Chapter 2

He had no idea. And she wasn’t advertising the fact she had a stalker. Morgan only hoped the reason she needed a disguise would be caught and start rotting in hell soon.

See you tomorrow, she jotted back.

Au revoir.

The message on her screen told her moments later that Master J had left the private chatroom. With a sigh, she moved to close the chatroom window.

Her hand trembled. No, her whole body trembled, despite the heat snaking under her skin.

She was tired, that’s all.

Tired doesn’t make you ache in very personal places, the voice in her head taunted. Tired doesn’t make you wet.

“Tired makes me hear pesky voices in my head,” she grumbled.

She tried to push Master J, the man, aside and focus on the questions she’d ask him tomorrow. The show’s outline had to be in soon, and she wanted to be prepared to launch her second season with a bang. Already, she had a growing cult following. With the right material, the show could skyrocket.

Which meant she had to keep her eye on the prize and focus on work.

But after ten minutes of staring at an empty screen, Morgan admitted that Master J wouldn’t leave her mind. What was it about him?

Other than the fact he lives out the fantasies you’ve ached about?

Morgan shook her head, determined to ignore the maddening little voice. She was curious, not deviant. No matter what Andrew said or her mother would think.

With a sigh, she reached for the phone and dialed the number of the production assistant in Los Angeles.

“Reggie,” she said when he answered. “Hey, I talked to this Master J guy you hooked me up with and I read his bio. I’m meeting him tomorrow. What’s his scoop? Learn anything new?”

“Yeah,” returned the older man, his voice scratchy from his two-pack-a-day habit. “I did some calling around Louisiana, asked people at bondage clubs if they’ve ever heard of him, just to make sure he’s legit. He checks out.”

That was a relief—but it wasn’t. Reggie had quickly become like a surrogate father to her, and she trusted him. But ignoring her curiosity about Master J would have been much easier if Reggie hadn’t been able to vouch for him. If only she could have written him off as another crackpot who wanted to talk about sex on TV.

Morgan bit her lip. . .but her inquisitive nature won out. “What did everyone say about him?”

“A bunch. He’s casual, not heavy into the lifestyle, but fairly regular at a few clubs. Apparently, he has a way with women and a reputation to go with it. More than one person I talked to said that he could make Mother Teresa beg to be tied down and fucked. He definitely wants a woman submissive. Hey, you’re not interested, are you?”

“What?” Morgan’s heart skipped a handful of beats. “Me? No!” She scoffed. “Why would I want a bully who gets off on making a woman feel inferior?”

“You sure?” Reggie sounded skeptical.

“Do I seem like the type to get into this sort of stuff?” she countered.

Reggie said nothing. Distress coiled through Morgan.

A rattling of the lock at the front door had Morgan’s head zooming in the other direction. She sighed with relief when her half-brother, Brandon, shouldered his way inside.

“Gotta go,” she told Reggie. “I’ll call you after I’ve talked to this guy tomorrow.”

“Hey, little sister,” Brandon greeted as she hung up.

Shoving the conversation with Reggie out of her mind, she rose and stepped up on tip toe to hug him. “Hi. Good day?”

His aristocratic mouth pursed into a frown. “Not exactly. I have to go to Iraq for the next three weeks.”

Surprise, and if Morgan was honest, trepidation punched her in the stomach. “Iraq? I thought you sat behind a desk most of the time.”

“Mostly, but there are exceptions.”

“Oh, wow… Why Iraq?”

“Classified.” He gave a bitter laugh. “You know the drill… I can’t say where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing. I won’t be near a phone or computer for most of the time. Morgan, I don’t want to leave you. It’s dangerous, and I know you’re afraid.”

She swallowed. Brandon had already done so much by taking her in, despite Daddy Dearest’s ire, protecting her from the scum who stalked her. She was afraid, but she couldn’t let Brandon feel guilty for doing his job.

“I’ll be fine.” She’d think of something—she had to. “I’m busy with work. It’ll be fine.”

“If anything happens, I think you should call Dad.”

Morgan gaped at him, holding in a sarcastic scoff. “He may be your dad. He’s my biological father—the one who’s been denying I exist for the last twenty-five years.”

Brandon sighed. “Morgan, you know how it is with politics, especially in the south. If people knew he’d had a fling with a barely-legal volunteer while he had a wife and three little boys at home. . .”

“I know it would ruin the senator from the great state of Texas.”

“They’re talking about a bid for the White House in 2012.” Sympathy and regret tangled on his attractive face.

“Exactly why I can’t call him. Not that he’d take my call, anyway.”

“He would if you were in danger. Dad can protect you.”

Morgan had her doubts but said nothing. “Too bad we can’t just tell him I’m your fiancée. It’s working with everyone else.”

“Hmm. If our actual relationship ever came to light, we’d have to admit to incest or lying. Not fun choices.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t think my sick stalker knows I’ve left L.A., so he has no idea where to find me.”

Nodding, Brandon started to sift through the day’s mail. When he came to a big manila envelope, he frowned. “Does anyone know you’re here in Houston?”

Other than Master J, whom she’d met online all of fifteen minutes ago, Reggie, and a few close friends back home? “No.”

Anxiety thundered across Brandon’s face. “Someone here knows you. This was in the mailbox. No name, no postage. It was hand-delivered.”