by Dani Wade
* * *
“So the ring is working!”
“No,” Jasmine insisted, frowning at her youngest sister. “That is not what I said at all.”
“Close enough.”
Why had she even broached this topic? Jasmine should have known better. Her sisters—both of them—had a tendency to take a notion and run with it. Auntie presided over the scene from her recliner in the corner of the breakfast nook. The mischievous look on her face meant there would be no help coming from that direction.
“I don’t know why I tell y’all anything,” Jasmine complained. “It’s just—” But the word business wouldn’t move past the constriction in her throat. She crossed the kitchen to stir the big pot of soup on the stove. Willow had chosen the perfect dinner for a rainy Saturday.
Though the chatter continued behind her, Willow appeared at her side. “Are you okay?”
While confident and decisive, Willow was also very sensitive to others. No one was more willing to lend a helping hand when she saw someone who needed it.
Jasmine lowered her voice. “I just can’t forget how he talked about learning to cook because his mother was never home. And about being named after his father’s car.”
She absently stirred the soup, watching chunks of veggies appear and disappear beneath the liquid surface. The lack of sunlight in the room left the green jewel in her ring lackluster; Jasmine still had the feeling the jewelry was mocking her.
“I don’t know what this is, but Ivy’s right—it’s not just business anymore.”
Ring or no ring.
Willow gave a tiny squeal that she quickly silenced under Jasmine’s glare.
“What about him? What does he think?” Willow asked, echoing Jasmine’s own questions.
She didn’t want to admit that Mr. Business was turning out to be someone completely unexpected. Jasmine could never have guessed that the stern CEO she’d met in his office that first day would be able to melt her with such a hot kiss. But hadn’t that tattoo on his neck hinted at hidden depths? A tattoo she had yet to see in its entirety, now that she thought about it.
“From your silence, I gather Royce is showing signs of moving in a different direction, too,” Willow filled in for her.
“Surprisingly,” Jasmine mused. “I think so.”
“So why not just go with it?”
Jasmine gave the soup a final stir, then peeked into the oven at the cornbread sizzling in a cast-iron skillet. It was a simple delaying tactic, since they all knew cooking wasn’t in her skill set.
“It’s not that easy.” She glanced over her shoulder to check on Rosie, who was cooing at Auntie and Ivy from her bouncy seat. “Even leaving aside the fact that he’s my boss...of sorts. How can I get involved? Royce definitely isn’t the family type. I have Rosie...”
“She’s six months old,” Ivy said from right behind them.
Jasmine jumped. “How’d you move that quick?”
Ivy had a baby face, but her grin made her look even younger. “I have my ways.” She shook her head, making her blond curls dance. “And I wasn’t about to miss what all the whispering was about, now, was I?”
She linked her arm with Jasmine’s and adopted the expression of a captive audience. “Now’s the perfect time for you to live a little. Rosie isn’t old enough to notice at this age. Later, you’ll need to be more careful because she’ll realize when Mommy is gone or bringing someone to visit.”
“I don’t know.” Everything about this change in their attitudes toward each other had Jasmine off kilter. She and Royce had sparred from the moment they met. But now, something different was emerging. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.
Willow nodded in agreement with Ivy, but Jasmine didn’t want to concede that her baby sister was right. She searched for a reply that didn’t make her look like a scaredy-cat. From across the room, Jasmine’s ringtone filled the air.
“Sweetheart,” Auntie called. “It’s that nice young man from the hospital.”
Jasmine shared a look with Willow. The temptation to ignore the call was strong. Jasmine wasn’t ready for the test she could sense was coming around the corner.
“Why don’t you answer it?” Ivy teased. “After all, it’s just business.”
“Brat.”
Willow was less about talk than action. She simply herded Jasmine in the direction of her phone. Jasmine removed her apron as she went. She caught the call right before it switched to voice mail. As she answered, she was acutely aware of her audience.
“Hello?”
“Jasmine?”
Even his voice sounded different. The cadence a little slower. The tone a touch deeper. How was that possible? “Yes?”
“Since our tasting session was cut short, I thought I’d make it up to you by cooking dinner for you.”
That was more like Royce—straight to the point. It was the nature of his point she couldn’t quite grasp.
She could feel the eyes of everyone in the room staring at her. Even Rosie seemed to be watching, still and waiting for her answer to an unknown question. Jasmine hesitated. Going to Royce’s penthouse was definitely not business. She glanced back and forth between Willow’s encouraging expression and Ivy’s excited one. Jasmine forced herself to turn away, to lay the burden of other people’s expectations aside for once.
Even as she paced a few steps and opened her mouth to answer, she wasn’t sure what to say. Was she ready for this? Probably not.
But then she thought over everything she’d been through in the last year. Learning Rosie’s mother was pregnant, that she would probably die. Bringing her to live here. Taking care of her family while learning to be a mother for the first time. All while holding down a crazy job.
What the hell—it was time to live for once.
Eleven
Royce knew he was in trouble the minute Jasmine walked out of the elevator into the foyer in one of those feminine, flowy dresses she wore. Only this one seemed to have a little more oomph—a little extra cleavage, a slit up one side. Or was his overheated brain imagining that?
He felt like someone had flipped a switch inside him, jumpstarted an electrical pulse that shot through him whenever Jasmine was near. It was like the exhilaration of implementing a successful business plan—only a hundred times harder and sharper.
He didn’t want to fight it anymore. Didn’t want to fight her.
Make love, not war. Wasn’t that a phrase from days past? His mother used to say it. Not that it had gotten her far. Her inability to go to war against his father had turned her life into endless days of drudgery—until Royce had stepped in to change that.
Royce opened the door to his penthouse to allow Jasmine inside. Her heels clicked on the glossy black tile. She breathed deep. “Something smells incredible,” she said. Her slight smile intrigued him.
Was she nervous?
When she swallowed, it confirmed his suspicions, though he had to look hard to notice. “You weren’t kidding that you could cook,” she said.
“I just need to finish a few last-minute things. You aren’t averse to any particular seafood, are you?”
She shook her head, bringing his attention to the thick dark hair swinging around her shoulders.
“That’s good, or else this would be a complete disaster,” he said with a laugh that seemed to break the unexpected tension between them. “I’m finishing up some shrimp scampi. The sides and salad are ready. But I wimped out on the dessert.”
“Not you,” Jasmine mocked in her sassy way.
“I’m not a pastry chef. I figured since we didn’t make it to dessert the other day, I’d go by Marco’s and pick up a praline cheesecake.”
The O of her mouth was encouraging—and sexy as hell. “Sounds awesome,” she said. “But I’m su
rprised you would admit you can’t cook everything.”
“I realized a long time ago that there was no point in pretending to be something I’m not.”
Her delectable body went still for mere seconds, but Royce caught it. He should have expected a question to follow.
“Was it a problem? Early on?”
He waved her farther into the living area as thoughts swirled through his mind. He watched her take in the comfortably luxurious space. Royce had never wanted to live in a showplace. A few designers had tried to convince him otherwise, but eventually he’d found someone who understood his preferences. The magnificent space was in one of Savannah’s formerly dilapidated shipping warehouses, now refurbished for people who could afford the best—although his “best” meant an awesome sound system, overstuffed leather furniture and a magnificent view. Not high-priced works of art and anemic, uncomfortable chairs.
Jasmine seemed to agree. “Wow,” she breathed as she approached the wall of windows looking out toward downtown and the river.
The architect had pushed out the walls so the floor extended all the way to the stone arches that used to frame an old balcony for ship watching. The arches were now fitted with glass panes for an extended view from inside the unusual room.
“This is an incredible blend of old and new,” she said. “I’m very impressed.”
“It’s relaxing when I finally make it home at night.”
The black mirrored tile from the foyer gave way to glossy wood floors in the living areas. Royce walked over to the bar in the far corner. “Having you here gives me a chance to use the bar. I hardly ever have company.”
He fixed the martini she requested while she strolled along the long wall of windows, skirted the corner bar and continued along the shorter wall. “Incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“And thank you for inviting me here.” This time her look was more straightforward, promising.
Royce felt his insides heat up. “Well, thanks to you, I’m learning to mix business with pleasure.”
She lifted the martini glass in salute. “Me, too.”
If he let this go much farther, dinner would be burned beyond recognition. “I’d better finish up the food.”
As he turned away, he heard her footsteps behind him. “Mind if I join you?”
He paused, giving her a chance to catch up. “Please feel free.”
As they walked down a short corridor and into his designer kitchen, he had to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“I just realized.” He paused, then let a long, slow breath ease out, surprised he was admitting this. “I just realized that, besides my mother and the cleaning lady, you are the first person to ever join me in my kitchen.”
“Wow. Really?”
He watched as her blue gaze roamed over the mahogany cabinets with their black hardware, the cream ceramic appliances and the black tile on the walls. She made a beeline for the stools on the other side of the kitchen island. The large room was designed for social gatherings, but Royce had never used it as such.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Really.”
But what was even odder was how comfortable he felt with her in his space, if comfortable was even the word to describe the electrical connection that continued to surprise him.
But it wasn’t the only thing that surprised him. He was also bemused by how completely at ease they were with each other. They ended up eating at the island in the kitchen, seated across from each other on stools. Her eyes sparkled just as much as her wineglass under the lights. Their conversation flowed naturally from the upcoming masquerade to other events they’d attended.
After exclaiming over the food with genuine enthusiasm, Jasmine took her wineglass and wandered back down the hallway to the living room. Night had taken full hold. The mature trees below and the climbing ivy overflowing the outer walls onto the windowsills gave the impression of being protected by nature as they looked onto the lights spread out before them. Savannah was a city of hard brick and lush greenery. “It really is beautiful, Royce.” She half turned toward him. “I can’t believe your mother loved the manor house more.”
“She did enjoy the view here, but I think Keller House made her think of a time when she was happier, when life had possibilities.”
Jasmine was nice enough to add, “But in the end, she was left with the knowledge that she had raised a fully capable young man who would take care of himself and her.”
He glanced down into his glass, feeling a familiar mixture of sadness and pride. “She didn’t have to worry anymore.”
Suddenly he felt a brush of warmth on his arm. Through his dress shirt, he could feel the outline of Jasmine’s hand. He couldn’t count the number of times recently he had dreamed of how soft her skin would be against his. How those perfectly manicured nails would feel against his back. Or how the curves of her body would feel pressed against his.
She was offering comfort. He needed to remind himself of that.
Then she stepped closer. Any effort at restraint became exponentially harder. He allowed himself a glance, only to find her gaze locked on him. And it wasn’t overflowing with sympathy. With just one look they both knew exactly where this was headed. “Will you stay the night?” he finally asked.
“Do you really need to ask?”
That amused him. “Sweetheart, with you I never assume anything.”
Her smile was a concession to everything they’d been through so far. “Then let me make myself plain. Assume all you want.”
* * *
Royce may have been cautious about getting to a more intimate stage, but when the time came, Jasmine found he was as focused in the bedroom as he was in the boardroom.
One minute they were facing each other, then he took a few purposeful steps to bring her within reach. She barely had time to blink before Royce’s hand was in her hair and his mouth once more covered hers. The heat that she remembered from their first kiss was there, this time underpinned by a purpose that made her insides melt.
He tasted spicy, which ramped up the temperature inside her. There was nothing tentative about his kiss. Instead, he conquered her with smooth glides and strong pulls. There was nothing more for her to do than enjoy.
When he pulled back, she was tempted to beg him not to stop, but she clamped her teeth over her lower lip to keep the words inside. Her body was anxious, aching for the race to be finished. But Jasmine wanted to savor the ride. She glanced up to find his gaze glued to the deep V of her neckline—a design she’d deliberately chosen with him in mind.
Then her own gaze dropped and she glimpsed the edges of his neck tattoo above the open collar of his button-down shirt. Curious, she let her fingers trail over the skin of his neck to push the material aside.
To her surprise, the elegant tendrils she’d often glimpsed above his collar gave way to a solid shield, an old-world symbol emblazoned with a brilliantly colored dragon. It stood for strength. Protection. Not what she’d expected, but somehow very fitting for the man she was coming to know.
Her smile gave him all the permission he needed. His palms slid from the back of her neck down over her collarbones, leaving warm trails that quickly faded. When he finally reached her breasts, she gasped. Her nipples tightened in a quick rush, eager for attention.
He simply held them, each mound a handful. The heat from his hands soaked into her skin through the layers of her clothing. She couldn’t stop her back from arching just a little. Then his thumbs began a dedicated exploration that made her wish her clothes would just disappear.
She had no recollection of ever needing someone to see her, touch her, this badly. It was scary—just as much as it was exhilarating.
After long, long moments of exquisite torture, his devilish hands moved down—tracing her generous cu
rves. His touch wasn’t simple. No. It was magic. The pressure and heat imprinted the feel of him on her skin.
How could a seemingly innocent touch make her knees go weak? Cause her bones to melt until she leaned forward, her hands braced on his shoulders as he knelt before her?
He eased off one of her high-heeled pumps. His thumbs traced the line of her foot before he squeezed hard into the arch, surprising a gasp from her. Maintaining the pressure, he slid his fingers along the silky surface of her thigh-highs. Too soon, he reached underneath her skirt to find the tops of her stockings and roll them down her legs.
Who knew being undressed could be such a sensual dance?
By the time both legs were bare, Jasmine’s entire body throbbed. Royce looked up at her from his crouching position. “Take your dress off for me.”
She knew where every tie was, every clasp. But she kept her movements slow, taking her time, building anticipation. It was worth ignoring her own need to see his eyes widen as she revealed a pale pink, lace-edged slip over matching bra and panties. When the dress finally puddled at her feet, he gripped her silk-covered hips and buried his face against her.
She thought she heard him suck in a deep breath. His hands tightened for a moment. Her tummy quivered beneath his cheek. Her throat went dry while she grew slick between her thighs.
Royce stood, only pulling his hands away at the very last minute. That small concession told her more than anything that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Then he circled around her to take in the view from every angle. To her surprise, he turned her to face the window. That’s when she realized their reflections stared back as if from an antique mirror. Hazy. Shimmery.
“This,” he said, running a finger along one bra strap, then the lace that edged the top curve of one breast, “is very sexy.” He pulled the straps down off her shoulders. Then he hooked his fingers in the material of her slip and slowly eased it down over her curves. “But it isn’t what I’m most interested in seeing.”
She had only a moment to catch the reflection of herself in the bra and panties before he picked her up and carried her down a longer hallway to the back of the penthouse.
