The fact that she wore nothing but a tiny green bath

towel did not comfort her.

my fingers and tongue? Are you going to let my cock ride you hard and deep?”

God, more of his wicked words that gave her lascivious ideas—and irresistible

pictures to go along with them.

Morgan threw her head back against the door and closed her eyes. She wanted to say

yes, yearned as she never had for the forbidden pleasure she knew Jack could give her.

Once. Just once, whispered a voice in her head. What could it hurt?

Soon, with any luck, this business with her stalker would be behind her, she’d be

back in L.A. taping the next season of Turn Me On. Jack Cole would be a hot memory she

could drag out on a cold night and remember when she needed to warm herself. That

simple.

her abdomen, her hip. Those dancing dark eyes, that playful mouth teased her without

mercy.

She and her resistance were toast.

In answer to his question, she grabbed his hand and placed it right over her mound.

He swiped a hot finger through the swollen folds and swirled around her clit once, twice.

She gasped, assailed by an urge to spread her legs wider for him.

Morgan refused to stop and think, to reconsider again. Plenty of time for that later.

Instead, she tugged at the towel. It fell to the floor in a quiet rush, leaving her covered in goose bumps— and nothing else. She shivered—but not from the cold.

Jack looked his fill with hot eyes that promised mindshattering pleasure. “I can’t wait

to get inside you, so deep you’ll never forget it.”

His mouth covered hers in a searing kiss. No, he did more than cover her mouth. He

devoured, consumed, possessed. Morgan opened to him, accepting the hungry thrust of

his tongue, which delivered the spice of his taste and the heat of his need in a

devastating dance of seduction. Her knees weakened in seconds. His passion had the

kick of cayenne pepper, balanced with the sweetness of honey, caged in control of steel.

Unique. Intoxicating. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the hungry sound.

Jack’s hands fell to her hips and grasped her, fitting her right against his jeans-clad

erection. He gave her a nudge in the right spot, and her need spiked. The ache in her sex

built. He pressed against her again, compelling Morgan to lift her leg to wrap it around

his waist, opening her body to him in a silent plea.

He accepted immediately, taking her thigh and anchoring it over his hip, bringing

him in perfect contact with her clit. Morgan grasped his bare, steely shoulders, hanging

on while she felt dizzy with need.

Had she ever been this aroused? No. Ever wanted so bad she thought her blood

would boil if he turned and walked away? No.

It was torture. It was bliss.

He continued to eat at her mouth, small nibbles of her lips, long swirls of his tongue

against hers. Jack left no part of her mouth without his attention, his flavor. In

desperation, she rubbed her breasts against the hot, hard wall of his chest, threw her

arms around his neck, and pressed deeper into the kiss.

When he eased his lips away from hers, she clung to him in protest. He lifted her

arms away from him and anchored them to the door with a warning stare.

Their gazes connected, his dark with broiling need, compelling her to accept whatever

came next. Her body too ravenous, her mind too entangled in his spell, to refuse. The

breath seesawing in and out of his chest was her only indication that he wasn’t perfectly

in control.

Pushing her flat against the door, Jack leaned in, his cock grinding against her clit

again. But now he bent to add a totally new sensation to the mix: his mouth around her

nipples.

Morgan arched up to Jack, not just eager to give him more, but aching to. He started

with skillful suction, a teasing lick.

nipples. “Until you come, I don’t want to hear my name fall from your lips again, cher.”

He rewarded her with hot suction over the peaks of her breasts, first one, then the

other. Back and forth. Over and over. Hot, swirling tongue, then tender bites that had her

gasping and clawing.

For the first time ever, she could actually feel the blood filling her nipples, swelling

them.

With a last lick, he pulled back to look at his handiwork. “Very pretty. I should keep

them like this always, slightly tender, a rosy pink, standing up and waiting for just one

more touch.”

He closed thumbs and fingers around them again in a pinch that made her catch her

breath. Then he twisted, just enough to make Morgan cry out—as the moisture gushed

between her thighs in a fresh rush. Lord, she’d never been so sensitive, felt as if she

might actually orgasm just from having her nipples toyed with. She’d read it was

possible but never believed it. Until now.

Jack swiped a pair of fingers down the valley between her breasts, dragged them

down her abdomen, her mound, then dove right into her wet heat. He grazed her clit,

and she moaned against his mouth.

you.”

Jack took a step back, ending all contact. Morgan stared, wide-eyed. Bastard.

smoldered inside her.

In the end, Morgan was too far gone, too curious about the heights he could take her

to, to consider saying anything except, “Your way…sir.”

Leaning against the door, Morgan stepped wide. Jack trailed his fingers over her

puffed, wet folds, toyed with the tip of her clit, trailed moisture down her thighs. Her

breathing climbed higher, along with her heartbeat. Amazing. Jack knew just where to

touch, when, for how long, to keep her on edge, to grow her want but never fulfill it.

Soon, she felt a flush suffuse her skin all over. She was one giant ache, whimpering,

dying for him to fill her, conquer this monstrous need he’d created in her. Morgan ran

greedy hands over his hard shoulders, the incredible lines of his pectorals, his ridged

abdomen. He amazed her. Flesh so hard everywhere, but skin so silky soft.

He lured her close to the edge of restraint with talented fingers, an occasional nip at

her breasts. His long, fevered kisses made her moan, arch, silently plead. He toyed with

her, inciting her higher and higher until she became dizzy, delirious, willing to do most

anything for him to end her torment.

In desperation, she trailed her hands down his stomach and grabbed the ridge of his

cock through his jeans. Huge. Thick and like iron, he could give her what her body

needed. So why wasn’t he?

With a hiss, Jack grabbed her wrist and anchored it against the door, near her head.

Non. You touch me when you’re told, not before.”

Restless, beyond needy, she shifted from one foot to the other. He kept her thighs

spread with his feet between hers, so she couldn’t clench them together. His fingers

toyed again with her nipples, now slightly sore. And somehow that tiny hint of pain only

made his every touch more vivid, shot every caress straight down to her clit.

lips. “You want me to fuck you?”

She’d never said those words to a man in her life. Never imagined saying them. But

now, she couldn’t imagine saying anything else. She needed Jack now—hard, fast,

pounding.

He hesitated, dark brow raised expectantly.

In reward, he slid a pair of fingers over her clit and rubbed tiny, torturous circles

around the hard nubbin. Morgan had thought that, surely, her arousal could not climb

any higher. She’d been dead wrong, she thought with a moan.

So close now, Morgan’s every breath was audible. A drag in, a rush out, air filled her

lungs, but never made it to her head. There was only her heartbeat, drowning out

everything except the need to feel him deep inside her.

Morgan didn’t hesitate, didn’t tease. She rushed to pull the zipper down and shove

the hated jeans down his hips. He wore no underwear, so his cock sprang free into her

waiting hands.

She rubbed him. Her technique was fast and inexpert, she was sure, driven totally by

a need to touch him, feel the man who would soon be inside her. Fists wrapped around

him, one on top of the other, she stroked his thick length and gloried.

Until he grabbed her wrists and took her hands away, shoving them against the door

again.

down, not to stroke my cock. Fail again, and you won’t get this fucking.”

She bit her lip, trying to find patience, and nodded. “I understand…sir.”

Her clit pulsed just from saying those words. God, what was wrong with her? She was

too far gone to care. Later…

In silence, he extracted a packet from his pocket and shoved his jeans down to his

knees. Seconds later, he ripped open the foil square and sheathed the purple head of his

cock, then rolled it down his long length. Slowly. Too damn slowly. Morgan resisted the

urge to help him, or hurry him up or tap her feet in impatience.

Suddenly, he bent, lifted her by her hips and wedged her body between his and the

door. “Put your legs around my waist.”

She hesitated. Could people really have sex standing up? She’d never tried anything

more exotic than woman on top.

Without another pause, Morgan lifted both of her legs and folded them around his

hips. Moments later, he rewarded her with the feel of his cock probing at her entrance, all

thick and ready. Breath held, she clung to his shoulders, on the razor’s edge, waiting.

He eased his tip inside, and even that hard bit of him felt like heaven, like the magic

elixir to cure the ache currently roasting her alive.

Morgan never considered holding back. “Fuck me. Now!”

With that, he pushed her hips down as he thrust up. Tissues unused to such invasion

protested at first, unable to accommodate his girth. She cried out.

Morgan did her best to loosen her muscles—hard when she was dying a slow death

by desire. Jack kept pushing his way inside, the blade of his flesh cutting through her

like soft butter, probing past nerve endings with the wide head of his cock, awakening

them, leaving tingles screaming in his wake. He made her need soar, and it seemed like

forever until he was buried to the hilt. Oh, God, she needed to come.

She’d never taken a man this big, this deep. She could feel him in the back of her

tonsils. The width of him stretched her until her flesh burned. But it wasn’t enough.

That hint of pain fueled something inside her. Her blood raced, perspiration burst

across her skin. The ache made her hyperaware of being alive, of the pleasure roiling

beside the sting.

Without warning, he withdrew nearly all the way, then eased back in, much gentler

than before. The pain faded, but it had charged up the tissues in her sex as never before.

She swore she could feel ever inch, every vein, of his cock rasping across suddenly

sensitive flesh inside her.

Jack brought agonizing pleasure with every slow stroke, every rub of the swollen head

of his cock right over the flesh inside that had her gasping. Gasping, burning need took

over, receding everything but the feel of him, her need for him.

feel so sweet.”

She tried to hold on, hold out against the pleasure threatening to sweep away her

sanity. But with those words and the next hard stroke of his cock, orgasm engulfed her

like a raging hurricane—swift, strong, unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

Morgan knew then her first instinct was right; she was never going to be the same

again.

#

With Morgan’s scream ringing in his ears, Jack surged into the silken heaven of her

pussy one more time and lost control of the orgasm he held onto by a bare thread.

The explosion originated low in his belly, driving pleasure out through his cock. It

burst out across his body, suffusing bliss everywhere. A wave of dizziness crashed over

him. His toes tingled. The pulses of Morgan’s second climax fluttered around him,

milking him of every last drop of semen, leaving heavy satisfaction in her wake.

When had anything ever felt so good?

Struggling to catch his breath, he opened his eyes to her flushed face, her swollen

mouth, the relaxed set of her shoulders.

Did she look like this after a night in Brandon’s bed?

The thought slammed Jack out of nowhere. Anger and denial sluiced through him in

a shock, as if he’d jumped into an icy stream. He stilled.

Anger? Yes, that Brandon had touched her. That she belonged to the bastard.

Ah, but you fucked her, he reminded himself. Revenge is sweet.

True, but his gut, that gnawing spot that had festered like a wound in acid for three

years because of Brandon’s betrayal, wasn’t whooping with elation. Instead, he fixated on

the feel of Morgan around him, of her raspberry scent. He’d just come inside her and

already he wanted to do it again.

Not smart, Jack.

He’d lured her in to fuck her as payback. First mission objective accomplished. End of

story.

Jack forced himself to withdraw and set Morgan on her feet. She looked at him with

wide eyes that both asked for reassurance and wondered what was next between them.

He couldn’t answer either.

Stifling a curse, he turned away, tore off the condom and tossed it in a nearby

trashcan. Why he should be pissed off all over again, he didn’t know. Because he’d liked

Morgan and she didn’t deserve to be used? Maybe because he’d wanted to believe that

she wouldn’t betray the man she’d agreed to marry by spreading her legs for another.

Stupid him.

He zipped up his jeans and turned to Morgan again. Her lower lip quivered. Her

posture had gone from satiated to guarded in seconds. Something deep in his gut wanted

to reach out to her, reassure her. The other part was scared shitless at the magnitude of

his reaction to her.

Jack strode to the back of the house, to his private domain. Fishing the keys from his

pocket, he unlocked the door.

Go in. Shut it. Don’t look at her.

Impossible.

Jack turned to face her. Across the length of his cottage, he could still see the shock

on her face, along with the rosy marks of his whiskers on her bare skin, the swollen

nipples so sweet and succulent they made his mouth water, and the fiery hair covering

the slick utopia of her pussy.

His gut clenched. Again. Cross the room, lay her out, fuck her again.

Ignoring the voice, he slammed and locked the door, then stalked toward the

computer desk in the corner. He plopped down in his chair and booted up his machine.

But the thoughts and impulses pounding at him were unlike his mundane actions. His

instinct told him he’d just made a big mistake by turning his back on her. If he’d been

thinking beyond his desire to fuck her and the shock of his frenzied reaction to her, he’d

have realized that if he wanted Morgan to leave Brandon, he had to keep her sated and

enthralled. Constantly. Nothing else would ensure that she willingly walked away from

his former pal. And if he had any sense, he’d get on his feet, march back in there, carry