by Wicked Ties
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.”
“Stay.”
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.
“I’ve been sleeping in the chair,” he clarified.
“That can’t be comfortable.”
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.
“If you’re awake, I want to ask you some questions. You need coffee first?”
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.”
“I’m likely to burn in hell for some other things in my life, starting with painting my 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.
“And I see you took off the boots.”
“They looked uncomfortable.”
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.
“What do you want to ask me?” she said. Conversation, yes. Much safer than staring.
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.
“Honestly, I can’t think of anyone. I’ve had weird fan mail, but not this weird.”
“It seems as if this guy knows you pretty well, where you live, where your friends and family live, where you might run to.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me about your relationships.”
“What do you mean?”
“Previous lovers,” Jack’s raspy voice demanded as intriguing shadows played across 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.”
“Before him?” he barked.
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.”
“Who else?”
“Who else what?”
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.
“You’re getting awfully personal, not to mention crude.”
“Just getting a full list of suspects and cutting to the chase, cher. Answer me.”
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.”
“Three past lovers?” Jack asked, curiosity ripe in his voice. “No more?”
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.
“Why does it matter?” Morgan shot back, aware she was dodging the question. “Aren’t the more important facts that this monster knows my habits, my friends, family, 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 a lot more ruthless.”
With a shiver, Morgan considered Jack’s implication that 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.
“He’s especially dangerous if he’s already had a taste of what he’s missing. I need to 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?”
“Yes.”
“I need names, vital statistics, ages, and last known addresses to start digging.”
“This is embarrassing.”
“This is critical. Start talking.”
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.”
“And he was the first?”
She nodded. “When I was a sophomore in college, yes.”
“When did you see him last?”
“About four years ago, just after he graduated. We only dated six months or so. It wasn’t that serious.”
“But you gave him your virginity?”
“I already said that.”
“Why?”
“I’m not answering that. That goes beyond name and vital statistics.”
“I need to establish motivation, cher. Maybe he still thinks of you as his little virgin 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 faster than she had after seeing the first installment of Turn Me On.
“Not likely. When we split up, he encouraged me to date his room-mate, who was a 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?”
“Brent Ph
erson.”
“The Brent Pherson drafted by the Raiders a few years ago?”
“The same. If you want his vital stats, look them up on ESPN.com.” Jaw tight, he asked, “How’d you meet?”
“At a press party. He was doing a reality show about athletes during the off-season 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?”
“Do you have to put it like that?”
“That’s what happened, right? Why did you let him? Did you have feelings for him?”
Brent was built like the side of a mountain and had been 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.
“That’s really none of your business.”
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.
“If you want my help, I need to know your past. It’s not uncommon for a previous lover to turn stalker, since he knows 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?”
“If I did, I would have just sat there in Lafayette and let him use me as target practice,” Morgan grated out. “Do you think he followed us here? Did you see anyone follow us on the road?”
“No, I don’t think he followed us. We’re dead in the middle of a swamp, so he’ll be 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.”
“Good, then cooperate. You holding back is tempting me to put you over my knee and spank your ass.”
Morgan gaped. “You’re not touching my ass!”
“Don’t challenge me, cher. I’ll make those pretty cheeks fire-hot in about three 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.
“You’re a pushy bastard, you know that?”
“I’m a dominant man who’s reached the end of my patience with your little-girl 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.”
“Nothing since?”
She shook her head. He let the subject of Brent drop.
“I’m still not ruling him out. And bachelor number three?”
“Andrew Cummings. He’s about your height. Salt-and-pepper hair, gray eyes. He just 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.”
“You said . . . ?” Jack inched forward, crowding her personal space.
“Yes. He was good-looking, cultured, connected, seemed intelligent and funny. Why not?”
He tensed—mouth, shoulders, abs. “When did it end?”
“About ten months ago.”
“Because . . . ?”
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 fostered a shame that boiled her temper every time she thought about them.
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.
“It just wasn’t working out,” she hedged.
“Why?”
“We . . . just didn’t get along as well as we had thought.”
“You’re holding out on me,” he growled, grabbing her wrist.
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.”
“Until you tell me the truth, I can’t comment.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s all the truth you need.”
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.
“Yes. He’s my fiancé. My . . . my current one.”
Jack’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “Where is he now?”
“Out of the country for a few weeks.”
“While some off-kilter psycho is taking shots at your head. Sounds like a great guy.”
“He didn’t want to go,” she defended. “His job—”
“Has anything else happened besides you receiving these pictures? Anyone break into your house?”
“Yes, and . . .” Morgan swallowed, then whispered, “He masturbated on my bed. That’s when I got scared and left L.A.”
Sudden tears scalded her eyes, her cheeks, surprising her. She’d 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?
“You did the right thing, leaving L.A. and agreeing to stay here. This guy is fixated and dangerous, no question.”
Embarrassed by her tears and too conscious of Jack’s closeness, Morgan looked away. “I hate being afraid and having my life turned upside down. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
“We’ll fix it,” he murmured. “Who knew where you went after you left L.A.?”
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 . . .”
“Having someone uninvited jack off on your bed would throw anyone for a loop.”
Jack took her hand, sandwiched it between his strong, calloused pa
lms 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.