“Maybe not, but ten bucks says he plans to see them.”
Morgan frowned. “Based on what? I was interviewing Jack for my show. And then, when the shooting started, he offered to protect me—”
“And he will. He’s the best. But Jack Cole is a breast man, and you’ve got a great rack.”
As if she’d just announced something as mundane as night falling, Alyssa turned and lifted a makeup case off the counter. Setting the case aside, She studied Morgan’s face with nothing more than a mild case of impatience.
“That doesn’t bother you?” Morgan couldn’t resist asking.
Her gaze strayed to the bedding, looking too rumpled to be caused by mere sleep. Morgan wondered if Jack had been here before meeting her—and why the thought bothered her.
“That Jack might f**k you?” She shrugged. “He’s not mine.”
Morgan frowned. Too weird. “Nothing’s going to happen between us. I have no intention of getting involved with Jack.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Alyssa shot back with a throaty laugh.
Before Morgan could wade through her confusion and reply, the blonde switched topics again. “Let’s get your make-up on.”
Alyssa lifted a slender hand and took the straw hat and scarf from Morgan’s head.
A moment later, she began her cosmetics frenzy. A thick foundation coated Morgan’s face. Concealer came next, and Morgan hoped it would cover the worst of the damage wrought from missing so much sleep. Next came the bright rosy blush, the siren-red lipstick painted on thickly with a brush. Dark eyeliner and eyeshadow was applied in a quick blur. Black mascara followed, lifting and separating her lashes. An eyebrow pencil and brown mascara hid the fact that her brows were not the same pale brown as the other woman’s.
When Alyssa stepped away and prodded her into the bathroom before the mirror, Morgan only recognized her blue eyes and the basic oval of her face.
“You look great. Hell, most everyone out there will probably be too drunk to notice whether you’re me or not. But just in case they’re not, the clothes I’ve picked out will ensure no man’s gaze gets above your tits.”
Morgan wanted to protest—the words lay on the tip of her tongue. She stilled them. If dressing like a stripper kept her alive, well…she could survive embarrassment much better than a bullet to the head.
“Whatever works,” Morgan breathed.
“Let’s get this hair pinned up and the wig on.”
“I can manage.” Morgan lifted her fingers to her head and rubbed.
“Wigs can be such a bitch. Sorry you’ll have to wear one, but to pass for me, you have to look blonde.”
Morgan shrugged. The discomfort was a small price to pay to stay safe.
“And make sure it’s on good. Jack will want to inspect you before you leave. He won’t let you set foot outside until he’s convinced you can pass the test. He takes protecting clients seriously.”
The idea of Jack inspecting her made her stomach jump. Jack was gorgeous, and the fact he was a dominant man only intrigued Morgan more, despite her wariness and fear.
Securing the long blonde wig in place, Morgan pushed the thought away. She was just tired. Lord knew she was stressed. She would not be having sex with Jack, so his sexual preferences made absolutely no difference to her.
Someone pounded on the door. Morgan started, her heart racing. Had the shooter managed to follow her here? She cut her gaze to the window, hoping it might prove to be an escape route.
Then the door opened. Jack entered, wearing a ratty T-shirt and faded jeans, a backward baseball cap, and a false moustache. Those few external changes made him look considerably different. But she still couldn’t miss his pissed-off expression.
“Damn it, what are you two doing in here, having a slumber party?”
“Bite me, Jack. I worked as fast as I could since I need to get back to business,” Alyssa said with a smile, then kissed his cheek. “And good luck to you,” she threw back to Morgan.
Then she exited, leaving Morgan alone with Jack.
His gaze flew across the room and latched onto her. Black eyes scorched her, and a slow, sinful smile spread across his mouth. That look made her stomach clench. Quickly realizing she wore nothing but a revealing bra and thong, she glanced around for something—anything—to cover her.
She darted across the room and reached for the white satin sheet draped off the bed. Jack ripped it out of her hand.