Wicked Ties(23)

one other thing to make her comfortable.

Gently, Jack reached under the sleek blonde wig and extracted a pin here and there.

She sighed in sleepy appreciation when he lifted the wig away and tossed it on the table

next to the earrings.

When Jack looked back, he frowned and lifted the lamp over Morgan.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

But with mellow golden light shining down on her, there was no mistaking the glint

of her fiery red hair.

CHAPTER FOUR

Morgan woke to an unfamiliar room pervaded by shadows. Mosquito netting draped

the warm, well-used bed. Beyond that, an old-fashioned kerosene lamp on a nightstand

with mission-style lines dimly lit the room. Where was she?

Blinking, she sat up with a creak. She frowned when she saw purple leather stretched

across her torso and hips. Purple leather? Her? It wasn’t uncomfortable…but had to be

discomfiting to be seen in. Why the hell was she wearing it?

Then she recalled. Her stalker shooting. Master J—no, Jack—to the rescue, his gaze

eating up her flushed skin, his hands on her body.

Still, she had to thank Alyssa for the shocking get up. It, along with Jack and his

outrageous behavior, had gotten her out of Lafayette alive.

A downy beige comforter warmed her legs. Black sheers floated at the room’s lone

window, made transparent by the silvery moonlight. A stout dresser of warm, old

cherrywood sprawled against most of the wall beside the window.

Turning her head, Morgan skimmed the other half of the small bedroom. The open

door led to beautiful hardwood floors, which gleamed in the dark, empty hallway.

And in the chair wedged between the door and an armoire sat Jack, shirtless and

tousled, alert—and focused on her.

“Good morning, Morgan.”

Morning? His stare touched her through the moonlit inkiness of the room, caressing

her cheek, sweeping over her mouth, gliding down her neck to the rise of her breasts

above the leather bustier. With just a glance, heat bloomed inside her. Even eight feet

away, the potency of his sexuality broadcast in blaring waves. Everything they had done

in Alyssa’s bedroom came back to her in a rush…along with a tight, nagging ache

between her legs.

She remembered everything—the way he’d touched her, his kiss, his touch, the way

he took control. His mysterious scent, his growled words—they’d intrigued her. Even

after a few hours’ sleep, nothing had changed. Curiosity and desire gnawed at her as Jack

stared, knowledge hot in his chocolate eyes. The ache knotting her body tightened.

She couldn’t afford that, couldn’t afford him. Morgan looked away, breaking their

visual connection.

How he felt, how she felt—none of it mattered. She had to focus on staying safe and

doing research for her show. Drooling over the heavy slabs of muscles covering Jack’s

shoulders and chest that screamed virile and contemplating all the ways he could use

that power to pleasure her wasn’t going to improve her show— or her chances of staying

alive.

“How are you? Okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said finally. “What time is it?”

He shrugged and glanced out the window. “About five in the morning. You can go

back to sleep. I’ll be here to watch over you.”

Morgan stared back. The knowledge that Jack’s eyes were on her was really going to

induce her to roll over and sink into dreamland. As if. She could hardly breathe with

Jack’s gaze all over her. Sleep would be impossible.

What was it about this man? Sure, he was yummy, but she’d dated good-looking guys

before. Something about the way he stared?

The truth finally hit her like a slap. No, it was his intensity, his self-possession, his air of controlled power. She’d always been a sucker for men of power. And unlike the other

men in her past, Morgan knew Jack was the real deal.

He wielded one of the ultimate powers, a sexual one. He wouldn’t just tie a woman

down; he would dictate her response and his, be in complete control of her body, her

orgasms, and in that moment, her very soul.

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