let you set foot outside until he’s convinced you can pass the test. He takes protecting
clients seriously.”
The idea of Jack inspecting her made her stomach jump. Jack was gorgeous, and the
fact he was a dominant man only intrigued Morgan more, despite her wariness and fear.
Securing the long blonde wig in place, Morgan pushed the thought away. She was just
tired. Lord knew she was stressed. She would not be having sex with Jack, so his sexual
preferences made absolutely no difference to her.
Someone pounded on the door. Morgan started, her heart racing. Had the shooter
managed to follow her here? She cut her gaze to the window, hoping it might prove to be
an escape route.
Then the door opened. Jack entered, wearing a ratty T-shirt and faded jeans, a
backward baseball cap, and a false moustache. Those few external changes made him
look considerably different. But she still couldn’t miss his pissed-off expression.
“Damn it, what are you two doing in here, having a slumber party?”
“Bite me, Jack. I worked as fast as I could since I need to get back to business,” Alyssa
said with a smile, then kissed his cheek. “And good luck to you,” she threw back to
Morgan.
Then she exited, leaving Morgan alone with Jack.
His gaze flew across the room and latched onto her. Black eyes scorched her, and a
slow, sinful smile spread across his mouth. That look made her stomach clench. Quickly
realizing she wore nothing but a revealing bra and thong, she glanced around for
something—anything—to cover her.
She darted across the room and reached for the white satin sheet draped off the bed.
Jack ripped it out of her hand.
“No time for modesty, cher,” he whispered in her ear, his voice inflected with a lilt
that was decidedly Cajun French.
His body buffeted her backside, legs glancing hers, chest brushing her shoulders. The
heat he gave off warmed skin she hadn’t realized was chilled. Despite his heat, goose
bumps multiplied their way across her skin and a shiver ran down her spine. Her nipples
made a sudden, unwelcome appearance.
She swallowed. He might be one of the good guys, but at the moment, his posture
was pure predator.
“I don’t need you in here while I get dressed.”
“Mais yeah, too bad for you I plan to supervise. We aren’t leaving here until I’m
convinced you can pass for Alyssa.”
“I’ve been putting on my own clothes since I was three. I think I can manage alone.”
“True, but I use Alyssa as cover for cases. We walk around pretending we’re drunk on
hurricanes and sex. People are used to seeing me touch her. Often. But you…” He snaked
a hand around her and laid a palm flat on her belly.
She jerked and gasped when his broad hand blanketed her bare midriff, his heat
seeping under her skin, insidious, unstoppable.
“You,” he murmured in her ear, “jump when I touch you. You do that in public, and
people will know you’re not Alyssa.”
With every word, Jack made her more aware that he was male—all male—and she was
female. He had the kind of personal power that drew her. Her stomach flipped when he
spoke. Her breasts swelled. She felt jumpy, unsettled, when he stood too close. Morgan
swallowed tension so thick she thought it might choke her and tried to ease away from
him.
Jack didn’t budge—or let her go.
Gnashing her teeth, she said, “There must be another way out of here besides you
pawing me.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet. You wanna make it out in one piece, cher, without your
stalker recognizing you through your disguise, you’ve got to act right. We’ve got to look
real.”
The hand on her stomach started inching slowly north.
Morgan’s brain buzzed with the intimation in his words. He would touch her out in
public, where complete strangers would see. Instantly, her breasts swelled again.
Moisture gathered between her legs.
This is impossible. She wasn’t into public displays. And Jack’s caveman tendencies
shouldn’t be arousing her. Having such fantasies was one thing. Living them…that was
completely different. Stupid to indulge, especially with a stranger.
Jack interrupted her thoughts by cradling her breast between his thumb and fingers
—and continuing to inch up.
Until Morgan slapped her hand around his wrist to stop him. “I don’t believe you.
You don’t need to touch me that intimately to get me out of here.”
He stopped the upward progress of his hand. “Less than an hour with me, and
suddenly you’re the security expert?”
“This isn’t a game. It’s my life!”
“Exactly,” he growled into her ear. “Locals, not necessarily the trustworthy ones, will