Tangled Love

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."