CHAPTER 3

“And Dominance and submission.”

Morgan swallowed.

She'd become so absorbed in explaining the show that she'd almost forgotten why she'd invited Master J to meet her in the first place.

They were supposed to discuss the very subject that had been responsible for far too many of her secret late-night fantasies.

“Yes.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

Master J looked at her expectantly, somehow managing to appear both impatient and completely at ease.

Morgan stared back.

What did he want from her?

Then it occurred to her.

“Yes, sir,” she said cautiously.

His expression changed immediately.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Very nice.”

Morgan shifted in her chair.

“I thought that kind of address was reserved for one's…”

“Submissive?”

He finished the sentence for her.

“Usually. But you contacted me because you wanted to understand this lifestyle. I thought we'd start with a small taste of the dynamic and see how you respond.”

He leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table.

His attention settled completely on her.

“Do you understand what it means to submit to a man?”

Morgan's breath caught.

“To surrender completely?”

She tried to inhale normally, but her breathing had already betrayed her.

His eyes darkened with unmistakable approval.

“This isn't about me,” she said, although her voice came out far less firmly than she'd intended. “I only need enough understanding to explain the concept to the audience.”

“How can you explain something you've never experienced, cher?”

His smile was devastating.

“A little taste won't hurt.”

He paused.

“You might even enjoy it.”

That was exactly what frightened her.

Morgan forced her expression into something professional.

“It doesn't matter whether I enjoy it. I managed to interview couples about tattoo fantasies without getting a tattoo myself. Understanding someone's motivations doesn't require me to experience everything they do.”

“Getting a tattoo while your partner watches is considerably less intimate than being blindfolded, naked, and restrained for a master's pleasure.”

Morgan's throat went dry.

He had a point.

And that little taste he'd offered was beginning to sound dangerously tempting.

No.

She knew better.

He was simply putting ideas into her head.

Morgan wasn't some woman looking for a bully to order her around. She wasn't secretly desperate to be chained up and controlled.

The idea was merely unfamiliar.

She was curious.

That was all.

Mostly.

Even if Master J happened to look like the kind of man who could make pleasure itself look like an invention he'd patented.

“What are you afraid of?”

The question caught her off guard.

Morgan looked away.

“It's just not my thing.”

His eyebrow rose again.

This time, the expression in his eyes was unmistakably demanding.

“Sir,” she added reluctantly.

The tension in his face eased.

“That's better.”

He studied her.

“In the few minutes we've been sitting here, your skin has flushed. Your pulse has quickened. Your nipples have hardened.”

Morgan's eyes widened.

“I know what arousal smells like.”

Her stomach dropped.

“I can smell yours.”

She couldn't move.

“So I'll ask again. What are you afraid of?”

Myself.

The answer screamed inside her head.

Morgan lowered her gaze.

She'd never felt so transparent.

“Don't overthink it,” he said. “Lying comes with consequences.”

Her head snapped up.

“Consequences? You don't have the right—”

His expression remained calm.

“I told you yesterday that trust is essential to this kind of relationship.”

He paused.

“I trusted that you were exactly who you claimed to be.”

Morgan listened.

“To help you trust me, I allowed your production assistant access to some very personal information about me.”

Her eyes widened.

“You knew?”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“I knew the moment he started making calls.”

He leaned back slightly.

“If I hadn't told the clubs he contacted that they could speak with him, Reggie wouldn't have learned a thing. They wouldn't have even acknowledged knowing me, much less confirmed anything about my private life.”

Morgan didn't know what to say.

Master J shifted closer.

His thigh brushed hers again.

Then he reached out and gently lifted her chin.

Morgan froze.

The simple touch sent a startling mixture of embarrassment and attraction through her.

“Trust,” he said quietly.

His thumb remained beneath her chin.

“I gave you some. If we're going to work together, you need to give me a little in return.”

His voice softened.

“I'm not going to attack you. I'm not going to force you into anything. Whatever dramatic scenario you're imagining, forget it.”

He released her.

“If I'm going to help you understand the psychology behind Dominance and submission, you need enough trust to be honest with me.”

His eyes held hers.

“With me.”

A pause.

“And with yourself.”

Morgan swallowed.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He leaned back.

“Now I'll ask one final time. Why does the idea of submitting frighten you?”

The question struck much deeper than he could possibly know.

There were too many answers.

Rejection.

Humiliation.

Being laughed at.

Being made to feel worthless.

Pain.

Degradation.

And the possibility she feared most of all—that she might actually enjoy surrendering control to a man like him.

That she'd discover something about herself she couldn't take back.

She couldn't tell him any of that.

Doing so would be like handing him the keys to every locked room inside her.

“Please,” she whispered.

Her voice broke.

“Please…”

His jaw tightened.

His eyes narrowed.

And for some ridiculous reason, Morgan hated the thought of disappointing him.

She owed him nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He was an interview subject.

He would be paid for his time.

That was the beginning and end of their relationship.

She was still struggling between the urge to resist him and the terrifying desire to surrender when she noticed the waiter had returned.

The young man refilled Master J's coffee.

Then he turned toward Morgan with a puzzled expression.

“Some guy gave me twenty dollars to give this to you.”

He handed her a plain mailing envelope.

Morgan recognized the handwriting immediately.

The waiter walked away.

Her heart began hammering.

She tore the envelope open.

Red rose petals spilled across her fingers.

Fresh centers.

Brown, dying edges.

Her face drained of color.

“No.”

She looked around the square.

“No.”

“Morgan?”

Master J's voice changed.

Concern replaced the teasing edge.

“He's here.”

She could barely get the words out.

“He followed me.”

Her gaze darted from one person to another.

“I have to leave.”

She stood abruptly.

“Hide. Now.”

Master J caught her shoulders.

“Who is here?”

Morgan jerked free.

“Where are you going?”

She scanned the square frantically.

Most of the chairs were empty. A few people sat inside nearby shops. Windows and balconies overlooked the street.

Anyone could be watching.

The coffeehouse patrons barely seemed to notice her.

Her stalker had always been like that.

Invisible.

Silent.

Present without ever being seen.

“I can't stay.”

Her voice shook.

“I'm sorry.”

Master J reached for her again.

This time, he wasn't trying to restrain her.

He was trying to understand.

Then he stopped.

His attention shifted across the street.

Morgan saw his entire body change.

The relaxed man she'd been talking to disappeared.

“Down!”

He shoved her toward the ground.

Morgan hit the pavement beneath the table a split second before the gunshot cracked through the afternoon.

Master J dropped over her.

Another shot followed.

People screamed.

Chairs scraped across the pavement as the crowd scattered.

Morgan trembled violently beneath him.

Master J kept his body between hers and the direction of the gunfire.

Damn it.

Revenge had been his plan.

But none of that mattered if Morgan ended up dead.

He hadn't brought her here to kill her.

He'd brought her here because she was connected to Brandon Ross.

Because she was supposed to become the instrument of a revenge he'd spent three years planning.

He intended to discover what made her tick.

To understand every secret desire she carried.

To make her want him so completely that Brandon Ross would become irrelevant.

But whoever was shooting at them had a very different objective.

That man wanted Morgan dead.

Another shot rang out.

Morgan jerked.

Master J tightened his hold around her.

His instincts had taken over.

Protect her.

Get her out.

Nothing else mattered.

Brandon Ross might deserve everything he'd planned to give him.

Morgan didn't.

“I'll get you out of here,” he whispered beside her ear.

His hand moved toward the .38 concealed beneath his clothing.

He stopped himself.

Too many civilians.

Too much chaos.

One wrong shot could hit an innocent person.

And Morgan was already terrified.

She wasn't trained for this.

She wasn't a soldier.

She was a woman who spent her days talking to cameras.

She wasn't supposed to be hiding beneath a café table while bullets flew overhead.

Master J glanced toward the chair where she'd been sitting.

The back was splintered.

Fresh bullet marks gouged the metal.

He swore.

Morgan tried to push herself upright.

“Stay down.”

“I have to go.”

Her voice shook.

“Run. Hide.”

He looked across the street.

The rooftop where he'd seen the flash of gunmetal was empty.

The shooter could have fled.

Or he could have moved closer.

Either way, staying in the open was suicidal.

Master J grabbed Morgan's hand and pulled her upright.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“Then run.”

She shoved her hat back into place and tightened the scarf around her hair.

Master J looked down at their joined hands.

Her fingers were tiny inside his.

He closed his grip around them.

“Stay with me.”

He pulled her after him.

They ran.

Another shot cracked through the street.

Master J dragged her behind an overturned table.

They waited a second.

Then moved again.

He guided her behind the café counter before pulling her around the corner of the building.

Morgan clutched her hat with her free hand and followed as quickly as she could.

“Where are we going?”

He didn't answer.

He was already working through possibilities.

They cut through side streets.

Then an alley.

Another shot rang out.

A bullet tore through the air near his ear.

He swore.

If that bastard so much as touched Morgan, he'd tear him apart with his bare hands.

They ducked into a busy store.

They nearly collided with an elderly woman.

Master J stepped aside long enough for her and her walker to pass.

Those few seconds felt like an eternity.

As soon as the way cleared, he grabbed Morgan's hand again.

“Come on.”

They ran through the store and out the back.

A narrow walkway led them toward another alley.

The light was fading.

Behind them came another burst of gunfire.

Master J glanced over his shoulder.

The shooter had reached the front of the store.

“Shit.”

He pulled Morgan faster.

“Run, cher.”

She was breathing hard.

Sweat dampened her forehead.

But she nodded and kept going.

At the end of the alley stood a metal door.

Its black paint was chipped and scarred.

Across it, in bright red lettering, were two words:

Sexy Sirens.

Even with the door shut, loud music vibrated through the metal.

It was barely three in the afternoon.

The club was already alive.

Master J knew the place.

He also knew the door would probably be locked.

He raised his fist and pounded against it.

“Open up!”

Nothing.

He glanced behind them.

Nothing.

Then another gunshot exploded.

Brick shattered less than a foot from Morgan.

Master J spun toward the sound.

The alley was cluttered with garbage bins and tangled vines.

Plenty of hiding places.

“Son of a bitch.”

He slammed his fist against the door again.

“Open the damn door!”

At last, the metal door swung inward.

A familiar bleached-blonde woman stared at him.

“Jesus, Jack. What the hell happened?”

“There's a shooter out there.”

Jack pushed Morgan through the doorway.

“I need your help.”

He followed her inside and slammed the door behind them.

The back room was cluttered with empty beer cans and equipment.

A child's stick pony lay beside a riding crop near the entrance to the stage.

Angelique had apparently just finished performing.

Jack's eyes swept across the room.

A single red bulb cast a dull glow over peeling black walls.

Beyond the thin door separating them from the main club, music thudded heavily.

He listened for movement outside.

Then looked at Morgan.

She was still shaking.

“We're safe for the moment,” he said.

But Jack knew better than to believe the danger was over.