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 fuck 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 cleavage 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?
“Don’t leer,” she snapped.
Jack looked away in his own good time. “Why not? You look good.”
“I look like a whore.”
Faster than lightning, he leaned across the cab and crowded her personal space. He smelled like midnight and elemental male. Like danger.
“You look available and willing. You don’t look for sale.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Non, it is not.”
Jack said nothing more for long moments. He eased away and started the truck, then pulled away from the tree-lined street and took off into the dusk. Then they headed southeast, toward the heart of the bayou.
With another hot glance at her, Jack finally explained, “When a woman looks for sale, a man checks his wallet before looking twice. Available and willing just makes a man hot. Available and willing for him
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 fuck 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 cleavage 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?
“Don’t leer,” she snapped.
Jack looked away in his own good time. “Why not? You look good.”
“I look like a whore.”
Faster than lightning, he leaned across the cab and crowded her personal space. He smelled like midnight and elemental male. Like danger.
“You look available and willing. You don’t look for sale.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Non, it is not.”
Jack said nothing more for long moments. He eased away and started the truck, then pulled away from the tree-lined street and took off into the dusk. Then they headed southeast, toward the heart of the bayou.
With another hot glance at her, Jack finally explained, “When a woman looks for sale, a man checks his wallet before looking twice. Available and willing just makes a man hot. Available and willing for him
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