He pointed to a dressmaker’s mannequin draped in a half-finished kaftan-style dress.
She nodded. ‘Just the samples. To see if the design works as I see it in my head.’
The warmth in his stare made her shiver. He sobered, placing the lingerie next to her sketches. ‘I’m impressed, Harley.’
Her blood ran hotter, her chest expanding with his praise. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled—her first glimpse of the boyish smile the younger him had frequently worn, and she sucked in a gasp, the expression so reminiscent of the carefree boy he’d been, an ache took up residence in her stomach.
She had the insane urge to blurt out the reason she’d called things off between them. She bit her lip.
‘I remember you were always drawing.’ It was the first time either of them had directly mentioned their past relationship, if it could be classified that way. A heavy silence settled. ‘You’re very talented, and you’ve created something worthwhile.’
She practically sagged to the floor. So he remembered her favourite pastime as a teen, but that he understood how important Give was to her left her speechless. Was she so desperate for praise, for affirmation from someone else that her vision was a worthy use of her time and talents?
He reached inside his jacket and withdrew an envelope.
‘Some documents for you to sign.’
She stared, her jaw slack. ‘The Morris Building?’
He nodded, the heat from his eyes eclipsing the effect of his smile. He leaned in, not bothering to hide the long, indrawn breath as he breathed her in and whispered, ‘Wait until I leave to open it.’
His stare dipped to her mouth, which she was certain was open while she panted and drooled.
‘I hope you’re free tonight?’
She nodded, the gesture automatic, as if he’d tugged a thread directly linked to her throbbing clit. And then she sobered, pressing her lips together.
‘Damn. I can’t. I have a charity gala.’ If she’d plunged into a bathtub of ice, she couldn’t have doused her excitement more effectively. Really, Harley? So desperate for sex?
She expected his disapproval; after all, she’d fallen at the first test of this new...arrangement. But he said, ‘Where?’
‘The Hammerstein Ballroom.’ Could she sound any more deflated? What had begun as a much-anticipated event on her social calendar now turned into a torturous exercise in self-denial. Because a promise lurked beneath Jack’s stare, a promise of more of the explosive chemistry between them. Getting blown to smithereens at Jack’s hands...there were worse ways to go.
‘What will you be wearing?’ His eyes caressed her from head to toe, the gleam of approval obvious. ‘Something a little more provocative, perhaps?’
Her temperature soared again, only this time the heat prickled, instead of burned. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know her sensitivity to being judged by her looks.
She’d been thirteen the first time Hal had described her to a colleague as ‘the pretty one’. And every time he quoted his self-satisfied moniker, she recalled that first time he’d said it, the sting still jabbing like a thousand pins.
She pressed closer, playing Jack at his own seductive game. Her lips brushed his ear and he sucked in a breath. She grinned, enjoying the tendrils of power that snaked south to join the constant fizz of her blood in his presence.
‘You don’t like the way I dress?’ A whisper with a sting in the tail.
He leaned back, his hands settling on her hips. ‘On the contrary.’
She smiled, sickly sweet.
‘Good, because I dress for myself. I’m not a clothes horse.’ She rarely wore the more provocative things she designed. She favoured professional clothing over sexy. It was her way of owning her worth as more than her appearance.
He latched onto her stare, his own smouldering as he studied her.
‘I’ve touched a nerve?’
She dipped her gaze as heat rushed up her neck.
‘Hal struggles with having a daughter without a Harvard degree. He likes to justify my...limitations by labelling me the face of Jacob Holdings.’
Poor Harley, her grades are appalling, but at least she can fall back on her prettiness.
His throat bobbed on a swallow, jaw bunching.
‘You’re a beautiful woman. There’s no hiding it, no matter what you wear.’
She shrugged. Her father had often tried over the years to tempt her into working for Jacob Holdings by suggesting she front their advertising campaigns.
‘No. But I’m more than my looks, as you are more than yours.’ When she’d told Hal she had her own dreams of a degree in fashion design, starting her own label, his dismissal had been predictable, but no less devastating.
Jack tilted his head, in acknowledgement, something that looked like respect lingering in his eyes. His expression turned from playful to serious.
‘From what I see—’ he glanced around the workroom ‘—your career, your vision is very worthwhile.’
She shrugged, stepping back from the precipice of vulnerability. She’d been determined to go it alone away from Hal and his constant comparisons with her Harvard-educated siblings. But doubting her worth, a lifelong habit, was hard to break.
He stepped closer, not touching her, but dipping his head until his breath tickled her neck and his spicy scent engulfed her.
‘But know that whatever you wear tonight, I’m going to be stripping you bare down to that perfect pussy of yours and eye-fucking you all night.’ He straightened, eyes hot. ‘I hope that ruins your expensive lingerie.’
Harley gaped. Her underwear took a punishment, as he’d predicted, damn him.
Jack placed a perfectly chaste, almost dismissive peck on her cheek and, with a wink, disappeared down the stairs, all swagger.
Round one to Jack.
As she recovered her mind concocted a revenge plan. With a small smile, she made her way back to the store and selected her size of the rose-pink thong he’d fingered earlier and a matching strapless bra from the rack.
‘Belinda, add these to my account. Can you finish the window without me?’
Her store manager nodded and wrapped the lingerie in tissue embossed with the Give logo.
If Jack wanted to play, she could play.
HARLEY STIFLED A yawn and forced her attention back to the man holding
