Jack set the whiskey aside. Suddenly, she felt her chair being dragged along the hardwood floors, closer to him. She looked down to find his foot hooked around the leg as he pulled it beside his, right next to his heat and spice.
“Yeah, I’m staring. First, I’m male, and you’re a gorgeous woman. Second, I’m wondering which of those outfits of teasing torture you decided to put on beneath my robe. Third, I haven’t forgotten exactly what you feel like pulsing around my cock.”
Morgan sucked in air as desire slammed into her, leaving her short of breath. Clearly, any restraint exhibited here would be up to her.
Not good news, since she didn’t have much.
He leaned down and nuzzled the sensitive skin below her ear. Morgan shivered as he said, “You were slick and tight, cher. So amazing to f**k. You responded to my commands like you were born to submit. Like it was so natural. I’ve thought about nothing all day long except tying you down and spending morning, noon, and night finding ways to make you come until you scream your throat raw, then beg for more.”
Blunt. Graphic. Unapologetic. His words should have been a turnoff. The feminist in her thought she should be offended that he found her so purely sexual. She wasn’t that lucky.
Jack was her mind’s nightmare—arrogant, demanding, difficult. But he was her psyche’s fantasy—hot, untamed, determined to have her and force her to experience every naughty fantasy her fevered mind had ever conjured up.
A fresh rush of moisture dampened her new thong and her clit began to ache anew.
Morgan closed her eyes. This had to stop. Had to. Or she was going to give in. She wasn’t sure she could live with the repercussions—or herself—if she did.
“Jack, I’m interviewing you for a TV show about your lifestyle, not inviting you to tell me every one of the thoughts lurking in the dark corners of your mind. If you can’t keep it to yourself, you should take me back to my car. I—I’ll return to Houston and—”
“And wait for your stalker to find you? Rape you? Shoot you? Kill you? We’ve been over this. You’re in the middle of a swamp and much safer here, surrounded by sophisticated security systems and a bodyguard, than you are anywhere else. My buddy Deke is putting together a profile. Once we have it, we can figure out who your psycho is and nail him. Until then, I think you’d be wise to stay. Unless you’re more afraid of sex than a stalker?”
Damn it, he’d picked the worst possible time to be logical. “Of course not. You’re just making me uncomfortable.”
“The truth is making you uncomfortable; I’m merely making you aware of it. I want you. You want me. It’s pretty simple.”
“It’s oversimplified, big boy.”
He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took a long swallow. Morgan watched in fascination as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his tight-muscled throat.
When it was empty, he set the bottle on the table. “You can’t lie, cher. Your eyes, they tell me you want to be cuffed and clamped and f**ked often. And you want me to be the one doing it.”
Mind trying to outrace the desire searing her brain, she shook her head. “Look, we both had an itch this morning and we scratched it. After, you ran as if I was diseased. You couldn’t get away from me fast enough. If you hadn’t, I would have. We’re done with each other.”
“You think, little girl? What we did, it was powerful, yeah,” he said, those dark eyes boring into her, forcing her to listen, willing her to understand. “If I hadn’t left, I would have carried you to the bed, tied you down, and not let you up until I’d f**ked all of your perfect pink entrances and found each of your hidden sensitive spots and every way possible to drive your body insane.”
Morgan gasped. That should not arouse her. The idea that he would have touched her anywhere he pleased, demanded a blow job and, if she look him literally, anal sex, absolutely shouldn’t make any part of her leap with excitement. Curiosity and wicked fantasies were one thing. Actually indulging… No.
But there was no denying the desire that charged through her with the force of an invading army, pulsing need and heat into her clit, making her beaded ni**les ache.
Just like there was no denying that if she tried to leave here and return to Houston, the person after her would very likely try to kill her again. And this time, he might succeed.
She let out a shaky breath. What a hell of a place to be, trapped by danger with a man capable of giving her amazing pleasure while making her submit to every wicked desire she’d ever denied. Damn it, she’d been fighting her wants since Andrew’s rejection, warring against her dark side until she hurt. She couldn’t just roll over and spread her legs for a dominant stranger—no matter how appealing her newly awakened body might find that notion.
“I grant you that I’m much safer here than in Houston or Los Angeles. I’m not stupid, and I know I can’t fight a man I haven’t seen and don’t understand.”
“But?”
“I want things platonic. I’m supposed to interview you. You’re supposed to protect me. Nowhere in those job descriptions is the wild thing mentioned. We got waaaaayyy off track this morning.”
Jack leaned closer, until she felt his breath on her mouth, smelling faintly of whiskey and something spicy. “Platonic?”
“You know, polite. Friendly.” Morgan tried to scoot her chair away. “No sex.”
He wasn’t budging. “I know what it means, Morgan. Why do you think we shouldn’t be having the most amazing sex of the year with each other?”
“I don’t want what you want. I’m just not into your…scene.”
She focused on her gumbo. It would be easier if she could tell him she thought his desires were twisted and wrong. Hurting him might make him go away faster. But having been on the receiving end of such slurs, she couldn’t do it to him.