by J. Kenner
“Bossy and arrogant,” Jez says, her eyes flickering to me. “But, yeah. He was good.”
I smile, more pleased than I should be by the compliment.
“Of course, he’s also an ass,” she adds, making Delilah burst into laughter.
“Watch it, or I’ll make another bet. I think we both know your track record.”
“I’m quaking with terror.”
Delilah’s head moves, her eyes wide as she watches the two of us like a tennis game. “So tomorrow, right? I’ll just hang out here.”
“You’ll definitely hang out here,” Jez says. “No late shoot tomorrow. So no repeat of tonight.” She glances at her watch. “You have a five a.m. call. I’ll wake you at four. Go.” She nods toward the bedroom.
Delilah looks at me, her expression exasperated. “She forgets that it’s been five years since I was thirteen.”
“You forget what a bitch you are when you don’t get enough sleep.”
That’s her, Delilah mouths, holding up a hand to shield the finger she’s pointing at Jez.
“I heard that.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” Delilah pauses in the door of her room. “Thanks again, Pierce. For everything.”
“My pleasure,” I say. And then she closes her door, and I’m alone with Jez, and this palatial suite seems suddenly too small.
I clear my throat. “I should let you get to sleep, too.”
She nods. “Yeah. It’s late.”
“Tomorrow,” I say.
“Tomorrow.” She steps toward me, and my heart pounds in anticipation of her touch—and then with mortification when I realize that all she’s doing is walking to the door.
“Lock it behind me,” I order.
“Of course.”
Then I’m outside, and she smiles, and the door closes in my face.
And that, I think, is the end of that.
Except it’s not. I’m going to see her tomorrow.
And right then I realize that I made a mistake with that bet. I should have kept my mouth shut.
I should have just walked away.
Because Jezebel Stuart is the kind of woman who gets under your skin.
But I’m not the kind of man who sticks.
Chapter Five
“This is my favorite shot,” Kerrie says, holding up her tablet so that Connor can see what she’s looking at. Then she turns it to me, as if I’m just an afterthought. “I like how everything’s in focus except you and Delilah. You’re both just a little blurry.”
“Nice,” I say, leaning back against the break room countertop and sipping my second cup of late-afternoon coffee. After a day reviewing blueprints in prep for an upcoming job, I need the caffeine. “Way to be kind to your big brother.”
The image is from the Crown, and it shows Delilah and me hurrying from the Town Car to my Range Rover.
“An action shot,” Connor says, flashing a wide grin. “And with a movie star. I don’t know, Blackwell. Could be the start of a whole new career for you.”
“Nah,” my sister says to Connor. “You’re the one with the movie star looks.”
“Hey.” I hold up my hands, pretending offense. “What am I? Dog food?”
She sets the tablet down and eyes me critically. “You’ll do,” she says. “Empirically you’re pretty hot, even if you are my brother. It’s the eyes that do it. You have bedroom eyes.”
By the fridge, Connor snorts.
“I’m serious,” my sister says. “I mean, he’s got the body for sure—thank you Uncle Sam— and a solid jawline. Extra points, by the way, for the beard stubble.”
“I try.”
“But it’s those pale blue eyes that get him laid. I mean, basically he got what I was supposed to have. The bastard.”
My sister has dark hair and brown eyes, and she knows damn well that she’s stunning.
“But you,” she continues, looking to Connor, “you have that mysterious dark thing going on. It’s seriously hot.”
“You just want in my bed,” Connor teases.
“Been there, done that,” she says airily.
As always whenever their past fling comes up, I eye both of them, searching for signs that their short-lived relationship is going to somehow blow up—and blow back on the business. But they both seem fine with having moved on. And although that surprises me—Kerrie’s had a crush on Connor since she was thirteen and I brought him and Cayden home with me when we were on leave—I also know that the fourteen-year age difference between them is something that Connor was never comfortable with.
Since they didn’t bother consulting me when they broke it off, I don’t know all the reasons. But I do know they’ve stayed friends.
Which works out well for the business, because my sister’s doing a stellar job as our office manager, a role she took on after she confessed to me that she was bored out of her mind with her previous job as a paralegal. Now, she runs the office and is going to school part time for her MBA.
She picks up the tablet again. “There are dozens more pictures like that one. Maybe hundreds. Want to see?”
“No,” I say firmly, as Connor says, “Hell, yes.”
“Fine,” she says, putting the tablet down with a smirk. “I’ll show Connor later, when Cayden’s here to share your humiliation.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite sister. You treat me so well.”
“I’m amazing,” she chirps. “But seriously, your fifteen minutes of fame could be good for our bottom line.”
Cayden slides into the room, then leans against the wall, his arms crossed. “Well, that’s something I like to hear. What did our Mr. Blackwell do?”
Kerrie passes him the tablet, then gives him a rundown of last night—her version, at least. Cayden listens, amused, his expression much the same as Connor’s. To be expected, I suppose. They’re identical twins. But it’s easy to tell them apart these days. Cayden wears a patch over his left eye—the injury being the reason he’d been discharged three years ago despite intending to stay in the game until retirement.
He still does some fieldwork at Blackwell-Lyon, but mostly he’s the face of our organization. And he’s damn good at the job. “The patch makes me look tough,” he often says. “And that’s a baseline requirement when I’m asking folks to put their lives in our hands.”
He hands the tablet back to Kerrie. “So all this coverage is bringing in new business?”
“Not a flood,” she says. “But I must have fielded at least a half-dozen calls today. I guess folks figure if Pierce is watching out for Delilah, then he can watch out for them, too.”
“She hired us?” Cayden asked, which was a very Cayden-like way to cut to the chase.
“No,” I say. “That was a one-off.”
“You never did tell me how you met them,” Kerrie says.
“I met Jezebel at Thyme. We’d both been stood up.”
“Mmm.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me. I can live with that.
“All that good work and she didn’t hire you?” Connor asks. “What kind of a rainmaker are you?”
“The kind who’s not.” It’s no secret that my skills are in the field. Cultivating new business is Cayden’s specialty. “But all things considered, I think I did all right.” I point at Kerrie. “Didn’t she just say the phone’s been ringing all day? I’ve done my job.”
I keep my tone light. A nothing to see here, move along folks kind of attitude.
But the truth? The truth is I do want the job. Because without it, tonight’s going to be the last time I see Jezebel Stuart. And that small fact isn’t sitting well with me at all.
“Okay, enough about my brother. Are we gonna have this meeting or not?”
Connor nods toward the round table in the middle of the break room, Kerrie puts out a bowl of jelly beans—her personal vice—and we settle down for our Thursday morning meeting where we review all current assignments and go over the budget.
Kerrie’s in the process of giving us the ba
d news about how much our firewall upgrade is going to cost when an electric chime signals someone entering the reception area.
“And that’s on the budget wish-list, too,” Kerrie says, as she rises. “I’m the office manager, not the receptionist. We need to hire somebody, stat.”
She disappears through the door, heading the short distance to the reception area. I can hear her speaking with someone, but can’t make out words. Not that I’m really trying. We get a few walk-ins, but most clients come through referrals. Usually when someone walks in the front door it’s because they’re delivering a package or dropping off fliers for a new take-out restaurant.
So I’m not surprised when Kerrie returns quickly. But I am surprised by who I see with her.
Jezebel.
Chapter Six
“Right,” Kerrie says, looking between me and Jez. “So, Connor? Could you and Cayden come with me to the file room? I’m having trouble, um, rebooting the server.”
She heads out, and they both follow, but not before shooting me a half-dozen curious glances. I can’t provide much insight, though. The fact is, I’m curious, too.
I gesture to the table. “Jelly bean?”
“Um, sure.” She sits and pulls out a pink one.
“I guessed wrong,” I say. “I would have pegged you for licorice.”
She holds the candy between two fingers. “You think I’m not feminine enough for pink?”
“Not hardly,” I say. I take the seat next to her, my knee brushing hers as I sit. “I just don’t think it’s you.”
“Is that a fact?”
I reach for her hand, my fingers caressing her skin as I pluck the light pink bean out of her grip, then pop it into my mouth. “Sweet,” I say, as her brows rise.
“And I’m not sweet?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She looks up at me, interested, as I pull a black bean from the bowl. “But you have a kick, too. Not to mention a classic pedigree.” I put the candy in my mouth, and suck for a moment, noting with pleasure the way she squirms a little on the chair. And the way she doesn’t meet my eyes. “And the truth is, I never think I’m going to enjoy the black ones, but each time I actually give them a whirl, I realize I can’t get enough of them.”
“Oh.” She swallows, then licks her lips. “I always assumed they were an acquired taste.”
“Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
She holds my gaze. “No. I suppose not.”
“Maybe tonight I’ll order you a glass of Sambuco. Like jelly beans with a buzz.”
Her smile flickers, then dies.
“Okay, bourbon it is. Or wine.” My quips don’t reignite her smile, and I lean back in my chair. “All right, tell me the truth. Where did my banter go off the rails?”
I’ve obviously surprised her, and a laugh bubbles out. She presses her fingers over her lips and shakes her head. “Sorry. No, you’re fine.”
“Fine?” I study her. “Aren’t you a lovely, little liar.”
“No, really. I’m sorry, and you’re banter’s fine. I just mean that we won’t be having that drink tonight.”
The words are like a kick in the gut, but I hold it together. “Not a problem,” I say. “We can jump straight to the sex.”
She lifts a single brow, and for a moment I think it’s arched in disapproval. But then I see the quick flicker of amusement in her eyes before she tilts her head and focuses on the jelly bean bowl.
She takes two of the mottled yellow ones. “These are you. Popcorn jelly beans. Sweet and salty, and very unexpected.”
I tilt my head. “That sounds remarkably like a compliment. But it can’t be.” I lean back in the chair, resting my head against my intertwined fingers. “Because if it were a compliment, you wouldn’t be canceling our date. A date that I won, remember? I’m thinking we’re facing a pretty serious rules violation here.”
I mentally cringe. With such lame jokes, it’s no wonder she’s blowing me off. And although I’m tempted to give my groveling skills a run for their money, I’m not sure I’m ready to turn in my Man Card just yet.
“The compliment’s coming,” she says. “I’m cancelling our date because I want to hire you. To be Delilah’s security detail, I mean. Well, not just you. Your whole shop as needed.”
“Oh.” I stand and go to the coffee maker, mostly because I don’t want her to see the expression on my face. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what she’d see on my face. Disappointment about tonight? Excitement about the job? Surprise that she’d offer? Especially considering she already had someone lined up…
“Why?” I ask, turning back to her. “I thought the studio had already arranged for someone?”
“Yeah, they had.”
“And from your expression, I’m guessing that they’re agreeing to the switch only because you took them off the hook for paying the bill.”
“We’re good for it, Mr. Blackwell. In case you were worried about the check bouncing.”
“Never doubted it for a second. Coffee?” I grab a mug and hold it out for her. She shakes her head, and I put the mug back in the cabinet. “Larry,” I say, and when I turn back to her, it’s clear from her expression that my guess is dead-on. “This is about Larry.”
Her shoulders rise and fall. “He trained you,” she says, as if that’s a full explanation. “And I don’t know anything about the group that the studio hired.”
“You don’t know much about me, either.”
“Like you said, I did some homework. And last night I saw you in action. And you’re right.”
“I usually am,” I quip. “What am I right about now?”
“When you called my hotel room last night, remember? You said I trusted you.” She tilts her chin, her eyes defiant. “You were right. I do. And so does Delilah.”
I like the sound of those words more than I want to admit.
“And if I say that we don’t have room on our docket? That we’re serving our clients at capacity right now, and don’t have the resources to take on someone new?”
She stands up and crosses to the counter, then leans back against it as she studies me cooly. “Is that something you’re likely to say?”
I shouldn’t, dammit. Hell, I shouldn’t even be considering turning down this job, especially when just fifteen minutes ago I was standing in this room wishing that the job was mine, just so I could see her again.
And now here she is, offering me that very carrot. I should be ringing a damn Klaxon and letting Kerrie and the guys know we have a new client, and telling them we’re about to celebrate by paying down some debt and balancing our ledgers.
I should, but now that she’s here and I’m faced with the very reality I wished for, I can’t quite conjure the enthusiasm, much less the words. Because this woman has gotten under my skin, and the temptation to have her in my bed is just too damn much. How the hell am I supposed to work side-by-side and not touch her?
And what if I do give in? What if I break all my rules and let myself succumb to this walking, talking temptation named Jezebel?
Either she’ll slap my face—in which case I’ve fucked up our working relationship right there—or she’ll melt in my arms.
Good in the moment, maybe. But I’m afraid that once she’s in my bed, I won’t want her to leave.
And that’s the kind of complication I really don’t need in my life.
“Pierce?”
“Yeah, right.” I draw a breath. “Sorry, but we really are all booked up.”
Her hips sway as she crosses to me in two long strides. She uses both hands to grab my collar, then levers herself close, her lips brushing my ear as she whispers, “Liar.”
The words shoot straight through me, making my cock stiffen. And, yeah, forcing me to fight the urge to thrust my fingers in her hair, hold her head in place, and kiss her senseless.
Did I mention I find competence extremely sexy?
And she’s either done her homework … or she’s an extremely good
poker player.
Frankly, a woman who can bluff is pretty damn sexy, too.
She takes a few steps back, her mouth curved down into a frown. “Look, I know our first meeting was a little off the wall. I mean, I pretty much thought you were an incompetent ass.”
“If you’re trying to convince me to take the job, you’re not doing a stellar job.”
Her mouth twitches. “What I’m trying to say is that my perception has changed.”
I take a step toward her, my eyes locked on hers. “So you don’t think I’m an incompetent ass anymore?”
She’s standing beside a chair, and her hand tightens on the back of it. But her eyes never leave my face. “You’re still an ass,” she says. Her voice has gone a little breathy. Just a little. Barely even something you’d notice if you weren’t paying attention.
I was paying attention.
I take one more step closer. “But?”
She licks her lips, and damned if I don’t crave that mouth. “But I think you’re a competent ass.”
“You’re right. I am.”
I’m standing in front of her, just inches away. I can smell her perfume, a subtle vanilla. I can feel her heat. I can see the way her blouse rises and falls with the quickening of her breath.
This is my chance.
I can slide my hand behind her neck and hold her still. I can crush my lips over hers and pull her body tight against mine. I can lose myself in the softness of her body, and feel my cock harden against her curves.
It would be so simple to pull her close. To claim her mouth, my tongue demanding and hard as we give in to one wild, ravenous kiss that leaves us both as breathless as sex.
I could do it all so easily.
I could … but I don’t.
Instead I slide my hands in my pockets. I turn away and face the table. And then I draw one deep breath.
“Pierce?”
“Let’s go get a drink.”
“A drink,” she repeats, her voice flat. “I don’t know if that’s such a good—”
“It’s almost five. I’ve had a long day. And we can talk about Delilah’s schedule, your concerns, the job parameters. All that good stuff.”
