by Donna Alward
Class. That was Aurora and that was Charlotte, all the way. He was so out of his league. He was a cop’s son who grew up on beans on toast and then moved to the army where the food was, if not better, more plentiful. Charlotte, though not a snob, had been raised with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth.
Why was he thinking this way, anyway? He needed to walk away, and soon.
“Come on, Jacob. I think we should dance.”
His blood warmed even as the denial sprang to his lips. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
She grabbed his hand. “You’re not my bodyguard anymore. Tonight you’re my guest. There are no rules, nor protocols or ethics to follow.”
“What about my personal code?”
She put her free hand on her hip. “Does that code include turning down a woman in the most fabulous dress ever? Because if it does, I don’t like your code.”
He nearly laughed, then gave in. “All right. I’ll dance with you.” Not like it was a hard choice anyway. The chance to hold her in his arms was too sweet to resist. Just this once, he told himself.
She led him to the floor in front of the small stage and he tugged on her hand, deftly pulling her into his arms. He wasn’t a great dancer, but he could be smooth if he kept the steps simple. Her eyes widened in surprise at the first contact, then warmed as she melted into his embrace. The scent of her—something slightly floral—wrapped around him. It was February, a month of white and gray and brown in New York, but Charlotte was as beautiful and alive as an English country spring.
He turned her to the music and realized what a sappy thing he’d just thought.
“You’re a good dancer,” she said, close to his ear. The crazy-high heels she wore brought her closer to his height, and the way their bodies brushed lit him on fire.
“I’m adequate at best,” he replied, keeping his hand appropriately at the curve of her back, no lower.
She turned her head so their gazes met. “You’re more than adequate, Jacob. This week you’ve put up with me and you’ve been so supportive, when I know that isn’t in your job description. I just want to say thank you. For going above and beyond.”
“You are far from my most challenging assignment,” he murmured. “It was my pleasure.”
“Oh, don’t say that. Not pleasure. Not when...”
Her voice trailed off, and warning bells went off in his head. The music carried on but now every point at which their skin touched, electricity shot between them. “Charlotte,” he warned.
“Don’t.” Her eyes flashed at him. “Don’t say you don’t feel it, too, because I know you do.”
He couldn’t deny it.
And there were too many reasons why he couldn’t—shouldn’t—let this go any further, but he couldn’t say them here, not at a crowded party, not while dancing. He would do it when they were alone. As they would be later. In the same Manhattan apartment, and in separate bedrooms.
“Jacob,” she whispered. He barely heard her but he saw her lips move.
He had seen his name on someone else’s lips like that before, and the pain of it struck him right in the heart, a cold dagger of regret.
The circumstances were different, but a man didn’t get over losing someone they loved so easily. Charlotte was not in mortal danger. She was not taking crazy risks as an informant. But Jacob had been responsible for Jacinta’s death. He knew better than to let his success go to his head. He was a simple guy with a lot of flaws, who sucked at personal relationships, and he had no business thinking about a woman like Charlotte Pemberton in that way.
“You went somewhere,” she said, drawing him back into the present even though his feet hadn’t stopped moving. “Where?”
“Nowhere you’d care to go,” he replied, his voice hardening.
“Are you sure?” She tried a smile, but her eyes were soft. “It’s okay, Jacob.”
“What’s okay?”
Her fingers trailed over his shoulder. “To feel this way. To...want what you think you can’t have.”
“Charlotte.” She was so close to propositioning him and he knew he needed to say no but didn’t want to. He thought of the butterfly necklace sitting back in his drawer, thought about how the colors would have looked tonight against her skin and with the bright hue of her gown. Whatever had happened this week had made her come out of her cocoon, hadn’t it? The woman in his arms right now was Charlotte Pemberton. She wasn’t Aurora Germain’s daughter or the company PR spokesperson. She was her own woman, on her own terms. And she was, for all intents and purposes, articulating that she wanted to be with him.
As if she could sense his inner battle, she stepped away when the song ended. “Come, let’s get another drink.”
They weaved their way through the crowd to the bar, where she ordered a gin and tonic and he ordered another Scotch. Drinks in hand, she lifted her glass in a toast and touched it to his. “To Amelie being back in France, and Aurora for being the bastion of fashion.”
“Nicely put,” he agreed, tapping the glass against hers. “The press release was very well done, by the way. Aurora’s worth doesn’t rely on one trip down the runway.”
“Exactly. What happened was horrible. Months of work had gone into that line, but the line still exists. We spin it to our advantage. Maybe Amelie wanted to ruin us, but if we play it right, this gives us more publicity and a news cycle that we can exploit.” She took a healthy sip of her drink. “Better yet, Amelie can’t give interviews about it, since she signed a nondisclosure agreement. She speaks, and we’ll see her in court.”
“You’re ruthless,” he said, meaning it as a compliment.
“I have a lot of Maman in me. But I’m also just me. Tired of black and white. Ready to take on the fight myself.” She smiled suddenly, so bright it lit the room. “Oh, Jacob, I came here to make my mark and find a way to take my place in the company. I thought it was by running a flawless week just like Maman would. How wrong I was! It’s dealing with this crisis that has given me confidence and assurance. I feel wonderful!”
He chuckled. “You feel about three drinks in.”
She laughed. “Maybe. But it’s our party. Look at the crowd! Aurora is as strong as ever, and I’m proud to be a part of it. Not as Aurora Germain’s daughter, but as Charlotte Pemberton.”
Who was he to put the brakes on this moment? Maybe he didn’t get fashion but he did understand the rush she was feeling, the victory. When the Vogue columnist from earlier in the week appeared, he stepped back and let Charlotte step into the spotlight.
Saturday. Saturday was his flight to Paris, though maybe he could rebook and go straight to London. Maybe he could fly out tomorrow sometime and remove himself from the temptation of her. Or he could stay and...
Stay and let Charlotte take the lead. They both knew that in the end he’d go back to his life and she’d return to hers. As long as they both knew the score and consented, no one would get hurt.
He wouldn’t make the mistake of making promises, that was for sure. Not again. No promises, no risk.
Just two days with Charlotte. Did he dare?
* * *
Charlotte rode up in the elevator with Jacob, her head clear. She’d switched to sparkling water after she’d talked with Lauralea from Vogue, wanting to be sober and in possession of all her faculties when she dealt with Jacob and what was going to happen between them.
She was sure now that he wanted it as much as she. The air in the elevator was heavy, and she was warm beneath the toasty wrap she wore over her dress. But now that they were alone together, conversation had disappeared. She wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe once they were in the apartment together...
The elevator doors slid open, nearly silent in the empty corridor. Jacob stepped out and then put his hand against the sliding door to ensure it stayed open as she exited the car. His face was so serious right now.
The fun and levity of the party had fled once they left the hotel and got in the limousine.
Her hand shook as she entered the security code for the apartment, then stepped inside.
The foyer was dark, and soft light from the living room beckoned them in. Before Charlotte could move, though, Jacob was there, easing the wrap off her shoulders. The air was cool on her skin, and she broke out in goose bumps. But Jacob merely dropped her wrap on a small table and put his hands on her shoulders. His wide, warm, slightly rough hands.
He was touching her, finally. She drew in a shaky breath, wanting to prolong the moment, yet wanting to turn around and launch herself into his arms.
“Charlie,” he murmured, and a full-on shiver erupted down her body as his warm breath touched behind her ear just before his lips touched the skin of her neck ever so softly.
Charlie. No one had ever given her a nickname before. She had always been fully Charlotte. The sound of it was strange to her ears, but so very welcome. It was fun and a little quirky and made her feel just a bit special.
“Mmm.” She arched her neck, making room for his lips, and he didn’t disappoint. Her nipples hardened into points at the light, seductive contact. He ran a finger just behind her ear, holding her hair back so he could access the tender skin better. A gasp escaped her lips as his tongue touched her earlobe. And yet all contact was slow and perhaps even a bit hesitant. Testing.
She swallowed tightly as he made no further move, because she understood what he was asking. He’d made his play, but he was waiting for consent. For reciprocation. Her heart tumbled at the knowledge. Jacob Wolfe was perhaps the most ethical man she’d ever met. He spoke to her plainly, without worry about her feelings or coming off well. Just honesty and a trust that she could take whatever he was going to say. He treated her...as an equal.
Today she might have crawled into a hole and cried about what had happened with the show. Instead she’d stood tall and carried on. Jacob had said he admired that. Now he was nuzzling her neck and she had never in her life felt more empowered than she did at this moment.
She turned around so that she was facing him, and met his gaze. The gray of his eyes was like lightning, full of need and restrained power. That he was capable of such gentleness was seductive in itself.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
“You’re sure this is what you want?”
She nodded. “You’re not my bodyguard anymore, Jacob. You’re just a man. A man I’ve wanted to kiss for days. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”
She’d expected something grand and passionate, something that burned hot and incinerated her into ash. She didn’t expect the tender way he cupped her face in his large hands, or stared into her eyes as he lowered his head. His lashes went down and she got a glimpse of their sandy color before she closed her eyes, too, and his lips touched hers.
It was gentle, reverent, decimating.
His mouth moved over hers, sampling, tasting, making her feel cherished and loved and hungry for so much more. She put her hands under his overcoat and pushed it off his shoulders and to the floor; neither of them cared that it dropped in a black heap of fabric. He’d looked so devastating in his tuxedo, and as he kissed her long and deep, she reached for the bow tie and released it, dropping the strip of silk on top of his coat. Then the tux jacket, the fine threads of it beneath her fingers, was discarded, too. His hands rested on her ribs, but she pressed up against him, feeling his taut, strong body, reaching for his hand and placing it on her breast.
“Charlotte,” he gasped, sliding his mouth off hers. “This is—”
“Charlie,” she said firmly. “I liked it when you called me that.”
“Charlie...” Her name sounded on a sigh. He ran his lips over her jaw and she shivered again, with anticipation and desire. “We should talk about this...what we expect...”
She reached up and placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “I don’t want a bloody contract, Jacob. I only have one expectation, and that is for you to please rock my world.”
“That’s a very clear affirmative.”
“Yes, soldier, it is. I want you. And I don’t want you to hold back.” Even as she said it, she had a hard time believing it was her. Where had this self-assured, adventurous woman come from? She was a rule follower. Tonight she was breaking the rules, and it felt glorious. The idea of Jacob giving her everything made her tremble. Was she ready for that? To possess and be possessed? She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be overwhelmed, but for once in her life she wanted to stop doing a risk analysis in her brain every time she made a decision. She was tired of giving up what she wanted for the greater good.
She didn’t expect him to lift her up into his strong arms, and she gave a little squeak as she clung to his neck. He started down the hall and stopped at his room, not hers, and she wondered why. But there was little time to ask because he kicked the door shut with his foot and then let her down beside the king-size bed.
Without saying a word, he released the cuffs of his shirt, then the buttons down the front, pulling out the tails and letting the fine fabric gape open, revealing a slice of muscled chest. Slowly, so slowly it was painfully magnificent, he shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it aside to the tufted chair nearby.
“You’re beautiful,” she said, her body clamoring for his touch. She stepped forward, only two steps, and that put him in reach. She could see him better in the soft light cast by the lamp, and she noticed his imperfections. Dimpled scars, one at his right shoulder, another by his ribs. A slightly pink one just below his navel, maybe three, four inches long. “Your history,” she remarked quietly, putting her finger on one of the scars.
“I’m not easy to get rid of,” he replied, the flash of a grin curving his lips.
“I’m glad.” Truthfully, the battle scars turned her on even more. “Will you tell me about them some time?”
His smile faded, and his gaze delved into hers. “Maybe,” he said, and she realized that how he’d been injured was probably a source of pain and possibly anguish, and her question had been insensitive. He was entitled to his secrets, wasn’t he? Just as she was entitled to hers. She traced her finger over the scar low on his belly, then ran her fingertips up his abdomen to his chest, leaning in to kiss the hard plane of muscle.
He reached behind her and found the zip of her dress, then lowered it, inch by inch, to her tailbone.
“Did I tell you how stunning you looked tonight?” he murmured, his voice husky. “This dress, and your smile... It took my breath away.”
His sweet declaration was taking her breath away. She stepped back and shimmied out of the dress, leaving a pink puddle of skirt on the floor with the more structured bodice lying stiffly on top. She still wore the four-inch hot pink heels, but nothing else. Panty lines would have shown through the delicate material.
“My God,” he breathed.
“I’m yours tonight.”
Everything moved faster then, as if the urgency couldn’t be held back any longer. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, his hands skimming over her body, weakening her knees and clouding her brain with nothing but dizzying sensation. She reached for the button of his trousers and they scrambled to remove the rest of his clothes, until they were both naked and dying to be closer.
“Leave your shoes on,” he said roughly, as she perched on the edge of the bed. “They’re the sexiest shoes I’ve ever seen.” The hungry look in his eyes told her she was about to have her world rocked just as she’d asked.
He lay beside her on the duvet, his mouth plundering hers and then skittering down to her breasts. Her back arched instinctively, moving toward the contact, while his hand slid lower, turning her into a wanton puddle of need and desire. She surrendered completely, trusting him enough to lose herself in the heightened sensations he elicited from every nerve ending. But when she
was gasping and close to her peak, she reached for him and he paused.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said, stilling and looking into her eyes.
Frustration bubbled through her arousal. “I don’t, either. I didn’t expect...”
“Nor did I.”
“We could... I mean...” She lifted her hips, moaning as she pressed against his hand. “I don’t want to stop, Jacob.”
His breath accelerated. “Me, either. But I want you to be safe...”
“I am safe.” She wrapped her hand around him.
“I can pull out.”
That one suggestion—risky though it was—was enough for Charlotte to make up her mind. She trusted him to do what he said. And she had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him right now. Hadn’t she just thought that she wanted to stop all the risk analysis?
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Jacob. Don’t stop.”
CHAPTER NINE
CHARLOTTE WOKE FROM a deep, satisfied sleep. The lamp beside the bed was still on, and she eased herself over and quietly reached for it, flicking the switch and casting the room in darkness. Jacob’s breathing was steady and even, and she curled back under the covers where it was warm from their body heat.
“What time is it?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Come here.” He opened his arm and she snuggled against him, both of them naked as the day they were born.
They were quiet for a few minutes and then Jacob said, “Are you okay? After last night?”
She nodded against the hollow of his shoulder. “Are you?”
He chuckled. “Takes more than a little thing like you to mess me up.”
She couldn’t help the smile that spread on her face. “That’s not what I meant.” Neither of them had been gentle, but that hadn’t been what they wanted, either. Heat crept up Charlotte’s cheeks when she thought of how open and vocal she’d been.
