“How?”
“You’ll dress as Alyssa. She’ll fix you up with appropriately inappropriate clothes.”
“She’ll need help with makeup, too,” Alyssa pointed out. “I don’t have freckles, Jack.”
A quick glance at Morgan proved she had a mere hint of cosmetics on her pale face.
“Yeah, okay. Do it.”
“No. This plan won’t work,” Morgan protested.
“You got a better idea, one that doesn’t end with you in a pine box?”
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.”
“That’s my point. Alyssa, take Morgan upstairs and put her in something scanty. You
got any more of those wigs?”
“Yep.” The bleached blonde nodded.
Morgan glared. “It still won’t work.”
“Because…?”
“Alyssa and I, we’re not the same…size.”
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.
“Hell, no,” said the former stripper. “I wear an eight.”
“We’ll work around it,” Jack said. “We’ll shove toilet paper in the toes of the boots or
something. It’s temporary.”
“That’s not the biggest problem.” Morgan’s gaze drifted over Alyssa’s surgically
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.
“Alyssa has a knack for picking out clothes that make any woman look bodacious
enough to be a centerfold.”
“Then what?” Morgan fidgeted nervously, her gaze darting to the door, as if expecting
her unwanted admirer to burst through it at any second.
“We’ll need to slip past this bastard and get you to safety.”
“And then?”
“We’ll cross that bridge once we’ve made our way out of here, okay? I’ll get you to
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?
“This son of a bitch has been tenacious until now, I’m sure, but he’s never dealt with
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