Morgan leapt from the tub, grabbed a towel with shaking hands and wrapped it around her, covering as much of herself as she could. He’d seen her—and everything she’d done!
She turned back to the window, eager to assure herself Jack had had the decency to leave and give her privacy, now that she’d caught him being a voyeur. But Jack still stood there unblinking, shirtless, his massive chest rising and falling with harsh, tightly controlled breaths. Worse, he watched her with a hot, predatory gaze. Completely sexual. Totally lacking in apology. His gaze told her that she aroused him. He wanted her. He meant to have her. Period.
The ache between her thighs she’d tried to quench pulsed back to life. Morgan squeezed her eyes shut, struggling against the morass of feeling swirling inside her. Desire and fury galloped in her stomach. They raced neck in neck, mortification a close third.
But at the finish line, fury won.
Damn him! Jack might have saved her life, but that didn’t entitle him to invade her privacy, to watch…whatever she did by herself—and arouse himself doing it. Arrogant. Rude! So like a man.
The famous O’Malley temper her mother had always talked about was rising hot and fast inside her, greedily lapping at propriety and calm.
Shooting him a venomous glare through the window, Morgan whirled and left the little bathroom, then stalked down the hall, into the kitchen/living room area. She barreled toward the cabin’s front door.
Before she reached it, the door opened. Jack stepped in, fierce and silent. And so taut she could probably bounce knives off him. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click that was nearly lost in the hard stamps of her wet feet across the gleaming wood floor.
“You son of a bitch!” she yelled, charging toward him until they stood a mere foot apart. “How dare you? Did you think I wouldn’t notice or care? Or maybe you thought—”
“Enough.” He didn’t raise his voice but it still lashed like the sting of a whip.
“Go to—”
“Morgan,” he warned, jaw clenching.
She started, clutching her towel around her, her chest rising and falling with anger. His voice filled the room. A command burned in his eyes. He was angry with her? Unbelievable.
Before she could tell him to pound sand, he said. “I had no right to watch you, cher. I went outside to check the perimeter security. You left the partially shutters open, and I couldn’t look away. I’m sorry.”
An apology? That was it? No arguing, no defending himself?
Fury dissipated—much faster than she wanted it to. Hard to stay frothing furious at someone who’d offered an apology, damn it. Even harder to stay mad at a man who’d been transfixed because he liked the sight of her.
But she was an O’Malley and not nearly ready to give up the fight.
“You didn’t have any right! I—I’m completely embarrassed.”
He edged closer. “Of your body? Of being a woman with needs?”
“Of being watched! I can’t believe you just stood there and looked at me like I was the star of some sort of freebie sex show.”
“It’s not good behavior for hosts, I agree. It’s not a habit.” His eyes sparked truth—and a desire that wasn’t going away. “Morgan, admit something, though: Knowing I watched you, that I couldn’t look away, arouses you.”
“No.” She refused to give him the satisfaction, despite her awareness that moisture gushed between her legs at his words.
“Those sultry blue eyes say yes, cher.”
“You need glasses. Did you think I would be okay with you turning my bath into a peepfest? Did you think I’d say, ‘Sure, I know we just met yesterday, but feel free to spy on the most intimate moments of my life?’”
“I was only aware of how of beautiful you looked.” He leaned in. “If you were mine, you’d have no reason to self-pleasure, cher.” He quirked a smile. “Of course, I’d love to see you stroke yourself now and then for the pure viewing fun.”
Risking a glance down, she couldn’t miss the outline of his rigid erection straining the front of his jeans. Morgan felt a flush rise to her skin and that ache tighten between her legs again. No! She needed her anger, all whipped into a nice, frothy fury.
Instead, she became all too aware of how close he stood. Of the fact he was half dressed, while she was barely covered at all. Dangerous territory, especially with Jack looking at her with a dark flame of want blazing in his eyes. Especially with her body warming in response.
Morgan retreated a step.
“Stay there.”
His quiet tones rang with command, vibrated through her. Morgan hesitated, mind racing. She didn’t have to listen, didn’t have to stand before him nearly naked and follow orders. In fact, it was much better if she didn’t…
“Bite me. I’m not a two year-old or a robot,” she shot back and stepped away again.
Jack reached for her.
Run! she ordered herself. Instead, he encircled her wrist with a gentle grip, but she felt its steel beneath. And his heat.
“Stay there.”
For some reason, something in his voice… She couldn’t not listen to him.
Maybe that’s because Jack embodied every sin she’d ever yearned to experience, ever masturbated to in her dark, lonely bed, only to have frustration douse her satisfaction when she realized none of it was real.
He released her slowly and began to pace around her with unhurried steps, brushing her shoulder with gentle fingertips as he stepped past. Her heartbeat accelerated. Goose bumps erupted across her arms. She didn’t even want to think about what was happening to her nipples or how bad they ached.
He stopped behind her. Jack’s hot breath tickled the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulders. His heat radiated along her back and legs. Morgan sucked in a breath. God, he was standing close. Too close to ignore. Too close to deny the effect he had on her.
The ache between her thighs zinged to new heights, as if she hadn’t stroked her way to climax mere minutes ago.
She sent a cautious glance over her shoulder. Jack stood right there, waiting, as if he’d known what she would do. Their gazes connected, his full of fire and demand. He hovered a mere breath away, tall and towering.
He was going to touch her.
A zip of electric thrill raced through her, even as she called herself twenty kinds of stupid. She tore her gaze from his and stared at the front door again, clutching the towel around her body. He said nothing, but Morgan could feel his eyes on her, taking in her still-wet skin, her rapid, telling breaths.
Now what? This had gone from an ass-chewing to an ass-viewing in about two minutes. If she didn’t want him doing anything else with her ass, she had to get away now.
“Tell me why you needed that orgasm,” he murmured into her ear.
She couldn’t. It would only confirm what he must know: That some deviant, out-of-control part of her wanted him, felt more than journalistic curiosity about what he could give her.
“It’s really none of your business, Jack…”
“Don’t call me that, not when we’re alone.”
He wanted her to call him sir. Trembling, she stood still, thoughts and heart racing between uncertainty and forbidden thrill. She felt…claimed by Jack’s words. His iron commands reached something inside her and called forth a barrage of need.
What would it be like to surrender? To give in to that voice?
Dangerous. Bad. Giving into everything Jack represented and everything she shouldn’t want. If she did, she’d only be forging a new path to hell.
“How about jackass, then? That’s appropriate.” She dug up her bravado and turned to face him. “Don’t bully me.”
She waited for his angry comeback, for a growled command of frustration. It didn’t come.
Instead, he shuffled a heartbeat closer, until a mere whisper separated her from the raging heat of his body. “There is no reason to be embarrassed about your desires.”
“I’m not. Call me repressed, but I am embarrassed about having an audience during orgasm,” she snapped.
“That’s not true,” he said softly.
Swallowing, Morgan tried to tear her gaze from his knowing, sexual stare. His scent assailed her next, full of man and mystery, spicy as Cajun food and as hard to fathom as the swamp itself.
She inched back. “Do you think you know me now?”
“I know things about you. I know you’re uneasy about your sexuality. You have desires you don’t like to admit to. I see them all in your eyes. A craving to be bound and dominated—”
“You don’t see a damn thing! I’m not depraved.”
“No, you’re not. Anyone who thinks you are is an idiot.”
Jack reached for her again, determination all over the fierce masculine angles of his strong face. She didn’t want to know exactly what he was determined to do. Panic flared, and she batted his hand away and leapt out of his reach. Her back hit the door.
And Jack kept coming for her with soft, slow steps.
