Wicked Ties(49)

is keeping you safe. But I’m going to show you what your body craves and help you be

honest with yourself. That,” he caressed the hard point of her breast again, “is my

pleasure.”

Then he released her and rose, gumbo bowl in hand.

“Maybe you’re lying to yourself about what I want,” she blurted to his retreating

back. “Did you ever think of that? Maybe you’re totally off base.”

Jack paused, turned, and pinned her with a blunt stare that made her heart stop. “If

that was the case, you wouldn’t be wet enough for me to smell, and I wouldn’t know that

you’d soaked two thongs in one day.”

#

Hazy morning. Sunlight slanted across the swamp in lazy golden rays to settle on his

porch, illuminating the small figure of a woman’s fiery tresses as they cascaded down her

narrow back, covered by a man’s dark shirt. His shirt.

Contentment and yearning. Hope and need. And lust. It all hit him as she tilted her

head. A corner of her mouth hinted at a smile. Happy. He wanted to see her happy,

protected.

He’d never loved anyone so much in his life.

The woman, a mystery, was his. Jack knew that as well as he knew his own name.

Just once he wanted to see her face. After six months of futile dreaming and waking

up hard with no relief in sight, of feeling this yearning for a woman he’d never seen, he

needed to know who she was.

Turn around! he silently demanded.

Slowly, so damn slowly, she began to turn his way. A delicate ear, a graceful neck, a

stubborn slope to her jaw, fair skin like porcelain. That was more than he’d ever seen of

this woman, but the greedy part of him wanted more bared to his gaze. He wanted

everything. She kept turning. A hint of apple in her cheek…

Jack jolted awake. Damn it! So close this time. So close…but he still couldn’t see her

face.

Stirring from a fitful sleep on the sofa, Jack opened his eyes and glanced at his watch.

Just after midnight. Now what?

He laid back on the couch, breathing hard, gritting his teeth against a steel-inspired

erection that always followed the dream. The fucking thing tormented him more

frequently these days— nearly every night for the past two weeks. Why?

Certainly his grandfather and the old man’s crazy theories about soul mates and

dreaming of destined lovers was all bullshit. It had to be. If there was any such thing as a

woman destined to be his, he wouldn’t torture himself with a dream. He’d simply find

her and claim her. And prove she was just another woman he could walk away from. End

of story.

Jack was perfectly happy with that explanation except…why did the woman in his

dream have the same hair as Morgan if the dream was irrelevant? Why did Morgan feel

like more than the means to his revenge when he touched her?

Shoving the stray thought aside, Jack blinked, trying to rid tired eyes of the grit of

exhaustion. Last night, he hadn’t slept even a handful of hours. Tonight was no different.

Having these nocturnal visions haunting his sleep and Morgan under his roof wasn’t

helping him catch up on his beauty rest.

And judging from the erection throbbing inside his boxers like an insistent

toothache, along with vestiges of the dream, he wasn’t likely to get much more sleep

tonight.

Rising with a stretch, Jack sighed and donned his jeans with a grimace. Immediately,

his thoughts turned to Morgan.

Why couldn’t he leave her alone? He’d tackled a big part of his revenge and emailed

Brandon Ross the proof that he’d been as deep inside his enemy’s woman as a man could

get. Now, his revenge would be complete as soon as Morgan left the disloyal asshole she

planned to marry.

But what if she didn’t? Lots of women wanted to be married to one of the esteemed

Senator Ross’s sons. Money. Power. Connections. Good looks. Brandon had all that, but

he’d never have a political career of his own. Jack had made damn sure of that.

Still, that didn’t solve his problem. If Morgan and Brandon didn’t part ways, revenge

would be incomplete. That had to be why he didn’t feel more victorious now.

Jack paced, spearing hands tense with frustration through his hair too short to be

ruffled by such a mauling.

Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. After viewing the little video he’d sent,

sooner or later, jealousy would start eating Brandon’s gut. No question about it. When a

man had a woman like Morgan, he wanted to keep her safe and whole and so sated that

the idea of sex with another man never crossed her mind. Once Brandon had time to

gnaw on the visual evidence that Morgan had strayed—and with his enemy—the idiot’s

pride would demand he let her go.