by JC Harroway
‘I’m working on my spring collection.’ She indicated the sketches and swatches cluttering the nearest table. Her shoulders lifted as he silently surveyed her work.
‘Do you sew the designs yourself?’ He pointed to a dressmaker’s mannequin draped in a half-finished kaftan-style dress.
She nodded. ‘Just the samples. To see if the design works as I see it in my head.’
The warmth in his stare made her shiver. He sobered, placing the lingerie next to her sketches. ‘I’m impressed, Harley.’
Her blood ran hotter, her chest expanding with his praise. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled—her first glimpse of the boyish smile the younger him had frequently worn, and she sucked in a gasp, the expression so reminiscent of the carefree boy he’d been, an ache took up residence in her stomach.
She had the insane urge to blurt out the reason she’d called things off between them. She bit her lip.
‘I remember you were always drawing.’ It was the first time either of them had directly mentioned their past relationship, if it could be classified that way. A heavy silence settled. ‘You’re very talented, and you’ve created something worthwhile.’
She practically sagged to the floor. So he remembered her favourite pastime as a teen, but that he understood how important Give was to her left her speechless. Was she so desperate for praise, for affirmation from someone else that her vision was a worthy use of her time and talents?
He reached inside his jacket and withdrew an envelope.
‘Some documents for you to sign.’
She stared, her jaw slack. ‘The Morris Building?’
He nodded, the heat from his eyes eclipsing the effect of his smile. He leaned in, not bothering to hide the long, indrawn breath as he breathed her in and whispered, ‘Wait until I leave to open it.’
His stare dipped to her mouth, which she was certain was open while she panted and drooled.
‘I hope you’re free tonight?’
She nodded, the gesture automatic, as if he’d tugged a thread directly linked to her throbbing clit. And then she sobered, pressing her lips together.
‘Damn. I can’t. I have a charity gala.’ If she’d plunged into a bathtub of ice, she couldn’t have doused her excitement more effectively. Really, Harley? So desperate for sex?
She expected his disapproval; after all, she’d fallen at the first test of this new...arrangement. But he said, ‘Where?’
‘The Hammerstein Ballroom.’ Could she sound any more deflated? What had begun as a much-anticipated event on her social calendar now turned into a torturous exercise in self-denial. Because a promise lurked beneath Jack’s stare, a promise of more of the explosive chemistry between them. Getting blown to smithereens at Jack’s hands...there were worse ways to go.
‘What will you be wearing?’ His eyes caressed her from head to toe, the gleam of approval obvious. ‘Something a little more provocative, perhaps?’
Her temperature soared again, only this time the heat prickled, instead of burned. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know her sensitivity to being judged by her looks.
She’d been thirteen the first time Hal had described her to a colleague as ‘the pretty one’. And every time he quoted his self-satisfied moniker, she recalled that first time he’d said it, the sting still jabbing like a thousand pins.
She pressed closer, playing Jack at his own seductive game. Her lips brushed his ear and he sucked in a breath. She grinned, enjoying the tendrils of power that snaked south to join the constant fizz of her blood in his presence.
‘You don’t like the way I dress?’ A whisper with a sting in the tail.
He leaned back, his hands settling on her hips. ‘On the contrary.’
She smiled, sickly sweet.
‘Good, because I dress for myself. I’m not a clothes horse.’ She rarely wore the more provocative things she designed. She favoured professional clothing over sexy. It was her way of owning her worth as more than her appearance.
He latched onto her stare, his own smouldering as he studied her.
‘I’ve touched a nerve?’
She dipped her gaze as heat rushed up her neck.
‘Hal struggles with having a daughter without a Harvard degree. He likes to justify my...limitations by labelling me the face of Jacob Holdings.’
Poor Harley, her grades are appalling, but at least she can fall back on her prettiness.
His throat bobbed on a swallow, jaw bunching.
‘You’re a beautiful woman. There’s no hiding it, no matter what you wear.’
She shrugged. Her father had often tried over the years to tempt her into working for Jacob Holdings by suggesting she front their advertising campaigns.
‘No. But I’m more than my looks, as you are more than yours.’ When she’d told Hal she had her own dreams of a degree in fashion design, starting her own label, his dismissal had been predictable, but no less devastating.
Jack tilted his head, in acknowledgement, something that looked like respect lingering in his eyes. His expression turned from playful to serious.
‘From what I see—’ he glanced around the workroom ‘—your career, your vision is very worthwhile.’
She shrugged, stepping back from the precipice of vulnerability. She’d been determined to go it alone away from Hal and his constant comparisons with her Harvard-educated siblings. But doubting her worth, a lifelong habit, was hard to break.
He stepped closer, not touching her, but dipping his head until his breath tickled her neck and his spicy scent engulfed her.
‘But know that whatever you wear tonight, I’m going to be stripping you bare down to that perfect pussy of yours and eye-fucking you all night.’ He straightened, eyes hot. ‘I hope that ruins your expensive lingerie.’
Harley gaped. Her underwear took a punishment, as he’d predicted, damn him.
Jack placed a perfectly chaste, almost dismissive peck on her cheek and, with a wink, disappeared down the stairs, all swagger.
Round one to Jack.
As she recovered her mind concocted a revenge plan. With a small smile, she made her way back to the store and selected her size of the rose-pink thong he’d fingered earlier and a matching strapless bra from the rack.
‘Belinda, add these to my account. Can you finish the window without me?’
Her store manager nodded and wrapped the lingerie in tissue embossed with the Give logo.
If Jack wanted to play, she could play.
CHAPTER SIX
HARLEY STIFLED A yawn and forced her attention back to the man holding her captive. The older gentleman, a business associate of her father’s who claimed he remembered her in pigtails and braces, had monopolised her company for thirty minutes with a monologue on the merits of doing business with Jacob Holdings.
People mingled around them, but the old guy showed no sign of releasing her, his ass-kissing completely wasted on Harley, although Ash was here somewhere carrying the Jacob banner.
Harley’s eyes darted regularly around the glittering Hammerstein Ballroom, from the ornate, hand-painted ceilings to the tables decorated with thousands of fairy lights. The only thing keeping her at the Women for Women Gala, now that the important fundraising and awareness-raising part of the evening was over, was the promised appearance of Jack.
Would he come? Was he already here? Every few minutes, shivers danced over her bare shoulders, as if he watched her, unseen. She stifled a shudder, one that covered her in goose bumps. Wishful thinking.
His note, written in the confident penmanship she remembered from the love letters he’d mailed to her from France during the long months between their joint family holidays, played over and over in her mind.
I’ll think of you naked every second until I see you again. Know that I’ll bring my A-game tonight. Better and better.
J
Her legs wobbled, the thought of anything better than when he’d fucked her so thoroughly on her hall table leaving her weak-kneed. Her eyes scanned the ballroom once more for his tall frame decked out in the expensive and immaculate tailoring she’d grown used to.
She slid her eyes back to her tedious conversation partner, cursing that her natural good manners prevented her from simply walking away to scour the upper balconies for Jack.
And then he was there. Only ten feet away.
Her breath caught in her lungs, and her eyes watered at the sight of him. Something visceral shifted inside her as she took in the air of manly sophistication he carried.
He too was engaged in what she assumed was small talk with the Chairperson of Women for Women. When his stare found hers across the room, holding, sparking electricity across the space that separated them, her pulse surged to a frantic rhythm. The heat blooming in her belly threatening to incinerate her on the spot.
He’d gone all out, his black tuxedo ridiculously flattering and the gleam in his bright blue eyes, as he sent her a sly sexy smile, outshining the glittering ambient lighting.
Harley looked away, praying her face didn’t show off the excitement bubbling inside her. She’d never get rid of pops here if he misinterpreted her enthusiasm.
She escaped moments later, the fizz of anticipation thrumming through her blood. Jack had disappeared from the spot she’d last seen him. She deflated, the room losing a little of its sparkle as her gaze searched nearby. She craned her neck over the sea of heads in the crowded ballroom.
‘Harls, great fundraiser.’ Ash cupped her waist and stooped to kiss her cheek. She smiled, distracted, forcing her eyes to her brother rather than scouring the mass of glamorous socialites in search of her quarry.
‘You look beautiful tonight. Is this one of yours?’ Her brother, her biggest fan, dipped his chin at her outfit, a strapless bias-cut gown with a thigh-high split.
She nodded, her admiring stare taking in her handsome sibling. ‘You look good too. Here alone?’ Ash never went far without some statuesque beauty on his arm. Not that they lasted long enough for Harley to learn their political leanings or career aspirations. Ash had been badly burned once.
He grinned. ‘I am. Why? Spot someone promising?’ He glanced around, scanning the crowds.
She nudged him with her elbow. He winked, the cocksure expression that had rescued him from endless childhood misdemeanours, and turned away to snag them a couple of glasses of champagne from a circulating waiter.
Then she winced, herself turning in the opposite direction as Old Man Jibber-Jabber returned and collared her brother, calling him Jacob Junior, a name Ash hated. Ash stilled her escape with his hand on her arm and drew her back into the conversational circle with a tight smile and a glass of champagne.
With flight temporarily thwarted and her brother occupied by the bore, Harley sipped her drink and glanced around surreptitiously for another glimpse of Jack.
This time, when their eyes met, he made his excuses and, not once taking his eyes off her, stalked her way.
Harley’s throat dried. Her feet shuffled half a step in his direction as he approached. The silk of her dress scraped across her sensitive skin, her nerve endings tingling to life as she held his bold, seductive stare with what she hoped was one of her own.
How did he fray every scrap of her composure, easily unravelling her with an arch of his thick brows or a heated look that seemed to speak directly to her rampant libido? Rampant for him.
She swallowed and glanced at Ash, who was still trapped in conversation, but cognisant enough of her bid for freedom to shoot her a warning glare.
She stood her ground, waiting, anticipation twice as potent as the champagne. She fingered the skirt of her dress, enjoying the appreciative gleam in Jack’s eyes.
She’d dressed with him in mind, selecting her favourite gown and donning the rose-pink lingerie, which contrasted well with her creamy skin tones and showcased her ass to its best advantage. If, as he professed, he had X-ray vision, he certainly had an eyeful right about now.
At last he reached her side, all handsome masculinity, impeccably dressed and eye-fucking her, as he’d promised.
‘You look beautiful.’ His words whispered over her neck as he bowed to kiss first one cheek and then the other in that French way of his.
She sucked in his scent for an indulgent, unguarded second. ‘Thank you. This is one of my favourites.’ She indicated the dress.
‘Mine too. Beautiful and talented.’ His voice was low, murmured, so that even surrounded by people, with Ash only a few steps away, he effortlessly created a bubble of intimate privacy.
She laughed. ‘I could say the same about you.’ She eyed his tux, once more enjoying the breadth of his shoulders and the way the pants stretched taut across his slim hips. ‘Italian?’ She lifted the jacket, inspecting the whimsical flash of colourful lining and the cut of the tailoring.
He quirked his mouth, tutting.
‘French. An emerging designer.’ He touched her waist, drawing her closer. ‘I’ll introduce you if you like, next time you’re in Paris.’ He dipped low again, his lips brushing her ear so only she could hear.
‘Are you wet for me? Been dreaming, all afternoon, of the orgasm I’m going to give you?’
She swayed towards him, righting her posture at the last minute to deny herself the feel of his firm chest and strong arm around her. She looked up, all innocence, face blank.
‘Perhaps I couldn’t wait for you. Perhaps I saw to my own needs.’
Instead of scolding or expressing shock, he laughed, his head shaking and his eyes alight. ‘Good. Practice makes perfect when it comes to orgasms.’
How did he know that? Was he some sort of sex guru in his spare time? Did she care as long as she reaped the obvious and abundant benefits?
Another body entered her personal space, putting an end to the frisson of lust sparking between her and Jack. Ash grinned, clearly oblivious.
‘Is my sister working you over for a donation? She’s tenacious when it comes to her causes. Be warned.’
Harley dipped her chin to try and conceal the heat blooming in her chest. She had yet to work Jack over the way she wanted to. If she looked at him now, Ash might see that written all over her face.
Her brother eyed Jack, his hand outstretched in greeting and his polite smile drooping slightly as he tried to place the other man.
Damn. She’d forgotten about this eventuality.
‘I’m always happy to contribute to a worthy cause,’ said Jack. ‘Especially one important to Harley.’ He shook Ash’s hand, squaring up to her brother with a puffed-out chest in that way men faced off.
Silence stretched as she gaped at Ash to see if he’d recognised Jack. Her jaw worked as she looked between the two men but no sound escaped. Lost for words. Struggling to label this thing with Jack and reluctant to expose herself to Ash’s likely criticism.
Jack cast a lifeline. ‘Jack Demont. You’re Ash Jacob.’
Harley awoke from her trance, her hand instinctively reaching for Jack’s arm as she clarified the introductions. ‘Jack is a property developer and architect. Remember, I’m purchasing the Morris Building?’
Ash nodded, the cogs of his mind visibly clunking into gear as he flicked eyes dawning with recognition between them. Harley let her arm fall to her side, but Jack stepped close, his hand proprietary on her hip. Had he just laid claim?
‘You remember me, I’m sure. I’m Joe Lane’s son.’ He lifted his chin, staring her brother down. A face-off pissing contest ensued as the men gleaned the measure of each other the way men did. Silently assessing, fixed grins in place. Giving little away.
Harley, too, stood her ground, although she longed to waft away the testosterone permeating the air. After years of trying to fit into the Jacob mould, she w
ished she were past caring what her family thought of her choices.
Hating her dyslexia every time she saw a flash of disappointment in Hal’s eyes or he openly compared her to her two high-flying siblings, she’d tried to forge her own path—doing something she loved, something she was good at, and measuring herself against her own goals, the only way she could claw back a shred of her tattered self-esteem.
But her self-doubts were deeply ingrained. Her shoulders twitched with the effort of staying straight-backed. To his credit, Ash concealed whatever he thought behind a thin but polite smile.
‘Of course. It’s been a long time. So, have you relocated to New York?’
Harley’s heart sank. She knew that look. She had a reckoning to face. And then her blood froze as another thought occurred to her. Had Ash found out about the real reason for the Lane-Jacob bust up? After all, he worked every day with Hal. Would he let it slip now? Throw it into the conversation as some sort of macho put-down?
Jack tilted his chin. ‘Temporarily. I’ve recently opened offices here, although most of my business runs out of Paris and London.’
‘And you two are...’ Ash pointed his finger between them, hedging.
‘We—’ Harley jumped in, stuttering to a halt. What could she tell her brother?
We’re having the best sex of my life? I propositioned Jack over coffee? Before the night is over I hope to be screaming out his name loud enough to wake you? And, no, I haven’t told him about Dad’s affair with his mother so keep your mouth shut?
Her stomach flipped.
‘I was thrilled to discover Harley’s interest in a property I’m selling, especially when I discovered what she has planned for the Morris Building.’
Her gaze flew to him. Her heart skittering in her chest as the fear subsided. Jack flicked her a look, adding a wink, and his fingers flexed on her hip. Warmth flooded her body and centred between her legs. As he turned to glance at the band, which had returned to the stage, Ash briefly widened his eyes in Harley’s direction.
She shook her head and then looked away. She knew what she was doing. Exploring intense sexual attraction. It was no one’s business but hers who she fucked. Certainly not her brother’s and most definitely not her father’s. And she and Jack weren’t serious—no need to drag up ancient history.
