Wicked Lovers 01 Wicked Ties (7 page)

Morgan began to kiss him tentatively. Unfurling to him, softening. Soon, she uttered a soft moan and matched his rhythm, her tongue seeking his when he retreated. She clasped his shoulders and clung, slanting her head until their mouths fit perfectly. Gripping her tightly, he sank deeper into her. The flavor of fear on her tongue receded. She trembled—but now her reaction didn’t have a damn thing to do with fright.

Morgan gasped…then surrendered, opening completely.

Crushing his delight at her lush response, Jack promised himself there would be plenty of time later to fuck her, screw Brandon out of a bride, and enjoy every moment of her soft, shy responses. Later.

Ending the kiss with a nip of his teeth on her plush lower lip, Jack opened his eyes in time to see the slick in the suit talking to some of the regulars around him. Jack made sure he blocked Morgan from the view of guys who hung out here at least once a week. He hoped like hell none of them would remember that they’d never seen him kiss Alyssa like that.

Mr. Suit listened, then nodded his thanks. Disappointment shadowed his face. The guy in the jeans and sweater had disappeared.

“I think we’re good to go,” he murmured to Morgan. “Let’s get out of here.”

Again, he took her hand. He led her right out the front door. The crowd on the street swallowed them up quickly, and Jack smiled.

Once the danger had passed, once he knew they hadn’t been followed, he could concentrate on Morgan—and every delicious way he could think of to make her surrender. #

Within minutes, Jack led her to his truck, parked on a dark side street. Morgan hesitated. Brandon wouldn’t be happy that she’d left his car behind, but what were her other options? She couldn’t argue with Jack’s logic that her stalker would be looking for it on the roads since he’d followed her here.

That settled, Jack tucked her into the passenger’s seat of his sleek black truck. She’d have to be blind not to see his gaze lingering on the length of her exposed thigh and cleavage offered up by Alyssa’s purple leather slut garb. The miles of skin it exposed made her want to find the nearest tent and throw it on quickly. Another part of her, though, heated at his look. The arrow of need that shot straight to her still-aching clit, encouraging her to inch her skirt a bit more and flash Jack a come-hither glance. She resisted the dangerous temptation.

The familiar dark desire, coupled with the stress and uncertainty, crashed in on her. How had her life gone downhill so quickly? How had she found herself at the mercy of a stranger who made her ache with a longing that shamed her?

“Don’t leer,” she snapped.

Jack looked away in his own good time. “Why not? You look good.”

“I look like a whore.”

Faster than lightning, he leaned across the cab and crowded her personal space. He smelled like midnight and elemental male. Like danger.

“You look available and willing. You don’t look for sale.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“Non, it is not.”

Jack said nothing more for long moments. He eased away and started the truck, then pulled away from the tree-lined street and took off into the dusk. Then they headed southeast, toward the heart of the bayou.

With another hot glance at her, Jack finally explained, “When a woman looks for sale, a man checks his wallet before looking twice. Available and willing just makes a man hot. Available and willing for him alone makes a man boil with need. Right now, I’m hard as hell.”

The night began closing around them finally, dark and absolute. Morgan swallowed. The way Jack looked at her through the inky closeness of the truck’s cab gave her pause. And if she was honest, made her wet. Did he realize that she’d never dressed this provocatively for any man, for any reason, before?

“If you were my woman,” he went on, his voice a sandpaper whisper, “you’d appear elegant in public. But in private…” He smiled, a flash of white teeth, illuminated by the moonlight drifting into the shadowed truck; it was a smile that promised satisfaction. “In private, I’d dress you in less than you’re wearing now. Much less. Without those useless lace panties you’re wearing.”

Morgan could barely catch her next breath. She didn’t want to dress like this. It had to look cheap and easy.

Yet she could not deny it also made her feel aware of her body, of her feminine power. Sexy and wanted and desired. How was that possible?

“You’re awfully direct.”

“I’m honest,” he admitted. “What’s the point of lying?”

“Oh, I don’t know. To be polite.”

Jack simply snorted.

“And these panties aren’t useless. They cover the essentials.”

“Exactly. Why would I want those covered?”

She gaped. “I’m not about to flash everyone in the first good breeze that comes along.”

“But if you were mine, what’s under that skirt would be mine, not yours, to show or conceal as I saw fit.”

His words burned her with shock—and terrible, unmistakable desire. She gasped.

“Shocked, cher? That’s what submission is all about. Surrendering control utterly to someone else. Your privacy, your body, your pleasure.”

He said nothing for long minutes, and Morgan lost herself in imagining. Would a dominant man really insist his partner show any—or all—of her body to anyone of his choosing? Anywhere? At any time? She squirmed in her seat at the thought. It was disturbing and exploitative. But some little part of her found his words reluctantly provocative. Forbidden. God, she’d gone insane.

But curiosity followed close behind. That, she allowed free rein. She was interviewing him about this very subject, after all. Journalistic integrity and all that.

“What you’re saying…it sounds selfish and mean-spirited, to expose someone without regard for their feelings.”

“It might look that way on the surface.”

“What do you mean, on the surface?”

“Like I told you online, one of the jobs of a good dominant is to see inside the soul of his submissive and grant her every pleasure she desires. Many submissives aren’t aware of their most secret desires.” He turned to face her, his chocolate eyes piercing, direct. “Or find them shameful, so they refuse to admit to them.”

He was talking to her. About her. With a hot glance, he made that clear. Her breathing shallowed, her heart beat accelerated. She couldn’t ignore the fact that her stomach—and her nipples—went achy and tight.

“And you force a woman to engage in acts you believe she secretly desires, even though she may not want to acknowledge them.”

“She has to accept them to find true satisfaction. My role is to help her.”

“What’s in it for you? I mean, if you’re always trying to read her mind and persuade her to do new, unusual things…?”

“New things that make her so hot, she’s giving me total control and is begging me to fuck her however and wherever I want. I’m sure you see the obvious benefits.”

Yeah, hard to miss that point. Was it possible to be so aroused that she would beg in such a way? A mental picture of Jack tying her down, feeling her up, as she writhed under his hand exploded across her brain. A blast of heat sizzled her belly…and lower. God knew his aggressive touch earlier today had flooded her with arousal so fast, she’d nearly been dizzy with it. And his kiss had obliterated most thoughts of fear and hesitation, the crowd, and her stalker.

She didn’t doubt he could make a woman beg for anything, everything. If she wasn’t careful, didn’t keep her distance, she could quickly become another notch on his bedpost. Worse, he could open her psyche and expose all the hidden fantasies better left to the dark corners of her mind.

Time for a change of subject. “Thank you for getting me out of Lafayette. I would have panicked and run when the bullets started flying. On my own, I would never have been able to concoct this disguise and…distract him.”

“That’s my job, Morgan.”

“You didn’t have to do it.” Then, recalling the way his hands roamed her body in Alyssa’s bedroom, she shot him a suspicious look. “In fact, I think you did more than your job required.”

“Think what you want.” Jack’s smile told Morgan that her assertion amused him.

“I usually do.” She gritted her teeth, wishing she knew how to wipe that smile off his face. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve got a place. It’s safe. We can hide you there until we figure something out.”

The thought of being anywhere near Jack, even for just a few days rattled her. “Maybe I should rent a car and drive back to Houston. I’ve already imposed—”

“He’ll catch on quick and follow you, Morgan. This guy isn’t stupid. Psycho, but not stupid. You want to be safe or dead? Besides, it’ll be a good opportunity for you to learn about Dominance and submission. I can ensure you’ll sound like an expert on your show.”

“I think I get the picture.”

“Cher, you haven’t even scratched the surface.”

“I don’t need you touching me anymore.”

His smile could have melted butter. “You may not think you need it, but I know better. You need it every bit as much as you want it.”

Morgan’s jaw dropped. “You are one arrogant bastard.”

“You’re submissive, and I’m arrogant. See how well we’re getting to know each other already?”

His quip put her temper in a twist. “I am not— That’s it! Take me back to Lafayette.”

He sent her an amused glance. “Back to your friend’s car, the one your stalker probably has his pretty rifle trained on as we speak?”

She bit her lip. Damn it. Why did he have to be right?

“Or maybe I should drop you off at the police station,” he taunted. “They’re always so much help in stalker cases.”

Clenching her fists, Morgan said nothing, again knowing spoke the truth.

“Or maybe, you could hop a plane back to L.A. How long do you think it would be before he stopped shooting pictures and tried again to shoot you between the eyes? You got a death wish?”

“No.” Her voice vibrated with the anger she felt coursing through her body. “You got an off button for your mouth?”

Jack just smiled. “You’re too smart to want to face a killer more than your sexuality, Morgan. I’ll ask you the same question I asked before your stalker started shooting: What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

He shrugged, as if he didn’t care about her response one way or the other. “Fine. It’s your life. Am I taking you back to Lafayette or are you going to stay safe with me?”

God, she wanted to shock the bastard. Spit in his face and verbally cut off his balls by demanding he take her back to Brandon’s car so she could zoom back to Houston, far away from his challenging words and his wicked touch.

But once again, damn it, he was right. Putting herself back in the path of a killer because Jack pushed a few of her sexual buttons was flat stupid. She had no place safe to go, and despite Brandon’s suggestion, she was not calling Senator Ross. He wouldn’t lift a finger to help her.

“I’ll go with you,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Good girl. We’ve got a few hours to travel and it’s getting late. Try getting some sleep.”

Morgan wasn’t sure she could. Being that vulnerable around a man like Jack, especially while she still had a stalker on her tail. “I’m fine.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion. We’re not being followed. No one is on this road for miles.” He gestured to the open road and fields around them, completely devoid of headlights. “You’re safe and you’re going to need your strength later, cher, in case we haven’t lost your stalker for good.”

She sighed, then shot him a reluctant glance. Again, he was right.

Morgan crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her body toward the passenger window. But soon the rhythmic motion of the car lulled her. She closed her eyes and drifted off.

Two hours later, Jack stopped the truck at the water’s edge, in front of the boat waiting where he’d left it. After he scrambled aboard with a groggy Morgan, they cruised down the river for a while, Jack poling his way down the swamp with Morgan drifting in and out of sleep and shivering in the February air. He did his best to shelter her from the wind with his body. She unconsciously snuggled into him when he wrapped one arm around her.

That gave him a hard-on so stiff it hurt.

They reached their destination shortly before ten. Jack lifted a slumbering Morgan into his arms, settled her in his grasp, and headed for the dark cottage.

He’d expected to have to talk fast in Lafayette, to hustle and sweet-talk her to a hotel room to get his revenge. Having her here, in his domain, was better—and worse. Her stalker had helped him maneuver Morgan right where he wanted her and never dreamed he’d have her. He would have Morgan to himself, on his turf, where he could devote hours to her seduction and his revenge. Sweet, yes.

But Jack couldn’t pretend her sick stalker didn’t concern him. At least here, with him, he could protect her from the psycho who’d clearly decided that if he couldn’t have Morgan, no one else would. He would keep her safe; he owed her that much. Particularly since it was clear Morgan could no longer fend for herself and was exhausted beyond her endurance.

But on a basic physical level, she trusted him. That trust shimmered through his body, both hardening his cock and softening his gut. Why fight it? He liked her, even if he hated her fiancé’s guts. She was by turns feisty and vulnerable, sharp and gullible. And for some reason so damned familiar, as if he’d seen her somewhere before…

Shifting Morgan in his grasp, Jack shoved the key in the lock, then thrust open the door. Inside the little Craftsman cottage, clean lines and pine floors reminded him of his boyhood, of fishing with his grand-pere Brice. This place never failed to inspire great memories, even if the old family legends his grandfather told here made him laugh.

“Ah, so you made it.”

Jack started—until he recognized the voice. “Holy shit, old man. You trying to scare me to death so you can have your fishing hole back?”

Brice waved him away. “You wish. I wouldn’t have this place back for nothin’. Rat trap.”

Jack knew better, but Brice was too old to live out here, so far away from a hospital.

“The place is stocked with food. The security cameras, they’s all on and the generator is running. Use it sparingly.”