enough to light her up like a firecracker.
“Look at me.” He leaned back to put a breath of air between them.
Something inside her wanted to obey. That smooth, rich voice with the hint of French
lilt and explicit command tugged at her. The thought of surrendering made her stomach
clench with anxiety…and desire gnaw at her clit. The man was a giant contradiction. An
aggressive protector. A man who bound women was going out of his way to keep her
safe.
It was confusing her. He was confusing her.
Finally, she raised her stormy gaze to clash with his. “What the hell do you want from
me?”
“Honesty.”
“No, you don’t. You want me to give in, to spread my legs like a spineless airhead and
give you…whatever it is you want.”
A half smile curled up the side of his mouth. “You’re half right. I do want you to give
in, cher. I want you to spread your legs when I tell you to. Not because you’re spineless,
but because you’re not.” He moved in closer, brushing his body against hers again, all
hint of a smile gone. “I want you to burn for me. I want all your fire and independence
and sass underneath me. I want to show you what you secretly yearn for and try not to—
and how good it can be.”
Morgan swallowed, then opened her mouth to speak. How was she supposed to reply
to that? What did a woman say to the man trying to spoon-feed her every sexual fantasy
she’d ever denied?
“I don’t think—”
“You think too much. Of all the reasons you shouldn’t. Of all the reasons I scare you.
Try thinking of the ways I could please you.”
Oh, she’d thought of those.
One of his hands eased away from the door. He brushed the back of his fingers down
her neck, over her collarbones…and kept delving down. He caressed down the terrycloth-
covered slope of her breast, then brushed down over the erect nipple begging for his
touch.
Even through the towel, she felt that touch all the way to her toes. A hot tingle sizzled
her insides like bacon in hot grease. She gasped, felt her gaze locked in place by his dark
stare.
He repeated the process again, then once more. Pleasure assailed Morgan from the
aching points of her tight nipples, streaking through her tightly coiled body, straight to
her vagina. She dropped her head back against the door, unable to hold in her moan.
“That’s it.” Jack feathered his lips down her throat as he moved in closer. His other
hand joined the first in the soft torment of her nipples with only the thin towel in
between.
“I want to see those pretty nipples. I need to have them in my mouth, cher. Drop the
towel.”
Desire bubbled within her, at full boil, even as a last bit of sanity screamed
somewhere in her head. The memory of his touch at the strip club and the jolting
pleasure it suffused her with still haunted her. The lingering remembrances, coupled
with his potent command, sent her self-control reeling.
Of all the men she could desire, why him? Of all times, while being chased by some
whacked-out stalker, why did she have to want him now?
Gee, maybe it was because Jack was the embodiment of every midnight fantasy that
had ever kept her awake. Maybe it was because he lowered his hand to the part in her
towel and swirled his palm across her stomach, over the curve of her hip, then moved in
to press an impressive erection against her. Certainly, he and all that testosterone…
diverted her mind from the whacked-out stalker issues.
Her mother had always said, You make your choices in life and live with them. Could
she live with herself if she walked away from the forbidden allure of Jack Cole without
one taste?
He curved his hand over the rise of her ass and began to stroke his way down—
fingertips lightly toying with the crease between her cheeks. A new rush of tingles filled
her. Clever move, she acknowledged. If she arched into his touch, he had a handful of
ass. If she arched away from it, she pushed herself right against his erection. How could
he lose?
How could you? a little voice inside her head dared her.
In the next moment, his fingers stroked the cleft between her cheeks again, this time
a little harder, deeper. A dark thrill zoomed up her spine. Without thought, she gasped
and arched right into his hand.
“Good girl,” he murmured into her ear, sending the shivers back down her spine.
His thumb toyed with her nipple, now so hard she could feel every brush of skin,
every callous. She moaned again.
“Cher, drop the towel. Montre-moi ton joli corps.” His breath came hard and fast, his
voice strained but still in control. “Show me your pretty body.”
“You’ve already seen it, you peeping Tom.”