slim and ridged and vibrating that had pushed her beyond her limits—right where she’d
always dreamed she’d be.
Then he’d left her to deal with her shame and self-doubt the next day. The same
shame and self-doubt that was still roiling in her gut.
Morgan spun away. The row of shelves now in front of her held all manner of
blindfolds, lotions, cuffs, and clamps—all designed to heighten the senses.
Cinnamon and peppermint gel snared her attention. She wanted to sniff and taste,
figure out what he did with that. She didn’t dare. A feather sat next to a sumptuous
silken blindfold she stroked with a tentative finger. Soft, like cream, like touching a
cloud. Morgan shivered, imagining that next to her skin.
At least until a pair of clamps caught her attention. Tips encased in velvet, separated
by a short length of chain, these could only belong on a woman’s nipples. The tips of her
breasts hardened at the thought of them pinching helpless, sensitive buds. With hesitant
fingers, she reached out, ran a finger over the length of chain, only to realize the clamps
lay in their original packaging, the seal unbroken.
She knew an insane urge to take them—the one thing she knew he’d never used on
another woman—and put them on, parade her breasts for him. He’d approve…and show
it in ways she could barely fathom. Her fingers itched as a heavy ache throbbed in her
breasts. Their tips stood hard, bursting against the lacy bra she wore.
Just once, a voice inside her whispered. Just this one thing…
That’s disgusting! Andrew’s voice invaded her head, replaying their last conversation.
Morgan, you’re too smart and cultured to want some…caveman to order you around and
tie you down. It’s sordid and bizarre. Can’t we just have sex like normal people? You’re
not so depraved that you need pain and someone controlling you to get off, are you?
“Three minutes,” Jack called from the hall in warning.
Gasping, Morgan dragged her hand back from the clamps.
What was she still doing here? Worse, what was she thinking, imagining modeling a
device designed to pinch a sensitive part of her body for him?
Stunned by her own thoughts, Morgan shook her head. She could have sex like a
normal person, damn it. Being around Jack adversely affected her thinking. She had to
get out of this room— now.
Stumbling back, Morgan charged for the door, leaving the hazy red light behind,
racing past the office chair and computer in the corner.
Jack blocked the door to the hallway, arms across his chest and looking as moveable
as a mountain. “Leaving?”
His inscrutable expression told her nothing. His tone gave away even less. Yet Morgan
sensed his frustration and disappointment. His reaction collided with her fear, the
desire, whipping through her she wanted so desperately to ignore, clashing with
Andrew’s slurs as they reverberated in her head.
Together, it tightened a vise on her heart, ripping a cry from her throat. “Let me go.”
His biceps tightened, bulging with veined muscle. He clenched his jaw. And he stared
so dead-on at her, Morgan didn’t know what to do or say. Hurt flashed in his gaze, then
disappeared.
Finally, he stepped aside.
Morgan approached with hesitant steps. When she stood beside him, his stare silently
demanded that she meet it. She lifted her gaze to him, his searing-hot eyes filled with
anger, disappointment, lust—and something else she couldn’t identify. Her breath
caught. Her belly clenched. The weight of her breasts, so achingly heavy, and her nipples,
so painfully hard, screamed at her. God, he was tearing her in half. Making her want what
she knew she shouldn’t, what society, her mother, her friends, would all scorn her for.
What she wasn’t sure she could live with herself for accepting.
“Go ahead and run, Morgan,” he said, voice disquieting for its softness. “For now.”
But the frightening truth lay between them: It wouldn’t be long before she couldn’t
run anymore.
#
What the hell possessed him to keep pursuing a woman determined to shut him out?
Lying flat on his back, staring at the gleaming wooden ceiling and waiting for the
coming dawn, Jack grunted. Possessed had to be the operative word. He couldn’t
possibly be in his right mind to keep chasing Morgan. He’d already achieved the biggest
chunk of his revenge, and she had told him with an odd combination of four-letter
words, tears, and darting from his playroom like a child caught in a nightmare that she
didn’t want to spend any more nights in his bed, under his dominance.
But Morgan was lying to him—and to herself. Jack felt that down to the bottom of his