With an impatient huff, she turned away from the mirror. Mr. Cajun Macho had
another thing coming if he thought they were going to have sex again. So he had a touch
that sizzled desire through her blood, intoxicating her like the most potent wine. She
wasn’t going to risk addiction with a repeat performance.
But just the thought of it had her body clamoring for more, turning soft and wet at
the prospect of experiencing all his determined sexual fire and tightly controlled power
again.
So damn stupid. Not only did Jack have temporary written all over him, the only
message about him that was even more clear was the one that pronounced him a very
bad boy.
Honestly, she didn’t need this!
Down the hall, Morgan heard the click of a lock, the opening of the door. From the
heavy footsteps, she knew he’d emerged into the hall. Maybe it was very thirteen year-old
of her, but she wasn’t in the mood to face him. Not now. Not yet. Let him see how the
rejection felt.
Cringing, she dove onto the bed and quickly feigned sleep as Jack made his way down
the hall. He paused at the bedroom door, but Morgan wasn’t about to open her eyes.
Seeing that toosexy face taunting her with the carnal knowledge of her body or
annoyance—or both—was not her idea of a good time. Let Romeo eat breakfast alone.
The thought of food right now held all the appeal of dog shit à la mode.
After a long moment, Jack’s footsteps continued down the hall. She heard a series of
electronic beeps, then a ringing. A speakerphone. Who was he calling at seven-thirty in
the morning?
She rose and tiptoed across the bedroom to peek around the corner. Jack stood there,
cup of coffee in one hand, making toast with the other. And standing by the cracked
headset with an annoyed expression.
“Jesus, Jack!” rasped a scratchy male voice. “Is sleeping in against your religion or did
you just figure that if you’re up, everyone else should be, too?”
Morgan couldn’t help but overhear the conversation. It wasn’t as if he was trying to
be quiet. Who in the heck was Jack talking to and why? And she had to agree with the
other guy; why had he called at this early hour?
“I didn’t sleep at all last night, Deke. So whatever you got in the way of Z’s is way
more than I got. Quit whining.”
“Have you turned vampire now?”
“Want to slit your wrists and make a donation to find out?”
“Oh, biting wit. You are cranky this morning. Get too little sex lately…or too much?”
Morgan felt the thick rush of embarrassment flood her skin. Please, please don’t let
Jack have called some friend to do some locker room bragging. That would be the final
insult to having her fantasies exposed, her common sense stripped away in a haze of
desire, then being left naked, wet, and used against a virtual stranger’s door.
Jack growled, “Stop being cute and try being a business partner. I’m out at the
swamp cabin. I’ve got a woman with a stalker. I need you to do some research.”
Morgan breathed a sigh of relief.
“No shit. A woman with a stalker?” said the man Jack had identified as Deke. “When
did she become a client?”
“Yesterday, when he took a shot at her in broad daylight in a crowd. I was sitting less
than two feet from her.”
“Holy… What info do you have?”
Quickly, Jack ran down the information Morgan had given him at dawn. All the
information—the minute details of her sexual history, thankfully excluding himself.
Despite that small favor, the rush of mortification returned, along with foot-stomping
fury. Gee, why not take out a billboard along the highway just to make sure everyone
knew who she’d done the wild thing with in the past.
And now she had Jack to add to the list. What on earth had she done?
After offering to fax copies of the latest pictures her stalker had left, Jack hung up. He
paced across the long, narrow room once, twice, then turned his gaze to the hallway, his
face, barely visible through the crack in the door, alive with purpose.
Morgan leapt back onto the bed and feigned sleep again as his footsteps sounded his
approach.
“Merde,” he snarled, then turned away.
She didn’t know much French, but she knew enough to realize he’d said something
that her mother would be happy to wash out his mouth with soap for saying.
Moments later, she heard the dial tone, the beeping and ringing again. Another call?
Did he expect everyone to be awake at this hour?
#
“Oui?”
“Grand-pere, good morning.”
“That it is, dear boy. How is ta jolie fille?”
“Her name is Morgan,” he said with forced patience. “I told you before, she’s not