FourGageWhen I woke up the morning after the Golden Globes, my first thoughts were about Morgan Kelly. It wasn’t a surprise, though, considering I’d spent the entire night dreaming about her. Fantasizing about stripping her out of the purple gown she’d worn to the award ceremony. Kissing every inch of her creamy skin. Sucking her pebbled nipples into my mouth. Nibbling my way down her belly. Licking her pussy while she gripped my hair in her hands. And then fucking her until we were both so exhausted that we’d barely have enough energy to flop back onto rumpled sheets and pass out.
The dreams were so vivid that I’d found myself reaching out to the other side of the bed several times and expecting to find her there. Each time I’d come up empty-handed, I’d felt a surge of wrongness that pissed me off. But my anger didn’t stop me from dreaming about her; it only made me determined to track her down and turn them into reality.
The fierceness of my reaction to her was unusual, and the way she’d disappeared was unheard of. Women usually couldn’t throw themselves at me fast enough, but Morgan had basically run from me and from the undeniable chemistry between us. And it only made me want her more.
Rolling out of bed, I grabbed my cell and called my assistant, Shawn. “I need you to hunt down Morgan Kelly’s contact information. Phone number and home address.”
“No problem. I’m sure I can get it from someone in Mario’s office.”
“No,” I barked out. The last thing I wanted was for my agent to know about my interest in Morgan. He’d look at it as a possible opportunity, and even though I’d allowed him to leverage my social life in the past, I wasn’t going to let him do the same with my relationship with Morgan. While I wasn’t completely certain what I wanted to develop with her, I knew enough that I needed to protect it from the games my agent would play. “Figure out another way.”
“Ooookay,” he drawled. “I’m assuming Howard’s office isn’t an option either?”
Considering my publicist was just as ruthless as my agent, he was spot-on. “You know the people who say there aren’t any dumb questions? They’re wrong.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I could practically see him nudging his glasses down to squeeze the bridge of his nose as he usually did when he was stressing out about something. “Relax, Shawn. There’s nothing to worry about. Get me the information, and I’ll take it from there.”
“Will do, boss.” He sighed deeply before continuing, “You know that you’re being super weird, right?”
“Yup.” I should probably be a little worried about the fact that I was hiding shit from my agent and publicist when I’d always kept them in the loop so they could protect my image and brand, but I couldn’t seem to make myself give a damn.
“I guess I can’t blame you, considering that Morgan Kelly is an anomaly in Hollywood. A woman who’s supposed to be as nice as she is beautiful.” His tone dropped an octave, masculine approval thick in his voice. “And there’s no denying that she’s smoking hot.”
Shawn had made similar comments about other women I’d dated in the years since I’d hired him, and it had never bothered me. But this time, it had me seeing red. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Like what?” Shawn sounded confused.
Since I didn’t understand my reaction any better than he did, I didn’t try to explain it to him. “Just do us both a favor and just don’t talk about Morgan at all.”
“If this is going where I think it’s going, that’ll be hard to do. But whatever you say, boss.”
He hung up before I could ask what he meant, but that was probably a good thing since I was fairly certain I didn’t want to know. I chose not to waste my time wondering about it. Instead, I headed into the shower to get ready for my day. Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t have a busy Monday planned. I’d learned long ago to give myself plenty of time to recover after award ceremonies—or, more accurately, the after-parties. But since I’d spent last night hunting Morgan, I didn’t have a hangover to worry about today. I’d barely had anything to drink because I wanted to have my wits about me once I’d found her. Fat lot of good it had done me when she scurried off like the hounds of hell were chasing her out of the Amazon party. But at least it had left me clear-headed this morning . . . and ready to continue my hunt.
Less than two hours later, I was in my Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead with the top down and my sunglasses shading my eyes. I’d added a baseball cap in a half-assed attempt at a disguise. Anyone with a sharp eye would notice the car, but nobody was around when I pulled into a visitor’s spot in front of her condo. Tugging my hat low and ducking my head, I made my way up the steps and knocked on her door. When it opened, I recognized the blonde standing in front of me with an oddly smug grin on her face. She was the woman who’d been with Morgan the night before.