If I Loved You (Harper Falls Book 1)

by Mary J. Williams

  “With a one night stand?” Dani demanded. “Rose is not the type. None of us are. And don’t try to tell me you are because I know better. You talk a good game, Tyler Jones, but it isn’t you.”

  “Would it make me a slut?” Tyler knew the answer. They wouldn’t call their worst enemy a slut. It just wasn’t a word they used.

  “Of course not,” Dani sighed. “Women who enjoy their sexuality the same as men are not sluts, whores or whatever. But not all women can sleep with a man if they don’t know him for a while. Rose can’t, I can’t and you…”

  “Never put out until at least the third date.” It was as close as Tyler was going get to admitting that she wasn’t quite as popular as she sometimes made out. “Look, we both know Rose. She’ll need at least a week to process, reprocess and then think about it again. During that time, we’ll work on her—remind her how much she really likes men. The little dears.”

  “Can’t live with them—“Dani laughed. “So what you’re saying is, bide our time. Try to rewire her brain a bit. And why does it feel like this whole thing has disaster written all over it?”

  “Because you don’t have my vision.”

  “I don’t want your vision.” Dani sometimes wondered why Tyler’s vision didn’t give her nightmares. “But I will concede your idea has potential.”

  “It’s potentially brilliant, my dear.” She drank the last of her coffee and jumped to her feet. “And now that I’m sufficiently re-caffeinated I need to get back to my sketching. The ideas for the sculpture celebrating the town’s centennial have to be submitted by the end of the month. And I plan on mine being so amazing that not even Queen Regina Harper will be able to reject it.”

  “Re-caffeinated?” Dani cried. Tyler gave her a hug before she dashed out of the coffee shop. “Oh, why do I even bother?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ROSE FELT LIKE she had a neon sign flashing over her head—looking for a one night stand, only sex gods need apply.

  The annual spring Lilac Ball had seemed like the perfect place to find a man—the right man. But now that she was here she just felt awkward and conspicuous. It didn’t matter that no one could know what she was thinking. She still felt oddly guilty. As though looking at every man she passed as a potential sex partner was a crime.

  It had only been three days since Tyler’s one night stand suggestion, but Rose had thought of little else. Of course, she knew what her friend was up to. Tyler didn’t really want Rose to have sex with some random guy. And at first the idea had seemed too outrageous for words. But the more she weighed the pros and cons, the more pros popped up. It wasn’t about sex or finding a man. She had never been a boy-crazy teen or one of those women from a bad romantic comedy who lamented her rapidly waning youth. But Rose did need something different. And if she got an orgasm or two out of it, all the better.

  The Lilac Ball was a yearly event that raised money for the local hospital. Invitations went out months in advance. It was one of Regina Harper’s pet projects, so she made sure everyone there had deep pockets. Not that you had to be a multimillionaire to attend. But Regina stacked the deck with wealthy donors—it wouldn’t do for any of her functions to be anything but a rousing success. Tickets sold out within days, in part because it was a good cause. But it was also one of the few times the doors of Harper House opened to any but a select few. Three hundred and sixty-four days a year the residents of Harper Falls lived in the shadow of the towering mansion. But on one night in May, for the price of a ticket you could see how the other one percent lived.

  Rose, Dani, and Tyler had attended last year and had gotten their tickets early for this one. There was an open bar and a constant stream of servers offering every kind of finger food imaginable. Rose was partial to the mini quiches.

  The lilac theme filled the grand ballroom. Clear fairy lights covered the ceiling like millions of twinkling stars. The scent of lilac filled the air but didn’t overpower. Vases of the flowers occupied every corner. Both light purple and dark purple overflowed in controlled abandon. Rose thought they must have stripped every bush within a two hundred mile radius.

  She had arrived earlier than Tyler and Dani—normally they would have come together. But she wanted to look around and decide if she was going to do this. And she wanted to do it without any unwanted influence. They would be a bit horrified if they knew that she was considering picking up a man tonight. But Tyler had put the idea into her head, so she had no one to blame but herself.

  Rose had to admit there were some very attractive men here tonight. The old adage that every man looked good in a tuxedo was spot on. The ball was formal, and everyone was decked out in their finest. The problem was finding out which ones were as good at sex as they were at having their suits impeccable fitted. She couldn’t just go up and ask. Or could she? No, probably not a good idea. Beyond the embarrassment factor, who was going to tell the truth? What man was going to admit to being a lousy lover?

  Then there was the real possibility of being turned down. Rose knew she looked good. The white gown she had bought the last time she was in New York clung to her every curve like it had been made for her, and it had. The designer herself had done the final fitting, and the style, while simple, suited her perfectly. It was sexy but not obvious. The modest neckline showed very little skin and the slightly flared skirt allowed her plenty of movement, so there was no need for a leg-baring slit. The effect was flattering—subtle. The back, though, was another matter altogether. The deep plunge showed off her toned, sleek, muscles, ending just at the base of her spine. Business in the front, party in the back. The dress gave her confidence. And she was going to need all she could get.

  She had been at the ball for almost an hour and still didn’t see any sign of Tyler or Dani, which was good. Deciding to check on her make-up, Rose slipped from the ballroom. Just to the right was a discrete sign indicating the way to the rest rooms. Giving herself a critical once over in the ornate mirror, she decided all she needed was a fresh coat of lipstick. She had just removed the tube from her bag when two women entered the lounge area.

  Rose immediately recognized one of them from her days at Harper Academy. To say that she and Jilly Underwood had never been friendly was putting it mildly. Jilly’s family had money; Rose didn’t have money or a family. As far as Jilly was concerned that made Rose so far below her notice she might as well have been invisible. Even after Rose had transferred to Harper High, for some reason she had remained at the top of Jilly’s enemy list—along with Tyler and Dani. Look up mean girl in the dictionary and you’d find a picture of Jilly Underwood. Sure it was an old joke, but that didn’t make it any less true.

  The two women went to the mirror opposite Rose without acknowledging her. It seemed that nine years had done nothing to change Jilly’s opinion.

  “Jack Winston is here,” Jilly’s friend said in an excited whisper. “He is the sexiest man I have ever seen. Well, I guess Drew Harper is just as sexy. I wonder if he’s here.”

  “I doubt it. Word is he won’t even be in the same room with his mother, not that I blame him. That woman is colder than an iceberg. But I could care less about Drew,” Jilly practically purred. “I’ve had my eye on Jack since he arrived in town, and tonight I’m going to have him.”

  “I hear he is an animal in bed. Martha Underwood claims he kept her busy for three days straight with no breaks.”

  Not even to pee? Rose wondered.

  “Martha is a liar. Not that I doubt that Jack is capable.” Rose recognized Jilly’s predatory smile. When she wanted something, the woman was never subtle. Between her bleached blond good looks and her father’s money, there wasn’t much she couldn’t have. But when she was denied? That girl was an A number one tantrum thrower. Rose had been witness to a few of them, and it was a sight to see—as long as you stayed out of spittle range.

  “Why tonight? I mean he’s turned you down every time you’ve come on to him,” Jilly’s friend put on a concerned face but Rose got the fe
eling the woman found Jilly’s failures highly entertaining.

  Jilly chose to ignore the jab, though her lips had that I just sucked a lemon look that was, if the wrinkles around her mouth were any indication, starting to become permanent.

  “I have it from a reliable source that Jack has spent the last week in the company of nothing but other men. And since I’m sure he’s one-hundred percent heterosexual, tonight he should be ripe for the picking. I’ll get him on the dance floor, and before the song finishes he’ll be dragging me out of here. We might not even make back to my place.”

  Jack Winston. Now there was a possibility. They’d met briefly a few months ago. Tall, buff and good looks to spare. And killer blue eyes. Paul Newman eyes. It shouldn’t surprise her that he had a reputation as a great lover. He wasn’t just good looking; he was—well—yummy. Just the man Rose was looking for. And if she could induce a Jilly fit? That was a win, win for Rose.

  But she had to get to him first. She casually returned her lipstick to her bag and made her way out of the ladies' room. Good, Lord, her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings. The adrenaline was good, she decided. It kept back the nerves. Mostly. Now she had to find Jack, proposition him and get him out of there before Jilly could get her lethal claws into him.

  Jack, blissfully unaware that he was about to be pursued by two very determined women, was sipping a club soda and lime. If he had known that he was the object of their desire, he would have high tailed it for the nearest exit. The only reason he was there at all was because he’d promised Drew that he would represent the company tonight. Drew hadn’t set foot in Harper House for over ten years, and nothing was going to change that. But it was a charity that they both wanted to support, so Jack had agreed to put in a brief appearance.

  When a waiter offered him a glass of champagne, Jack politely turned him down. But inside he was cringing at even the thought of anything alcoholic. He had never been a heavy drinker. Two beers was usually his limit. He could count on two fingers the number of times he’d gotten stinking drunk. Once had been during his first year of college after his team had handily won their homecoming game. He was eighteen and on a testosterone high. Surrounded by teammates and lots of free beer? You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out how that would end.

  Then there was last night. After a week of intense training with their security crew, he and Drew had let loose for the first time in a long, long time. Because the crew was staying at the compound, no one had to worry about driving. Like everyone else, Jack got caught up in the celebratory atmosphere. Tequila shots and plenty of them. Drew had nursed a hangover most of the morning. Jack, was lucky to have been blessed with a metabolism that let him drink everyone under the table and not suffer for it the next day.

  Unfortunately, when he drank too much he tended to become susceptible to suggestions. The more outrageous, the better. Oh, never anything terribly dangerous or illegal. Jack never lost his sense of self-preservation. But if it was relatively harmless than he was all in. In college it had gotten him a tattoo—a rather large one on his right shoulder. It wasn’t anything embarrassing, but it served as a reminder. Don’t get fall down, stinking drunk—ever again. But last night the drinks had snuck up on him. His body was overly tired, and it took less alcohol than usual to knock him on his butt. And on top of everything else, he was blessed with TRD, total drinking recall. No blanks in his memory. No, he remembered every idiotic moment of the mess he’d gotten himself into.

  First there was his hair, what little of it that was left. Sometime during the night he’d mentioned his need for a haircut. Naturally someone had the bright idea to get a pair of sheep shears that the previous owners had left in the barn. Sounded like a great idea to him. It would save him a trip to the barber. Of course, the rusty old things had still worked. Drew ran his hand over the dark stubble on his head. His hair hadn’t been this short since he cut it himself and his dad ended up evening it out. At least that time they had been actual clippers meant for humans. He was lucky the drunken idiots hadn’t taken his ear off. But it was just hair, it would grow back. It was the second thing that he had agreed to that was the problem. Because of tequila and a stupid bet he now had to be celibate for the next month.

  Three weeks to be technical. The guys had been generous enough to count the prior week as part of the bet. Jack had no doubt he could make it; he wasn’t a sex addict. It was just that knowing he couldn’t have any was making him think about it more than at any time since he’d lost his virginity when he was seventeen. He hadn’t gone longer than a week since then, and he had been looking forward to tonight. Every woman here looked particularly beautiful and he couldn’t do anything about it.

  He could have gotten out of the bet. This morning none of the guys remembered what had gone on the night before. Some of them remembered the bet but couldn’t remember the details. But Jack did, vividly. And his stupid sense of fair play made him fill them in—with every embarrassing detail.

  The rules were simple but specific. He couldn’t tell anyone about the bet. If he went out on a date, he could provide the woman with an orgasm as long as his dick didn’t penetrate any part of her body. He wasn’t allowed to let her pleasure him but if he came in his pants without manual help from her, that was acceptable. Masturbation? Hell, yes—thank God.

  Jack sighed again. Good Lord, what were they, a bunch twelve-year-olds? The bet had been Drew’s evil idea—every single detail of it. If his dear, old friend hadn’t spent the morning holding his head and looking like death warmed over, Jack would have kicked his ass. And then the jerk had the gall to laugh like a banshee when reminded of it. Jack’s satisfaction in seeing Drew’s head almost explode with pain was short lived. Three weeks. Something told him he was going to be spending a lot of time in the gym, and with his hand on his dick.

  Rose scanned the crowd. It shouldn’t be hard to find Jack. He was a man that left an impression, which meant he was the exact opposite of the men Rose dated. For once she was going to give in and go off her bland diet. For one night she was going hot and spicy—she planned on gorging herself on beautiful man.

  Her gaze stopped on a tall man with dark hair. He was standing alone across the room, holding a glass and looking none too pleased to be there. Not terribly approachable. She almost moved on, but something about him made her look again. It was Jack. Well, no wonder she hadn’t recognized him. Rose had been looking for someone with dark hair, but she thought it was much longer. She remembered when they met she’d had the fleeting desire to run her fingers through the thick, wavy locks—to find out if they could be as soft as they looked. But all that beautiful hair was gone. And though it didn’t seem possible, he was even more attractive that before.

  Maybe the hair had been a distraction. Because now when she looked at him all she saw was his impossibly beautiful face—all sculpted cheekbones, firm but inviting lips and a jaw line that she found herself wanting to bite. She couldn’t remember ever being turned on by a man’s jaw, but there it was. Jack Winston was the total package. And if his reputation held up, Rose planned on giving his jaw, and the rest of him, plenty of attention.

  Looking at him, Rose had a moment of doubt. Maybe she should start a little slower and work up to a man like Jack. But what the hell. Tonight she was splurging. After denying herself for so long, she deserved a treat.

  “Champagne?”

  Rose accepted the fluted crystal glass and swallowed down the contents in one gulp. Before the waiter could move on she exchanged her empty for a full one. She might have been arming herself with false courage, but in the short run it couldn’t hurt. Right now, she needed all the help she could get.

  Five more minutes, Jack promised himself. He was only supposed to put in an appearance, so an hour should fulfill all of his promise to Drew. If he started inching his way towards the door, by the time he’d exchanged a few greetings and had shaken some hands, he’d be nicely situated to make a quick escape.

  “
Dance with me, Jack?”

  Damn it, he’d been so close. He turned towards the voice having every intention of politely turning her down. Dancing was not on his agenda for the evening. But the refusal died a quick death the moment he saw who it was.

  Rose O’Brian.

  Her eyes were the color of rich amber. A man didn’t quickly forget eyes like that. Sparks of red and gold shot through her shoulder length hair. Growing up with older sisters he knew that women had a knack for fixing their hair for occasions like this one. He’d coughed his way through enough toxic clouds of hairspray to remember that. But Rose’s hair looked silky soft, not lacquered to within an inch of its life.

  Jack had felt a spark from the moment he’d met Rose. But, it had been obvious she didn’t feel the same. He might have tried to persuade her. Wouldn’t that have been fun? But two things had stopped him. His best friend and her best friend. Drew Harper and Tyler Jones had a history, one that had ended badly. Drew still wanted her, and Tyler crossed the street rather than take a chance of coming within ten feet of him. No, as tempting as Rose was it just hadn’t seemed worth the trouble their association might stir up.

  Walk away, his inner voice screamed. You’re one week into that asinine bet, and this woman could turn out to be too much temptation to resist. But man, was she lovely. It wasn't so much that her dress hugged her body, but it accentuated all the right places. The stark white material covered almost all of her creamy skin leaving just the dip at the base of her neck bare. It was a spot just made for a man’s kiss. His kiss. She had the height of a model but way better curves. No jutting hip bones on Rose. He could easily imagine his hands cupping those full breasts. He’d be playing with fire if he held her in his arms for even a moment. And for the length of a song? Torture. But the hopeful look in her eyes made it impossible for him to turn away. Okay, torture it might be, but since he couldn’t bring himself to say no he might as well enjoy it.