Flickering golden light emanated from the little window in the middle of the wall. Morgan was in the bathroom and had found the candles. What she hadn’t done was completely close the shutters. She’d tried, but the broken one wouldn’t extend over the window.

On quiet feet, Jack approached the small glass pane. He shouldn’t look; he knew that. But he didn’t have a lot of scruples where she was concerned.

Edging closer, Jack peered in, looking into the narrow bathroom. Steam rose from the claw-footed tub. Beside it, Morgan ran a hand under the water stream. Apparently satisfied with the temperature, she set the plug in the tub then backed away.

Her hands settled on the first button of Alyssa’s leather getup. At a push of her thumb, the button came loose. A second followed suit. The soft, rounded edged of her cleavage and a hint of the black bra he hadn’t forgotten peeked out to torment him.

A sweat broke out across Jack’s chest and back. His cock, which he’d just managed to get under control, rose up swiftly to full staff and saluted the view.

But the view only improved. A third button, centered around her naval, came loose from its mooring. As the fourth and final button came undone, so did Jack’s ability to breathe.

Morgan peeled the garment off and laid it on the counter. He glued his gaze to her slender torso and high, round breasts as she reached behind her to unfasten the tight mini skirt.

With an alluring wriggle, a sexy shimmy, she peeled the garment down the sweet curve of her hips and past firm thighs.

When she stood again and set the skirt aside, the only thing stopping him from fully taking in the pale temptation of her body was a lacy bra that did nothing to hide her hard nipples, and a teeny-tiny thong.

Damn, was it possible to have a fatal heart attack at thirtyone?

He should walk away now. Focus on surveillance until he knew she was safe. Stop fixating on a woman he planned to fuck once…just so Brandon could appreciate the pain and rage a man felt when he knew his woman had surrendered willingly to another hard dick.

But walking away from Morgan was easier said than done. At this point, he couldn’t find the will to try.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he watched as she reached behind her to unclasp the bra. The movement thrust her breasts forward, accentuating their round, firm shape and those pretty nipples he thirsted to suck into his mouth.

A moment later, they came into view. Plump, soft, blushing pink, and swollen, they beckoned like little bits of heaven topping the pale beauty of her breasts, which shimmered with dancing, golden candlelight. He grabbed the ledge outside the window and let out a ragged breath.

How the hell was he going to keep from fucking her into oblivion in the next ten minutes?

Before he could answer that question, she slid the little black thong off and tossed it away, revealing the last of her secrets to him. And boy, was it a doozie.

The tiny patch of hair covering Morgan’s pussy was fiery red.

Now Jack knew how a bull felt when someone waved something red in its face: enflamed, ready to charge.

Toro!

He braced his hands against the side of the cabin to steady himself as Morgan stepped into the tub and sank into the steaming water, eyes closed.

Damn, he had to stop spying on her like some loser sicko who couldn’t persuade a woman to undress for him. And he would…as soon as she stopped slashing water over her shoulders, on her breasts. The water beaded up on her creamy skin, running in rivulets that dripped from succulent nipples. He’d love to lick her up with his tongue.

The sun edged up over the horizon behind Jack, making it harder to see inside the little bathroom. It was probably a sign that he should be noble and stop acting like a peeping Tom.

Morgan dragged a thumb over one of her hard nipples, and her lips parted in a silent gasp.

Fuck nobility.

He stepped closer to the window to improve his view.

Her nipples responded to their wet state and the cool air, beading up even tighter, turning a shade darker. She lay against the back of the tub and sighed.

Then she lifted her hands from the water—to cup her breasts. A moment later, Morgan stunned him when she dragged her thumbs across the rigid peaks deliberately and moaned.

A fresh gallon of blood ran south to engorge his cock even more. God, he was going to go insane. He, who had never had even a hint of mental illness in his family, would be certifiable before Morgan finished her bath.

Jack held his breath as she pinched her lush nipples, rolling them between thumb and fingers, pulling at them harder than he would have imagined. First one, then the other, finally together, she worked them with her small fingers. She threw her head back, neck arched, moist lips parted. She looked like a sensual goddess, like the ultimate fuck.

In that moment, he would have charged into the house, plucked her damp, naked body from the water and plunged his steel-hard cock right into her. But he wanted to know too damn bad just what she would do next.

As her nipples darkened and swelled from her fondling, she sank deeper into the tub, until only the twin peaks of her breasts rose from the water, wet and tempting. She lifted her right leg and rested her heel on the rim of the tub, then bent her left knee and spread her legs wide.

Jack couldn’t see Morgan’s pussy under the water, but glimpsed an occasional flash of red hair. But his imagination filled in the gaps. Fiery curls shielding swollen pink flesh, slick and pouting and ready.

If she was his, he’d keep her like that—naked and hot. Always wet. He’d spend mornings lapping at her nipples. While she ate breakfast, he’d eat her. They’d shower with her mouth around his cock as she took him deep, all the way to the back of her throat. And then he’d get serious, push her to the limits of her body, her trust. He’d leave no part of her untouched. There would be nothing he wouldn’t do with her, to her, to hear her scream her throat raw in pleasure.

Morgan jolted him out of his reverie when she trailed her hand from her breast, down her abdomen and between her legs.

She began to stroke herself.

Oh, shit… If he hadn’t yet lost his mind, it was going to go up in flames now—just like his body.

He shifted his aching cock in his jeans and edged closer to the window until his face was nearly pressed against it. Eyes closed, Morgan made lazy circles with the hand between her legs while the other continued to pluck at her nipples, keep them hard and ready.

Soon, the slow circles of her fingers gained speed. Water sloshed in the tub, dousing the ends of her silky hair, which hung wildly about her shoulders. Her hips began to lift to meet her fingers. Jack caught electrifying flashes of red, along with slick, spread flesh. Lust pooled in his belly, demanding relief, demanding her, as her chest rose and fell with quick, panting breaths. Morgan tightened the circle, moving faster than ever. Her lips, now a deep red, opened on a silent gasp. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Jack stepped closer still to the window for an even better view, clutching the window ledge with a white-knuckled grip, his own rapid breathing creating circles of damp heat against the glass.

Then her legs stiffened, her back bowed. She bit her lip to trap in a cry as orgasm washed over her in a long rush of shuddering sensation. Morgan rubbed at her clit furiously, extending the pleasure, extending Jack’s hell.

She kept panting, teasing, bucking against her hand, stretching for the next orgasm. Moments later it came, crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She cried out, no longer able to hold in the sound. But the desperate pleasure in her voice stabbed Jack with a fresh bolt of lust.

God help her. God help them both. There was no power strong enough on this earth to keep him out of her body right now. Fuck his plans. Fuck the consequences.

He was going to fuck her. Now.

As Morgan rose to the pinnacle of her peak, arching and flushed, her eyes flew open.

Her gaze connected with his.

CHAPTER FIVE

Oh my God!

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 selfpleasure, 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.