“No time for modesty, cher,” he whispered in her ear, his voice inflected with a lilt that was decidedly Cajun French.
His body buffeted her backside, legs glancing hers, chest brushing her shoulders. The heat he gave off warmed skin she hadn’t realized was chilled. Despite his heat, goose bumps multiplied their way across her skin and a shiver ran down her spine. Her ni**les made a sudden, unwelcome appearance.
She swallowed. He might be one of the good guys, but at the moment, his posture was pure predator.
“I don’t need you in here while I get dressed.”
“Mais yeah, too bad for you I plan to supervise. We aren’t leaving here until I’m convinced you can pass for Alyssa.”
“I’ve been putting on my own clothes since I was three. I think I can manage alone.”
“True, but I use Alyssa as cover for cases. We walk around pretending we’re drunk on hurricanes and sex. People are used to seeing me touch her. Often. But you…” He snaked a hand around her and laid a palm flat on her belly.
She jerked and gasped when his broad hand blanketed her bare midriff, his heat seeping under her skin, insidious, unstoppable.
“You,” he murmured in her ear, “jump when I touch you. You do that in public, and people will know you’re not Alyssa.”
With every word, Jack made her more aware that he was male—all male—and she was female. He had the kind of personal power that drew her. Her stomach flipped when he spoke. Her br**sts swelled. She felt jumpy, unsettled, when he stood too close. Morgan swallowed tension so thick she thought it might choke her and tried to ease away from him.
Jack didn’t budge—or let her go.
Gnashing her teeth, she said, “There must be another way out of here besides you pawing me.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet. You wanna make it out in one piece, cher, without your stalker recognizing you through your disguise, you’ve got to act right. We’ve got to look real.”
The hand on her stomach started inching slowly north.
Morgan’s brain buzzed with the intimation in his words. He would touch her out in public, where complete strangers would see. Instantly, her br**sts swelled again. Moisture gathered between her legs.
This is impossible. She wasn’t into public displays. And Jack’s caveman tendencies shouldn’t be arousing her. Having such fantasies was one thing. Living them…that was completely different. Stupid to indulge, especially with a stranger.
Jack interrupted her thoughts by cradling her breast between his thumb and fingers—and continuing to inch up.
Until Morgan slapped her hand around his wrist to stop him. “I don’t believe you. You don’t need to touch me that intimately to get me out of here.”
He stopped the upward progress of his hand. “Less than an hour with me, and suddenly you’re the security expert?”
“This isn’t a game. It’s my life!”
“Exactly,” he growled into her ear. “Locals, not necessarily the trustworthy ones, will be out there tonight, seeing me with a woman they think is Alyssa. If you’re gasping and fighting and pushing every time I put a hand on you, they’ll know you’re an imposter. And if the man chasing you offers them money for information about a suspicious female…you’ll be an easy target to spot.”
And an easy one to kill. Jack didn’t say it, but he thought it. Just as Morgan did.
“Couldn’t I leave here as a bag lady or a nun or something?”
“Your gun-toting friend is going to be waiting, watching. Don’t you think the emergence of a nun from a strip club would send up a few red flags?”
He was right, damn it. She had to get a grip. If dressing like a stripper and letting a good-looking guy fondle her for a few minutes was all it took to keep her safe, she’d survive the embarrassment and the blow to her modesty.
There was just one problem: She reacted to Jack not like a decoy, but a woman. Her body heated for him with a few whispered words and a glance. Still, the embarrassment she felt for responding to him was short-lived, particularly compared to death. When this fiasco was over and she could find a new place to hide, she’d never have to see Jack Cole again or care that he knew he could arouse her.
Taking a deep breath, she let go of his wrist.
“Smart girl,” he praised.
Morgan sensed him, his watchful gaze over her shoulder as he turned his wrist until her entire breast rested in his palm. She swallowed. God, her flesh felt heavy in his hot hand. He hovered there, breath scorching the back of her neck. Tension ramped up in her stomach…and lower, tightening with an ache she wanted to deny—and couldn’t. Her ni**les hardened impossibly under his hot gaze. Morgan squeezed her eyes shut.
Then he swiped a thumb over the taut tip. Electric pleasure shimmied down her spine.