turned dark chocolate eyes on her. The air between them turned so thick, Morgan
couldn’t drag a lungful in. Heat radiated from him, warming her all the way to her bones.
His scent hit her with the force of a battering ram—spice, sweat, swamp, and pure
mystery.
Damn it, she was so aware of him as a man…
“Try. You’ve got to keep your strength up.” He sent her a ghost of a smile. “You never
know when you might need it.” #
Jack escaped the cottage into the emerging dawn, spitting a curse.
Four lovers, two of them fiancés, including Brandon. Had the pansy-ass senator’s son
ever told Morgan about him? His guess: no.
As far as his revenge went, that was good news. Morgan had no idea who he was.
And through her entire confessional, her blue eyes had eaten him up with hunger.
Damn, he’d never gotten so hard from just a woman’s glance.
He still wanted his pound of flesh, but revenge wasn’t all he wanted anymore. The
shitty fact was, Morgan aroused him unbearably. Being in the same room with her and
not touching the pale silk of her skin, or tasting the cinnamon spice of her kiss, the
musky cream of her pussy, was making him hard enough to drill holes through steel. He
barely restrained his impatience at being denied the opportunity to cuff her to his bed
and coax her into submission. Need gnawed at him, demanding he clamp those pretty,
pale nipples and toy with her clit until she begged for a hard ride. She nearly pushed him
past sanity. He was dying to see just how submissive she was, taste her strength as he
shoved his cock so far inside her, she’d never forget him.
Damn it, he had to get control. Feeling more than the need for revenge was stupid.
So why was he? The question plagued him like an annoying song he couldn’t get out
of his head. He’d never been particularly hot for redheads. Or short women. Or women
already claimed by another man. So why her?
His grandfather’s matter-of-fact voice echoed in his head, If you’re dreaming about a
redheaded woman over and over, you’re about to meet her and she’s your heart’s mate.
He’d always thought the family “curse” utter bullshit, propagated by the colorful loons
and romantics in his family who believed it because they wanted to.
Now, it still didn’t make sense. He still didn’t believe it.
But he couldn’t deny that he’d never responded to a woman this strongly.
Muttering an even uglier curse than the last, he headed around the left side of the
cabin and began walking the perimeter, the marshy soil soggy beneath his boots.
He’d seduce Morgan, no question. Not even a blind man could miss the curiosity and
awakening need in her eyes. He was far from blind. But he also sensed something
holding her back. Latent affection for Brandon? Or a fear of being dominated, despite her
curiosity and submissive nature? There was more to her past relationships than she was
admitting, particularly her break-up with her former producer.
Her reason for denying her desire to submit didn’t matter. He’d overcome it and have
Morgan bound and hungrily accepting his every demand, gasping as he sank his cock
into her mouth, her pussy, her ass. Give her things straight-laced Brandon Ross would
never dream of.
Would that be enough to make her leave Brandon in the end?
Jack paused at the bedroom window and peered in. Empty. No Morgan in the bed or
anywhere in the room. Damn it, she’d defied his good advice to rest. No doubt, she
needed a strong man to heat up her ass to keep her in line.
His palm itched at the thought, but he shoved the tempting idea away. After the last
thirty minutes—hell, the last few hours of watching her sleep—his pike-hard cock was
finally getting the clue that he wasn’t getting lucky. He welcomed a rest from having
most of the blood in his body nowhere near his brain.
In fact, he needed to get her some clothes. Preferably made of flannel and three sizes
too big. If he watched her parade around in tight purple leather and stiletto boots for too
long, he’d be too distracted by wanting to fuck her to protect her in case the worst
happened. The fucking would happen, he reminded himself, but not yet. Not until he
was sure she was safe. Not until he’d earned a bit more of her trust and figured out how
to get under her skin.
He’d need all that if he wanted her to completely surrender to him.
He walked on, pulling his cell phone from his belt clip and dialed Brice. He’d get his
grandfather to pick her up a few things. But after the sixth ring, he hung up with a curse.
The old codger was probably having coffee with the “boys” at the local diner, playing
Bourée, and solving all the ills of the world. Too bad he couldn’t convince Brice to buy an