Wicked Ties(115)

of throbbing music made the little back room vibrate, despite the doors closing them off

from the club’s main stage. It was hard to miss the heavy suggestion of the song, some

1980s tune about naughty girls needing love, too.

They stepped inside and Deke shut the door behind him. “It’s my favorite pole

dancer. How the hell are you?”

Alyssa tossed back a curtain of platinum hair and regarded Deke with disdain.

“Smart enough to avoid you and your tagteaming cousin. The last woman the two of you

finished with didn’t walk for a week.”

“You’re in no danger. We’re looking for a lady.”

The former stripper stiffened. “Fuck you.”

Deke gave an easy shrug. “I would, but you’re not Luc’s type. Thanks, anyway.”

“I wasn’t offering,” she spit out. “Next time you feel the need to be here, send your

cousin instead. He’s got charm.”

Meaning Deke didn’t. What was the problem with these two? Morgan watched their

byplay with a frown. Alyssa and Deke disliked each other. Intensely.

“I hate to interrupt,” Morgan blurted, lying through her teeth, “but can I get my

purse, Alyssa?”

The woman looked at her. “Morgan? Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you with

red hair and… What the hell are you wearing?”

“Jack’s sweatpants and He-Man’s sweatshirt.”

Alyssa’s expression turned ripe with X-rated questions.

Morgan flushed with both embarrassment and anger. “It’s not what you’re thinking,

but don’t ask. I just want to get my purse and get out of here.”

“Did Jack find your stalker and put him out of his misery?”

“No, but we think he’s gone to California looking for me since he set fire to my house

there yesterday.”

Alyssa grabbed her hand. “I’m not so sure, hon. Come with me. You, too, steroid

boy.”

Morgan followed her into a narrow hallway that bloomed into an office. Deke trailed

behind, grumbling that he’d never used steroids. She barely paid attention. Alyssa knew

something about her stalker that she didn’t?

The woman shut the door to the small, cubiclelike office. Ah, soundproofed. Very

nice.

Hustling behind her desk in a surprisingly long, confident stride, despite her

staggeringly high stilettos, Alyssa produced a big envelope. A familiar manila-style

envelope. One without postage marks.

Morgan’s heart took a nosedive.

“These arrived this morning. Apparently, some homeless woman said a man paid her

to deliver it by hand. I would have called Jack to tell him, but I was in New Orleans

today. I just got back and found them.”

With shaking hands, Morgan opened the envelope and extracted the pictures. There

were only two, both taken near Sexy Siren’s main stage the day Jack had brought her here

to transform and hide her. Had that been a mere three days ago? So much had happened

since then, it felt like a lifetime.

The first picture showed Jack in disguise, his fingers curled around her hip, his palm

resting on the curve of her ass. His mouth hovered above her ear. Morgan shivered as she

remembered his hypnotic voice and five o’clock shadow rasping against her senses.

She swallowed down a tangle of grief and yearning as she flipped to the next picture.

This one knocked the breath from her body.

Jack seizing her, holding her still for the onslaught of his mouth. Eyes closed, he

devoured her. The still picture captured aggression, possession in the clutch of his

fingers on her neck, the thrust of his shoulders, as if he was determined to get as close as

possible. His wide mouth utterly devoured hers. Morgan couldn’t avoid looking at the

picture, her arms around Jack’s neck, her breasts pressed against him, her lips parted in

eager readiness to taste every bit of his kiss. Not just accepting, but craving it. She

tingled just looking at it.

Deke whistled. “That’s one hell of a kiss.”

“Yep, I’ve never known Jack to be so intent on anything that didn’t involve

handcuffs,” Alyssa commented baldly.

Morgan cut a pained glance at her. Of course Alyssa had slept with Jack. Probably

more than once. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t, given the opportunity? Still,

looking at the exotic creature in black leather with a waterfall of platinum hair wrapped

in easy sexuality, Morgan felt like the ugly duckling—all baggy clothes, freckles, and

repression.

God, she had to get far away from here. If she stayed long enough to watch Jack touch

this woman or any other…the sight would crush her. No question. She’d trusted him,

opened up to reveal herself to Jack in a way she never had with any man. She cared. More