by Nikki Duvall
She released her hand. “I think I’ll pass.” Her voice cracked. “Our time together isn’t something I want to relive,” she said, looking away.
“Baby, don’t…”
“We meet at last.” Victoria Pryor barged between them and held out a bony hand studded with diamonds. Her cold blue eyes scanned her latest acquisition with unabashed appreciation. “My husband is pleased you’ll be joining his organization,” she said with a wicked curve of her red glossy lips. “He’s working out the details with our attorneys in the back room,” she added, glancing over her shoulder. “He’ll be looking for a celebration toast.”
J.D. pushed off his stool and sized up the Federal owner’s wife, noting the way a faint blush moved from her skin stretched cheekbones through her frail shoulders at the touch of his handshake. Despite the money and talent she’d obviously thrown toward her appearance tonight, she remained nondescript in a room full of blondes in black dresses.
He summoned his manners. “I appreciate the opportunity, Ma’am.”
“I hear you’re engaged,” said Victoria.
Halee coughed. J.D. slid a burning look toward Tony. “Is that right?”
“Deliriously happy,” Tony confirmed with a wink. “Ready to settle down and keep his head in the game.”
“Just in time,” said Victoria, watching Halee with a curious smile. “And who is this lucky woman?”
“We’ll reveal her identity in a few days,” said Tony quickly. “The suspense will keep the media at attention.”
“Are you alright, Dear?” asked Victoria.
“Excuse me,” said Halee. She slid off her stool before J.D. could catch her and joined a small group at a nearby table. A medium built man twice her age approached from behind, lacing his fingers through hers as he arrived at her side. His peppered gray hair touched his collar; his creased khakis hung loose around the middle. He wore a tweed jacket balanced like a scarecrow on wiry shoulders; his short sleeves revealed skinny wrists. A runner, thought J.D. Type A. The kind who needs exercise to keep himself from perpetrating violence.
Victoria took J.D. by the arm. “I want you to meet someone,” she said, leading him toward Halee and her date. “Dr. Mark Cottrell, meet Jonathan Dillon Shaw, our latest acquisition. He’s closing the season for us.” She glanced between J.D. and Halee again. “Dr. Cottrell recently joined our Literacy Foundation Board. He’s one of our longtime supporters, isn’t that right, Mark?”
The smug look on Halee’s face burned to J.D.’s core. Cottrell was the only man in the room minus a tuxedo. His wire framed glasses and worn tweed jacket reeked academia. J.D. glanced down at Halee’s hand wrapped in Cottrell’s and set his jaw. Victoria cleared her throat and motioned for a fresh drink.
Cottrell extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you…”
J.D. raised his right arm and winced. King quickly intervened.
“Tony King,” he said, inserting his hand into Cottrell’s and squeezing until the man grimaced. “Is that a doctor of medicine or a doctor of letters?”
“English Literature, Columbia.”
“No kidding,” said Tony with a pretentious laugh. “I nearly died of boredom in my Shakespeare class. It’s all Greek to me.”
Cottrell’s lip turned up in a sneer. He tried to yank his hand free but King held fast.
“So, you’re on the Literacy Foundation Board. That’s terrific,” said King, tightening his grip. He locked eyes with Cottrell. “Conflict of interest to be sleeping with the Foundation Manager, though, don’t you think?”
“Stop it, Tony,” Halee hissed.
“Really, King,” Victoria scoffed with obvious delight. “Suppress your caveman instincts.”
“I don’t suppose you’re a baseball fan, eh, Doc?” asked King, undeterred. “John here holds every minor league record this side of the Mississippi.”
“I don’t play, I work,” said Cottrell through clenched teeth.
J.D. took a step forward. Victoria touched his arm. “Not here.”
“Come on, Doc. There’s someone I want you to meet,” said King, dragging Cottrell in the opposite direction. “Don’t worry, Halee,” he said, “I’ll have him back before they lock the doors.”
Victoria sighed and turned back to J.D., dropping her gaze appreciatively over every inch of his hard body. “Welcome to the club,” she said with the eyes of a predator. “I think we’ll work very well together.” She leaned over toward Halee, allowing J.D. a full view of her tight gluts. “Don’t be long, Dear,” she murmured. “Your date might not make it through the King initiation.”
J.D. watched Victoria Pryor drag her bony frame to the opposite side of the ballroom floor and slid back onto his barstool. He reached for his glass and tried to brush off his body’s reaction to Halee McCarthy.
“Shot of tequila,” said Halee to Mitch, joining him at the bar. “And another for the Federal.”
J.D. handed Mitch a twenty. “Let me guess. He’s your professor.”
“He was. If it’s any of your business.”
“You can’t tell me you find that guy attractive.”
Halee’s pink lips curled into a satisfied sneer. “He can carry on a conversation, J.D. His mind isn’t consumed with sex.”
J.D. dropped his eyes to her low neckline and slugged back the tequila in a vain attempt to quench the fire building between them. “Pity.”
He watched the color rise through her neck.
“I know this is news,” she said, “but women aren’t all attracted to the same type of man.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “You, for instance. I’ll bet you think every woman is turned on by a uniform.”
“And here I thought it was my smooth southern drawl. You like southern boys, don’t you Darlin’?” he asked with an exaggerated twang.
“Get over yourself.”
“Self confidence is attractive, Halee. You know that better than anyone.”
“And why is that?”
“Why else would you go out with a guy like me?”
She shook her head. “We were a mistake, J.D.”
He let a sliver of ice loll over his tongue while he held her emerald eyes with his. “Maybe.”
“You’re self centered.”
“MmmHmm.”
“Conceited.”
“No more than Dr. I work, I don’t play.” J.D. slapped his glass down on the bar and met Halee’s stare head on. “I think we should give it another go.”
The edge of her lip formed a snarl, as if noting a tragic humor in his words. “And what would your fiancé think about that?”
“Maybe we’re a better match.” He leaned in closer and slid his left hand along her hip. She felt soft, soothing, all woman. “We gave up too quick. There’s still chemistry here, Halee. You can’t deny it.”
“You’re drinking too much,” she said.
“Drunk or sober, I know we ain’t done.”
Halee’s gaze drifted over the crowd, then back to his face, dropping to the thickening whiskers along the ridge of his jaw. “You were as miserable as I was.”
“Then let’s change the rules.”
“You don’t play by rules.”
“Exactly. So leave your expectations behind and let’s see where it gets us.”
She eyed him warily. “You want something.”
“I want you in my bed.”
Halee removed his hand. “Whatever game you’re playing,” she said coolly, “leave it on the field.” She slipped off her barstool and headed into the crowd.
~TWO~
By the time they reached Michigan Avenue, his hand reached halfway up her skirt, waking up flesh that had been asleep since she’d walked into his penthouse bedroom and found him tangling the sheets with the next girl on his list. It’s not as though Halee hadn’t had plenty of offers since her breakup with J.D. It’s just that she knew they would all be a huge disappointment. Sometimes a girl just had to treat herself to the best, even if it came w
ith a heavy price. She’d kick herself in the morning. Tonight J.D. and the extraordinary pleasure of his company were all hers.
She hadn’t taken ten steps from the bar before he’d come up from behind, slipped his arm around her waist and dragged her down a darkened hall, slid one big warm hand along her breast and covered her protests with his generous, delicious mouth, that cavern of delight she couldn’t get enough of and was terrified she never would. She wanted to breathe the breath he exhaled, wanted to taste the whiskey on his tongue. Her hands were on his chest, poised to push him away, but they gripped his shirt instead, pulling him closer, falling into his kiss while her fingers hungrily searched for the hard muscle she knew lay just below the fabric.
Five minutes later, fully out of breath and dizzy with desire, she’d made her excuses to Victoria Pryor and slipped out to the curb, sliding into the Porsche under the brilliant flash of a dozen paparazzi’s cameras. After all, she was traveling with major league star.
The top was down on the midnight blue Porsche. Travis Tritt bellowed from the stereo speakers, assuring every woman in Chicago he was strong enough to be her man. Halee watched J.D in the glow of the glittering skyscrapers, his tawny whiskered face awash in his signature confidence, passive and satisfied, as though his hand brushing a woman’s thigh were commonplace. But not for her. Her breath came in quick spasms; her blood spurted in jet streams through her groin, driving her anticipation to an unbearable level. She released the clip from her hair and shook out her shoulder length mane, letting the late summer wind blow the thick strands wild and free. Safe again in the arms of a man who knew no boundaries. What a rush! What a delicious, naughty indulgence.
She leaned over and brushed a light kiss along the edge of his white starched collar. “Baby, what did you mean when you said we weren’t done?”
His phone rang and he dragged his fingers down the inside of her bare leg, allowing a cold rush of air to hit her damp thighs. She shivered. Wet for him already, like the cheap slut she was. How would she face herself in the morning?
“Tell ‘em I’ll take seven fifty sign on,” he said in a firm, relaxed voice. “We get too greedy, we’ll blow this deal. And the five years is firm. They pay the full five even if I get benched. Later.”
He disconnected and blew the Porsche around the corner and into the underground garage of his penthouse. Halee had been here before, a younger, more naïve Halee. Tonight she was falling into the same trap she had sworn she would never repeat. Those fiery coal black eyes, the sleek tanned nape of his neck where those dark curls rested, the hard body that would surely give her greater pleasure than she had ever imagined- and yes, the Porsche and the paparazzi- it was all part of the allure of Jonathan Dillon Shaw.
He cut the engine and pulled her across his lap. “Right here, Baby.”
She shifted, seeking the way they fit together, that delicious union of unspeakable pleasure. Her skirt went up, her panties came down. She was so close…“Mmmm,” she murmured, breaking free of his lips. “The security cameras.”
He hit the dashboard button. The Porsche soft top kicked up and over, shielding them from view. Whatever voices telling her to retreat were silenced as he slid his hot tongue into her waiting mouth. This was the taste she had craved since the day she’d caught him with another woman.
The other woman! She released the kiss and sat straight up, pushing her unruly hair from her face. This was the man who had hurt her deeply. Where was her pride?
“I can’t…” His warm hand covered her sweet spot and began to knead her sensitive flesh in a smooth, sensuous rhythm. Within seconds she’d forgotten anything but her impending climax. She fumbled for the buttons on his shirt. He unzipped her dress and pushed it free from her shoulders, working his lips across her bare breasts.
“You want me, don’t you, Baby?”
“Oh, yeh,” she purred. “Real bad.”
“Been thinkin’ about me, have ya?” He grinned, holding her just above the tip of his shaft, teasing her, taunting her soft flesh.
Halee groaned. Her breath came hard and fast. “Just fuck me, would you?”
J.D. choked out a laugh. “Trash talk! What’s become of you, Halee?”
“That’s the kind of girl you like, isn’t it, J.D.?” she murmured against his ear, dragging her tongue along his salty neck.
J.D. moaned. “I ain’t complaining, Darlin’, I’m just wondering if Tequila Halee ain’t gonna love me in the mornin’.”
“Now don’t you worry your pretty little head over nothing like that,” she mocked.
Bright lights flashed. Halee screamed and dove for the floor. They flashed again. J.D. bolted from the car and stalked toward the photographer, adjusting his pants over his painful erection. “Hand ‘em over, Chris,” he bellowed.
The photographer held up both hands. “You’re not going to punch me, are you J.D?”
J.D. towered over the photographer and locked eyes. “Erase the pictures.”
Chris sighed and handed the digital camera to J.D. “Can’t I just keep one for myself?” He gazed longingly at the Porsche. “She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”
“No.” J.D. flipped through the menus and erased all but one. “You can keep the one of me at the bar,” he said, handing the camera back. “The one where I don’t look too drunk. I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “I’ll give you an exclusive interview. Tomorrow morning, 10 A.M., Titan practice field.”
“Thanks, J.D.”
“Now get along, before I change my mind. Don’t follow us, neither.”
Chris angled his head for one more glimpse of Halee before he got into his truck and drove away.
J.D. slid back in beside Halee and fired up the Porsche. “He’s always the first to arrive. The others can’t be far behind. Let’s take a little drive.”
“You should probably just take me home, J.D.,” she said, zipping her dress. “This is a bad idea.”
He raised his brows and glanced over her flushed body. “What happened to Tequila Halee?”
“She sobered up.”
“I’d have liked to keep those pictures myself,” he said with a curl of his lips. “Warm me up on a cold night.”
Halee blushed.
J.D. fastened his seat belt. “Can I show you something first?”
Halee hesitated. “Okay.”
J.D. pulled the Porsche out on Michigan Avenue and headed for the lakefront. The moon hung full overhead, reflecting over the black water of Lake Michigan in ripples of gold. Halee closed her eyes and drank in the luscious aroma of leather and man. The fresh air cleared her head of tequila residue, allowing her to piece the events of the night together. She hadn’t expected to see J.D., but she was glad she had. Seeing him provided needed closure to many months of self-pity and confusion. They had been so good together, the epitome of passion and desire. She’d spent a full year wondering what she’d done to drive him away. His kiss had purged all the self-doubt from her brain. They were still, without reservation, the perfect match.
J.D. steered onto a poorly lit road leading to the pier and slowed at the security entrance.
“Mr. Shaw.” The guard acknowledged him with a nod and a smile. He glanced at Halee and winked. “I heard the good news.”
“I got tickets waiting for you in New York, Kenny. You better come see me.”
“Now you know I never leave Chicago, Mr. Shaw.”
“There’s a first time for everything, my man. Sam at home?”
“On tour. Left you a key.”
“No reporters, okay?” J.D. passed a folded fifty dollar bill into Kenny’s palm.
“You got it.”
They followed the narrow road between docks to the end of the pier. J.D. backed the Porsche under a dark overhang and cut the engine. “Come on,” he said sliding out and coming around the passenger side. He took Halee’s hand and led her toward the far slip where a small sailboat named Lucky Sam drifted over the water. “You’re not going to believe the stars out
here,” he said, leading her up the stairs to the deck.
She dropped her head back to stare at the pitch black sky dotted with millions of bright pins of white light and gasped, losing her footing in her jade high heels. J.D. caught her at the waist and chuckled. “Here,” he said, reaching down and slipping her shoes off one by one. She leaned against his powerful frame, his face pressed against her thighs, stirring her blood once again. He looked up and met her glazed expression.
This was the moment Halee should have turned back. They’d had their kiss. The wrongs had been righted. She could walk away with her head held high, knowing that he wanted her. Maybe it was the stars, or the intimate way he slid the shoes from her feet as though she were Cinderella at the ball, but all her senses were intoxicated, floating any remnants of reason past the logic of her left brain and steering her course straight into J.D.’s bed. Soft music filtered over the water from a distant slip. J.D. took her into his arms and moved her slowly across the deck. She leaned into his warm chest, breathed in the comforting aroma of soap and leather and man, and closed her eyes, moving to the rhythm of the piano keys.
“If this were a book,” she whispered, “I would call it Introduction to Heaven.”
“Hard work has its rewards.”
“Do you come here often?”
“As often as Sam lets me.” J.D. kissed her softly. “Come with me.”
He led her down several steps and flipped a switch, lighting up a small galley and a deep bunk piled high with textured pillows and snowy white down comforters. Oil paintings of dramatic landscapes and portraits awash with color covered every wall. Under their feet, thick Persian carpets caressed Halee’s bare toes.
“Sam’s got great taste,” said Halee.
“Sam’s an artist,” said J.D. “Sings, dances, paints, sculpts, the works.” He slid behind a corner bar. “Sam has tequila,” he said with a wag of his brows.
“Why not? It is a special evening, after all.”
“Special?”
“Yes, I mean since you won’t be in town much longer. I think a going away toast is in order.”
J.D. handed her a glass. "To good times. May they never end." He kissed her on the cheek. “Follow me.”
