by Leanne Banks
“I’ve missed you,” he said against her ear. “But I couldn’t keep the secret anymore.”
Her throat knotted. “I don’t know why you don’t understand that a relationship between you and me isn’t good for you.”
“When did you get into sado-masochism? Or maybe it’s martyrdom,” he replied.
She pulled back slightly, looking at him in confusion. “I’m no martyr.”
“Yes, you are. I want you, need you and love you. You want me, need me, love me. But you deny me and you deny yourself.”
Delilah frowned. Unfortunately, she couldn’t dispute her feelings for him.
“I love you, Delilah. I need you too.”
Her heart hurt at his words.
“Were you happy with me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“It’s time to stop being a chicken, sweetheart.” He slid his hand behind the nape of her neck. “My mother and father are watching us.”
She stiffened.
“My ex-fiancée is watching.”
“Great,” Delilah muttered.
“Robert and Lilly are watching.”
“Maybe we should—”
“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, shocking her spitless. He lowered his mouth to hers and with the first touch of his lips, the crowd was wiped from her mind. The kiss promised eternity, but only lasted a moment.
He pulled back, his gaze full of everything he was feeling. Everything she was feeling too. Taking her hand, he knelt on one knee in front of her and Delilah felt the room begin to spin.
“I love you and I need you,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
Holy shit. No genie was going to snap her out of this situation. Scared, oh, so scared, she stared at him and wanted to hit him. And kiss him. She supposed she could walk away.
Actually she couldn’t.
Her feet wouldn’t let her. She wasn’t even certain her knees would allow her to crawl away from him. But the crux of the matter was that her heart wouldn’t let her.
She didn’t look anywhere except his eyes, but felt a crowd forming around them. Whispers and gasps swirled through the air. The odd thought struck her that she was glad she’d put on a double layer of deodorant because she couldn’t remember being put in a more trying position.
When she looked in his eyes, she felt calm. When she looked at his face, she saw forever.
Maybe it was time to stop torturing herself and trust the most trustworthy man she’d ever met. She lowered her head, so she could speak in a low voice. “You do know that you are letting yourself in for a lifetime of all kinds of trouble, don’t you?”
“Bring it on, baby.”
She smiled and she felt her eyes burn with tears. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”
Someone let out a whoop and there was a chorus of applause. She didn’t hear more than the first few claps because Benjamin stood and kissed her again.
Two-and-a-half months later, they were back at the country club after she and Benjamin exchanged vows in a beautiful ceremony at his family’s church. Robert hadn’t stopped grumbling about Benjamin’s ability to get around their father. He was chomping at the bit to move in with Lilly. Delilah smiled at Wilhemina and Douglas McGinley; the unlikely pair of heiress and hog farmer were expecting their second child. Katie was also glowing from her pregnancy and Michael had turned hyper-protective. Lori Jean had managed to wrangle permission from her father to attend, primarily because he approved of the Huntingtons. Nicky Conde had brought Willy to the reception and Delilah was amazed at how much he’d grown. She still missed him, but she could see that he was thriving and that Nicky was indeed devoted to him. Her brother Jeremy was trying to steal some frosting off the cake without getting caught. Sneaky little charmer.
Benjamin’s parents had surprised her with how warmly welcoming they had been. She had expected them to disapprove. She suspected Benjamin had threatened a Las Vegas wedding if his mother and father didn’t show complete support.
Somehow, during the last couple of months, she’d bonded with Benjamin’s father. He appreciated her business sense and drive, and his mother was thrilled with the possibility of grandchildren.
After her dry-run with Willy, Delilah didn’t feel pressured. She couldn’t wait to have children with Benjamin. She knew she would be giving some child the most fabulous father in the world, and Benjamin had convinced her that she could be a good mother. Amazing how that man affected her.
Sipping a glass of champagne while Benjamin spoke with a wedding guest, she smiled. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe he loved her, but he never let her forget it. He must have felt her looking at him, because he looked her way and returned her smile. Within a moment, he was by her side.
“I’m ready to leave,” he said, pulling her against him.
“Your parents will kill us. The party’s only been going for two hours.”
He groaned then a glint of sexy mischief crossed his eyes. “We can steal away for a few minutes, can’t we?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Come on,” he said and pulled her with him.
“Benjamin,” someone called.
“Delilah,” Lilly called.
“Be right back,” Benjamin said over his shoulder and led her down a hallway then another. After looking both ways, he opened a door and pulled her into a catering closet.
She glanced around at the catering supplies and shook her head. “You bad, bad boy.”
“I can be badder,” he said, pulling her against him.
“Oh, really?”
He lowered his mouth and kissed her. The last week had been so busy they hadn’t had time to be intimate with each other. The touch of his mouth reminded her of all the ways she’d missed him.
She felt his hardness against her and her body heat cranked up further. He groaned and lowered his mouth to her throat then lower to the top of her breast.
“You look so beautiful you make me want to rip off that dress.”
She laughed, but identified his sense of urgency.
“We should have gone to Vegas. This wedding has been a pain in the—” He exhaled in frustration. “Ass isn’t really the part of my anatomy that’s most bothered.”
“If you didn’t have that dumb rule about three for me and one for you, we could do something about it,” Delilah told him.
He went still. “Like what?”
“There are several things we could do. I could unfasten your pants,” she said, feeling wonderfully wicked. “And slide down your zipper.”
She could feel him holding his breath.
“And get down on my knees—”
“Oh, hell, don’t say that,” he said, raking his hand through his hair.
“Why?” she asked, brushing her lips over his as she brushed her hand over his erection.
“Because I’ll want you to do it.”
The combination of naughty and nice was too delicious to resist. She slid down his body to her knees and it was her pleasure to break her husband’s three-for-her and one-for-him rule. She was pretty sure she would remember their time in the closet far longer than she would remember much else about the reception. She was pretty sure he would too.
They kissed each other senseless and he cracked the door of the closet, but someone was standing just outside.
“Where is the bathroom in this place?” one woman asked.
“I don’t know. I thought someone said there was one up here. Maybe it’s on the next hall. What do you think of the bride and groom?”
“They’re in love. They can’t keep their eyes off each other.”
“I hear they can’t keep their hands off each other. Delilah Montague’s known as one hot number and that Benjamin Huntington’s no slouch. With their reputation, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had shown up at the wedding wearing no panties and they consummate their marriage at the reception.”
Delilah covered her mouth to hold back a gasp of laughter. The women’s voice
s faded away as they walked down the hallway. As soon as it turned quiet, she and Benjamin burst into laughter. He shook his head and poked his head outside the door, looking both ways. He pulled her out after him. “Just one question. Are you or are you not?”
“What?” she asked, so happy to be with him she thought she would burst.
“Are you wearing panties?”
“Oh, that,” she said as they rounded the corner. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”
He chuckled and swore under his breath. “You are incredible,” he murmured in her ear.
“Incredibly good or incredibly bad?”
“Both, thank God.”
About the Author
LEANNE BANKS is a USA Today best-selling author with over thirty novels and novellas to her credit. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Psychology, which she says qualifies her to treat only fictional characters. Winner of multiple writing awards, she never fails to be delighted when readers write her praising her books as fun, feel-good reads. Leanne lives in Virginia with her husband and two children, but can usually be persuaded to take a trip to the beach at the drop of a hat. You can visit Leanne at www.leanne banks.com.
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TROUBLE IN HIGH HEELS
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available in Summer 2004.
“High heels weaken men’s knees.”
—SUNNY COLLINS
“Congratulations, Jackson. Because of your hard work and dedication, we’ve decided to offer you a junior partnership with the firm.”
Jackson stared at his boss in surprise. Exhilaration pumped through him. Twelve years ago, he’d been a high school drop-out doing manual labor at a ranch in southwestern Texas. He’d moved to Dallas and done everything from waiting tables, working as a part-time rodeo clown, to being a janitor in the evenings to earn his way through college and get his C.P.A.
Despite his father’s insistence that Jackson would never amount to anything, he had. This moment proved his father wrong. Jackson was a success.
It took a moment for him to find his breath. “Thank you, Mr. Hollingsworth. I don’t know what to say.”
Mr. Hollingsworth, a fifty-eight-year-old balding man with a shrewd, creative, but always law-abiding mind, nodded. He removed a rumpled handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his shiny head. “You’ve earned it. Your salary will increase by twenty-five percent, you’ll receive an annual bonus, and you can hire an assistant. You’ll also be offered Mr. Till’s office. He’s retiring,” he explained.
Jackson immediately calculated the difference in his salary and three investment possibilities came to mind. He’d shared an assistant with the other CPAs until now and Mr. Till, who appeared to be approximately three hundred years old, had a corner office.
This was the stuff of fantasies for a dirt-poor kid from southwestern Texas. This was like winning the lottery. This was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
He watched Mr. Hollingsworth’s head turn shiny with perspiration and felt an itchy sensation. That same itchy sensation had kept him alive in dark alleys and rowdy bars. That same itchy sensation had kept him away from troublesome females. That same itchy sensation had kept him from being gored by a bull.
It was the same itchy sensation that warned him: if it looked too good to be true, then it probably was.
Mr. Hollingsworth smiled at him nervously.
Jackson’s stomach sank. Oh, shit. Whenever Hollingsworth smiled, there was trouble. Big trouble. He remembered the audit he had managed for one of their larger clients who had neglected to disclose all their financial activities for a tax return. It had taken months of work to keep the guy out of prison.
Mr. Hollingsworth cleared his throat. “You know we think a lot of you. You’ve earned the respect of all of the partners and all the clients you’ve worked with.”
Cut to the chase, Jackson wanted to say. He would have to assess the risk. Life was all about risk. If he could do whatever dirty work the firm wanted him to do, then he could claim his prize.
“Of course, with additional reward comes additional responsibility. We, the partners and I, have carefully evaluated our client list and we believe you are the man to handle the Granger account.”
“The Granger account,” he echoed in disbelief. The Granger account was one of the firm’s top five accounts. Compared to the Granger account, everything Jackson had done had been chicken shit. He knew a few things about the account, but not much because old Mr. Till had kept Harlan Granger’s financial matters close to the vest.
“As you know, Harlan Granger died six months ago, and most of his estate is being held in trust for his daughter Lori Jean,” Hollingsworth said.
Jackson hadn’t ever met Lori Jean personally. He’d just seen photographs of her in the paper at charity functions or at her home while she posed with a white prissy dog that was probably fed filet mignon every night. Blonde with a melt-in-your-mouth body, the woman was a looker, but she didn’t appear to have much upstairs.
Hollingsworth cleared his throat. “Since Mr. Till has retired, you’ll be in charge of managing the estate.” He cleared his throat again and fingered his tie as if it were choking him. “Some changes in the conditions concerning the dispersal of the trust have recently come to light.” The senior partner of the firm rubbed his nose and shrugged. “All in the files. You should go ahead and get started on them so you can meet with Miss Granger as soon as possible.”
The itchy sensation climbed up the back of Jackson’s neck again. Something about this just wasn’t right. “What about my other clients?”
“Don’t worry. They’ll be reassigned. I’m sure you know the Granger account is one of our largest accounts.”
So, why were they giving it to him instead of one of the more senior partners? Jackson shoved his hands into his pockets and decided to test Hollingsworth’s desperation. He’d learned a long time ago that people would spend a lot of money to protect whatever they held dear. Jackson knew Hollingsworth held the Granger account very near and dear.
“It sounds as if this could be more demanding of my time and energy than what I’ve been doing here at the firm,” Jackson said.
Hollingsworth slowly nodded. “You could say that.”
“Do you think it might be more appropriate to give me a raise of thirty percent?”
Hollingsworth paused, then mopped his head and cleared his throat. “I think it could be arranged.”
Jackson didn’t know whether to shout in victory or brace himself for the depths of hell. If Hollingsworth was willing to fork over the bucks, things must be in a helluva mess.
Three days later, Jackson stood on the grand porch of the mansion where Harlan Granger had spent most of his days since he’d hit the big time as an oil baron. He was one of the few who’d managed to survive and thrive during the rough times, and he’d done it by diversifying. By the time he passed away, Harlan owned a bit of everything.
Taking in the elegant architecture of the whiter than white building, the large columns, polished brass fixtures and well-kept porch, he couldn’t help remembering the shabby house where he’d lived as a child. The tin roof had leaked, the floors were warped and it was a wonder the faulty wiring hadn’t caused a fire. The hot water system was busted more often than it was working, so cold showers were the norm. He fought a twinge of feeling out of place. For a sliver of a moment, he was thirteen again without a degree in accounting, wearing hand-me-down torn jeans from the local Goodwill store instead of the Brooks Brothers suit he’d bought on sale.
He didn’t belong here.
Jackson thought of Lori Jean Granger. She probably didn’t know what a cold shower was, and he was certain her home had always been warm when it was cold outside and cool when the summertime heat hit.
She also, however, hadn’t learned to manage her pocketbook, and
by the looks of her accounts, he was going to have to teach her. It had taken some persistence, but he’d finally cracked Hollingsworth. Now he knew why no one else wanted this account. And he was still shaking his head over it. He’d imagined every possibility but the one Hollingsworth finally coughed up. As he’d begun to suspect, the woman scared them. Not, however, because she was a raging bitch, but because she was this sweet, helpless woman that men just couldn’t say no to— like she had some mystical power over them or something. Jackson rolled his eyes. A Loreli of accountants with the ability to sink their careers into the bottom of the ocean. By the looks of her accounts, Till had rarely said no. Jackson snorted. Well, Till had been a fool. Jackson wasn’t … and he would have no problem saying NO to Lori Jean Granger.
He shifted his heavy briefcase to his left hand and pressed the doorbell. Within a moment, a woman in a uniform answered the door. “You’re the accountant?” she asked.
He nodded and extended his hand, a memory of his mother flashing through his mind. She had been a maid, and she’d told him everyone, including the garbage man, deserved courtesy. The lesson had stuck. “I’m Jackson James, thank you. And you’re?”
She blinked in surprise. “I’m Mabel, thank you very much.” She accepted his hand and shot him a considering glance that gave him the odd sense that she could see everywhere he’d been since he was born. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
“New to Miss Granger,” he said.
“I thought so. Please come into the parlor. Miss Granger will be right down.”
Hearing the echo of his shoes on the gleaming marble entryway, he shot a quick glance at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the double stairway leading to the second floor. He followed the housekeeper into a room furnished in cherry and walls lined with oil paintings and mirrors.
“Tilly, I have your favorite drink,” a female voice said in a musical voice just before the body attached to the voice entered the room. “Whiskey, a double—” Big blue eyes met his in consternation as she carried her prissy dog tucked under her right arm and carried Tilly’s drink in her left. “You’re not Tilly.”
