“Her name is Morgan,” he said with forced patience. “I told you before, she’s not mine.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Time tells, yeah? She got red hair under that wig?”
Jack hesitated. Brice was going to make entirely too much of Morgan’s hair color. It didn’t mean anything.
So what was that jolt of connection you felt to her when you were buried balls deep within her slick, wet heat? What was that sensation of wanting to crawl inside her and own her?
Really good sex and the knowledge that she’d been holding something back he was determined to have? Had to be that…or insanity.
“I didn’t call to discuss Morgan’s hair.”
“She does, doesn’t she!” The old man crowed, then laughed.
“Grand-pere…”
“I told you. Just yesterday, I told you. Those dreams, they mean something.”
The old man was not going to give this up. “Okay, yes. Her hair is red. Happy?”
“Tres bon,” Brice said smugly. “She dressing any better today, ta jolie fille?”
“Actually, that’s why I called you. Can you pick up a few things for her to wear in a size six and bring them out to the cabin?”
“This I can do. I’m having lunch with your Aunt Cheré, then I’ll be out.”
“Fine. Warm, practical clothes, Grand-pere. No surprises.”
“Why you worried about surprises? I’ll bring what you need.”
Time dragged by. Morgan bathed again. Paced. She skipped breakfast.
Jack stayed in his locked room at the end of the hall, pacing with heavy footsteps she couldn’t help but hear.
What did he have to be disturbed about? The stalker hadn’t caught up to them yet, and Jack had gotten laid. From his angle, it had to look like a win-win situation.
Morgan hadn’t been quite so lucky. She’d managed to hold a part of herself back from Jack—or thought she had—but as time passed and she couldn’t shake this damn yearning for him. It sank deeper, growing, urging her to touch him. Morgan feared she’d given Jack a chunk of her psyche. Not a good development.
As noon approached, she made herself a sandwich. The only drinks in Jack’s refrigerator were bottles of water and beer. Normally, Morgan would opt for the water. Today, she gratefully took a beer and disappeared into the bedroom again, lying listlessly on the bed. She spent hours trying not to think about Jack, the way he’d touched her, the way his voice crawled inside her head and her body, then seemed to challenge her, own her. Forgetting the pleasure that seared her was proving impossible, not when she could close her eyes and still feel the pull of his mouth at her nipple, the width of his c**k stretching her. Not when she couldn’t forget that demanding, compelling voice, those seducing dark eyes.
The thoughts brought on fresh desire. Thick, bubbling desire, swirling inside her to form an insistent throb. Her clit ached, and she could not believe how wet she was, how swollen her folds felt. She’d never been ruled by her hormones. Why now?
Morgan thought about self-pleasuring again, but refrained. She didn’t want to be caught again. The mortification had nearly killed her once, but twice in one day… She grimaced. Still, she might have risked it if she had believed it would douse the fire raging inside her.
But the fire was one she feared only Jack could put out.
A knock at the cottage’s front door startled Morgan. She whirled to the clock on the little cypress bedside table. Nearly fourthirty in the afternoon.
Jack tore open the door from his hiding place and streaked down the hall. On his way past, he cast a heated glance into the bedroom, right at her, a glance that said he remembered every kiss, every touch between them—and that as far as he was concerned, they weren’t done. A quick glance down his muscled chest covered in a tight black T-shirt, past those six-pack abs… Oh, hell. He was hard. There was no mistaking that bulge.
Need slammed into her belly. Her gaze flew back to his.
“We’ll talk later.”
About sex. He didn’t speak it, but the words hung in the air.
“I have nothing to say,” she protested automatically.
Talking about sex would only make her want to have it with Jack again. Bad idea. Already, she was more fixated on him than was smart, more than she’d ever been on a man—even the one she’d agreed to marry once upon a time. She just needed to evade this stalker, figure out who it was, and get back to her job and the sanity of her life in L.A.