by Ali Parker
"I've missed you," she purred, rubbing against him and kissing him again.
"Oh no, you don't." Brice settled his big hands onto her hips and lifted her off of him, putting her on the seat beside him.
Janna made a little whimper to signal her upset. "Why not? We haven't seen each other for days."
"I know," he replied, his smile mischievous. "And it's been killing me too. But I've got high expectations for tonight, and I'm not letting anything take the edge off this anticipation before I have you completely at my mercy."
"You bastard. I hate waiting."
Brice chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his side. He leaned in, his voice soft. "Right now it may seem like the waiting is the hardest part," he whispered, his face moving closer to hers, his eyes glued to her lips. "But I can assure you, it's not the hardest part, not by a long shot."
He tugged her hand over to his lap and wrapped it against the erection that was straining his slacks.
Janna moaned at the contact, at the closeness of his mouth to hers. Brice sighed, his breath hot against her cheek. "I guarantee that waiting a few hours is not going to make this go away. It'll drive me crazy all day, thinking about all the ways I'm gonna please you tonight. And when I finally do get you alone, the waiting will have been well worth it."
He removed her hand from his lap. His lips, which hovered a hair's breadth away from hers, suddenly backed away. Instead, he brought his hand up to her face and guided it to his, rubbing his nose against hers. The gesture was sweet but left her aching inside.
Suddenly she couldn't wait to get to the restaurant and out of the limo again. His closeness was making her insane, her panties already damp and he'd barely touched her. She cursed Brice for dragging out the anticipation, but at the same time, she had to admit it was having quite an effect on her. But would she be able to take it all day, this razor-thin ache that cut to her core? Taking a deep breath as the limo pulled to a stop, she determined to try.
* * *
Brice stood next to the elevators on the tenth floor of the Hotel Monaco, outside the banquet room. He glanced at his phone again, checking the time she'd sent her last text. He pulled at the black tie knotted around his throat, distracted. His phone had started ringing at lunch and hadn't stopped until Janna had finally told him to answer it or throw the damn thing in the street.
He'd answered it, and that had been the end of their afternoon together.
The deal Brice was negotiating was beyond frustrating. He was attempting to open a new 5-star restaurant at one of his resorts along the coast, and he wanted Stephen St. Simmons to open it with him. St. Simmons was a world-renowned chef who had recently left his post at one of Seattle's hottest restaurants due to a dispute with the owner. Actually, between the owner and his wife.
Mrs. St. Simmons was not an easy woman to get along with. In fact, if Brice was honest, she was a shrew. A harridan. Just a mean bitch. But she was Stephen's manager, his partner, and if anyone wanted St. Simmons services, they'd have to go through her. Brice knew it wasn't helping Stephen's career. The man could cook, and by now he should have his own restaurant or even a TV show. Instead, he let his wife handle the business aspect of his career. She was currently negotiating his contract with all the subtlety of a pit bull going at a chew toy. If their present situation were any indication, Stephen would do much better turning his business over to a real advisor and keeping his wife far from his affairs.
He was near livid at the interruption of his afternoon with Janna, especially when he was forced to leave her after lunch, to answer yet another round of Melinda St. Simmon's irrational, nit-picky questions. Brice's patience was running thin, and he wanted the damn contract signed already. Before he'd left to return to the hotel and get ready for the event, he'd pulled Stephen aside and told him so.
"Look, you're an excellent chef, and I want you at my resort. I think this is an important opportunity for you, and if this first restaurant is the success I believe it will be, it opens the door for more. I want you to be a partner in this, not just a chef. But I won't wait forever. I suggest you talk to your wife and make it clear that I want to wrap up negotiations. If we can't get the contracts signed by tomorrow, I have serious doubts that our partnership will become a reality. Think about it. We'll talk tomorrow."
Brice scowled down at his phone again. She'd texted him fifteen minutes ago, saying she was on her way. He hadn't seen her since lunch since he'd left her in the limo and headed off in a cab. He'd given Chase a list of stores to take her to, and he'd also left her his credit card. Janna had started to protest, but he'd kissed her until she melted into him, unable to resist any longer. It had been so damn hard to leave her as she was, her lips swollen with his kisses, her eyes dazed, unfocused, and the most beautiful rosy blush darkening her pale skin. He thought it was the loveliest sight he'd ever seen.
That was before the pictures had started coming in.
It seemed she'd decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. In the limo, he'd told her it had been all about anticipation, but the truth was, if he started making love to her, he wouldn't stop. There would be no lunch. No shopping. No charity dinner. And no meetings with the St. Simmonses. Janna had apparently latched on to the notion, however, and was doing her damnedest to keep him hard all afternoon.
She'd been shopping, and in the beginning, it had seemed innocent enough. She'd wanted his opinion on certain dresses, and so she'd snap a pic with her phone and send it to him. The first few were innocuous, although the dresses hadn't been very noteworthy. But then things got interesting. A dress that wasn't zipped up all the way and was sliding down her body, only her arm across her chest keeping it from exposing her breasts. A skirt that was already too short, to begin with being hiked so far up her thigh that he swore he could see a hint of black panties underneath. And after that, all hell had broken loose.
Brice's cock had been hard for hours. He'd been grateful that his meeting had taken place in a conference room so that the table could hide his massive erection. He knew it was rude to keep checking his phone, but every time the damn thing buzzed in his pocket, he couldn't tear his attention away. Janna in an inappropriately short skirt, bent over so that those black panties were exposed, along with the curve of her succulent ass. Janna bent forward, the top of a strapless dress barely covering her chest, the globes of her milky white breasts exposed to his gaze.
Finally, the one that had him running to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Janna in her black strapless bra and tiny panties, brazen, head tossed back proudly to send her curls into a riot. That picture had almost made him want to eat his words. Anticipation be damned. He needed this woman. The sooner, the better.
When he'd made it back to the hotel suite to prepare for the dinner, she hadn't returned yet. Where are you? he texted. The last pic had arrived over two hours ago
Still trying on clothes.
Will you be back soon? The dinner starts at 8.
Hit a snag. Will get back as soon as I can.
He'd finished dressing and was going over the new changes to the St. Simmons contract when he heard the door to their suite open. Janna entered, carrying a few bags, the look on her face frazzled.
"Sorry," she mumbled, tossing down her bags and making to throw herself into his arms. She hesitated at the last minute, her eyes widening. "Wow, Masterson, you sure clean up nice. Wouldn't want to get you all wrinkled."
Brice almost growled, tugging her into his chest. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"
"Did what?" Her eyes played innocent.
"You keep me panting all day with your little pictures, then, when I finally get you alone, you make sure that there isn't enough time to follow up on your pictorial promises. Tease."
She laughed. "Who was it that said the waiting wasn't the hardest part?" He swooped down and tried to capture her lips, but she cleverly dodged him and danced out of his arms with a giggle. "Oh no, I'm playing this game by you
r rules. Now skedaddle on out of here, and I'll get ready and meet you in a moment."
That moment had almost reached the hour mark when the elevator finally opened to reveal his date. She stepped out of the elevator, her unease evident on her face. He hurried to her side, pulling her arm into his and moving towards the entrance. "You look lovely, sweetheart," he said, enjoying the faint whiff of gardenia he caught when he pulled her close. "I'm so glad you came tonight."
"I am too," she said, then looked away and whispered under her breath, "at least, I am so far."
Chapter 11
The crowd at the fundraising dinner was posh in the extreme. Janna immediately felt out of place, her nerves causing her to tremble lightly. She remembered this feeling, so like the one that had come over her at Brice's holiday party. Then she'd channeled the sensation of feeling out of place into a bitter diatribe about trust fund babies. Although it had snagged the interest of Mr. Masterson, she didn't think a similar tactic was in order for tonight. It was all so...intimidating.
Brice seemed to sense her unease as he led her to their seats. The black lacquered table seated six, a tall black vase with equally tall yellow flowers acting as a centerpiece. Brice pulled out her chair for her, then took his seat. Another couple was already seated, and it appeared that they were acquaintances of her millionaire date. Brice introduced her to Keith and Donna Goddard, and Janna realized she was way out of her league.
"Pleasure meeting you," Keith Goddard said, his smile almost hidden by his beard.
"Likewise," she replied, taking his extended hand and shaking it.
"Have you known Brice long?" Donna drawled, without bothering to look her in the face when addressing her.
"A few months."
"It feels like forever," Brice murmured, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.
"How charming," Donna said, her tone belying she thought it anything but. When Brice and Keith began discussing the proposed lifting of the ban on logging certain public lands, Donna saw her chance.
"You don't seem like his usual type," the woman said, her eyes narrowing. Donna Goddard was an iron socialite, her outside cool metal, her inside fueled by the twin fires of disdain and superiority. "Where did you meet?"
"At Brice's holiday party."
"Oh, were you working the event?"
Janna wanted to wipe the snide smile off her face. "No. I was there with a friend who was acquainted with Mr. Masterson."
Donna leaned in, her voice lowering so that only Janna could hear her. "A friend, huh? Did you decide to trade up when you realized how much more you could squeeze from Brice?"
"Pardon?"
"It's apparent from looking at you that you aren't the caliber of woman a man like Masterson dates. So either you're working your way up the wealth ladder, or you're a working girl of another sort. Either way, it's about his money."
"Excuse me," Janna said, standing up suddenly. Brice stood, putting a hand on her arm.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. I just need to use the facilities. I'll be right back."
It took several deep breaths for Janna to get her temper under control. The personal attack had come out of left field. She hadn't expected to fit in entirely, but she also didn't think the natives would be so openly hostile.
Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she knew that she'd made the wrong choice in attire. But the price tags on the dresses at the shops Brice had recommended were high enough to give her whiplash. Even though she had Brice's credit card, it didn't mean she had to max it out on overpriced bits of fabric. She only needed it for one night, after all.
Her anxiety over finding something appropriate with a sticker price lower than a new car had driven her to tease Brice mercilessly with her naughty pictures. But after visiting five stores, she became desperate. Time had been running out, so she made a choice. And, as usual, it had been the wrong one.
Chase had frowned when she jogged down the darkening street to a bridal boutique a few stores over from the exclusive couture establishment Brice had written on his list. The sales clerk, an overweight grandmother originally from Queens, had shown her the clearance rack and told her that this color was the hit of last season.
The lime green had looked good against her skin, but the color was a bit out of the ordinary, and the cut of the dress was not what Janna would usually go for. "Nothing says elegance like a modified mermaid cut," the clerk had assured her. It was strapless, a straight-cut bodice with ruching on the hips down to the mid-thigh, where the skirt then belled out slightly to the floor. With no time left, Janna had agreed, added a pair of discount black stilettos, and slapped down her own credit card.
Now, in the harsh light of the luxury bathroom, the dress stood out for what it was -- a bridesmaid's dress from three seasons ago. No wonder Donna said she didn't fit in. She stuck out like a sore, lime green thumb. Her temper fizzled out under the rising tide of inadequacy. She should have just charged an obscenely expensive dress to Brice's card and not cared. Then she could sit by his side, a vacant smile plastered on her face, nodding politely to people instead of embarrassing Masterson with her appearance. In the end, she hadn't been able to do it, and now she had to pay the price.
Returning to the table, she found it was occupied by another couple. The look on Brice's face was strange, his jaw hard, his eyes tight. "Janna, this is Alexander Drake and his date, Alana Morgan."
Janna shook hands and took her seat, wondering at the shift in Brice's mood. Glancing up and meeting the steel gray eyes of Mr. Drake, she thought she caught a glimpse of something dark that immediately melted away when he realized she was looking.
Alexander Drake was wickedly handsome, his dark hair and lightly-tanned skin complemented by his lighter eyes and white smile. His date was a haughty blond who was chatting with Mrs. Goddard, apparently having met her high standards.
"Masterson, I hear you're still having trouble locking down St. Simmons. His wife is quite the negotiator or some I'm told." Alex's rich timbre was laced with a lighter tone.
Brice scowled in response to his teasing. "We'll sign the papers tomorrow, or not at all."
"That's the captain of industry I know. Playing hardball with his little woman?"
"More like T-ball, with her level of skill."
Drake laughed, and Janna wondered if it was a good-natured as it seemed. She could feel a current of tension running between the two men. She didn't want Brice upset and decided to try and diffuse the friction between them.
"Brice told me he wasn't a captain of industry. He just hires good people and shows his face enough to make sure they don't get complacent. Didn't you say the money almost makes itself?" It was a risky gambit, throwing his words out there like that. She hoped it paid off.
His smile was guarded, but she thought she saw humor in his green eyes. Drake and Goddard laughed heartily, and Janna almost regretted her words. My stupid mouth! Why do I always do this? Thankfully the sound of the p.a. system coming on ended the conversation.
Throughout the speeches, Janna snuck glances at her date. He'd reached over to pull her hand into his and was distractedly running his thumb over her pulse point. It was madness, the level of arousal she felt at just that simple touch. She prayed that the event wouldn't drag on much longer. She couldn't wait to get him alone.
Feeling a faint vibration, Janna watched as Brice pulled his phone from the pocket nearest her. With a frown, he stood and excused himself from the room to take the call. Before long he returned, his face a tight mask, and she could see the tension around his eyes.
As the speeches were finishing up, the wait staff began setting out their plates. The food was mediocre, and Janna inwardly cringed at how much the meal probably cost. The roasted tomato soup was bland, the harvest salad, comprised of limp greens, crumbly bits of goat cheese, and a few slivers of almonds, tasteless. The entree she'd chosen, the roasted salmon, was overcooked.
Still, the setting was lovely, the decor full of rich hues and sum
ptuous fabrics. When the speeches had ended, the band began playing softly, and the wait staff started clearing away their plates. The lights nearest the front dimmed, and a few brave souls ventured out onto the dance floor.
Brice stood, but before he could take her hand, Alexander Drake was touching her shoulder, asking "Care to dance?"
Janna shot a confused look Brice's way and saw his face flush with an intense emotion. Anger? Was that likely? She'd yet to see Masterson upset, and she couldn't see the harm in dancing with his acquaintance.
"Sure," she replied, rising and allowing herself to be escorted to the dance floor. She heard a sharp exhale from Brice as she departed, and looked over her shoulder. He stared at her for a few beats, then politely invited Alana to dance with him.
"So you've managed to catch Masterson's attention. I can see why. You aren't like his usual women."
His usual women? What did Drake mean by that? Was he going to tell her that she didn't belong, like Mrs. Goddard? "Am I to take it that I'm an unusual woman then?" It was all she could think to say. Perhaps she wouldn't enjoy Drake's company, despite his charming smile.
He laughed. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. I was merely saying that you aren't the typical woman Brice would bring to an event like this."
"And just who is the typical woman?"
"Not someone in a lime green dress that looks like it came off the discount rack at the mall."
Janna's jaw dropped, and her face flushed with anger. While what Drake said might be true, it was wrong for him to throw it in her face, wasn't it? She stiffened, and considered pulling away and returning to her seat.
Then she caught the eye of Brice from across the dance floor. He looked concerned. Janna frowned. It wouldn't do to make a scene. She'd already embarrassed Brice enough by her poor choice in wardrobe. She shouldn't make things worse.
"Do you always insult the women you're dancing with, or am I 'unusual'?"
