Wicked Ties(108)

a picture.

God, she’d ruined everything! What the hell was wrong with her? If her ultimate

fantasy shocked even Jack, she must be totally, terribly wicked.

Morgan resisted the urge to close her eyes and cry. She’d done that once before, after

Andrew slammed her. Tears didn’t do any damn good. Shedding them over this

particular fantasy and all the associated problems wasn’t happening again.

Jack himself had been swearing to her that her wants were perfectly normal and

nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. Liar, she wanted to shout. She saved her

breath.

So much for all his assurances.

Damn it, these fantasies kept screwing up her life, wracking her with guilt, chasing

men off. She had to move past them, get them out of her head. Somehow.

Deke rounded the table, and Morgan watched his progress, craning her gaze over her

shoulder as he settled behind her without a word. He could see…everything. The long

line of her spine. The wet heat of her sex swollen by Jack’s touch. The bare globes of her

ass. A fresh wave of mortification rolled over her, along with something else she didn’t

want to name. She closed her eyes.

Clamped at wrists and ankles, Morgan could do nothing but let him look and absorb

his heat as he stood directly behind her. In exactly the same spot Jack had occupied mere

minutes ago. Her breath hitched.

In silence, Deke leaned over her, blanketing her cooling skin. The soft cotton of his

shirt and the hard muscles of his chest covered her bare back. Hard as iron, his jeans-

covered cock burned hot between the cheeks of her ass. A spark of shocking heat, too

strong to ignore, blended with her humiliation.

That alone had to prove how twisted she was. Why couldn’t she just…turn it off?

His hot palm fell to her waist, settling in the curve with warm fingers that soon

dipped down the swell of her naked hip. He nuzzled his face in her neck, and Morgan

drew in another shaky breath. Oh God, what was he going to do? She was already

stripped, bound—defenseless. The only things keeping him from violating her was a

button, a zipper, and his conscience.

Jack’s warning that Deke wasn’t a nice guy rang in her head. Morgan panicked.

This huge blond stranger was going to touch her, seduce her. Fuck her. She couldn’t

do a damn thing to stop him. Fantasies of ménage aside, she didn’t want it or him—not

without Jack.

She tensed against her trembling limbs and warned, “Deke…”

Behind her, his cock only got harder. “Now I know why Jack is so crazy for you. You

smell fantastic.”

His voice was like a caress feathering its way down her spine in a sensual vibration.

She shivered. Broad fingers clamped harder at her hip to keep her still.

“Damn it, get me out of here!” she demanded.

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair, the pad of his thumb caressing down her hip a

fraction. “Patience, doll.”

“Screw patience! Being used and abandoned doesn’t bring out my best virtues. I just

want the hell out of here.”

Deke sighed. His free hand caught the latch at her right wrist. He repeated the

process on her left. Then he eased back, withdrawing the solid heat of his body away

from her back. He knelt and unlatched her ankles.

“Can you stand?” His gaze snagged hers, which shone with both mischief and

concern.

He’d let her go? Just like that? Relief fell out of her in a shaky breath.

Morgan stood straight up and zipped her gaze over her shoulder to find Deke

adjusting his fly.

“You’re gorgeous, and I’m still a guy.” A smile flirted with the corners of his wide

mouth. “I’d never fuck you without Jack. Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers in the

Scouting symbol.

But he’d fuck her with Jack? Morgan shook her head at the ridiculous question. After

Jack’s reaction to that very suggestion… She had a better chance of being nominated for

sainthood. And her body leaping at the prospect…damned annoying and totally

irrelevant.

She turned to face Deke, crossing her arms over her chest to cover her exposed

nipples through the cutouts in the indecent bra. Deke hadn’t touched her…but she still

wasn’t the sort of siren who stood basically bare-assed naked in front of virtual strangers.

“Um, thanks, but you don’t look much like a Boy Scout.”

“I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I just meant general principle and all. Besides, you’ve had

enough for the night.”

In a flash, the evening replayed in her head. Jack coming. Jack cursing. Jack leaving.

Damn him! Granted, it wasn’t Deke’s fault—Jack should be taking all the blame—but