Eve of Passion

by A. C. Arthur

  Vicki nodded. “Besides, he’d probably kill Jack and then he’d never get elected.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Sandra said. “I remember when we first started looking at boys, how Mr. Howerton and your brother used to watch us like a hawk when we were at your house. I don’t suspect your father’s temper and his protectiveness over you has ceased over the years, especially now that your mom’s gone.”

  Janelle believed every word Sandra had just said. Her father—and brother—wouldn’t take news of what had really happened in Europe well. All the more reason she would keep her mouth shut. Again.

  * * *

  Darren Howerton was sitting at the kitchen table dipping his spoon into a bowlful of chocolate chip ice cream when Janelle walked in.

  “Great dinner selection,” she said, going around behind him and leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

  “It’s comfort food,” was his reply. “That’s what your mother used to say. Grab a spoon and have a seat.” He nodded to the chair beside him.

  As she’d already known this conversation was coming, Janelle did exactly as her father obliged. She’d had a hell of a day, with Everley adding to the guest count for her wedding and all the calls from the parents on the committee for the homecoming dance. She’d ignored those calls, hoping they had no idea she was actually back in town. Janelle had wondered why they were pestering her after the event had been a rousing success. Now, after talking to Sandra and Vicki and after stopping by her office to pull up the online versions of as many newspapers and tabloids as she could find from over the weekend, she knew exactly what the women wanted. More gossip.

  She sat down and dipped her spoon into the side of the ice cream, put it in her mouth and licked it clean.

  Her father chuckled. “You can still do that without getting brain freeze. Your brother would groan at the sight.”

  Janelle smiled, too. DJ never could eat his ice cream as fast as she could. He had brain freeze if he sipped from a straw too quickly.

  “I miss him around the house,” she admitted.

  Her father nodded. “I miss him and your mom around the house.”

  They ate a little more in silence.

  “I asked you to talk to Ballard Dubois about the election, not to get romantically involved with him,” he said.

  This wasn’t quite what she thought her father would talk about, but she was okay addressing this subject, as well.

  “I didn’t want to go out with him at all. But I wanted to help you, to repay you for all the things you’ve done for me. The romance, well, that just sort of happened on its own.”

  Darren nodded. “I see. And what about Jack Trellier? He’s just back in the picture on his own or did something else happen in that area, as well?”

  “No,” Janelle said adamantly. “Nothing happened in that area. Nothing at all. Jack showed up at the dance. He said because he’d seen the pictures in the paper of me and Ballard. I told him to get lost.”

  “And he began going to the papers on his own?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “That boy’s an ass,” her father replied, his face grim. “I’ll reach out to his father and see what’s what.”

  “No,” Janelle said, quickly grasping her father’s arm. “Just stay out of it. Please, Daddy. Your focus should be on the election. I’ve already talked to Ballard about your campaign and I met his family over the weekend. His grandfather seems fond of you and your candidacy, so I’m sure that’s going to come through. Let me handle Jack, please.”

  Darren stared at her for what seemed like a million seconds. She wanted to squirm in her chair the way she used to as a kid and teenager when he’d stare at her that way. But she didn’t. She was an adult and she was dealing with adult issues. Her father wanted to win this election, so she wanted that for him. As for Jack, Janelle wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted, but what he was going to find out was that she was no longer the naive and impressionable young girl he’d once dated. And if he persisted with these stories, he was going to hate that fact now more than ever.

  Chapter 12

  Days passed and none of them got any better. The stories continued to turn up in the papers. TMZ had even managed to catch Jack coming out of his Miami mansion and questioned him before he climbed into his red Lamborghini.

  “First loves never die—you know that,” he replied, looking straight into the camera, one of his brows lifted, his mouth stretched into the sexy smile that had long graced ads for the men’s product line of Trell Cosmetics.

  Janelle wanted to throw something at her television when she lay in her bed watching the eleven-o’clock news on Thursday night. Instead she picked up the remote control and pressed her finger so hard into the power button she thought it would break. The second the television snapped off, her cell phone vibrated on her nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark room. Rolling across the bed, she reached for the phone.

  “Hello,” she sighed, falling back against the pillows.

  “He’s an ass,” the voice stated, and she smiled.

  “I know. He’s a gigantic ass who probably wears the makeup he sells.”

  Ballard chuckled. Janelle had become accustomed to hearing that sound. In fact, this week she’d become accustomed to his late-night phone calls. In the morning she would rise between ten and fifteen minutes later than usual as she tried to catch up on the sleep lost from talking to him well into the night. But there was nothing, not even seeing Jack Trellier’s lying face on the television only seconds ago, that would keep her from answering the phone.

  “He probably does,” he continued. “So let’s stop thinking about him.”

  Janelle sighed, lifting her free arm to let it drop over her forehead. “I don’t think he’s going to stop, Ballard. It’s been almost a week and every day there’s something else. It’s like he’s taunting me every second of every day.”

  “Think about this instead,” Ballard suggested. “I could give you a massage, hot oil, candles, the works. All you’d have to do is lie there and accept the pleasure. My hands working out the kinks and all the stress from the week. I would rub you from head to toe, not missing a spot, taking care to make you moan every step of the way.”

  She felt herself sinking even farther into her mattress, the pillow cushioning her head, her fingers trembling slightly but not releasing the phone.

  “Mmm, are you trying to talk dirty to me, Mr. Dubois?” she asked, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face.

  “I’m making you a proposition, Ms. Howerton.”

  “Well, then,” she sighed, “please continue.”

  “Before the massage I’d run you a hot bubble bath. I’d undress you because you’ve had a very long and stressful day. I don’t want you to strain yourself any further. I’d carry you to the tub and set you down ever so gently.”

  “Would you bathe me, too?” she asked, her arm slipping from her forehead to fall against the lower part of her belly, her fingers clenching the sheet that covered her.

  “Oh, yes, you know I would,” was his ready reply. “With slow and soft strokes, I’d rub the soapy sponge over your body, every inch of your body, because I don’t want to miss any spots.”

  “No,” she said, her voice all but a moan. “I wouldn’t want you to miss a spot.”

  “I miss you, Janelle,” he said seriously, suddenly.

  Still wrapped in the haze of his soft voice, the thought of him actually bathing her, touching her, soothing her, Janelle tingled all over, his words like icing on the already-delicious cake. But she didn’t know how to respond. No man had ever told her he missed her before. She wondered how she should feel to be missed.

  “I need to see you,” were his next words, continued as easily as if he were again talking about massaging her.

 
“It’s almost midnight,” she said clumsily.

  “I have a car.”

  “A very nice car, I remember.” She gripped the sheet even tighter.

  “I could be there in thirty minutes.”

  She blinked. “It’s an hour-long drive from your house.”

  “Not this time,” he told her. “I’m in a hurry.”

  What now? she thought. The massage and bath talk had been soothing, arousing, but it had been talk and she’d figured that was where it would stop. Now he was suggesting coming here, tonight. And what was her protest to that?

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said before she lost her nerve. “I’ll be at the door waiting.”

  “Thirty minutes and, Janelle?”

  “Yes,” she answered breathily.

  “Don’t get dressed.”

  * * *

  Twenty-eight minutes later she saw the headlights of Ballard’s SUV pull up the driveway and she opened the front door. Fifteen minutes ago when she’d convinced herself that this was actually happening—she was waiting up for a man and a booty call—she’d come downstairs and disengaged the alarm system so her father wouldn’t hear the door opening and closing.

  She stood there in the open doorway, her hands shaking as she watched him step out of the SUV and walk toward the house. His gaze was locked on hers. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. He was still wearing a suit, his tie loosened at his neck, his jacket open, swaying as he walked. When he stepped up onto the porch, Janelle licked her lips.

  “You did as I asked,” he said, stepping up to her, one hand instantly going behind her head, fingers curling into her hair as he pulled her closer. “Thank you.”

  She hadn’t changed her clothes but stood at the door dressed in the nightgown she’d donned for sleep. Only the second his lips touched hers she knew that sleep was the last thing she’d be getting in the near future.

  He’d thought about her all day. There hadn’t been one second that Ballard had closed his eyes today that he hadn’t seen her face, one moment that he couldn’t hear her voice playing over and over again in his mind. She was saying his name, laughing at something he said, commenting on something they were doing. When he had lunch with two of the board members, he couldn’t remember what they were saying from one moment to the next, couldn’t keep track of the conversation or even manage to swallow his food without thinking about her.

  It had been like an undiagnosed sickness throughout this entire week. The more he’d tried to push the thoughts and emotions away, the more they’d amplified. He’d stayed away on purpose, only calling her instead of suggesting they see each other. She’d seemingly obliged his need by working just as hard as he had and not requesting they see each other. But the need hadn’t subsided. The desire to simply be near her had not ceased.

  And so here he was. And there she was, standing in that doorway with that black-and-pink nightgown barely scraping her midthigh. The straps at her shoulders were thin, barely there. The material covering her breasts looked soft. Her nipples looked hard. Hard being a very operative word at this point. He’d kissed her because he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He wouldn’t make love to her here in the foyer of her father’s home, but he would be inside her, soon. Or he’d die trying.

  Dragging his lips away from hers was a struggle and they scraped over the side of her jaw as he asked, “Which way is your bedroom?”

  She seemed dazed for a moment, then finally replied, “I have the west wing of the house to myself since DJ moved out.”

  “Great,” Ballard breathed. With one arm still wrapped around her, he used the other to shut the front door. “Alarm?”

  She nodded and took backward steps until she was standing near the control pad. He moved with her, not willing to relinquish his hold on her, and kissed her neck while he heard her pressing buttons.

  When she finished and her hands came to rest at both sides of his face, Ballard simply stared into her eyes. For endless seconds they stood in that foyer staring, communicating on a level Ballard had never experienced before. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. She missed him—he could tell by the way her grip on his face softened as her body pressed into his. Ballard could also swear he’d seen something else, a quick glimpse that had him catching his breath.

  “Come with me,” she whispered, and the momentary haze was broken.

  She pulled away from him, taking his hand, and led him through the foyer all the way to the end, past the grand spiral staircase, through another doorway and a more basic-looking set of stairs to their left. They moved through the quiet house in silence, down another long hallway on the second floor and finally passed through the door to her room. Once inside, Janelle moved around him and clicked the lock on her bedroom door into place.

  He was just about to remove his jacket when she appeared by his side. “Let me this time,” she said softly, her hands going beneath his lapels, flattening with a circle of heat on his chest. She pushed the jacket from his shoulders and it fell to the floor.

  Her room was very spacious, with her king-size bed flanked by nightstands, a huge painted portrait above. Across the room were a wall-mounted flat-screen television and two bureaus. Straight ahead, just to the left of closed balcony doors, was a lounge chair. That was all he could see from where he stood and in the dim light of one of the lamps on the nightstand. But none of that really interested him anyway.

  Ballard looked down, watching Janelle’s manicured nails as she pulled his shirt from his pants and unbuttoned each button. When that fell to the floor beside his jacket, she lifted his tank over his head and once again ran her palms along the breadth of his chest. He’d missed this feeling, this elation at her touch, missed it more than he could dare to explain.

  When her hands went to his buckle, her fingers grazing his length as she unzipped his pants, he sucked in a breath. His shoes were easy and he stepped out of them as she pushed his pants and boxers over his hips and down his legs. He was naked now, standing in front of her, exposed and aroused. She looked at him just as though it were the first time before reaching out to take his hand again. He realized in that moment that he really liked being led around by her.

  Before she climbed onto her bed, she pulled her nightgown over her head, tossing it to the floor, revealing the fact that she’d been naked beneath. His fingers curled with the need to touch her, to wrap around the span of her waist and hold her still while he pounded into her. She surprised him yet again when she went to her nightstand and pulled out her own box of condoms.

  “Prepared, are we?” he asked, his tone not as joking as he would have liked because his interminable erection was quite possibly stopping all blood flow to his brain.

  She shrugged. “I just bought them on Monday. Figured after the weekend they might actually come in handy now. And look here, just a few days later.”

  Janelle smiled as she ripped open the package. Ballard smiled with her, stepping close to the bed while she sheathed him. That moment was officially the end of the waiting game for him and he eased her down on the bed, propped her legs up onto his shoulders and slipped happily into the most wonderful place on earth...and quite possibly in the heavens, too.

  It was like coming home after a long day at work, sitting on the couch and slipping off his shoes, sipping a glass of wine and sighing with relief. No, Ballard thought as he pulled out and sank back in, it was better.

  “So good,” he whispered as he moved.

  “Yes. So damned good,” she replied, her fingers gripping the blankets beneath her.

  He loved being on top of her, looking down into her pleasure-riddled face, hearing her gasps. From this position he could also watch her breasts moving along with the rhythm and continue to be aroused. She was so sexy, so alluring and so exciting. From their lengthy phone conversations to their dinner dates, she was absolutely perfec
t in every way he could imagine.

  She didn’t need him for his money or his status—she had her own. And yet she wanted him. In a way that Ballard had never thought he’d be wanted. It was the way he thought his grandmother wanted his grandfather.

  With that thought, his hips increased speed, his release near to bursting free. Janelle had grabbed the backs of her legs, lifting them higher to increase the depth of his penetration. They were both moaning and inching closer, waiting impatiently for the pleasure to claim them.

  And when it did, as their bodies convulsed and relaxed, Ballard looked into her eyes and said, as simply as if he were asking her name, “Marry me.”

  * * *

  “Excuse me?” Janelle asked, pulling her legs down and sliding back on the bed.

  She grabbed the sheets to cover her exposed body, because if he’d just said what she thought he’d just said, they were about to have a conversation that didn’t lend itself to nakedness.

  “Marry me,” he repeated.

  She watched him carefully to see if maybe he hadn’t been sure he’d really said that in the first place either. But there was only the look of expectation. In fact, he sat up next to her, reaching for her hand. She almost didn’t give it to him, but he was lacing his fingers through hers as she continued to blink at him with a look she knew had to be full of confusion.

  “Listen, you’re a terrific woman. You’re beautiful and intelligent. You’re running a successful business and you’re one of the classiest females I know. There’s so much I admire about you, from your loyalty to your family and friends to your professionalism with your clients.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued, pressing forward like a freight train.

  “We’re more compatible than most married couples we both know and considering the line of work you’re in, I’m sure you can attest to that. We come from similar backgrounds, our roots grounded in our family businesses or at least the knowledge of working hard to achieve your dreams. We’re both establishing those dreams, independent and on our way to doing even bigger things. We know what we want out of life and how to pursue it. There’s really no reason we shouldn’t get married.”