Eve of Passion

by A. C. Arthur

  Ballard watched her walk. He watched the sway of her ass, the line of her shoulders, the curve of her calves, and he wanted her. Damn but he wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman in his life.

  * * *

  In his king-size bed hours later, Ballard lay on his back, his eyes closed but still seeing her, her scent still wafting through the air around him.

  This was ridiculous. He did not do this over women. Ever. He met them, conversed with them, took them out, slept with them and then moved on. The connections were mutually beneficial in the physical sense and usually unsatisfactory on any long-term platform. He’d gone through his entire adult life perfecting that situation; until now he barely remembered most of the women who had been in his life.

  Yet he remembered Janelle Howerton with startling clarity.

  In fact, he thought, his hand drifting down beneath the sheet, the hot weight of his length waiting, he remembered too much about her. Like the softness of her skin, which Ballard believed would most likely encompass the entire stretch of her body. The graceful curves of her breasts and backside that had his length jutting upward.

  When his fingers wrapped around his erection, prepared to go along with the memory and take him to a pleasurable release, he moaned. Then he yanked his hand from beneath the blanket, thoroughly agitated with himself for even thinking about going there.

  That wasn’t the type of man he was. He didn’t need to pleasure himself when there were so many other women out there who were up to the task.

  But his dreams didn’t continue with any of those other women; they progressed with one female in particular as the star performer. Cloaked only in the intriguing black domino mask, she enticed him throughout his sleep, pushing him to the brink until the next moment he woke in a sweat, erection so hard it was painful, mind so full of her he almost whispered her name—Janelle.

  Chapter 3

  He was not what she’d expected.

  Actually, Janelle hadn’t expected anything where Ballard Dubois was concerned, because he’d been the absolute last person on her mind. The man her father asked her to speak with, to convince to support his campaign, had not been on her radar at all. Last night had been all about making Mr. Harford’s party a success for Rebecca’s sake as well as for her own. Now that it seemed she’d done that—as evidenced by Mr. Harford’s continual praise throughout the event and once he and his wife were preparing to leave—Janelle could allow herself to think about that other matter.

  He was tall and extremely good-looking, two things she hadn’t really considered he might be after her conversation with her father. He smelled good, which was always a huge plus in Janelle’s book. Dancing was definitely something he did well, in addition to holding a female close enough to make her almost swoon—which hadn’t happened to her in more years than she could count.

  Swooning meant falling and falling meant giving up every piece of who she was to someone who might or might not handle that commodity with care. Giving up everything left one extremely vulnerable and susceptible to deceit and, later, absolute mortification. In essence, to Janelle’s way of thinking, and courtesy of her past relationship, swooning was the beginning of the end. It was a definite no-no, as evidenced by her lack of dating life and the intention to keep that plan going.

  With that said, Ballard Dubois and his lean build, pecan skin tone, close-cropped black hair and neatly barbered goatee could certainly make a woman want to change her mind about the no-dating status. A woman other than Janelle.

  Yet here she was, preparing for a dinner date with him. No, correction, this was not a date, because Janelle did not date. She was meeting with him as a favor to her father and that was all. The butterflies flitting around in the pit of her stomach as she rode the elevator down to the lobby told another story entirely, but she’d decided to ignore them no matter how persistent they seemed.

  She’d dressed in a simple pantsuit, one of two she’d brought with her just in case, navy blue with a short jacket and a silver shell beneath. Her shoes were new, four-inch-heel pewter platforms that she loved like the French toast she’d had for breakfast. Her hair was down, straight and pulled over her left shoulder—the down-and-casual look. One hour was all she’d allotted for this little get-together. Then she was hitting the road, heading back to Wintersage and the many meetings she’d had to reschedule with the Parents’ Association and other vendors to discuss the infamous homecoming dance.

  Traffic in the lobby was pretty busy and Janelle found herself looking from the front entrance to the walkway, both viable spots for Mr. Dubois to enter the lobby. A glance at her watch confirmed he was late, by four minutes exactly. She was a stickler for being prompt, early if possible, hating the notion of abusing anyone’s time. Clearly, he did not subscribe to the same belief.

  She folded her arms, gazing down at the bold black-and-gold floor design, then up to the vibrant and colorful floral arrangements strategically placed around the area. Vicki would love the color selection and how it offset the dark flooring. She probably would have stood here rearranging the position of the flowers to her liking for a better vantage point, or most certainly would have examined them for the best use of color and variety. Vicki was a perfectionist that way, Janelle thought with an inner smile. Janelle, Vicki and Sandra were all similar in that regard. That was why the Silk Sisters had garnered such rave reviews for their work.

  “I hope that smile on your face is because you’re thinking of me.”

  His smooth, deep voice interrupted her thoughts and Janelle tried not to be annoyed by that fact coupled with his tardiness. She also tried not to notice how good he looked in his smoke-gray suit with the faintest pinstripe and ice-blue dress shirt and matching tie. There was no doubt that a man who could wear a suit well was tops in her book, but there was also no doubt that she was not supposed to look at Ballard Dubois that way.

  “Actually, no, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not pleased to see you,” was her cordial reply.

  “Okay, well, we’ll let my bruised ego deal with that later,” he said, offering his arm to her. “Shall we?”

  It was a little much, she thought. She didn’t need to walk arm in arm with him to have dinner. Still, she reminded herself that she was doing this for her father, for his precious campaign, as she laced her arm through Ballard’s and walked with him toward the hotel’s very popular lounge.

  “I figured you would be tired from last night’s festivities and made reservations someplace close,” he told her as they moved through the glass-door entrance.

  Great, she thought, giving him a nod and smile of agreement. She wouldn’t have far to go to get back to her room.

  Once they were seated, Janelle allowed herself another indulgent look at her dinner partner. Damn, that suit looked good on him, or was it that the man might possibly look good in anything? She wasn’t sure. A gold watch—she didn’t even guess at the name brand, knowing instinctively it would be expensive—glimmered at his right wrist, a huge signet ring casting the same posh glow on his right ring finger.

  “So, your family has made quite a name for itself in the shipping industry. I’ve heard nothing but glowing remarks about Dubois Maritime.”

  “Really? Do you work with a lot of clients in the shipping industry?” he asked in what sounded to Janelle like a skeptical tone.

  “As a matter of fact, I was born and raised in Wintersage. Our founding fathers made their fortune in the shipping industry. My family’s very active throughout the town, so hearing your company’s name mentioned from time to time isn’t all that unusual.”

  So there, she thought, lifting the glass of water the waitress had discreetly placed in front of her for a sip.

  “Wintersage,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That’s about an hour or so away from Boston, correct?”

  “Correct,” she replied even though
she got the impression he knew exactly where Wintersage was. He’d probably done precisely what she had this morning and researched everything about her family on the internet. She was not fooled by his very calm, very assessing demeanor, not one bit—especially considering how scrumptious he looked wearing that demeanor.

  Wow, she really needed to calm her raging and self-deprived hormones.

  “So you’re heading the company now. That’s a huge responsibility for someone so young. Has it been difficult for you?” she asked.

  He smiled then, slow, knowing, and she shifted a bit in her chair, covering the action by picking up the menu and acting as if that held more of her interest.

  “One misstep will not end the date, Janelle,” he commented.

  Her head immediately snapped up. “This is not a date,” she stated firmly. “And what misstep?”

  His smile stayed in place, the expression a bit on the arrogant side, but she was trying to make this work, for her father’s sake.

  “I’m not running the company just yet. My grandfather is still the CEO, my father the CFO. Right now I’m the regional manager, so I handle all of the day-to-day operations.”

  He spoke as if he were educating her and Janelle was immediately offended. She had already opened her mouth to fire back when he held up a hand to stop her.

  “I’m joking,” he said, chuckling lightly afterward.

  Her lips snapped closed and she sat back in her chair, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “You looked like you were ready to give me hell, so I figured I’d better clear that up quickly,” he continued.

  Janelle had to smile in response. “Not quite hell, but I was going to say a few things.”

  He nodded, his laughter subsiding. “I know it. But I’d like for us to have a nice dinner, to get to know each other better. So if it makes you feel better, we won’t call this a date. Besides, it’s probably better that way.”

  Now she was offended again, or at least she thought she should be. But maybe not, since she’d been telling herself all day long that this wasn’t a date. She admitted only to herself that for the first time in a very long time, she was thrown off—even marginally—by a man.

  “I would like to have a nice dinner, as well. So I won’t ask why it’s better not to call this a date.”

  But she just had, hadn’t she? Maybe she should just leave.

  “When I date a female, we focus on getting to know each other, and if that’s pleasing to us both, we take it to the next level,” he stated as if he were reading a report at a meeting.

  “The next level being sex?” she asked without her normal processing-before-speaking rule.

  He lifted a hand and smoothed down his tie, the motion confident, probably overly so, but intriguing at the same time. If she had to sum up Ballard Dubois right at this moment, she’d peg him as a conceited, self-important businessman who was used to getting exactly what he wanted. Which to her and for the purpose she was here for tonight was going to mean she had her work cut out for her, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to go that route just to get his family’s support.

  “Yes, the next level being sex,” he answered.

  “So you have a very methodical way of dating, I see.” Whereas she had a method of her own—don’t do it!

  “I like to look at it as logical structuring,” was his reply. He leaned forward, pushing his menu to the side, his dreamy brown eyes holding her gaze captive. “It is logical to date before sleeping with someone because it clarifies the understanding between the two adults before their focus shifts to more physical pleasures. Once that understanding is perfectly clear, future dealings are smoother.”

  “And by future dealings you mean for the time you wish to continue sleeping with her. What happens when that time is up?” she asked, curious and simultaneously annoyed at his candid nonchalance when it came to dating and relationships.

  “You’re angry,” he said with a nod. “Let’s change the subject, since this is not a date.”

  Janelle did not want to change the subject. She wanted to leave. She wanted to get as far away from this infuriating, egotistical man as she could. But if she didn’t get this out of the way now, she’d have another bullheaded man to deal with and she really wasn’t up for that battle either. So she stayed for dinner, ate her food, participated in the basic conversation and counted the minutes until she could slip that key card into the door of her room and get the hell away from Ballard Dubois!

  * * *

  Ballard had insisted on walking her to her door. He knew that their evening had started out strenuous but was pleased that eventually, it had warmed into a pleasant experience. He’d asked her about her business, which calmed and animated her. The way in which she spoke about her events was both passionate and professional and he found himself wanting to have some type of party or gathering just to have the chance to be around her again.

  At one point she’d shared a story about a client who had endured one disastrous wedding planner after another until finally contracting with her Alluring Affairs. She’d laughed and he’d felt as if he’d been punched in the chest, the air so swiftly leaving him at the sound.

  A strong physical reaction, he’d realized, and had proceeded with the evening, not giving it much more thought.

  Now, standing in front of her with her back to the door of her room, he couldn’t help but think of the way he’d felt in the restaurant, because he was feeling the same way now. Seeing her face unobscured by a mask tonight had been a huge plus, but then, he’d already known she was a very attractive woman. The slight upward slant of her eyes, her full lips and the smooth milk-chocolate tone of her skin had blood rushing quickly through his veins.

  “Ballard?”

  He blinked as he heard his name on her lips, recovering quickly from his momentary speechlessness as he stared at her.

  “A good-night kiss,” he whispered, moving in closer.

  Her open palms immediately came to his chest, pushing slightly against him, to stop him, Ballard was certain. The problem with that motion was that it hadn’t reached her eyes. Instead, as Ballard looked at Janelle, he saw her lips parting slightly, her tongue snaking out to lick the bottom one, then retreating inside quickly as she cleared her throat.

  “Yes,” he began, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his fingers along her cheekbone down to the line of her jaw. “You can agree because you want to. Or you can simply tell me no and I’ll leave.”

  She hesitated, her hands still on his chest, burning the desire he was already ensconced in deeper into his soul. After another second or so of indecision her lips parted once more, a small sound escaping.

  “Ye—” she began to say.

  And Ballard moved in, swooping his lips down over hers, taking the plumpness into his mouth for a deep suckle before pressing his tongue inside.

  She replied hungrily, grabbing the lapels of his jacket tightly in her fingers, tilting her head slightly so that when he deepened the kiss, she was more than ready. On the inside, Ballard quivered, his entire body vibrating in reaction to her proximity, her scent, her taste. His hands cupped her face, slipping back until his fingers were tangled in the thick mass of her hair, holding her head steadily where he wanted it, where he could plunder her mouth mercilessly.

  He pressed her into the door, his body flush against hers, his rigid erection most likely felt by her as he did. The fact that they were in a hotel hallway, that at any moment someone could come out of another room or off the elevator and see them, lingered somewhere in the back of his mind. Alongside was the fact that they’d gone to great lengths to clarify that this was not a date, and if it had been, it was still too soon for a reaction such as this, a joining of passion like this. But he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t even consider pulling his lips, his hands, his body away from hers at this moment. It felt too g
ood, felt...almost...right.

  It was Janelle who made the move to break away. Simultaneously releasing his jacket and turning her head away from him, she gasped once for breath before saying in a very quiet voice, “Good night, Ballard.”

  He released her then. Of course, he had no idea how when his body was sending every sign possible indicating it wanted to stay precisely where it was. Still, he took the necessary steps backward, even cleared his throat to let her know he was still standing there since she wouldn’t look at him.

  “Good night, Janelle,” he said, and forced himself to walk away.

  This was not the norm for either of them, Ballard suspected, but most assuredly not for him. He needed time to breathe some fresh air, to clear his mind, to let this raging erection subside and to figure out just what he planned to do next where Janelle Howerton was concerned.

  Chapter 4

  She’d spent the morning returning phone calls from vendors—the caterer was locked in, the stellar menu including a great grilled Maine lobster with chive ricotta that Janelle had been privy to tasting a week ago. Vicki was contracted for the floral arrangements; Janelle knew she didn’t need to do more than send Vicki an email with the date, time and colors, and everything would be taken care of from there.

  That was the type of rhythm their friendship had. Whenever she booked a wedding, she referred the bridal party to Sandra for their wardrobe and to Vicki for the flowers. Likewise, her friends referred their clients to her for all their event-planning needs. They were a solid unit, just as Janelle thought a couple should be, complementing each other in business and on a personal level.

  Something she and Ballard Dubois did not do.

  And why she was even thinking about Ballard for the billionth time today, she had no idea. When she’d arrived home after her dinner with Ballard, her father had already been gone. She’d written him a short note saying she’d met and had dinner with Ballard but that they hadn’t had the opportunity to really get into the political discussion. She strategically left out that it had been because they’d been too busy talking about her job and his to get around to speaking about whether he and his company would back her father’s campaign. Darren would bring that up the first chance he got, so she made a note to be prepared for that conversation.