Possessing Morgan

by Bonnie Edwards

  Morgan gave and gave and gave with her mouth, her lips and her tongue. He kept a gentle hand on her lustrous hair, letting the strands of heat wrap around his fingers as she worked him.

  Long seductive moments later, his knees went weak from blood loss. His brain hardly functioned. “Sweet woman! I can’t stand any more.”

  She looked up, her eyes feverish and glinting Come get me. She wrapped her breasts around his wet engorged shaft.

  He stuttered with the incredible sensation of heat and softness encasing him. He rubbed against her soft flesh and groaned.

  “You make me wild.” Then wilder still as she moved, pumping him.

  Unable to take any more, Mac slid to his knees and kissed her mouth. “Enough, Morgan. I need—” He’d never needed a woman the way he needed her.

  “There’s a pack of condoms in the nightstand,” she said.

  His inner caveman crowed when he found the box unopened. He would be the first and only man to use them with her.

  MAC’S LARGE BODY FOLDED around her like a blanket, hip covering hip, legs covering legs, his shoulder and arm draped across her chest. She drank in his scent, his heat, and felt healed from the ravages of the fear.

  “I need to know you’re safe and that I’ll never hear sirens around you again.” His voice, rough with emotion, sated from the loving, rumbled through the air between them. His hips pressed hers, showing his readiness again.

  “Oh, Mac.” Her heart stuttered with feelings she refused to accept. Infatuation was too small, too easy a word for what she felt. “You make me feel safe, as if we’re in the eye of a storm, where it’s calm. Everything else is swirling around us, but we’re okay.”

  She turned in his arms, raised her leg to cover his and allowed him to sink into her center in a gentle rocking that soon swept them over the brink.

  Too late, she understood that she’d lost another part of herself. He swept hair off her face and grinned down at her. “You feel safe with me, while I feel like I’ve been picked up and tossed around. I fall back to earth in pieces.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll put you back together.”

  Mac took up most of the bed, but she didn’t mind. He dragged her against his chest and sighed into the pillow. She had exactly what she needed for now—Mac, asleep in her bed, his arms around her.

  The clock glowed 3:00 a.m. but sleep eluded her in spite of the loving. Mac had been desperate to hold her and make sure she was all right. He’d skimmed her body countless times as he’d inspected her for injuries.

  Wired and edgy, she closed her eyes and relived the fright. Those bullets could have been aimed higher and the outcome very different. She shivered, not from cold, but delayed reaction.

  Once the cops had subdued the gunman, they’d discovered he was wanted in three states for violent crimes. She’d stumbled on a fugitive.

  The detective who’d arrived shortly after the uniforms told her she’d been lucky. If she hadn’t been so quick to hotfoot it out of the drive, he might have dragged her into the house.

  She wouldn’t have made it out alive.

  She couldn’t tell Mac what she’d walked into. The gunman turned out to be the deadbeat’s cousin. There was no way anyone could have known that his fugitive cousin had used his place as a hideout.

  Joe hadn’t stuck around long enough to hear about the guy’s record. He’d been anxious to see BB, to let her know that he was all right. The man’s violent history had to be Morgan’s secret. Morgan’s nightmare.

  She counted Mac’s heartbeats, strong and steady until she calmed enough to slide toward sleep.

  She slept with her window open a crack for fresh air. Tonight, with spring leaning hard into summer, it was open several inches. She could feel a breeze now, cool on her shoulder, a contrast to Mac’s heat.

  As she quieted and let her mind drift, she heard an odd noise from outside. It roused her enough to listen harder. The noises continued. Hissing and muffled clatters. She lifted Mac’s arm gently then sat up in bed. There it was again, the unmistakable sound of a can hitting the ground and rolling.

  She heard feet on pavement, then a car door shut quietly and a vehicle drive off toward the street.

  She slipped to the window and held the curtain back so she could peer out.

  A second car pulled into the lot and a man climbed out. Moonlight glinted off silver hair. Jack Carling.

  Shielding her nakedness with the drape, she slid her window open another couple of inches. “Jack,” she called softly.

  He froze, looked up. “Morgan?”

  “Did you see that car leave?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling. What color was it?”

  “Tan.”

  “Or closer to beige?”

  “Sure.” He nodded.

  “Check Bessie for me, will you?”

  Suddenly, Mac’s solid body was at her back, bringing welcome heat and a sense of strength she could lean on. “Jack’s out there. Now, why would he be watching my apartment building?” She put some starch in her voice to hide her apprehension at what he might find.

  Mac cleared his throat.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Don’t get riled, Morgan. After what I heard earlier, it’s a wonder I haven’t dragged you back to my place kicking and screaming.”

  Jack spun to face her window again. “Get Mac and some clothes, Morgan,” he called softly. “You can’t stay here.”

  She tilted her head back to catch Mac’s eye. “Your stalker must have followed you.” She shuddered. “Tell me he did not sit under my bedroom window while we made love.”

  “I’d like to tell you that, but…” He trailed away, letting her come to her own conclusion.

  “Do you think he heard us?” Ugh! Maybe he used a listening device that caught every sigh and moan. Each whispered word. This was far worse than the coat check booth. Here, they’d let all their passion out in long drawn-out sighs, moans, and yes, even a scream or two. She flushed.

  The creepiest, crawliest feeling squeaked along her nerve endings. She shook it off in another shudder. She had to put her mind into gear.

  His large palms gripped her shoulders and tugged her back against him.

  “No one knows what’s in this person’s mind. They’re sick, whoever they are.”

  “I’m officially creeped out more than I’ve ever been, and I’ve seen some weird stuff.”

  “We’re out of here, Morgan.” He spun and grabbed his clothes from the dresser, where she’d laid them.

  She shivered with the cold chill of fear and ran her hands up her arms in response. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  “I won’t hear one.” He pulled on his slacks and shirt while she dug out her backpack from the bottom of her closet.

  The rasping buzz of the intercom sounded. “That must be Jack. Can you let him in?” She stuffed a weekend’s worth of clothes into her backpack then hit the bathroom next and scooped up toiletries as Mac let Jack into the building. “I’m not leaving without fresh clothes and my own toothbrush.”

  From the living room, she heard, “They hit her truck, Mac. That’s all.”

  “That’s all? That’s everything!” she cried. She zipped up her pack and shouldered past the two men to dash down the back stairs.

  “Morgan,” Mac growled, “get back here!”

  She moved faster, slammed open the stairwell door and headed down. Quick, quick.

  Mac and a muttering Jack followed close behind her, but she was faster and put her lead to good use.

  At the bottom, she dashed outside and headed straight for Bessie. She skidded to a halt in front of her truck and touched tacky paint. The windshield was completely covered. The truck couldn’t be driven. Except for the spray paint can that had bounced under the truck, there was no trail left by the perpetrator.

  Bessie had been vandalized: spray-painted with the word whore across the windshield and all the doors. Anothe
r word that began with a C was written along the truck bed. “I guess someone figured out that I’m the one in the photo with you.”

  Morgan put her head down on her forearm as she peered inside the truck. No damage that she could see.

  Mac stood behind her. “Your arm will be covered in paint.”

  She didn’t care. “This isn’t the first time a Five Aces truck has been vandalized,” she said in a reasonable tone. “I have to see if she’ll start.” She unlocked the door, went to open it.

  “No!” Jack stopped her. “There’s no telling what’s been done. You two go home. I’ll call the police and deal with this.”

  “But I can’t go home, can I?” she said. “They know where I live now.” She looked up at her dark bedroom window. “But this might not be Mac’s stalker, right? This could be about my job. Maybe I pissed somebody off enough that they want to get back at me.”

  Mac drew her into his protective arms. “Regardless of where this threat has come from, I need to get you away from here. Let’s go home where you’ll be safe.”

  Exhaustion licked at her. She waited for a pump of adrenaline but came up empty. “I heard the hiss of the spray can. I heard it hit the ground and roll.”

  He stood in stubborn silence.

  “Okay,” she said, leaning into him, too tired to resist him and his offer of quiet in the storm. “Take me to your place. But just for the night. I’ll borrow another truck for work tomorrow.”

  She meant the words to sound defiant, but they came out tired and defeated instead. Another look at Bessie convinced her she was caught up in this vendetta against Mac. The words were so…personal. And ugly.

  Not like the gunman earlier. He hadn’t shot at a woman named Morgan Swann. He’d shot at a stranger nosing around the property. He’d fired because he was on the run and didn’t want to be captured. When she’d said she was there for the truck, he reacted in his own violent way.

  None of what had happened to her earlier had been personal. Not like this.

  Her wild run down the street and over the fence was etched into her mind. The unreality of the guy on the porch, with the gun in his hand, the dull whap of the bullet kicking up dirt beside her—all of it ran before her eyes in slo-mo. Oh, God. She’d been so scared.

  “Take me home, Mac.”

  In the car, she replayed the events of the evening for Jack’s sake. When she finished, he blew out a breath. “You kept your head, Morgan. Which is more than a lot of people could do. You should be proud of yourself.” The respect that laced through his response would have warmed her this morning, but now, she was too tired to care.

  “How did you know the car was beige?”

  She was also too tired to lie. “I saw it earlier today. Three times. I lost her. I thought I was so smart, handling everything myself. I should have laid low all day.” But the lure of the adrenaline rush had overpowered her.

  Mac held her close, but didn’t speak. Didn’t even remind her that he’d warned her the reporter was after her.

  “You tried to tell me, Mac, but I was too stubborn to hear you.”

  “The beige car didn’t belong to the Courier reporter. A reporter wouldn’t vandalize your truck.” Jack blew out a breath.

  Mac’s voice sounded hollow. “It must be my stalker.”

  12

  TUESDAY MORNING AND Morgan woke slowly. Birdsong filtered into her consciousness, followed by the faint light that edged the draperies. She peeped open one eye, then stretched as far as she could to feel for Mac.

  The king-size bed was cool where she touched. He’d been gone for some time. She rolled to the middle and stared at the ceiling. She was locked behind the gates of Mac’s estate like a fugitive when she’d done nothing wrong.

  She spied a tray on a side table that held the makings for her first cup of coffee. Mac. How considerate he was, as a host and a lover. He’d taken care of every imaginable need the night before. He’d made love to her, made her feel safe, brought her here, but mostly he’d supported her in ways she’d denied she needed until she was too tired to be stubborn.

  Her real trouble was that she’d fallen in love with an impossible man.

  But as soon as it was safe to get out from behind these walls, she was gone.

  She checked the time. Eight forty-five and BB would be at her desk. The drivers would be on the road. She called the office.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Morgan! Where are you?”

  “You sitting down?”

  “What’s up?”

  She told BB about Bessie being vandalized. “Don’t worry, Mac’s seen to it. She’ll be clean and shiny in a couple of days. The old girl was due for some TLC anyway.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, last night just shook me up some.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, change that. I’ve made a huge mistake.”

  “What are we talking about here?”

  “I love him, BB. I do, and I don’t know how to walk away.”

  “Oh, girlfriend, I’m so sorry. But you can’t leave. Turn on the television.”

  In the sitting area she found the local news station. The street in front of Mac’s gates was full of people, vans, and cameras. It was bad enough that the stalker had found her at home. Now this. “Oh, no! What do they want?”

  “To get a shot of you, I guess. Stay inside, wait for this to blow over. And—” her voice dropped, laden with caution “—you’d better not come to work for a while.”

  Her belly dropped as the seriousness of her situation hit. “Am I fired?”

  BB hesitated while Morgan sank to the sofa in fear. “Of course not, but we can’t operate effectively if people watch our every move. Let’s give it a couple of weeks.”

  After this mess, Mac would be glad to be rid of her. If she was trapped behind the gates, so was he.

  There were two things she’d never wanted to lose during this time with Mac. One was her heart, the other was her job.

  They were both lost.

  Her life was in tatters again, just the way it had been with Johnny DeLongo. “BB, you’ll talk to your uncle for me, won’t you?”

  “I’ve already told him you need time off to visit your mother. That might not be a bad idea, Morgan. These reporters will move on before they can follow the trail from Mrs. Swann to whatever her name is now.” BB chuckled and brought her usual wry humor into the situation. “Will she let you stay with her?”

  “She’s already invited me. And for once, having all those surnames will be helpful.” She’d consider Elizabeth’s invitation. She could find work that wasn’t dangerous. It was sunny in Florida. There were palm trees. And if anyone knew the cure for a broken heart, it was Elizabeth.

  “It isn’t right that you can be held hostage this way,” BB said. “Last time I checked this was America. You should be free to walk the streets and go to work just like anyone else. You haven’t done anything wrong!”

  That didn’t seem to matter a whit to the crowd at the gates. “Mac’s trapped in here, too.” The swarm of reporters had nothing to do with his stalker and everything to do with Morgan.

  She dropped her head into her hands and groaned with the weight of her mistakes, starting with buying those tabloids. She’d been one of the people who’d clamored for any bit of gossip about the handsome Kingston McRae. “This makes me feel sorry for the celebrities they love to harass.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. Some of those celebrities use the tabloids to keep their profile high. Not to mention selling photos of their own children for profit. Talk about twisted.” BB snorted. “What some people do astounds me.”

  Morgan agreed and consoled herself that most of the famous women and wannabes on Mac’s arm were for public consumption. By agreement, of course. “Mac’s PR people arrange for a lot of his public dates, the movie premieres, that kind of thing. The actresses are happy to have a famous escort, especially if they want their actual private life private.”

  “Sure, makes se
nse. But what about Mac? What’s he keeping private?”

  “Up to now? Charity work and a private business program he oversees.” She couldn’t betray a confidence and explain the mentoring program. “I hope I haven’t exposed him to much ridicule.”

  She promised BB to keep in touch and said goodbye. In the meantime she had no job to go to. Miami looked better by the minute.

  She wasn’t sure what she could have done differently over these past few days. She’d tried going back to work, tried getting Mac out of her head and her heart, but in the end, she’d failed at all of it. So much for handling her problems herself—she’d only created more!

  She pulled on some clothes and stepped out into the hall.

  Raised voices came from Mac’s office. Probably Mac and Jack, going at it over the stalker again. Jack’s frustration with his team rose daily. Mac was more patient, but he felt the strain of being locked in. Great sex was marvelous, but in the wee hours he’d mentioned going out to dinner.

  In public.

  Like a date.

  She’d done a long, slow slide down his body, taken him into her mouth and put the idea of a public outing out of his head.

  The whole idea gave her the hives. If they were seen as a couple, life would never go back to normal. Not for her.

  She’d be marked as one of those weird people that popped up on the arm of a celebrity, got dumped, then disappeared again. Sometimes she wondered what the heck they were thinking getting involved with someone famous. Maybe it was the money, the fame, the attention. Their own fifteen minutes.

  And maybe, just maybe, it had nothing to do with being smart and everything to do with feelings.

  She shut that thought down. Hard.

  Her relationship with Mac could never go public. She’d make sure of that. She didn’t want to play with that fantasy again.

  Mac’s office door was open, and just as Morgan suspected, a frustrated Jack Carling stood inside glaring at Mac, who was silhouetted by the stream of sunshine at the window.

  “Good morning,” she said, breezily ignoring the testosterone-laced silence. “I called BB and she told me to turn on the television.” She nodded toward the security monitors that showed pockets of three and four people standing around, ready to pounce, cameras at the ready.