One-Click Buy: March 2009 Silhouette Desire

by Katherine Garbera

  She dragged her eyes off his face and opened the box. Her mouth moved in surprise, a soundless question. She tilted the box this way and that and finally spoke, still looking at the earrings. “Nick, a man gives me diamonds. What am I supposed to think about that?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t think about it at all.”

  She looked up at him, a crease of perplexity between her eyes that he’d never seen before. He silently cursed himself for confusing her. What was he thinking, messing with the natural order of things? “Don’t read anything into it,” he said a little roughly. “I believe I thought more of my own pleasure than yours.”

  The little frown deepened, as if she couldn’t make sense of it.

  Damn Adam and his crazy notions. Nick exhaled loudly and leaned toward her. He picked up one of the precious, glinting jewels, brushed her hair behind her ears and went about fitting it. “They matched your eyes. I wanted to see you naked, wearing only these. That’s it.”

  That wasn’t it. Hadn’t he done it because he was sick of being labeled the good son, the one who never rocked the boat?

  Her face cleared, as if she’d solved a riddle. “They’re a gift for your mistress.”

  Nick’s lip curled in distaste. He hated that word. “I don’t think of you as my mistress. Neither of us is married. We’re free to indulge ourselves.”

  She gazed at him solemnly. Nick picked up the other earring, pried the butterfly clip off and indicated that she turn her head.

  She obeyed. “What do you think of me as then?”

  “If we have to put a label on it, I’d call you my luxury,” he said as he pushed the other earring through the piercing in her lobe. He secured the post and drew back, looking at her face.

  “Your luxury.” She nodded and her smile was without reproach. “I’ll save them just for this room. They’ll be our secret.”

  Nick sat back, admiring his handiwork, thinking she did indeed look spellbindingly luxurious. Her golden hair, a mass of loose curls today, cascaded over her shoulders like the caps of a choppy sea captured and molded in gold. Yesterday, in court she’d worn it straight and smooth.

  And then her words hit him, or more, her tone. Had he imagined a slightly sarcastic edge to her voice?

  Nick dropped his hands to his bare knees. “I’m not ashamed.” Not of her. Maybe of himself for confusing her. “Hell, Jordan! They’re yours. Do what you want with them. Sell them, if it pleases you.”

  Hurt showed in the little press of her lips and the way she suddenly looked away from him. “I don’t need any more money from a Thorne,” she said quietly.

  Nick had made a real pig’s ear of this. An off-the-cuff gesture and he’d ended up bringing the past into this room. He should have remembered that whatever this madness was between them, the past would always be a barrier.

  Thirty years ago, Nick’s father was driving the two couples home from a night out when a tragic accident nearly claimed the life of Syrius Lake’s pregnant wife. The injuries she had suffered put her in a wheelchair for life and killed her unborn son, but five years later she endured a difficult pregnancy and gave birth to Jordan. Lake never forgave Randall Thorne and when his financial situation worsened because of high medical costs, he demanded assistance. Randall signed over a huge valuable block of real estate in Wellington’s CBD, with the understanding that when Syrius was able, he would repay the loan. But on the day of Jordan’s birth, the bitter ex-friend transferred the property to his daughter’s name.

  Prevailed upon by guilt and his own wife, Randall Thorne let it ride, but it rankled. Both men went on to become business icons in New Zealand’s capital city and the bad blood simmered away, helped along by repeated sniping from both camps.

  So technically, Jordan was rich on Thorne money, but Nick didn’t care about that. It wasn’t her fault or his. It just was.

  He put his index finger under her chin and turned her face to look at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to hurt you…”

  Her smile, when it came, was more rueful than hurt. “You haven’t.” She lifted her hands and touched her new adornments. “I’ll wear them with pride.”

  Nick’s instincts were right on the nail about how perfectly the blue diamonds matched her eye color. They gazed at each other, gratitude and regret gradually giving way to an acute awareness of where they were, what they were to each other. The urgency escalated, the air between them smoldered with its hot breath.

  They moved toward each other in a rush, their hands reaching greedily. She was fine, they were fine, nothing had changed. He’d done the right thing, giving her blue diamonds that twinkled and trembled with desire and anticipation when he pushed her down on the bed, ravaging her mouth. That warmed with sultry promise as he drew her arms up over her head and moved into position. That exploded with blue sparks when he filled her, an inexorable upward motion into infinite pleasure…and crackled with the fury of reaching for, overtaking, plunging into blissful release.

  He’d done the right thing giving her the earrings and who cared if was for her or for him? They’d both enjoy them.

  But somehow, he left the hotel feeling he’d missed an opportunity of some kind, or they both had. If Jordan Lake was his luxury, could he pay the price?

  Jordan was late for her own birthday party. She rushed up the stairs of the up-market club, apologizing loudly, knowing her parents expected her half an hour ago.

  She needn’t have worried. Everything was under control and most of the guests hadn’t arrived yet. The champagne was chilled and delicious, the lighting perfect, security on the door. Of the expected one hundred and fifty guests, twenty or so would be friends of hers, the rest would be her parents’ friends, business colleagues, local celebrities in the arts, politics and sports and a smattering of reporters and photographers. Jordan would pose with all the usual suspects, regulars of the It crowd. And then she would go home alone, as she had for most of the last year. Even her father would yawn at her lifestyle these days—except for her Friday afternoons.

  She bent to kiss her mother, knowing this was the last real kiss she’d get all night. As she drew back, her mother’s hands firmed on her cheeks for a few seconds, holding her. Elanor Lake frowned at the earrings. “They’re lovely, darling. Where did you get them?”

  She hadn’t been able to resist wearing them no matter how often she told herself to lock them away. But, oh, they were so beautiful, and Nick hadn’t said not to wear them. He hadn’t even stipulated that she wasn’t to tell who gave them to her.

  Vanity won. The earrings were perfect with the pale yellow dress she wore, lending it a hint of boldness.

  Jordan straightened and flicked her hand in the air. “Just one of my many admirers.”

  Her mother gave her a measured look. “Which admirer is giving you blue diamonds?”

  Her father snorted. “Anything less than diamonds, then he isn’t worth his salt, princess,” he declared.

  One by one, the beautiful people arrived and she laughed and kissed air so many times, her lips were bruised. But often, she touched the earrings and her thoughts turned to the confusing man who’d given them to her.

  The extravagant gift had blown her away. Up to now, Nick was the only man she’d met who’d been completely straight about what he wanted from her—her body. There were no expectations past that, on either side. Their weekly meetings in the luxury Presidential Suite were all about an extraordinary attraction and nothing else.

  She couldn’t put her finger on when things had started to feel different, but it was recent. He’d changed. Suddenly he was asking questions, taking risks, talking to her. He’d watched her today as if trying to divine her thoughts. Hurt her a little by admitting he’d thought more of his own pleasure in giving her the gift. Then again, that admission spoke volumes for a man who was so spare with words: he saw something beautiful; he thought of her.

  But it hurt her more when he reminded her of the origins of her trust fund, and the reason they could never h
ave more than they had right now.

  Her oldest friend, Julie, dragged her onto the dance floor and she happily acquiesced. But her mind strayed often to Nick. Jordan looked around at the glitzy lights and gay smiles, wondering if he’d like this sort of place? Would her friends like him, and vice versa? Was he a dancer? When it came down to it, she knew so little about him, just that they fit together perfectly in the bedroom.

  “Oh, my God! Look-it!” Julie pointed through the throng to a tall, handsome man leaning on the bar, looking their way. “Isn’t that…?”

  Jordan looked over and her heart did a weird slide. “John West,” she said in dismay.

  Jordan’s first heartbreak. She’d been in her first year at high school, he in his last. His interest in her caused a ripple of excitement through all her friends; someone of his stature expressing interest in a first year was unheard of.

  Alas, the romance floundered quickly.

  “Let’s see if we can pick who he’s here with,” her friend said.

  Jordan wondered if it was the same girlfriend he’d dumped her for two days after he’d first crooked his brow at her, commanding her to parade around the school quadrant with him like his queen.

  She shrugged and turned away. Although it was a minor blip on her heartstrings that she hadn’t thought of in years, the one thing that stuck was the crushing realization that despite her money and social standing, she wasn’t smart enough, pretty enough, interesting enough to hold his attention, not even for a week! Her father’s shameless indulgence reminded her that the world saw her as a bubble-headed trophy with only her wealth to offer. She knew better. She was different now, more than that.

  Nick Thorne was the real deal—respected, smart, ambitious and successful. Whatever he called it, she was his mistress. She’d live up to his expectations in that regard, but she’d do her best to protect her heart.

  On Monday, the court clerk announced the lunch break to sighs of relief. The morning had dragged. Nick looked forward to getting back to his office, if only for a break from the steel thread of sexual tension that came with sitting ten feet away from the object of his desire, and the knowledge that it would be four torturous days before he could have her again.

  Suddenly the wiry figure of Syrius Lake bounded across the aisle. His face was an interesting shade of plum. He sidestepped Randall’s counsel and stood defiantly in front of the complainant’s bench.

  “Randall Thorne,” he rumbled, his deep voice belying his rather slight frame. “Keep your pup away from my daughter.”

  Nick’s heart stopped and he involuntarily flicked a glance at Jordan. She had jumped to her feet, and stood with one leg in front of the other, ready for flight, the line of her body taut with tension. Her eyes were huge but they were on her father, not him.

  Randall rose, towering over Syrius, the table in between them. Nick rose, too, and brushed past Adam to stand by his father’s side.

  “Nick’s got too much sense…” Randall began.

  “Not him.” Syrius pointed a long, bony finger at Adam, still seated in the row behind.

  Adam! Nick turned his head slowly, and in those few seconds, everything inside him went cold, and his throat closed as if gripped by a vise.

  His brother raised his brows in studied nonchalance and shrugged. “I hooked up with a couple of lovelies at a bar, tagged along to a party. How was I supposed to know it was Jordan’s birthday bash?”

  Through the ice-cold rage bathing his belly, Nick barely noted that Adam directed his explanation—and a quizzical look—at him, rather than Syrius.

  All around people had stopped, enthralled by the drama. And then his father gave the crowd what they wanted.

  “If he’s a pup,” he suggested, “perhaps she’s a bitch in heat.”

  Nick tore his eyes off his brother’s and glanced at Jordan’s white, shocked face. He gripped his father’s arm firmly. “You’ll apologize for that.”

  “The hell I will!” Randall blustered.

  The two Lake women reached Syrius. Elanor spoke in urgent whispers while Jordan grasped the sleeve of her father’s suit, tugging at it ineffectually.

  Randall lifted his arm in a half hearted attempt to remove it from Nick’s grip.

  Nick only gripped harder. “Now, Dad.”

  Accepting defeat, Randall launched a scathing glance at his enemy, cleared his throat and nodded vaguely in Jordan’s direction. “I beg your pardon, Jordan.” Turning back to Syrius, he raised his chin, “When I’ve finished mopping the floor with you here, Lake, I’m going to start all over again. I wouldn’t let your lawyer take a holiday anytime soon if I were you.”

  “Bring it on, Thorne,” Syrius snarled. He shot one last look of loathing that encompassed all three Thornes, then he stomped off with his counsel in tow, making no effort to assist Jordan with her mother’s wheelchair.

  Mortified, Nick couldn’t look at Jordan, but as she pushed her mother’s chair past him, Elanor met his eyes and gave him a distant but not unfriendly nod. Despite the ridiculous circumstances, Nick found himself admiring her for her fortitude and grace when she had more reason to hate his family than anyone. He watched until they disappeared out of the courtroom, then turned back to find his father glaring down at Adam.

  “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”

  Nick’s jealousy returned full force, crushing his chest and throat again. The thought of his playboy brother anywhere near Jordan incensed him. “Did you—” touch, dance, kiss “—speak to her at the party?” He could barely get the words past his clenched teeth.

  Adam’s glance was sharp as a tack. “Nick, I didn’t get a toe in the door before Syrius was bleating at security to have me removed. Why?”

  Intense relief laced Nick’s exhalation. He unclenched his palms and they were damp. Ignoring Adam’s question, he turned abruptly and reached for his jacket. The act of putting it on, gathering up his phone and briefcase, gave him a few seconds to think about that relief. Okay, we’ve ascertained that I’m not fond of the thought of anyone else’s hands on her. Fine. We can work this out.

  Now composed, he gave his father a stern look. “I have to get back to the office, but try and behave yourself this afternoon.” He frowned at Randall. “Insult Syrius all you like, but leave his family out of it.”

  He strode away, allowing himself a small smile when he heard his father say to Adam, “Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

  Four

  Nick pressed the doorbell, glowering at the peephole when he heard her ask who it was. “It’s Nick. Open up, Jordan.”

  He still waited half a minute, tapping his thigh impatiently, until she opened the door. She peeked around the corner of the door, one hand covering her lower face. Her hesitation became immediately clear; a pale green chalky substance covered most of her face. Her hair was loose but held back from her face by a headband. She wore silky light blue pajamas, a less than welcoming expression, and her feet were bare.

  That didn’t mean she was off the hook. “Are you ill?”

  “No.” Frowning, she looked over his shoulder into the empty corridor of her apartment building and then stepped back.

  “Expecting someone?” he asked, giving her a thorough inspection.

  “Do I look like I’m expecting someone?” She lifted her hand from her face and gestured him forward impatiently. “Come in before someone sees you.”

  Nick stepped inside and then turned and waited while she closed the door.

  Jordan leaned her back against the door her skin flushing pink beneath the green facial mask. “How did you get up here?”

  He shrugged. “Someone was coming up, I followed.”

  “Nick, you shouldn’t be here.”

  His temper bridled. He’d been on a slow burn for about twenty-four hours now. He’d had a huge row with his father last night after confirming his plans to hire a P.I. to investigate one of Syrius’s directors for corruption. It became more and more obvious that the old man
had no intention of retiring any time soon, not while Syrius Lake was around to take potshots at.

  Reading the papers today had turned the heat up. Nick’s frustration had about hit boiling. “We had an arrangement.”

  “I sent you a text.”

  Nick swore under his breath. A text that said nothing. Sorry, something’s come up.

  He would have accepted her canceling their regular appointment if she hadn’t been photographed eating a late Friday afternoon lunch with Jason Cook, the most worthless playboy on the planet. An ex-pro rugby player who destroyed hotel rooms, threw things at bartenders and went through money like water. And who’d reportedly had a steamy romance with Jordan a year ago.

  His father’s next potential campaign against Syrius made Nick’s decision to ally himself with her all the more attractive, but the lady herself seemed comfortable with the status quo. Somehow he had to persuade her that she wanted more, knock her off balance enough to start thinking of him in a different light.

  Hence the unannounced visit. It didn’t hurt that the thought of Cook’s hands on her infuriated him. He reached out, hooking his finger into the V of her pajama top, and pulled her into him. “You and Jason in the newspaper this morning…You want him, Jordan?”

  As her unresisting body bumped against his, the impact caused the top button to slip through the hole. The material gaped as she inhaled in surprise. The creamy swell of a luscious, unfettered breast taunted him.

  How many men did she share her body with? The question had tormented him for hours. How many men savored that perfect mouth, nuzzled her impossibly soft and fragrant skin.

  Under his glare, her eyes sparked with annoyance and her pink cheeks burned through the green streaks. She laid her hands flat against his chest and braced against him. “I didn’t realize that giving me a gift branded me as your exclusive property.”

  “It doesn’t, but your Friday afternoons are mine, not bloody Jason Cook’s.”

  “Jason is only a friend these days. Not—” she lifted her chin defiantly “—that it’s any of your business.”