CHAPTER 17

The thoughts brought on fresh desire. Thick, bubbling desire, swirling inside her to form an insistent throb. Her clit ached, and she could not believe how wet she was, how swollen her folds felt. She’d never been ruled by her hormones. Why now?

Morgan thought about self-pleasuring again, but refrained. She didn’t want to be caught again. The mortification had nearly killed her once, but twice in one day… She grimaced. Still, she might have risked it if she had believed it would douse the fire raging inside her.

But the fire was one she feared only Jack could put out.

A knock at the cottage’s front door startled Morgan. She whirled to the clock on the little cypress bedside table. Nearly four thirty in the afternoon.

Jack tore open the door from his hiding place and streaked down the hall. On his way past, he cast a heated glance into the bedroom, right at her, a glance that said he remembered every kiss, every touch between them—and that as far as he was concerned, they weren’t done.