‘Yeah. Australia’s beautiful. I like Sydney.’
‘So why did you come back?’
I laugh. ‘You’re turning into a one-track record.’
‘Darling, life’s too short for pleasantries, and I love you too much to lie.’
‘I live here. I’d miss you, apart from anything.’
‘I’d come and visit.’
We’re interrupted by an old friend of my father’s, and for the next twenty minutes Grandma and I make polite conversation, all the while subtly—and, I fear, not so subtly—nudging one another’s ankles and trying not to roll our eyes.
There is someone else after that, and then my grandma’s goddaughter Laurena—another story altogether...ugh! And then, before I know it, it’s half past seven.
Jack will have landed by now. In his suit. So handsome; such a waste.
I sigh and refocus my attention on the conversation I’m half involved in, nodding as required, and then I’m actually grateful when my father asks me to dance with him. There’s only a small makeshift dance floor—a concession to the fact that there are so many guests and most of them are not interested in dancing.
But Dad and I have always danced. He wraps his arms around me and it reminds me of when I was a little girl, standing on his feet, moving in time to the music. And it’s a hell of a lot better than shooting the breeze with my parents’ friends.
I feel a wave of sympathy for Grandma, whom I have deserted and left to the well-heeled wolves. I look over my shoulder to see her holding court and wonder, with a distracted smile, what she’s talking about.
‘How’s work, pumpkin?’
I blink back to my father. ‘Great.’
‘Really? That’s a shame.’
‘It is?’
‘Sidney was just saying he could use a consultant with your skill set.’
‘Mayor Black?’ I prompt, my smile wry.
‘He’s admired your career for a long time. Asked if I’d set up a meeting.’
‘I’ve got a job, Daddy. A job I love.’
And then, as if I have somehow conjured him from my longing and imagination, Jack is beside us, his eyes intense as they lock solely to mine, his expression inscrutable. It is him and me—us. Just us.
‘Jack?’ I stop dancing altogether and take a small step away from my dad. I can hardly catch my breath. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You invited me. Remember?’
I did no such thing, and we both know it, but I’m not going to point that out in front of my father.
‘Right, of course.’ I nod. Blood is roaring through my veins. ‘I forgot. Dad, this is Jack Grant. My...er...boss.’
Jack extends his hand and shakes my father’s with his natural confidence. ‘My Lord.’
My father is in awe—like most people who first meet Jack. It pleases me. For all he hates the hours I work, and the commitment I have to my job, he obviously understands the unique thrill that comes from working with someone like Jack.
‘Mind if I cut in?’
‘Oh, I... Of course not.’
My father steps back, but I don’t see him move away because Jack wraps his arms around me and consumes all my senses.
He overpowers me with his nearness and his uniqueness. He moves in time to the music but I feel his body, tight and hard, and my gut clenches.
‘What are you really doing here?’
There is something I don’t understand in his features. A haunted expression. Anger?
‘You seem kind of uptight about this. I’ve never seen you like that about anything.’
I nod slowly. Does he think that explains anything?
‘So...?’
‘I was at a loose end.’
‘Oh.’ My heart thumps painfully. ‘Right.’
What was I expecting? Flowery declarations of love?
‘You were my plan,’ he says gently, his fingers running over my back. ‘I wanted to see you. And you were here.’
‘So you came here?’ I murmur, crossing over into unnecessary repetition and not caring.
Because my heart is floating away from my body, thumping high in the sky over us.
‘Pretty much.’
His smile makes my stomach flip and flop and twist and turn.
‘Well, I’m not so sure I want to be here now.’
His laugh undoes the last stitch of my sanity. I want to strip my clothes off and cry out, Take me now!
‘My evil plan.’ He grins. ‘How’s your week been?’
Is this really happening? Is Jack Grant at my parents’ wedding anniversary party, dancing with me, stroking my back, asking me about my week, telling me he’s missed me? Or am I somehow dreaming this up? It doesn’t make sense.
‘Busy. Yours?’
Wow. I sound normal. Good job, me!
‘Perfect.’ He winks—so sexy. ‘New Zealand is stunning; the winery is incredible.’
My sigh is wistful. ‘I’ll bet.’
He chuckles. ‘You’ll see it for yourself next time you’re over.’
‘Yeah...’
I try not to get too swept up in fantasies that involve Jack and me skipping down the rows of grapes, holding hands, laughing into the sunset. Fantasies are nice, but they’re not real life.
‘Jack Grant?’
I feel his sigh but he hides it well, turning to look at the man who’s come to address us. I recognise him, but can’t think of his name in that moment.
‘Adam.’ Jack nods, not relinquishing his grip around my waist. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Jesus, I haven’t seen you in years. I’ve kept up with you, of course. Amazing career. Got a moment? I’d love to talk to you about a project I’m in the middle of.’
‘Actually...’ Jack says, and my heart leaps.
But we’re attracting attention, and I’m not sure either of us is ready to deal with that yet.
I clear my throat and step backwards. ‘It’s fine.’ I wince inwardly when I hear the ice-cold tone that bleats from my lips. I soften it with effort, stretching my lips into a smile. ‘I want to go check on my grandma, anyway.’
‘Ah, she’s here?’ Jack’s eyes glint with shared knowledge. My gut somersaults. ‘I look forward to meeting her.’
His gaze holds mine for a moment too long and the universe vibrates differently—just for us.
I smile as I walk away, swinging my butt, knowing that not only is he here with me tonight because he cares for me, but that soon we’re going to be making love and I cannot wait.
‘Things are making a little more sense now,’ Grandma murmurs, her eyes trained on Jack’s profile.
He’s locked in conversation with the man—Adam—his expression instantly businesslike. My heart thumps.
‘What do you mean?’ I reach down and sip her champagne, taking the seat beside her.
Grandma taps my knee. ‘It isn’t just a job.’
I contemplate denial, but it’s Grandma. She’ll see through it.
‘Meaning?’ I say instead, cautious. Waiting.
‘You’re seeing him?’
Trust Grandma. I bite down on my lip. ‘Not really. Kind of.’
‘You love him?’
My heart throbs. I look at her and shake my head, but my smile tells a different story.
‘I see.’ She tilts her head, her eyes pinned to Jack as though she’s pulling him apart, piece by piece. ‘Interesting...’
‘Not really.’ I shake my head. ‘And it’s very...early. New.’
‘Secret?’ she supplies, her eyes flitting to mine and sparkling with the hint of mystery I’ve evoked. I sigh. There’ll be no stopping her now.
‘Yes, secret,’ I say after a beat.
‘Fine. I can do secret.’ She winks at me and taps my knee once more.
It’s more than an hour before I get near Jack again, and by then I am desperate to touch him. To kiss him. To be alone with him. I’m almost there—just a few people to navigate—when my parents take to the stage and the music goes
silent. The guests follow suit.
My mother is a natural-born performer. She speaks easily to the crowd, playing the part of happy wife perfectly. My father toasts her and then they introduce me. Their heir.
Ugh.
I paste a smile on my face, sashaying close enough to Jack on my way to the stage that his hands brush my hip and my body charges with electricity.
I’ll do the damned tribute speech and then we’ll go. Him and me. Alone time with him is the talisman on the periphery of my mind.
There are a heap of people looking back at me, but I see only Jack. His eyes seem to caress me, even from this distance. A pulse throbs between my legs. Desire is a tangible force, wrapping me in its determined grip.
‘I’ve been thinking about love and marriage a lot lately. About the leap of faith required to take that step. We can enter into a relationship with the best of intentions and find that it doesn’t work out. That our love alone isn’t enough—that it doesn’t go the distance. Or perhaps we lose the person we love most on earth, and feel robbed of our soul mate. Our love.’
My eyes hold Jack’s and I blink, my heart twisting.
‘Or perhaps we fall in love and marry and everything is perfect. A true happily-ever-after.’
I turn and smile at my parents, hoping that these vague descriptions of love will somehow mean something to them. It’s hard to tell. Botox has rendered my mother’s range of visible reactions down to single digits. There’s disapproval, impatience, wry amusement and boredom. I don’t know which of these she’s feeling, so I turn back to the assembled guests.
‘My grandma talks about meeting my grandpa almost as if the moment was divined by fate. There was an inevitability to their life and love—one she couldn’t have fought even if she’d wanted to.’
I smile at Grandma and the tears in her eyes make me proud, because she understands that I know. I know what she felt.
‘I think marriage is a remarkable thing, and I congratulate my parents on thirty years of it. To Mum and Dad.’
I lift the glass in my hand and smile at them.
My mother nods her thanks. Dad blows me a kiss. The crowd repeats my toast and I walk off stage.
I set my champagne flute down on the edge of a table and don’t look at another soul. Instead I walk towards the doors, my stride meaningful, my attention unwavering.
I don’t say goodbye to Grandma, and nor do I acknowledge any of the guests looking to congratulate me on my toast. I stare straight ahead until I am out. Free.
I continue to walk—down the stairs to the foyer and then, my heels clipping noisily, across it. I am conscious only of my own breath, my own footsteps, until I reach the glass doors and wait. And wait.
Not for long. Not even a full minute in reality.
He doesn’t speak. His hand on the small of my back is warm and intimate and my stomach dips. My knees almost buckle.
He guides me out of The Ritz and I smile at Hughes. I am prepared to step apart from Jack, to put some distance between us. But he doesn’t let me. His hand stays glued to the base of my spine, and the moment I step into the limousine he catches my shoulder and spins me.
His eyes are charged with emotion, but I cannot fathom what he’s feeling. I know only that he wants me with the same burning desperation that rips through me.
‘We’re going?’ I prompt, my eyebrows raised.
‘You’d better fucking believe it.’
And then, as if he has no choice, no free will, no say in the matter, he drops his head and presses a bone-meltingly lovely kiss against the tip of my nose.
As if I didn’t love him enough already.
Chapter Twelve
‘CARRIE?’
My voice is croaky and my eyes sting as I answer my phone. I’m tired. What bloody time is it?
I peer into the darkness of Jack’s room and panic sets in.
I’ve slept in his bed. With him. All night.
Or have I? He’s not in the space beside me and his pillow is cool to the touch.
I look beyond it to the clock on his bedside. It’s not as early as I feared—just gone eight. But it is Sunday, and I probably only got an hour’s sleep the night before.
My cheeks flush pink as I remember the way our bodies rediscovered one another. Desperate at first, we came together as soon as we walked in the door of his apartment. Then slower, more sensually. An exploration. A reacquaintance. And finally dominatingly, Jack using my needs to control me and me letting him, loving it.
Still, I realise I haven’t spoken to my friend in weeks, since our rescheduled catch-up. ‘Is everything okay?’ I ask.
‘Um, shouldn’t I be asking you that?’
‘Why?’
I frown, running a finger over the crisp white duvet. Where’s Jack?
‘What’s up?’
‘I take it you haven’t seen the papers yet?’
I shake my head, scrambling to remember which of Jack’s business deals was at a crucial stage. What could have gone wrong?
Cursing under my breath, I find my feet are halfway to the ground when Carrie reads aloud:‘“Beauty and the Billionaire...”’
Oh, shit.
‘What is it?’
‘Want me to read it?’
‘Give me the gist,’ I murmur urgently, dipping my head forward.
‘“Renowned billionaire philanthropist and widower Jack Grant may be ready to get back into the swing of things. Spotted out and about with Lady Gemma Picton at The Ritz last night, blah-blah-blah...”’ Carrie says under her breath, and then resumes reading. ‘“The pair have worked together for some years, but it appears their relationship has moved to the next level. Is it possible Britain’s favourite billionaire is about to be taken off the market?”’ She pauses, letting the words sink in. ‘There’s some photos, too.’
‘I’ll bet there is.’
I stand, reaching for Jack’s robe, which hangs on the back of his door. It’s dark blue towelling and falls all the way to the floor on me. It smells like him; my senses respond predictably.
‘Which paper?’ I cinch the robe tightly around my waist, my hand on the doorknob.
‘The Daily Gazette.’
‘Oh, well,’ I say with relief. ‘That’s okay. What the hell are you doing reading that?’
‘My cousin emailed it to me. She knows we’re friends.’
‘Great. But no one else I know will read it.’
‘Sorry, mate. It’s in the Telegraph, too.’
My eyes sweep shut. ‘Shit.’
‘Is it true?’
There’s earnest concern in Carrie’s voice.
My denial is as swift as it is untrue. ‘No.’
‘You guys look pretty cosy in the picture...’ she says softly.
‘Pictures lie. Look, I’ll... Let me get back to you, okay?’
I disconnect the call before she answers, wrenching the door open.
Jack is fully dressed, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands, his attention focussed on the view of London revealed by the windows of his apartment.
Several newspapers sit on the table. I move towards them, instead of him, and cringe when I see that one of them has given us a whole page spread. Photos of us separately and photos of us working together make it look as though this has been going on for a long time.
And, yes, there’s the obligatory photo of Jack and Lucy, taken on their wedding day. I’m drawn to her eyes, her smile, her kindness that shines through the picture.
There we all are—the three of us, together in print media for posterity, for anyone who cares to look us up in the future.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say softly, though I don’t know what I’m apologising for, exactly.
‘Why?’ He turns around, a muscle throbbing in his jaw.
He looks both incredibly handsome and utterly awful at the same time. His skin is ashen beneath his tan.
‘This—’ he jerks his head towards the papers ‘—isn’t your fault.’
‘I know...�
� I shake my head slowly from side to side. ‘But still...it’s not ideal.’
His nod is curt agreement. ‘I’ve left a message for Amber,’ he murmurs, dragging the palm of his hand over his stubble. ‘To explain.’
I nod. It makes sense that he’d want to give Lucy’s sister the courtesy of a heads-up.
‘Fucking paparazzi scum!’ he says loudly, and he makes me jump when he slams his hand against the chair nearest to him. ‘I wish they’d fuck off!’
‘You’re kind of famous,’ I point out gently, and despite the palpable stress in the room my lips twist into an awkward smile.
But he’s not in a joking mood. I sober.
‘I guess my parents’ thing...’
‘I shouldn’t have bloody come.’
The intensity of his reaction surprises me. I understand that he’s upset; I am, too. This is invasive and unwelcome. And the timing couldn’t be worse—just as we’re finally morphing into something else, something perfect, we’ve been put in a position of needing to define what we are. But still...
‘Jack.’ I command his attention with a clear voice. ‘This isn’t the end of the world, is it?’
He stares at me, and I don’t know if he’s trying to work out why I don’t get it or trying to calm himself down. But he doesn’t speak.
I cannot make sense of this without caffeine—that much is certain. I move to the kitchen and fish a pod out of the canister, slip it in place. The whir of the coffee machine is the only noise in the cavernous apartment. I let it run through and then sip it, strangely pleased when it scalds my tongue.
‘Jack?’ I say again.
He’s looking at me like he doesn’t recognise me. A month ago this would have cowered me, but not now. Not after what we’ve shared.
‘Damn it, Jack. You’re freaking out for no reason. This is just a stupid gossip story. We can ignore it.’
‘No reason?’ he repeats, the words quiet but infused with angry disbelief. ‘No reason?’
‘Yes—no reason. So what? So what if you and I are seeing one another? Who cares? What’s the big deal?’
‘Jesus...’ He spins away, his back to me, rigid as hell.
‘I mean it.’
I take another sip of coffee, but when he continues to stare out of the window I slam the cup onto the marble benchtop, cross to him and grab his arm. I yank on it, drawing him around to face me. He’s holding on—being CEO, cold, professional, unfeeling. But he’s feeling everything. I know that now.
Off Limits Page 15
