“I see a couple of men who look suspicious,” he whispered on the soft, soft skin of her neck. “Anyone look familiar?”
She hesitated, and Jack took advantage of her distraction and breathed in her sweet raspberry scent, brushed his lips against her soft-as-sin skin.
“I can’t think with you doing that,” she whispered harshly.
He dropped a hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, more because he wanted to than because it was necessary. But it helped with the image that they were lovers who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.
“You can. You will.”
Morgan breathed out a four-letter word, and Jack smiled. If her curse hadn’t told him that he was getting to her, the pulse picking up speed at the base of her neck would. The scheming part of him loved knowing he affected her. So did his sexual side. Oh, he didn’t forget that the shooter was probably somewhere near, but the ass**le was too smart to shoot with so many able to see his face. And the sick jerk had no reason to believe that Morgan wasn’t Alyssa.
“I can’t see. It’s smoky, and I’m too short.”
True on both counts. Damn!
Curving both arms around her body, Jack anchored Morgan against his chest. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, reminding him how small she was. With her big personality, her size was easy to forget.
Given her story, she’d been through a whole lot lately. He couldn’t help but admire her grit to go on, her strength to fight.
“Let’s get out of here, just in case one of them is your gunhappy nightmare.”
Morgan nodded, but he felt her trembling. Jack eased back to look at her face. Under the thick makeup, her blue eyes clearly reflected the knowledge that she was being hunted. But equal parts fear and determination tightened her lush mouth. She wasn’t giving up.
Neither was he.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he assured her. “Take my hand. Smile. Good enough. Now, follow me out the door.”
Slowly, Jack wended his way through the crowd, working the far side of the room as much as possible. He stopped to answer a greeting, endure some backslapping from frat boys he’d helped out of a scrape once, all of whom assumed f**king Alyssa would be every man’s version of paradise.
The suspicious characters cast glances over them as they neared the door. The dude with the suit kept his gaze glued to Morgan. Jack covertly watched the man assess her, eyes narrow with speculation. Running would only alert the ass**le if he was Morgan’s stalker.
Instead, Jack whirled Morgan around and grabbed her. Her eyes went wide as he held her face between his palms and slanted his mouth over her own.
Right away, her softness assaulted him. After a gasp of protest, Jack sensed Morgan forcing herself to relax. To submit. At the press of his lips, she opened to him slowly, slowly, with shy hesitance that made him burn with need. A delicious uncertainty flavored her kiss, making him hard as a pike. But it wasn’t enough—either to convince the assassin chasing her or to assuage the hunger that churned like a violent storm in his gut. He couldn’t wait for more.
A growl erupted from this throat as he dove into the kiss and urged her soft lips to part wider. He entered her mouth with a ravaging thrust of his tongue. And groaned as her wet, sugary heat and hot cinnamon-spice flavor exploded across his senses. Tangled with the taste of her fear.
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 f**k 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 cle**age 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?