Wicked Ties

Shock jolted a dizzying bolt through his system. Jack stroked his chin and tried to regain his balance. The concept of predestined mates and dreaming of them was so…otherworldly. So weird. Not that he hadn’t grown up with the knowledge; he’d just never believed it.



“None of us want to believe that there’s any truth to this malédiction. But facts is facts, yeah. It happens to every man in our line. And now, it’s your turn, with Morgan.”



“How did you know when it happened to you?” Jack asked, struggling to accept his grandfather’s claim. “What made you sure, besides the dreams, that Grand-mere was the one?”



The old man smiled, deepening lines around his eyes and mouth, leaving no doubt the man had spent a lifetime smiling wide and often. “The moment I met her, I fought a crazy urge to grab her up tight and convince her to be mine. I never wanted to be away from her or see her blue. Most of all, cher garçon, I wanted her happy and I knew deep inside here,” he pointed to his heart, “that I could make her so. Comprenes-tu?”



Oh, yeah. Jack understood all too well. Hadn’t he been feeling the same way from nearly the instant he’d met Morgan? The insane desire to touch her, the willingness to do most anything to keep her safe, the snarling anger toward her stalker? He hated her dismay, but the key to her happiness lay in her caged sexuality. “Listen to your gut, Jack. Follow your instincts.” “They don’t make sense.”



The smile lines bracketing Brice’s mouth deepened. “They don’t have to. The heart ain’t meant to makes sense. You ever feel this way about anyone else? About Kayla?”



The old man all but spit his ex-wife’s name.



Jack just shook his head. No. Never. Not even close. He’d married her because she was pregnant, and he was very Catholic, even if she hadn’t been. She’d miscarried in her fifth month. The marriage ended a few months later when he’d found a videotape of Brandon Ross fucking her, while she’d supposedly been grieving the loss of her baby too deeply to have sex with her own husband. Looking back, his divorce had been a guilty relief. And a bitter humiliation. Brice had been with him, expecting to see an episode of CSI Jack had promised to videotape for him. They’d viewed a whole different sort of action instead.



“You see now, yeah?” Brice murmured.



“It’s complicated. Morgan belongs to…to someone else. They’re engaged.”



Jack couldn’t tell his grandfather that Morgan belonged to the man who had been with Kayla in the videotape. Brice would know that he’d lured Morgan under his roof in the name of revenge. He’d have a pretty good idea of what Jack had done to her to obtain that revenge. And the old man would flay the skin off Jack’s back with his old hunting knife and pour Tabasco in the wound.



Grimacing, Jack couldn’t deny an unsettling sense of shame bubbling in his gut.



And if Morgan ever found out… Oh God, she would find out. The minute she talked to Brandon. And stopping it was damn near impossible.



He let loose a vile curse. There was no way he could take back the email he’d already sent. Damn! He wished he’d heeded his instinct at that moment, which told him emailing the video was a mistake. And once Morgan and Brandon talked…he’d lose her for sure then. The thought filled him with a snarling, towering panic.



Unless he found some ironclad way to bind her to him before he told her the truth… Yes! He had to.



Brice shrugged. “Now, boy. Why worry? She and this man, they is not married. And why not? Maybe she knows this other man is not for her. Yeah? Maybe she gives you a kiss or two because her heart and her body know what her mind don’t.”



“That she doesn’t love her fiancé?”



“Exactement.”



Was it really that simple? That Morgan was his…soul mate, and that she responded to him, had allowed him so much liberty over her body because somewhere deep inside her she knew he was meant for her? It seemed so…surreal. Fucking hocuspocus.



Was it possible she wasn’t a cheating sort of woman, just a confused one? Just as confused as he was?



Jack sighed and held his head in his hands.



A slur of disgust rose from Brice’s throat. “Ah, you young now. No sense of romance. Keep resisting. Make yourself miserable. Love will wear you down.”



Love? The thought couldn’t have been more alien if it was green and sported antennae.



“I want her. I don’t love her.”



“You know that, do you? You already know that you will always not love her?”



Jack slumped back in his chair. Damn the man and his questions. “No, I don’t know that.”



Brice sent him an all-knowing nod. “I brought some jeans and shirts for Morgan. You can fix me some mornin’ grub, yeah. After that, you tell me if you want me to get them from the boat…or take `em back with me.”



Leaving Morgan in nothing but tempting lingerie.



Immediately, the memory of her in that golden camisole and thong bombarded his brain, engorging his cock. Oh yeah, Morgan looked hot in that get-up. But just the visual alone couldn’t fire him up to something between a boil and a blaze that quickly. Hell, he’d seen hundreds of naked women, especially hanging around Alyssa and her girls. They’d get a rise from him every so often, but this feeling scraping at his logic and peace of mind until he felt raw… Jack could only term it a caveman urge to claim. Like he had to know she was his and be secure in the knowledge that he would always keep her safe and happy. The thought of succeeding, of being able to convince her to be his in every way, jacked up his temperature another ten degrees.



Holy shit.



At this point, he couldn’t think of a single argument that might prove his grandfather wrong.



In fact, if he wanted to have Morgan, and keep her, he was going to have to form a stronger bond between them right away. Something that might shake but wouldn’t break when she learned why he’d agreed to be on her TV show—and that he’d bribed her buddy Reggie to make it happen. That he’d done it all for revenge. And he’d tell her…but not yet. Not until they were solid.



First, he had to earn her trust on a visceral level, teach her body that he would always put her care first. The bedroom was a good place to start breaking down her barriers. Once she’d surrendered, then they could talk. The rest would fall into place.



Knowledge, rightness, and a plan clicked into place in that moment, like the piece of a puzzle that had been hovering just out of reach.



Finally, he said, “I don’t need time to think about it. Take her clothes with you, Grand-pere. Don’t bring them out here again.”



Brice smiled wide, showing crooked white teeth against Cajun-dark skin. “Laizzez les bon temps roule!”



Oh, yeah. Let the good times roll…



CHAPTER ELEVEN



We will finish this later.



Jack’s vow rang through Morgan’s head as Brice charmed her through breakfast.



She chastised the older man for bringing her lingerie and nothing else. With dark eyes twinkling, he gave her a sanguine grin and a shrug, but wasn’t apologetic in the least.



But Jack…his gaze burned, telegraphing his earlier words. We will finish this later.



Morgan wished she could close off the memory, drown out the voice in her head. Over scrambled eggs, which both men doused with Tabasco, Jack stared at her as if she was a cross between a confounding puzzle and a tasty treat. And above all, something he coveted. Someone he meant to possess.



Damn it, why had she ever said yes to Jack and his playroom? Trying to say no after the exquisite pleasure he’d given her seemed nearly impossible.



But saying yes in that moment had been easy— imperative—with his mouth hovering over her and an enormous climax pending. Now that pleasure wasn’t destroying her ability to breathe and think, Morgan wasn’t sure that giving in, giving him everything he wanted, was a good idea. It would not only change everything between them, but change her forever. Since being around Jack, her fantasies had become more urgent, more explicit. Impulses she’d always had now came with remembered sensations—and the memories also came complete with Jack’s sigh-worthy face to haunt her.



On the other hand, she wanted him—and was beginning to crave having every wild pleasure he could give her. Something about giving in to the impulses he roused in her body made her feel more alive, more…complete. Did that even make sense?



We will finish this later. Given the weight of his stare right now, Morgan knew he still meant it.



Should she? Shouldn’t she?



Like everything else about Jack, the promise he’d given her filled her with hot shame, even as it made her ache and shake with need. This morning, on the porch… God, she could still feel his mouth on her sex, forcing his tongue inside her, taking tender possession. Driving her out of her mind. He’d suffused every nerve in her body with speech-defying ecstasy, making it impossible to run away from the sensations he poured over her like sweet, warm honey.



But she was so damn curious—and excited—about whatever he did on those racks and tables with the cuffs and clamps…and other items she was too naive to name. The more she tried to run away from her wants, the more insistent they grew, slowly overtaking her will like a clinging vine overtaking the garden.



What if she let him follow through on his threat to finish what they’d started? Would it be so terrible if she did? Just for now? No one but her and Jack would have to know.



Biting her lip, she watched Jack’s taut posture grow more tense as Brice lingered for after-breakfast coffee. His dark eyes promised pleasure, prepared her for a hint of pain. His vow to totally possess her shone in his seductive gaze. She swallowed against a belly-tightening mix of fear and thrill and anticipation. Attraction layered over that, luring her directly to him, as if an invisible string lay between them, growing shorter and shorter with every hour.



It made no sense that she could want someone so desperately who brought out her very worst impulses. Someone who would take her places far beyond the norm, into a realm that would horrify her mother and sicken men like Andrew. If she let Jack, he would ruin her for every other man’s touch. Worse, living with herself after he molded her into a submissive wanton would be impossible. Doormat wasn’t her style. She didn’t take orders well, didn’t like being told what to do. Her mother had started calling her an independent hoyden about the time she turned twelve.



But with Jack… Morgan sighed. His commands seeped inside her—not just her body, but her mind, her soul. The things he demanded of her never failed to shock her, and yet, he often ordered her to do exactly what she’d been secretly craving. Sometimes, she wondered how he could read her mind. It startled her. It shamed her. It made her ache for him beyond anything she’d imagined.



And she didn’t think she had the will to keep fighting what they both wanted.



Maybe…just maybe she should embrace this time together, find out the truth about her desires. Jack wouldn’t intentionally hurt her beyond a little erotic pain. Her mother’s and Andrew’s opinions wouldn’t matter way out here, a world away from civilization. It could be her time, their secret time, before her stalker was caught and she returned to reality.



Just after noon, Brice rose to leave. Morgan knew Jack wanted to pick up where they’d left off earlier this morning. Like any nervous female, she wanted to look her best. Retreating to the bathroom when Jack walked Brice to the dock, she indulged in a decadent bath and spent extra time drying her hair. She lamented the fact that she had no makeup, which gave her absolutely no way to soften the smattering of freckles on her too-fair face. She licked her lips, pinched her cheeks and shrugged. That was the best she could do.



A set of regimented footsteps started down the hall, pulling her out of her thoughts.



Jack. He’d be pounding on the door soon, demanding to pound at her.



Her breath caught. Was she ready? Could she handle it? She released a shaky breath, torn between her rational mind and her demanding body. Her mind had always prevailed before, but since Jack… game, set, match to her body.



She was as prepared for a man like Jack as she’d ever be, considering she wore nothing more to shield her from his penetrating gaze than his bathrobe and bloodred undergarments with wicked cutouts designed not to cover the essentials.



Instead of being repulsed by the revealing exploitive lingerie, Morgan simply felt herself growing ever more wet at the thought of Jack seeing her in them.



“Morgan?” he barked through the thin barrier of the bathroom door.



Showtime. “Jack?”



Anytime he looked at her, she felt sure those dark, knowing eyes could see every sinful secret in her soul. But today, her voice trembled merely because she spoke his name.



Before he could say or do anything, the phone rang. He uttered a ripe sibilant curse and stomped back down the hall. Morgan sagged with an odd mix of relief and disappointment…but she couldn’t deny that the ache between her legs had ratcheted higher.