by A. C. Arthur
He looked her up and down then, his sickeningly hot gaze raking over her body as if he knew precisely what was beneath the black slacks and sheer-sleeved black blouse she wore. Her ankles shook slightly in the four-inch-heeled pumps she wore.
“You’re wasting my time,” she told him. “This visit is over.”
Janelle moved around him and he surprisingly stepped to the side to let her past. Then his voice stopped her.
“Does he know how afraid of sex you are? Does he have any idea how unsatisfied you’ll leave him night after night? Maybe I should tell him.”
Janelle moved ever so slowly, turning around until she could look into his conniving, lying, despicable face once more.
“You are a vile son of a bitch and if you ever come near me again, I’ll make you pay for five years ago and every day you’ve been blessed to breathe since then. Do I make myself clear, Jack?”
He folded one arm over his chest, lifting the other to rub a finger along his bearded chin. “That sounds like a threat, Janelle. I wonder if I should be afraid. But what are you going to do, run and tell your father some overly dramatic story of our breakup five years ago? Are you going to tell him and your precious friends how you lied to them? Are you going to risk your precious reputation with a story no one is ever going to believe?”
“No,” came another male voice from behind Janelle. “Right now she’s going to return to this party and dance with her date. Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Trellier?”
Janelle didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. Ballard’s voice sounded so commanding, so authoritative as he came to stand beside her. His arm slipped around her waist so seamlessly, as if there were no other place it could possibly reside. The sigh she released and the instinctive lean into him her body did of its own accord seemed natural, welcome.
Jack, the bastard, only chuckled again.
“You know, I didn’t believe it before.” He shrugged. “I tend to take what the tabloids say with a grain of salt, considering how much they stalk me and my company only to print lies in return. But looking at the two of you now, staring at the world-renowned bachelor of the century—well, second to me, of course—Ballard Dubois, with none other than my hand-me-down, Janelle Howerton, is nothing more than astonishing. You actually have some kind of appeal as a couple, on a very basic, very uninteresting level.”
Ballard didn’t tense. He didn’t move and he didn’t buckle under Jack’s insults. What he did was something Janelle would cherish for the rest of her life.
“Then we’ll bid you good-night, sir, and wish you all the best,” Ballard said with a nod of his head. He turned then, moving Janelle along with him, and ushered her back into the hall without another word.
Jack, to her surprise, hadn’t said another word either. She’d wanted to turn back to see the look on his face as they’d left him standing there alone but hadn’t dared. Instead she reentered the room where music was once again playing and guests had either found themselves another drink or headed back to the dance floor for the last dances of the evening.
“Let’s dance,” Ballard said once they were inside.
Janelle thought about saying no. She thought about going around saying good-night and running the hell out of this hall to find the safety of her bedroom. But she didn’t do that. What she did was look at Ballard, stared into his warm brown eyes and felt no danger, no scrutiny and no shame.
She nodded and followed him onto the dance floor.
In addition to the live and lovely vocal talents of Candice Glover, Janelle had also hired a DJ to play special requests. For as high society as the Wintersage Academy alumni claimed to be, they all loved a good line dance at their events. As they walked onto the dance floor, she noticed the music had stopped and she was about to turn to Ballard and suggest they go instead. Then a song began to play, a song she remembered, and he pulled her into his arms. A rush of heat, a feeling she was also growing familiar with, washed over her.
The melodic piano interlude began and Ballard started to sway. Janelle followed as the soulful sound of Ruben Studdard singing “Unconditional” filtered throughout the room. In that moment and the ones to follow, nothing existed, nothing but her and Ballard. He stared down at her as they moved to the music. In his gaze Janelle saw nothing but compassion and desire, simmering just beneath the surface but there nonetheless. There were no questions, no assumptions, no criticisms, just adoration, and her heart filled. The words of the song fell around them, cocooning them together as if the song were only for them. She melted into him, leaning against the strength of his embrace. When he leaned in closer to kiss her forehead, Janelle could do nothing but close her eyes to the sweetness, the security this man provided with his very presence, and the events of just minutes ago dissolved. The memory, the shame—it all washed away and ended when the song was complete.
Chapter 9
“Jack and I were the perfect couple,” Janelle said as she sat on the deep-cushioned sloped-back sage-green couch.
Ballard had asked her to spend the night with him and she’d agreed. Just like that. She hadn’t thought about the implications, hadn’t given herself a moment to wonder if it was the right decision or not. After they’d said their final good-nights at the hall and waited for the last of the vendors to vacate the building, she’d simply asked him to take her to her house, where she’d packed an overnight bag and left. Her father still wasn’t home and she’d thought about leaving him a note but refrained. It had been almost a week since she’d seen him because he’d had more campaign stops to make throughout the state, and because she hadn’t completed the task he’d asked of her, she hadn’t really minded.
They’d arrived at Ballard’s condo on the waterfront just after midnight. The hour-long drive had proceeded in silence as Ballard held Janelle’s hand and she looked out the window at the passing night skyline. Once inside, he’d taken her bag and brought them each a glass of wine. Now they were sitting on his couch, which was strategically placed in the living room to face the ceiling-to-floor window that boasted a breathtaking view of Boston’s waterfront.
“We dated all through college,” she continued, cupping the half-full glass of wine with the palms of both hands. “My parents were ecstatic. His family felt the same way. Valentine’s Day of our senior year, Jack proposed and I accepted. It was everything it was supposed to be—romantic and sweet and like a scene written in a novel. The next day it was in all the papers, local and international. My mother called me crying with joy and my father, of all people, began talking wedding dates.”
She sighed, then sat back, taking a sip from her glass. “From that point on, everything we did or said was in the papers. Pictures were snapped as I walked from class to class or simply sat in the local pub for a drink with my friends. Our graduation was featured on some cable channel as a look into the simple life of rich and privileged college sweethearts.”
Ballard sipped from his glass but otherwise remained perfectly still and quiet.
“Immediately following graduation we took our first big trip together to Europe. Again we had paparazzi following us around as if they were on our personal payroll. About halfway through the trip, Jack began receiving business calls. For four days he had to travel back to the States while I stayed in Europe alone. When he returned, he was like another person entirely. He was distant and mean and we argued constantly.”
Janelle sucked in a huge breath, released it slowly and let the worst admission of her life flow free.
“We’d had dinner at a restaurant. When we were finished, I wanted to go back to the room for some quiet time—since we’d managed to go an entire day without arguing. Jack wasn’t ready to call it a night, so I went back alone. When he finally returned to the room, well after midnight, I was asleep. He’d come in, switching on the lights and yelling about feeling trapped, about not having any choices and finall
y about being stuck with me. He talked about our relationship, how he’d tried everything he knew to make things better but there was no hope. I don’t think I’d been fully awake until that moment. Then I sat up in the bed and really looked at him. He was a stranger, just a shell of the man I thought I knew.”
Exactly when Ballard had put his glass on the table, Janelle had no idea, but he leaned over, taking her glass from shaking fingers. Before she could clasp her hands together, he’d put her glass down on the table beside the couch and turned back to her, taking her hands in his hands, holding them tightly.
She bit back the sensation of choking, of being strangled by this admission, and decided it was time to let it be free, decided that after all these years, this was the person she would admit the most embarrassing moment of her life to.
“He accused me of trying to trap him, of trying to marry into his family for their fortune. It didn’t matter that my family was well off on its own. In Jack’s mind his family was the elite. They were the top of the line and everyone else was beneath them, even me, I guess. He said some vile and awful things before he...” She paused, took a deep breath. “Before he tried to rape me.”
Ballard’s hands tightened around hers but he still did not speak.
“I fought back. I kicked and screamed and slapped at him. He backed off then and decided to use his words to assault me instead. I told him to leave and that I never wanted to see him again. He did and tonight was the first time I’ve seen him in person since.
“I didn’t press charges. I didn’t tell anyone what happened. I simply flew home. By that time Jack had already taken charge of the situation. His parents had called my parents to say that we’d decided it was too soon and that Jack needed to explore his options a little more before settling down. My father seemed disappointed, my mother sad but supportive of me. She encouraged me to find my own path, to figure out what I wanted to do and to just do it. Six months later I’d just begun to do that, had started my business and was talking with Sandra and Vicki about joining me, when I felt like I needed the business venture to be my fresh start. And that I couldn’t have a fresh start without telling the people I loved most in the world the absolute truth. Before that could happen, my mother was killed in a car accident. My father went into a deep depression, my brother moved to New York and I threw myself into my business. I never thought about telling anyone again.”
“Until tonight,” Ballard finally said. “Until Jack Trellier showed up at the homecoming dance.”
He spoke softly, as if he’d known this story all along and had simply waited for Janelle to actually speak the words. That wasn’t possible, and yet his resignation, his quiet acceptance of everything she’d said, made her feel as if it wasn’t so bad after all.
“I should have called the police while we were in Europe. I should have reported what he’d done instead of letting him brush our four-year relationship under the rug as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But I didn’t,” she said quietly. “I just didn’t.”
“He should have been put in jail,” Ballard said, surprising her with the sting of his quietly spoken words. “Or at the very least he should have been beaten to within an inch of his miserable life. And you should have had peace for these past five years.”
Janelle shook her head. “I can’t go back. I can’t retrace those steps and do the right thing.”
“You can do the right thing now,” he suggested.
She gave a wry chuckle. “In the midst of my father’s campaign, just when the Silk Sisters are beginning to make a huge splash across the States and possibly internationally for Sandra.” Shaking her head, she tried to dismiss his words, tried to push them out of her mind. “What’s done is done,” she told him. “There’s no going back now. I’ll look like a fool and everyone around me will suffer.”
“And Jack will continue to taunt you.”
Janelle pulled her hands from his. She stood and walked to the window, where she simply stared out into the night sky at the way the lights from surrounding buildings danced happily over the water.
“I’m not the person I was back then. I’m stronger, so he can’t get to me. He tried tonight but I wouldn’t let him. I stood up to him. I don’t think he liked that but I don’t care. I’m not going to rehash the past but I’m also not going to continue to let it dictate my future.” She knew Ballard was listening attentively to her, but she somehow felt those words were more meant for her ears only. It was a declaration she’d needed to make, a step she’d needed to take, and she was proud that she had.
When Ballard came up behind her, slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her back against his rigid chest, she almost sighed. Leaning in close, he spoke directly into her ear.
“You’re a remarkably resilient woman, Janelle. An exceptional female if I’ve ever met one.”
That was not what she’d expected him to say, not exactly how she’d expected him to feel.
She turned then until she faced him, lifted her arms to wrap around his neck. When she looked up into his dark eyes, she realized this was exactly where she wanted to be. He was exactly who she needed at this moment in time.
“This remarkably resilient exceptional female would like for you to take her into your bedroom and to make love to her until the sun comes up. What are the chances of that happening?”
* * *
The chances are overwhelmingly good, Ballard almost replied. Instead he lowered his head until his lips lightly brushed over hers.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you, Janelle. Nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy,” he told her, his words a whisper over her mouth.
He could feel her letting go, sinking deeper into their embrace the same way she had when they’d been dancing. With a start, he realized how much he enjoyed that feeling, how good it was to have a woman such as Janelle leaning into him for support, for comfort. He was overwhelmed with that foreign sensation again, the one that had been steadily snaking its way around his heart like a chain.
“But I need you to be clear on this. I need you to be absolutely certain,” he told her, exercising an amount of restraint he’d never known he had.
Her reply was a soft whimper, a barely heard “Thank you” just before her lips covered his, her tongue snaking along the line of his lips. Ballard opened his mouth. He let her inside, let the warmth of her tongue tangle with his. His hands flattened on her back, moved down lower to the small of her back, the curve before her buttocks, pressing her closer to him, to his burgeoning erection.
In the next instant he was lifting her into his arms. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, clasping her ankles to hold herself tighter against him, Ballard wanted to scream. For the first time in his life, the first time in all his dealings with females, he wanted to shout at the top of his voice, “Yes!” and they hadn’t even made it to the bedroom yet.
That was easily remedied as he took two backward steps, then turned with his arms wrapped tightly around her, walking them down the hallway that led to the master bedroom.
His bed—dark oak, four-poster and king-size—lifted onto a platform in the middle of the room. He stopped at that point, laying her gently onto the forest-green comforter. He hated that their lips were no longer touching, their bodies no longer connected, and leaned down to suckle her tongue into his mouth one more time before finally pulling away.
Ballard’s fingers moved nimbly over the buttons of her blouse as he removed it with slow, intentional movements. Next were her shoes, the sexy-as-hell heels he’d watched her walking on throughout the entire night. With powerful strokes, he rubbed the balls of her feet, her arch and then her heels. She moaned and his erection thickened, lengthening along his thigh. Her pants were slipped slowly down her legs, her stockings removed, and then she lay there clad in only her underwear. Ballard swallowed. Hard.
He looked down at the sheer perfection of her, the milk-chocolate tone of her skin highlighted by the black-and-red panties and bra she wore. And he wanted like never before.
His clothes were removed in a more fevered fashion, his shoes and shirt going in one direction, pants, socks and boxers in another. When he climbed up onto the bed, it was to her open arms. As he rolled to the side, he pulled her with him, her palms flattening on his chest, then clasping his shoulders. Her leg lifted to wrap around his. Ballard grasped her thigh, pulled her leg up closer, higher, so that their bodies moved tighter together. His hand flattened over her thigh, traveling upward until the bare skin of her bottom was in his palm. He gripped tightly, his lips finding hers again.
Their kiss was hot and hungry, tongues, teeth, lips twining in an animalistic fashion as their hands fought for how much they could touch and how soon. When his fingers found the clasp of her bra, he twisted until the wisp of material fell and her breasts were free. Ballard pushed her back against the comforter, his lips moving from hers along the line of her jaw, down her neck and farther until he found the gems he was looking for. In one hand he cupped her full breast. With the other he plumped one breast so that the nipple was puckered and ready for the swipe of his tongue.
She arched her back and her breasts thrust farther into his face. He gorged himself on what should be declared a delicacy. After moments of giving all his attention to one breast, he switched places to the other, loving how she felt in his hands, how her skin tasted against his tongue. His mind was so full of her, the fresh, lightly perfumed scent of her skin, the sound of her voice, the sight of her smile. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t stop until he had it all.
He pulled her panties down her legs, his chest heaving as he reached into his nightstand drawer to secure a condom. He ripped open the packet, saw her watching him intently, her eyes darkened with the same hunger he felt coursing through his body, and offered it to her.
Janelle accepted the packet, coming up on her knees and reaching down to touch his length. Her hands shook and she cursed.
