by JC Harroway
Her shoulders, now somewhere around her ears, twitched, her body draining of fight and energy. He was right. She’d made another mistake. Missed critical information. How long had Jack owned the Morris Building? Was he even aware himself about the aborted demolition? Was he keeping his own secret?
She stood, her fatigue multiplied tenfold since she’d trudged up the stairs twenty minutes ago. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She’d heard enough. There was only so much self-flagellation she could tolerate in one day. And where Jack was concerned, her head chased the same problem around and around.
Ash stilled her, his hand reaching for hers. ‘I’m sorry. I only have your best interests at heart.’ She nodded, her throat too tight and her brain too fuzzy to speak. She was lucky—Ash always had her back.
‘Do you want me to look over the contract? You haven’t signed it yet, have you?’
She had. It was in her purse, ready to be couriered first thing Monday morning. She swallowed a swirl of nausea souring the Scotch in her stomach, and shook her head. Whatever mess, or not, she’d got herself into, it was her job to extricate Give from the clutches of a bad decision. And extricating herself from Jack...? Would that be as easily achieved?
She squeezed Ash’s fingers, letting him know she understood his sibling interference and his motivations. He kissed the back of her hand, regret shining in his eyes.
She was almost to the stairs when he spoke again.
‘Love you, Harls.’
She nodded, too choked to speak, and hurried down the stairs heading straight for the bath she’d promised herself. Perhaps, by some miracle, the hot water would scald all her niggling doubts and insecurities away. One thing was glaringly obvious. She didn’t know Jack beyond his astounding bedroom skills. Why, then, did the tumult spinning around her head and crashing behind her ribs feel suspiciously like emotions she had no place feeling? Stupid, naïve emotions she’d left behind long ago?
She sighed, submerging herself fully under the hot water.
Emotions or not. Business was business.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FOLLOWING EVENING Harley adjusted the halter-neck top and fluffed out her hair. Taking an hour to primp and preen, try on multiple outfit choices and perfect her make-up stopped her from checking her phone every five minutes. So determined to ignore the hateful device, she’d not only switched it off, but she’d also put it inside the fridge for good measure.
Jack had sent three texts throughout the day. A series of flirty, suggestive missives that yesterday would have made her toes curl and her panties wet. But Ash had planted his seed of doubt deep in the fertile soil of her mind. And her dilemma to tell him about the affair drained all her residual energy. She just wanted to forget the mess her life had become in a relatively short time. Personal and professional.
Probably the reason she’d accepted an invitation to go clubbing with Hannah, who was celebrating a promotion amongst the Jacob Holdings ranks. One thing about Hal Jacob—he believed in his children working their way to the top. Nepotism at its finest.
Harley jumped when the buzzer sounded, announcing the arrival of her sister and her friends, and reached for her clutch.
Hannah had chosen one of New York’s chicest nightspots, a place frequented by the elite. As they spilled from the car and tottered towards the entrance, bypassing the queue, a series of photographs flashed behind the cordoned-off area. On the rare occasions she partied with her friends, Harley preferred the quieter clubs, ones less likely to be filled with celebrities, and therefore less likely to attract paparazzi. But this was Hannah’s night.
Harley turned her head away and tugged her sister towards the entrance. The sooner she made it to the dance floor, the sooner she could banish the restless energy pounding through her.
The club heaved with bodies, glamour and good times on the agenda. Hannah had reserved them a VIP booth, which eased Harley into the groove, one she struggled to feel despite hoping it would provide a distraction from her doubts over Jack and her disappointment with herself. She downed a couple of shots, trying to get into the swing for her sister’s sake. But she wore her reservations and fears like an extra layer of clothing—thick and itchy and hard to shake.
After a suitable length of time drinking with Hannah’s friends they headed for the dance floor. Harley closed her eyes, and succumbed to the heavy beat of the dance track thrumming through the floor and into her bones. The vodka-dancing combo worked its magic. Her mind settled, all thoughts of Jack and her botched business deal relegated to the corners while she lost herself to the thumping beat and the flashing lights.
Hands settled on her hips and her eyes fluttered open. Expecting to see Hannah’s smiling face, she faltered when the recipient of the hands came into focus.
Phil.
Her stomach flopped. Of course he’d be here. Perpetually single, her ex collected beautiful dates like trophies. His lucrative salary at Jacob Holdings and his social-climbing sense of entitlement meant that clubs like this one provided the perfect hunting ground for him.
He shot her a grin that carried nothing friendly. He’d never quite forgiven her for breaking off their engagement. But for her, Phil would be heir to a large chunk of the Jacob fortune, his way to the top practically guaranteed.
Harley’s feet shuffled to a standstill. Her first instinct was to pull away without speaking to him. She was halfway there when he dropped his hands from her hips and moved just outside her personal space, dancing.
Damn. Now she’d have to make nice with small talk.
The dance floor was packed with bodies. The music so loud that a cursory how’s it going and some rudimentary sign language was sufficient communication to tick the social-etiquette-for-an-ex-lover box.
She glanced around, her feet moving to the music with less enthusiasm, but her chest lighter when she spotted her sister and the group of girls nearby.
Subtly sidling closer to the girls, Harley practically swayed into her sister. Phil followed, joining their group with a nod to Hannah and immediately engaged one of her friends with his oily smile and whispered banter. If he’d hoped to prick her jealousy, he clearly didn’t pay enough attention. Aside from polite dance-floor camaraderie born of an innate civility, her interest in her ex ended there.
What had she ever seen in Phil? She’d been young. Too young. Barely nineteen when they’d first met. She’d been dazzled for all of five minutes—Phil’s ambition and drive an attraction until she’d realised it was all he cared about and couldn’t tolerate anything less in others, especially her. As their relationship had continued, he’d seen her independence from the family business as a hobby, a lack of direction. When he’d told her, during a recurring argument, she was stupid to renounce her place in the family business, a cash-cow future mapped out before her and that Hal agreed with him, she’d finally broken free of her inertia and called things off.
She glanced at him again, recalling their lacklustre intimacies. Nope. Nothing. Not even a flicker of her pulse.
As the track ended she tilted her chin at Hannah, indicating her departure from the dance floor. She’d chug a bottle of water, use the restroom and then find Hannah, let her know she was heading home. Phil’s presence had put an end to the promise of the evening, not because she had feelings for him, but because the glaring contrast between him and Jack had plunged her once more into the pit of doubt she’d come here to forget.
She shook off the emotion—it was the sex. It had to be the sex.
Perhaps that was why she hadn’t confronted Jack already. Stalling the inevitable? Was she really too scared to risk what she’d found in Jack’s bed?
She rounded the corner on the way back to their booth.
Jack blocked her path.
The air whooshed out of her lungs as she almost collided with him.
‘Oh, hi.’
His lip curled, eyes
dancing. ‘A tepid greeting for an intimate acquaintance.’ His lips grazed her cheek, the cool formality grating on her nerves already stretched taut with indecision, confusion and the constant burn of need.
His lips hovered over her ear. ‘Have you already forgotten how it feels to come around my cock?’ His breath blasted the tiny hairs on her neck and then he leaned away, eyes sparking, and took a swig of beer. She glanced back to the dance floor. Phil, a head taller than most people, looked their way, his eyes narrowed even as he pressed up behind the woman he’d singled out for his attention.
Harley looked back to Jack, who gave no indication he’d seen her dancing with another man or that he cared one iota. Good. She wasn’t Phil’s. And she wasn’t Jack’s. She could dance with whomever she pleased. If only her libido understood.
‘Are you here with friends?’
He nodded once, his stare dipping to her chest and continuing down to her bare legs. ‘Alex and Libby. But perhaps I also stalked you here, like you stalked me to get what you wanted that first day.’
Did he? Did she care? Goose bumps snaked down her arms and she fought the urge to hug herself. Her nipples peaked, chafing on the gossamer fabric of her halter-top.
‘What do you want?’ Her voice carried a tremulous quality. Fear of his answer? Fear he’d ask her the same question?
He stared. The barest of shrugs. Then he clasped her fingers, his own cool and damp from the beer bottle.
‘I... I’m here with my sister. She’s celebrating.’ Why did she feel the need to explain herself? Why so unsure of this man she’d entrusted with her pleasure, her body? A man she allowed, no, begged, to push her boundaries, her a willing accomplice to their sexy game. A man she wasn’t certain she could trust, but wanted anyway. How messed up was that?
Another nod. His hand found her hip and he tugged her close, her body going willingly to slide along the length of his. Hannah and Phil danced only metres away, the Morris Building could be one big dud, her mind buzzed with secrets, doubts and humiliation that she’d let herself down one time too many, but she didn’t give a damn.
All that mattered was the warmth from his body, the curl of instant lust that sizzled up from her belly the moment she saw him and the frisson of uncontrollable need he inspired as easily as a quirk from his sinful mouth.
His lips glided over the skin below her ear, curling her toes.
‘I’m not the jealous type, ma belle. You either want me, want what I can give you, what we have together, or you don’t. Simple.’
So he had seen her dancing with Phil.
She shuddered, his warmth and spicy scent a combination more potent than the vodka she’d drunk. Was it simple? It should be. Just sex. Spectacular orgasms. No strings.
Why did her second-guessing his motives and doubting his integrity complicate everything? Why, after years of her shoving it to the back of her mind, did Hal’s indiscretion hover on the tip of her tongue every time she looked at Jack? Because she’d developed feelings beyond physical gratification?
‘There’s a reason you didn’t marry him.’
There were hundreds of reasons. Harley pulled away. ‘You knew I was engaged to Phil?’
He shrugged. ‘You’re an heiress. I saw the announcement.’ His fingers flexed at her waist. ‘What happened?’
Not one shred of envy marred his expression. If anything, he looked at her with hunger, as if he was seconds from kissing her, a look she’d grown accustomed to and a need reflected in her for anyone to see.
She sighed, Phil the last thing she wanted to talk about. But she had nothing to hide.
‘He...didn’t approve of me, said I wasted my birthright in pursuit of what he deemed a hobby.’
Jack’s eyes flicked to the dance floor, slivers of steel solidifying there. Then he was back with her, his lips brushing her temple.
‘I’m glad you saw through him, for your sake. A man who needs to put you down, one who couldn’t even get you off...not worth your time.’
‘How do you know he couldn’t get me off?’
He shrugged. ‘An educated guess. If he met your needs, you’d be happily married by now.’
She shuddered. ‘I was naïve. I never loved Phil. But part of me wanted to conform. And Hal approved.’ She shook her head at her own stupidity. She largely shared Jack’s cynicism about the marital state, at least for her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t sincere in her comments about his sister’s happiness. She’d learnt her lesson, both from Hal and Phil.
Ash’s words rang in her ears. Was she a good judge of character? Yes, she’d seen through Phil. She’d realised her relationship with him had been more about her relationship with her father and trying to please him.
But had she grown sloppy, or been mesmerised by her physical attraction to Jack and missed a crucial character flaw? Was he the kind of businessman who had more in common with Hal than she realised?
Her empire, her dyslexia school in particular, meant everything to her. But she’d walk away from their deal in a heartbeat if he’d deliberately deceived her. Especially if, as Ash suggested, he’d used her for some sort of revenge. She cringed. If he’d managed to dupe her because the documents and contracts pertaining to the Morris Building swam before her eyes and made her head hurt...
Or perhaps she’d put everything she’d built up in jeopardy with her constant challenges. Perhaps Hal was right. Was it time to stop messing around and return to the safety of the family fold?
Jack stepped closer, his erection grazing her thigh. Her limbs quivered as if she’d drunk more than she had, her nipples peaked through her top and chafed on his shirt and her sex clenched in anticipation. She swallowed, her eyes closing and her forehead leaning against his firm chest.
What was wrong with her? Doubting his integrity and professionalism one minute, about to claw at his clothes and ride him the next. Was the sex with Jack really that good? Good enough she couldn’t walk away if her business interests dictated their connection over? No regrets? If he’d lied to her, duped her...
She closed her eyes tight, the sexy beat of the music and the rhythmic swipes of Jack’s thumb on the bare skin of her waist lulling her into sensual waters. Unlike the forgettable Phil, everything this man did, said and was lured her there.
And she did want what they created together. Something she’d failed to find with anyone else. This searing connection, flammable chemistry, a forbidden addiction... Until she’d had chance to fully investigate Ash’s claim, could she really abandon it, abandon him again, so easily?
And while she hadn’t known Jack for the intervening nine years, the man she’d spent the day with yesterday—the same one who’d picked out tiny giraffe-printed romper suits and a cuddly snowy-white swan for his pregnant sister—she just couldn’t reconcile that man with one who orchestrated dodgy deals, professionally. Perhaps that made her stupid, an emotion she’d grown up with.
Jack’s lips grazed her temple and she opened her eyes.
‘You didn’t answer my texts.’ Not a question. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled. She leaned into him, following the slight sway of his body, which moved them in time with the sensual beat of the music in a dance of their own.
‘No.’ Why did swaying on the edge of the dance floor with this man feel a hundred times more intimate than anything she’d experienced with her ex-fiancé, a man she’d almost married? Harley looped her fingers into the belt loops on his jeans so their hips moved in unison. If she closed her eyes, kept this moment, her dancing with Jack, alive, she could avoid thinking about the doubts, both of him and herself, eating her away inside like acid.
Jack stilled.
Harley opened her eyes, reluctant but a realist.
He looked down, expression unreadable. Not angry. Not even insulted that she’d ignored him without explanation, it seemed.
He placed his beer on a near
by table and took her hand. No explanation. But she didn’t need one. She followed him, her pulse thrumming between her legs as their bodies weaved through the crowds. Heat curled inside her. She couldn’t be sure if it was shame that she’d sidelined her concerns and succumbed to her constant physical need for Jack, or the heat that rarely dissipated from her body when he was around. Either way, she offered no resistance, which was how, moments later, she found herself in a darkened corridor off the club, the chill of the air and the dulling of the music shutting out everything but Jack, his body warm and insistent against hers.
He crowded her and she tugged him with her as she leaned back against the wall. He scooped the hair from one shoulder, his fingers brushing her skin as his eyes held her captive.
‘Tell me...’ a small frown dulled the searing intensity of his stare ‘...did I imagine your cries, your satisfaction yesterday?’ He slotted one leg between hers, the scrape of denim against her inner thighs firing her nerve endings to screaming life.
She rubbed herself shamelessly on him, her hips undulating as he found the sensitive skin beneath her ear and caressed it with his mouth, waiting for her answer.
Her head hit the wall behind her, eyes rolling back.
‘No,’ she whispered, uncaring of the needy catch in her voice or the way her nails clung to his rippling shoulders as he pinned her to the wall.
His hand eased between her legs, which parted without resistance, his fingers slipping beyond the scant barrier of her panties, fingertips strumming her clit.
She pulled him closer, her mouth finding his. The hollow ache between her legs intensified. She wanted him. Here. Now. Her sister or her ex could come searching for her any moment, but all she could think about was Jack inside her, fucking her against the wall. The ecstasy she knew he’d deliver, the sex, between them so easy.
The only easy thing in her life right now.
