Jack escaped the cottage into the emerging dawn, spitting a curse.
Four lovers, two of them fiancés, including Brandon. Had the pansy-ass senator’s son ever told Morgan about him? His guess: no.
As far as his revenge went, that was good news. Morgan had no idea who he was.
And through her entire confessional, her blue eyes had eaten him up with hunger. Damn, he’d never gotten so hard from just a woman’s glance.
He still wanted his pound of flesh, but revenge wasn’t all he wanted anymore. The shitty fact was, Morgan aroused him unbearably. Being in the same room with her and not touching the pale silk of her skin, or tasting the cinnamon spice of her kiss, the musky cream of her pu**y, was making him hard enough to drill holes through steel. He barely restrained his impatience at being denied the opportunity to cuff her to his bed and coax her into submission. Need gnawed at him, demanding he clamp those pretty, pale ni**les and toy with her clit until she begged for a hard ride. She nearly pushed him past sanity. He was dying to see just how submissive she was, taste her strength as he shoved his c**k so far inside her, she’d never forget him.
Damn it, he had to get control. Feeling more than the need for revenge was stupid.
So why was he? The question plagued him like an annoying song he couldn’t get out of his head. He’d never been particularly hot for redheads. Or short women. Or women already claimed by another man. So why her?
His grandfather’s matter-of-fact voice echoed in his head, If you’re dreaming about a redheaded woman over and over, you’re about to meet her and she’s your heart’s mate. He’d always thought the family “curse” utter bullshit, propagated by the colorful loons and romantics in his family who believed it because they wanted to.
Now, it still didn’t make sense. He still didn’t believe it.
But he couldn’t deny that he’d never responded to a woman this strongly.
Muttering an even uglier curse than the last, he headed around the left side of the cabin and began walking the perimeter, the marshy soil soggy beneath his boots.
He’d seduce Morgan, no question. Not even a blind man could miss the curiosity and awakening need in her eyes. He was far from blind. But he also sensed something holding her back. Latent affection for Brandon? Or a fear of being dominated, despite her curiosity and submissive nature? There was more to her past relationships than she was admitting, particularly her break-up with her former producer.
Her reason for denying her desire to submit didn’t matter. He’d overcome it and have Morgan bound and hungrily accepting his every demand, gasping as he sank his c**k into her mouth, her pu**y, her ass. Give her things straight-laced Brandon Ross would never dream of.
Would that be enough to make her leave Brandon in the end?
Jack paused at the bedroom window and peered in. Empty. No Morgan in the bed or anywhere in the room. Damn it, she’d defied his good advice to rest. No doubt, she needed a strong man to heat up her ass to keep her in line.
His palm itched at the thought, but he shoved the tempting idea away. After the last thirty minutes—hell, the last few hours of watching her sleep—his pike-hard c**k was finally getting the clue that he wasn’t getting lucky. He welcomed a rest from having most of the blood in his body nowhere near his brain.
In fact, he needed to get her some clothes. Preferably made of flannel and three sizes too big. If he watched her parade around in tight purple leather and stiletto boots for too long, he’d be too distracted by wanting to f**k her to protect her in case the worst happened. The f**king would happen, he reminded himself, but not yet. Not until he was sure she was safe. Not until he’d earned a bit more of her trust and figured out how to get under her skin.
He’d need all that if he wanted her to completely surrender to him.
He walked on, pulling his cell phone from his belt clip and dialed Brice. He’d get his grandfather to pick her up a few things. But after the sixth ring, he hung up with a curse. The old codger was probably having coffee with the “boys” at the local diner, playing Bourée, and solving all the ills of the world. Too bad he couldn’t convince Brice to buy an answering machine or a cell phone. He’d call back later… but that meant waiting to cover Morgan’s tempting form.
At the back of the cabin, Jack paused, listening to the bayou, watching alligators slosh into the water and disappear beneath the murky surface. Cicadas sang the last of the night’s song as dawn approached. Even in the February chill, moist air clung to everything.
This place had always represented peace to him. Not today. In the last few months since Brice had given the cabin to him, he’d made some modifications and upgrades—really made it his. It was the closest thing to a home he had. He rarely brought anyone here. He meant to…but in the end, he hid this place from submissives and all but his closest friends. So why had he brought Morgan here so readily?
Not looking too hard for the answer, Jack peered at the video equipment well hidden by the trees and the eaves. Looked good, functional, as it scanned the area behind the cottage. Then he continued on, trudging around the corner of the little house.
Flickering golden light emanated from the little window in the middle of the wall. Morgan was in the bathroom and had found the candles. What she hadn’t done was completely close the shutters. She’d tried, but the broken one wouldn’t extend over the window.
On quiet feet, Jack approached the small glass pane. He shouldn’t look; he knew that. But he didn’t have a lot of scruples where she was concerned.
Edging closer, Jack peered in, looking into the narrow bathroom. Steam rose from the claw-footed tub. Beside it, Morgan ran a hand under the water stream. Apparently satisfied with the temperature, she set the plug in the tub then backed away.
Her hands settled on the first button of Alyssa’s leather getup. At a push of her thumb, the button came loose. A second followed suit. The soft, rounded edged of her cle**age and a hint of the black bra he hadn’t forgotten peeked out to torment him.
A sweat broke out across Jack’s chest and back. His cock, which he’d just managed to get under control, rose up swiftly to full staff and saluted the view.
But the view only improved. A third button, centered around her naval, came loose from its mooring. As the fourth and final button came undone, so did Jack’s ability to breathe.
Morgan peeled the garment off and laid it on the counter. He glued his gaze to her slender torso and high, round br**sts as she reached behind her to unfasten the tight mini skirt.
With an alluring wriggle, a sexy shimmy, she peeled the garment down the sweet curve of her hips and past firm thighs.