Possessing Morgan

by Bonnie Edwards

  He turned onto his street and swore. “What now?”

  One of the security company cars blocked his gates. The driver climbed out and approached the car. “Mr. McRae, your power went off about fifteen minutes ago. Then your emergency backup lights came on. I’ve just checked the perimeter and the house is untouched. The office reports no intruders. Your cameras are fully functional. We can’t see a reason for the loss of power, but—” He shrugged. “I thought I’d stick around anyway, just in case.”

  Rory grumbled darkly in the backseat and Morgan felt like doing the same.

  “The emergency power won’t operate the gates, but they’ll open manually. That’s how I got in to check the exterior of the house. There were no signs of a break-in attempt, but if you’d prefer, I can call the police.”

  “No need,” Mac said. “We can check all the windows and doors from inside.”

  After he parked in front of the garage, Mac dropped his arm over her shoulders and tucked her close to his chest. His body warmed hers as she slipped her arm around his waist. “I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he said in her ear.

  “Why?”

  “To show you off.” He looked down at her, his eyes mysterious while his lips turned up at the corners. He was hard to read sometimes. The nuances of his expressions would take a while to learn, not that she would have that kind of time.

  “Home again at last,” Rory muttered behind them. “If this person set out to ruin my Lindsay’s wedding, they failed. She was happy and glowing, just the way a bride should be.”

  “We covered things pretty well, Rory. It was quick of you to look so confused about The Glass Slipper.”

  “I hope Lindsay’s not worried about my mental faculties.” Rory tapped his temple.

  “I’d say by now Lindsay’s not worried about much of anything.” Mac kept his arm over her shoulder as they walked into the house through the garage entrance. It was dark in the foyer.

  “The timer must have blown when the power went out,” Rory said. He cursed a big ugly, then flipped a switch and the foyer flooded with light. He apologized to Morgan for his outburst. “I was in the Navy for a time,” he said by way of explanation.

  She chuckled. “No problem. I am the queen of blurting things I shouldn’t.”

  Rory’s shoulders sagged and he gave her an appreciative look. “A few years ago I would have kept a cool head with all that’s been going on, but not now.” Mac told her earlier that Rory felt bad for having allowed the phony security dude onto the estate.

  “I didn’t like walking into a dark house, either,” Mac said, “not under these circumstances. We’ll check that all the doors and windows are locked, then I’ll walk the grounds and make sure the garden shed is secure. Morgan can head on upstairs.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be up soon.”

  She didn’t like the idea of Mac being outside in the darkness alone. “I’d like to walk with you,” she said.

  “I don’t want you out there. Please head up to bed.” His eyes said that was where he wanted her. Waiting for him in his bed. She could argue, but the security guard had said there was no sign of intruders on the grounds.

  MAC WATCHED HER GO, then followed Rory into the kitchen. He found him checking the doors that led to the patio. “If this bastard is close enough to know we wanted the yacht today, then it stands to reason he also knows about the secret door in the shed.”

  “A very short list of people know about that.” They might also know that it was the only egress that wasn’t covered by cameras and motion detectors. The shed was a typical garden shed, except for a false back wall that concealed a narrow door. The outside was well camouflaged with bushes.

  “There’s a good chance the stalker is not a he.”

  “Except the door hasn’t been used to bring women onto the estate since my father’s adventures in the pool house.”

  The last time the door had been used with any regularity was during Lindsay’s teens, when she sneaked out after being grounded.

  “The women Jack’s looking at don’t have the expertise to hack protected computer systems. That skill takes dedication. Gretchen, Lila and Maria were dedicated to beauty, style and their careers. There’s no way they spent years in front of a computer.”

  But a man who spent years on a computer would do a lot for a beautiful woman. “Jack’s got to look hard at the men around those women.” He hated to think that any of the women were behind this, but at this point, he couldn’t ignore anyone.

  After his call to Jack, he spent the night with Morgan, lost in her. He loved the way she fit perfectly against him. Her legs were long and strong and held him close while he claimed her time and again.

  They raided the kitchen around midnight, the way they had the night before. Morgan perched on a stool at the island counter, her taut sexy body covered by his white formal shirt. The sleeves were rolled to her elbows with precision folds that reminded him of her thick rolled socks. He barely managed to keep his hands off her, but hunger beat back his desire. Barely. The omelet in the pan claimed his halfhearted attention.

  Her voice came to him softly. “Have any of your girlfriends gone to the tabloids with juicy bits?”

  He shook his head. “There weren’t any juicy bits.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. She looked pensive, chin in hand, her hair mussed and sweeping her shoulders. But her eyes were wide with concern. It touched him in a way he would never have expected. She’d defended him, been fierce for him, and now she worried about him. At his comment, she rolled her eyes.

  “Right, and those women didn’t sit at this counter and watch you cook for them.”

  “That’s right. They didn’t.” He faced her. “And I didn’t.”

  She cocked her head. “So, their visits here weren’t intimate?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just—” He wanted to get this right, get this perfect. “I didn’t share myself in the same way I do with you.”

  Her expression was pleased and amused.

  “And I didn’t sleep with all of them, although I’m not sure why I’m telling you that.” It was important for her to understand that he could be honest, too. “Except you should know I’m careful about women.”

  “Careful,” she repeated. It wasn’t a question, but a thoughtful statement. “I’m careful, too. I haven’t had a lot of serious relationships. Maybe it’s because my mom’s had so many. I understand careful, Mac.”

  He lifted the cooked omelet onto one large plate, then set it down on the counter and slid a couple of forks across to her. As he rounded the counter to sit beside her, she jumped down off the stool. They collided softly, he with his hands up to steady her, she with her knee between his legs. She moved her leg, giving him a sexy rub with her thigh.

  Witch. His libido woke, stretched and growled in his belly, so he grabbed her butt and held her tight against his growing erection.

  She pretended not to notice. “Ketchup?” she asked.

  He could get it for her, but he liked the idea of her making herself at home. “In the fridge.”

  When she put a blob on her side of the plate, he dipped a forkful of omelet into it. “Want your own?” she asked with a crook of her eyebrow.

  “I’ll just steal from yours.”

  She chuckled and turned the plate so the ketchup sat at twelve o’clock.

  “It’s amazing none of your exes have sold stories to the tabloids. Is it because you’re such a decent man?”

  “Just lucky, I guess.” But he wondered how long his luck would hold.

  9

  Our favorite playboy Kingston McRae is slumming with the help! Caught in a tryst, McRae is seen here with his chauffeurette, looking well kissed.

  MONDAY MORNING, MAC glared at the headlines in the World Courier. He was on the phone with his PR head, Cassie Ranger. “The photo came from a server with a camera phone at the wedding. Find out which of the jackals at the tabloid is after Morgan. I need to know everything they have on her.”r />
  “Yes, sir. I’ll get back to you right away.”

  The next call was to Jack. “The World Courier has a front-page photo of Morgan and me looking—”

  “I see it, I just pulled it up online. Wow. What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t.” She’d been so hot for him, so completely giving, she blew his mind. And look what he’d done to her. Her privacy was gone, her life changed. “The headline spells it out.”

  He’d love to find that server just to wipe the lascivious smirk off his face.

  The stunned silence from the other end emphasized how stupidly he’d behaved. He never should have put Morgan into a position that could embarrass her. Jack found his voice. “I told you we needed a team at the wedding. At the least, I should have been there.”

  “My decision, my fault. Even you can’t be in two places at once.” He read further. “At least they’ve got her name wrong. They identified her as Morgan Swain. That’ll give us time to bring her here, out of harm’s way.”

  Silence. “You’re sure you still want to be involved with her? It might be better to just let this die.”

  “How? Aside from my feelings for Morgan, I’ve put her in a rotten situation. I’ve just spoken to Cassie in PR. She’s on the phone with her contacts at the Courier. They won’t stop digging until they get more on Morgan, but it would help if we know what they know. Maybe we can prevent an all-out frenzy.”

  “Good. How’s Morgan handling this?”

  Surprised Jack would care, he admitted he hadn’t spoken to her since yesterday. “I’ll call when I have answers for her. I want to know who’s on this story at the Courier.”

  Jack made a noise in his throat. “The woman drives a tow truck, Mac. She’s got no experience with paparazzi.”

  “Is that a change of heart about her, Jack?”

  “I’m still not sure she’s the good woman you think she is, but she’s a sitting duck with no idea who’s coming for her. Her life could turn into a living hell.” A thin note of sympathy leaked into Jack’s voice. “She could still be on the make, though.”

  “Let’s deal with what we know, not what you’re making up in your suspicious mind.” He hung up. Damn Jack for raising questions. It was his job, it was what Mac paid him good money to do. But it didn’t sit well to have him question Morgan’s integrity. It was in her eyes, those deep pools of soft green rimmed by sherry that sparked so brightly when she laughed. He’d also seen her honesty when she’d admitted to the joyriding. Helping yourself to someone else’s vehicle was an odd thing for a teenage girl to do, but Morgan was not your typical female.

  The image in the tabloid was clear enough to give his memory a hit. Her lips were puffy, her neck still pink from where he’d nipped her. He could taste her skin, conjure the softness of her breasts, the weighty feel of them in his hands. The way she’d climaxed on his hand had taken him into the stratosphere.

  He had to convince her to stay with him. If no more photos surfaced, the story would die in a couple of days. Maybe there’d be an ugly divorce or custody battle with an A-list actor to take the heat off Morgan.

  She’d left in the late afternoon on Sunday. He’d been on the phone with Jack when she’d bussed his cheek and walked out with a wave.

  The breezy way she’d left had seemed fine at the time, but when he looked back on it, her smile was brittle and her eyes dark. It was clear she felt intimidated by their differences. He saw them as interesting quirks to be explored. He wanted to know what made her who she was, why she drove a tow truck, how she’d ended up with a job that seemed so out of the ordinary for a petite woman with a body that could stop traffic. They’d touched lightly on all these topics, but he wanted more.

  “Mr. McRae, it’s Cassie. They know her real name is Swann. They planted the wrong name as a red herring for the other papers. They’ve got her place of work and her home address. They know what school she dropped out of and are looking into a long absence from school when she was about fifteen.”

  “They planted a wrong name in the paper?”

  “That gives them a jump on the competition for the next piece. They’re going after her, sir. And they’ve got one of their most determined people on the story.”

  “Morgan’s not a story. She’s a friend. Can’t you call in a favor to have them bury this?”

  “I tried. They won’t budge. I think this may be the end of feeding them what we want them to know. Hiding your charitable work and your mentoring will be impossible now.”

  “Do what you can, and thanks.” He’d just put the receiver back on the cradle when it rang again. “Jack?”

  “We’ve caught a whiff of something, Mac. Does the name Jonathan Lake ring any bells?”

  “No. It could be a town or an actual lake.”

  “We’re checking all the possibilities.”

  “Keep me informed. And Cassie tells me it’s time to circle the wagons.”

  “Shall I go get Morgan, or will you?”

  “I’ll try. There’s no telling how she’ll react to this.”

  THE HEADLINES SCREAMED across the page but it was the picture that brought on the rage. Morgan Swain? That auburn-haired bitch from the wedding!

  She was the one who’d driven the tow truck onto his estate. The truck that had been parked in front of his house for two nights in a row.

  Five Aces Towing. That was the name on the door. Hacking into the dealership had been so easy. Who’d have thought it would backfire this way? What was Mac thinking, taking up with a woman like that?

  It was bad enough to see her in a chauffeur’s uniform, but a tow truck was just too much. She shuddered at the idea of Mac’s mouth on hers. His hands on her body. Jealousy and righteous rage twisted as images of Mac and this…this…slut twined together.

  She’d wondered about that Mona woman. Thought that by delivering the airport photos to her, she’d have proof he was sleeping with her. But Mona had dropped the package off and left almost right away. Since then, she and her family had gone to a hotel. At least someone was taking things seriously.

  The paper lay faceup on the hotel bed. She tilted her bottle of nail polish over the photo, let the crimson drops obliterate the bitch’s face.

  Morgan Swain had to be taken care of. Nothing drastic. Not yet. But this whore would be out of Mac’s life or else.

  First things first. She called Jonathan. “I want the addresses of the personnel who work at a trucking company called Five Aces Towing in Seattle. Do it now. I’m looking for the name Morgan Swain.” She ran her fingertip through the crimson splotch over the whore’s face.

  MORGAN’S MONDAY MORNING started off just like any other. She woke on time, showered like usual, detangled her hair and caught it in a ponytail. She slapped her ball cap on her head, and for a change, slicked on lip gloss. She slid the gloss tube into the front pocket of her shorts and hit the back stairs of her apartment building at a dead run to get Bessie.

  Twinges that reminded her of the great sex she’d had all weekend went ignored. She also ignored the sunny skies and the birds heralding the day. Mind deliberately blank, she headed for her usual coffee kiosk, where her favorite morning muffin awaited her.

  The blankness lasted until she was in the lineup for the order window. With Bessie rumbling around her, she wondered what Mac had done on Sunday evening. Worked, probably. He’d said earlier that he had a lot of catching up to do.

  All evening she’d been on edge, waiting for him to call, dreading it at the same time. But she couldn’t stay with him another night. For one thing, she needed fresh clothes. For another, she hadn’t wanted to talk about a future that couldn’t happen.

  It had been a fun fantasy, but she lived in the land of reality. Reality was Bessie, stinking of diesel, and BB chiding her about men. Reality was how she paid her bills.

  And then there were the lies she’d told. Inadvertent as they were, she’d still lied. She hadn’t confessed the whole truth about her days as a car thief, and when Jack
finally dug out the story, Mac would look at her with different eyes. He’d see her for what she was: a phony.

  Add that to the fact that she’d vowed never to need a man to rescue her: independence and freedom meant everything to her, and a relationship with Mac McRae was impossible.

  A fantasy was best lived in the mind and had no place in her real life.

  She inched Bessie to the window, where her regular barista smirked like a hooker with a secret. Bessie idled noisily while Morgan waited for her latte and muffin. When the barista snickered at her, she had to ask, “What’s so funny?”

  “I never see my regulars standing up,” he said. “Until this.” He pressed the front page of the World Courier to his window so she could get a good long look. “This is you, right?”

  Her stomach slid to the floor as she took in the photo. Mac looked so handsome, so endearingly rumpled from loving her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and held her hand out for her latte and muffin. If the guy in front of her would just move his Lexus, she’d floor Bessie and get the hell out of here.

  The tabloid had zoomed in on her and Mac looking like they’d just rolled out of bed. Heat rose at the memory of climaxing on his hand.

  Surely Mac would be safe from this kind of spying at a family function? But it wasn’t just family who’d been there. Anyone could have seen Mac take her into the coat check booth. Maybe one of the hired help needed a few bucks. Who didn’t these days?

  She offered the barista a five-dollar bill for the paper. He gladly handed it over. “Thanks!”

  She drove out of the narrow lane, avoiding so much as a glance at the paper. For all of fifteen seconds.

  Once she’d pulled into a parking spot, she pored over the article.

  Her stomach roiled.

  Her image was clear enough that the barista, a relative stranger, had recognized her. The name they got was only one letter wrong. But it was close enough. Her stomach constricted.