by Joss Wood
“Nice try, but no go.”
Ryan placed his hand on her lower back and steered her away from the wall. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the light jacket, and the curve of her bottom was just inches away. He was so damn tempted. Screw writing and shopping. His idea of how to spend a nice spring morning was to take this woman to bed.
Boss/employee, fake relationship/Leroy Banks, friend’s kid sister...there were a bunch of reasons why that wasn’t a viable option. But, hellfire, he really wanted to.
Ryan lifted his fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Seconds later a taxi pulled up next to them. Ryan opened the door and gestured Jaci inside.
“Where to?”
Ryan started to give the address of his apartment then mentally slapped himself and told the driver to take them to Lafayette Street in Soho. “If we don’t find what we’re looking for there, we’ll head to Nolita.”
He saw Jaci’s frown. “Nolita?”
“North of little Italy,” Ryan explained. “It’s like a cousin to Soho. It also has curb-to-curb boutiques.”
Her frown deepened. “I thought we were heading for Fifth Avenue and the department stores or designer stores there.”
“Let’s try something different,” Ryan replied, eyeing her tailored jacket. The unrelenting black was giving him a headache. The plump, happy teenager he knew had loved bright colors, and he’d love to see her in those shades again. He operated in a fake world and if he had to be saddled with a girlfriend, pretend or not, then he wanted the real Jaci next to him, not the cardboard version of whom she thought she should be.
As he’d said, authenticity was a seldom-found commodity, and he wasn’t sure why it was so important that he get it from her.
Ryan watched as the taxi driver maneuvered the car through the busy traffic. He was going shopping. With his fake girlfriend. Whom he wanted, desperately, to see naked.
All because a narcissistic billionaire also had the hots for her. Yes, indeed. There was something very wrong with this picture.
Five
Her previous visits to New York had always been quick ones and because of that, Jaci had never taken in the time to let the nuances of the city register. She’d visited Soho before but she’d forgotten about the elegant cast-iron architecture, the cobblestone streets, the colorful buildings and the distinct artistic vibe.
Obviously, the artists peddling their creations contributed to the ambience but she could also smell the art in the air, see it in the fabulous window displays, in the clothes of the people walking the streets. Jaci—for the first time in years—felt like the fish out of water. The old Jaci, the one she’d been before Clive and the stylist he insisted she used, dressed in battered jeans, Docs and her favorite Blondie T-shirt belonged in Soho. This Jaci in her funeral suit? Not so much.
Ryan, with his messy hair and his stubble and stunning eyes, would fit in anywhere. He wore a black-and-white plaid shirt under a black sweater, sleeves pushed up. His khaki pants and black sneakers completed his casual ensemble and he looked urban and classy. Hot.
Ryan paid the taxi driver and placed his hand on her back. He’d done that earlier and it was terrifying to admit how much she liked the gesture. His broad hand spanned the width of her back and it felt perfect, right there, just above the swell of her bottom.
Ryan gestured to the nearest boutique and Jaci sighed. Minimalistic, slick and, judging by the single black halter neck in the window, boring. But, she reluctantly admitted, it would probably be eminently suitable for an evening spent at the ballet.
Jaci followed Ryan to the shop window and he pulled the door open for her to enter. As she was about to step inside, he grabbed her arm to hold her back. “Hey, this isn’t a torture session, Jace. If this isn’t your type of place, then let’s not waste our time.”
Jaci sucked in her bottom lip. “It’s the type of shop that Gail, my stylist, would take me to.”
“But not your type of shop,” Ryan insisted.
“Not my type of shop. Not my type of clothes. Well, not anymore,” Jaci reluctantly admitted. “But I should just look around. The dress is for the ballet and I will be going with a famous producer and a billionaire.”
Ryan let go of the door and pulled her back onto the pavement. He lifted his hand and brushed the arch of his thumb along her cheekbone. “I have a radical idea, Jaci. Why don’t you buy something that you want to wear instead of wearing something you think you should wear?”
God, she wished she could. The thing was, her style was too rock-chick and too casual, as she explained to Ryan. “Tight Nirvana T-shirts didn’t project the correct image for a politician’s SO.”
“Jerk.” Ryan dropped his eyes to her breasts, lingered and slowly lifted them again. Jaci’s breath hitched at the heat she saw in the pale blue gray. Then his sexy mouth twitched. “There is nothing wrong, in my opinion, with a tight T-shirt.” Jaci couldn’t help her smile. “The thing is...you’re not his fiancée anymore and you’re not in London anymore. You can be anyone you want to be, dress how you wish. And that includes any function we attend as a fake couple.”
He made it sound so simple... She wished it was that easy. Although she’d made up her mind to go back to dressing as she wanted to, old habits were hard to break. And sometimes Sassy Jaci wasn’t as strong as she needed her to be. She still had an innate desire to please, to do what was expected of her, to act—and dress—accordingly. When she dressed and acted appropriately, her family approved. When she didn’t they retreated and she felt dismissed. She was outgrowing her need for parental and sibling approval, but sometimes she simply wished that she was wired the same as them, that she could relate to them and they to her. But she was the scarlet goat in a family of sleek black sheep.
“Hey.” Ryan tipped her chin up with his thumb and made her meet his startling eyes. “Come on back to me.”
“Sorry.”
“Just find something that you want to wear tonight. And if I think it’s unsuitable then I’ll tell you, okay?”
Jaci felt a kick of excitement, the first she’d felt about clothes and shopping for a long, long time. It didn’t even come close to the galloping of her heart every time she laid eyes on Ryan, but it was still there.
Jaci reached up and curled her hand around his wrist, her eyes bouncing between his mouth and those long-lashed eyes. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted to feel those clever lips on her, taste him. She wanted to—
Then he did as she’d mentally begged and kissed her. God, that mouth, those lips, that strong hand on her face. Kissing him in the sunlight on a street in Soho... Perfection. Jaci placed her hands on his waist and cocked her head to change the angle and Ryan, hearing her silent request, took the kiss deeper, sliding his tongue into her mouth to tangle with hers. Slow, sweet, sexy. He tasted of coffee and mint, smelled of cedar and soap. Jaci couldn’t help the step that took her into his body, flush against that long, muscled form that welcomed her. She didn’t care that they were in the flow of the pedestrian traffic, that people had to duck around them. She didn’t hear the sniggers, the comments, the laughter.
There was just her and Ryan, kissing on a city street in the spring sunshine.
Jaci lost all perception of time; she had no idea how long it had been when Ryan pulled back.
Don’t say it, Jaci silently begged. Please don’t say you’re sorry or that it was a mistake. Just don’t. I couldn’t bear it.
Ryan must have seen something on her face, must have, somehow, heard her silent plea, because he stepped away and jammed his hands into his pockets.
“I really need to stop doing that,” he muttered.
Why? She rather liked it.
“We need to find you a dress,” he said, in that sexy growl.
Jaci nodded and, wishing that she had the guts to tell him that she
’d far prefer that he find them a bed, fell into step beside him.
* * *
They left another shop empty-handed and Jaci walked straight to a bench and collapsed onto it. Her feet were on fire, she was parched and was craving a cheeseburger. They’d visited more than ten shops and Ryan wouldn’t let her buy any of the many dresses she’d tried on, and Jaci was past frustrated and on her way to irritated. “I’m sick of this. I need a vodka latte with sedative sprinkles.”
Ryan sat on the bench next to her, and his cough sounded suspiciously like “lightweight.” Jaci narrowed her eyes at him. “I would never have taken you for a shopaholic, Jackson.”
“For the record, normally you couldn’t get me to do this without a gun to my head.”
Because there was a hundred million on the line...
“You’re the one who is drawing this out,” Jaci pointed out. “The second shop we visited had that black sheath that was imminently suitable. You wouldn’t let me buy it.”
“You hated it.” Ryan wore an expression that Jaci was coming to realize was his stubborn face. “As I said, tonight I’d like you to wear something you feel sexy in.”
I’d feel sexy wearing you... Moving the hell on.
“Denim shorts, a Ramones tee and cowboy boots?” Jaci joked, but she couldn’t disguise the hopeful note in her voice.
His mouth quirked up in a sexy smile that set her hormones to their buzz setting. “Not tonight but I’d like to see that combination sometime.”
Jaci crossed one leg over the other and twisted her body so that she was half facing him. Sick of discussing clothes, she changed the subject to something she’d been wondering about. “When did you open Starfish and why?”
Ryan took a long time to answer and when he started to speak, Jaci thought that he would tell her to mind her own business. “Neil was right, I couldn’t stay away from the industry. I landed a job as business manager at a studio and I loathed it. I kept poking my nose into places it didn’t belong, production, scripts, art, even direction. After I’d driven everybody mad, the owner took me aside and suggested I open up my own company. So I did.” Ryan tipped his face up to the sun. “That was about six months before Ben died.”
His dark designer shades covered his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them to know that, on some level, he still mourned his brother. That he always would. “I’m so sorry about Ben, Ryan.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Jaci sucked in some air and asked the questions she, and a good portion of the world, still wondered about. “Why did they crash, Ryan? What really happened?”
Ryan shrugged. “According to the toxicology screen, he wasn’t stoned or drunk—not that night, anyway. He wasn’t suicidal, as far as we knew. Witnesses said that he wasn’t driving fast. There was no reason why his Porsche left the road and plunged down that cliff. It was ruled a freak accident.”
“I’m sorry.” The words sounded so small, so weak. She bit her bottom lip. “And the woman who died along with him? Had you met her? Did you know her?”
“Kelly? Yeah, I knew her,” Ryan replied, his voice harsh as he glanced at his watch. Subject closed, his face and body language stated. “It’s nearly lunchtime. Want to hit a few more shops? If we don’t find anything, we’ll go back for that black sheath.”
“Let’s go back for that black sheath now,” Jaci said as she stood up, pulling her bag over her shoulder. As they stepped away from the bench, she saw a young woman holding four or five dresses on a hanger, her arm stretched above her head to keep the fabrics from skimming the ground. The top dress, under its plastic cover, made her heart stumble. It was a striking, A-line floor-length dress in watermelon pink with a deep, plunging, halfway-to-her-navel neckline.
Without hesitation she crossed the pavement and tapped the young woman on her shoulder. “Hi, sorry to startle you.” She gestured to the garments. “I love these. Are they your designs?”
The woman nodded. “They are part of a consignment for The Gypsy’s Caravan.”
Jaci reached out and touched the plastic covering the top dress. It was simple but devastatingly so, edgy but feminine. It was a rock-chick dress trying to behave, and she was in love. The corners of Ryan’s mouth kicked up when she looked at him.
“What do you think?” she asked, not quite able to release the plastic covering of the dress, her dress.
“I think that you love it.” Ryan flashed his sexy smile at the woman carrying the dresses and Jaci was sure that she saw her knees wobble. This didn’t surprise her in the least. Her knees were always jelly-like around Ryan.
“It looks like we’re going where you are,” Ryan said as he reached for the dresses and took them from her grasp, then held them with one hand so that they flowed down his back. With his height they didn’t even come close to the dirty sidewalk. He placed his other hand on Jaci’s back.
Jaci shook her head, planting her feet. “I don’t think it’s suitable. It’s too sexy... I mean, I couldn’t wear a bra with it!”
After looking at her chest, Ryan lifted his eyebrows. “You don’t need a bra.” He grabbed her hand and tugged it. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you remotely excited about a dress all morning. You’re trying it on. Let’s go.”
“The black sheath is more appropriate.”
“The black sheath is as boring as hell,” Ryan whipped back. “Jace, I’m tired and sick of this. Let’s just get this done, okay?”
Well, when he put it like that... He was still—despite their hot kisses and the attraction that they were trying, and failing, to ignore—the boss.
As an excuse, it worked for her.
* * *
In the end it was just the three of them who attended the ballet, and despite the fact that Ryan did his best to keep himself between her and Leroy, Jaci knew that he couldn’t be her buffer all evening and at some point she would have to deal with Leroy on her own. The time, Jaci thought as she sent Ryan’s departing back an anxious look, had come. It was intermission and Ryan, along with what seemed to be the rest of the audience, was making his way toward the bar for the twelve-year-old whiskey Leroy declared that he couldn’t, for one more minute, live without.
Keeping as much distance as she could from him in the crowded, overperfumed space, she fixed her eyes on Ryan’s tall frame, trying to keep her genial smile in place. It faltered when a busty redhead bumped her from behind and made her wobble on her too-high heels. She gritted her teeth when she felt Leroy’s clammy grip on her elbow. Ick. Jaci ruthlessly held back her shiver of distaste as she pulled her arm from his grasp. Strange that Ryan, with one look, could heat her up from the inside out, that he could have her shivering in anticipation from a brief scrape of his hand against any part of her, yet Leroy had exactly the opposite effect. They were two ends of the attraction spectrum and she was having a difficult time hiding her reactions, good and bad, to both of them.
One because there was a hundred million on the line; the other because she was, temporarily, done with men and a dalliance with Ryan—her boss!—would not be a smart move. She wouldn’t jeopardize her career for some hot sex...as wonderful as she knew that hot sex would be. Mmm, not that she’d ever had any hot sex, but a girl could dream. She’d had hurried sex and boring sex and blah sex but nothing that would melt her panties. Judging by the two kisses they’d shared, Ryan had a PhD in melting underwear.
Yep, just the thought had the thin cord of her thong warming; if she carried on with this train of thought she’d be a hot mess. Jaci straightened her back and mentally shook herself off. She was enough of a mess as it was. She was in New York to get a handle on her crazy life, to establish her career and to find herself. She was not supposed to be looking for ways to make it more complicated!
“I have a private investigator.”
Jaci tucked her clutch bag under her arm and linked
her fingers together. Be polite, friendly but distant. She could make conversation for ten minutes or so; she wasn’t a complete social idiot. A private investigator? Why would he be telling her that? “Okay. Um...what do you use him for?”
“Background checks on business associates, employees,” Leroy explained. His eyes were flat and cold and Jaci felt the hair on her arms rise. “When I was considering whether to go into business with Jackson, I had him investigated.”
“He wouldn’t have found anything that might have given you second thoughts,” Jaci quickly replied.
Leroy cocked his head. “You seem very sure of that.”
“Ryan has an enormous amount of integrity. He says what he means and means what he says.” Jaci heard the heat in her voice and wished that she could dial it down. Leroy hadn’t said anything to warrant her defense of Ryan but something in his tone, in his body language, had her fists up and wanting to box. This was very unlike her. She wasn’t a fighter.
“Strange that you should be so sure of that since you’ve only known him for a few weeks,” Leroy replied, his words silky. Leroy ran a small, pale hand down the satin lapels of his suit in a rhythmic motion. Where was he going with this? Jaci, deciding that silence was a good option, just held his reptilian eyes.
“So tell me, Jacqueline, how involved can you be with Ryan after knowing him for just seventeen days?”
“I broke up with my ex six weeks before that and sometimes love—” she tried not to choke on the word “—happens in unexpected places and at unexpected times.” Jaci allowed herself a tiny, albeit cold, smile. “You really should hire better people, Leroy, because your PI’s skills are shoddy. I’ve known Ryan for over twelve years. He attended university with my brother, and he was a guest in my parents’ home. We’ve been in contact for far longer than two weeks.” Jaci tacked on the last lie with minimal effort.
It was time for Sassy Jaci, she thought. She needed to throw politeness out the window, so she nailed Leroy with a piercing look. “Why the interest in me? And if you have to color outside the lines, there are hundreds of gorgeous, unattached girls, interested girls, out there you can dally with.”
