her in pigtails and braces, had monopolised her company for thirty minutes with a monologue on the merits of doing business with Jacob Holdings.
People mingled around them, but the old guy showed no sign of releasing her, his ass-kissing completely wasted on Harley, although Ash was here somewhere carrying the Jacob banner.
Harley’s eyes darted regularly around the glittering Hammerstein Ballroom, from the ornate, hand-painted ceilings to the tables decorated with thousands of fairy lights. The only thing keeping her at the Women for Women Gala, now that the important fundraising and awareness-raising part of the evening was over, was the promised appearance of Jack.
Would he come? Was he already here? Every few minutes, shivers danced over her bare shoulders, as if he watched her, unseen. She stifled a shudder, one that covered her in goose bumps. Wishful thinking.
His note, written in the confident penmanship she remembered from the love letters he’d mailed to her from France during the long months between their joint family holidays, played over and over in her mind.
I’ll think of you naked every second until I see you again. Know that I’ll bring my A-game tonight. Better and better.
J
Her legs wobbled, the thought of anything better than when he’d fucked her so thoroughly on her hall table leaving her weak-kneed. Her eyes scanned the ballroom once more for his tall frame decked out in the expensive and immaculate tailoring she’d grown used to.
She slid her eyes back to her tedious conversation partner, cursing that her natural good manners prevented her from simply walking away to scour the upper balconies for Jack.
And then he was there. Only ten feet away.
Her breath caught in her lungs, and her eyes watered at the sight of him. Something visceral shifted inside her as she took in the air of manly sophistication he carried.
He too was engaged in what she assumed was small talk with the Chairperson of Women for Women. When his stare found hers across the room, holding, sparking electricity across the space that separated them, her pulse surged to a frantic rhythm. The heat blooming in her belly threatening to incinerate her on the spot.
He’d gone all out, his black tuxedo ridiculously flattering and the gleam in his bright blue eyes, as he sent her a sly sexy smile, outshining the glittering ambient lighting.
Harley looked away, praying her face didn’t show off the excitement bubbling inside her. She’d never get rid of pops here if he misinterpreted her enthusiasm.
She escaped moments later, the fizz of anticipation thrumming through her blood. Jack had disappeared from the spot she’d last seen him. She deflated, the room losing a little of its sparkle as her gaze searched nearby. She craned her neck over the sea of heads in the crowded ballroom.
‘Harls, great fundraiser.’ Ash cupped her waist and stooped to kiss her cheek. She smiled, distracted, forcing her eyes to her brother rather than scouring the mass of glamorous socialites in search of her quarry.
‘You look beautiful tonight. Is this one of yours?’ Her brother, her biggest fan, dipped his chin at her outfit, a strapless bias-cut gown with a thigh-high split.
She nodded, her admiring stare taking in her handsome sibling. ‘You look good too. Here alone?’ Ash never went far without some statuesque beauty on his arm. Not that they lasted long enough for Harley to learn their political leanings or career aspirations. Ash had been badly burned once.
He grinned. ‘I am. Why? Spot someone promising?’ He glanced around, scanning the crowds.
She nudged him with her elbow. He winked, the cocksure expression that had rescued him from endless childhood misdemeanours, and turned away to snag them a couple of glasses of champagne from a circulating waiter.
Then she winced, herself turning in the opposite direction as Old Man Jibber-Jabber returned and collared her brother, calling him Jacob Junior, a name Ash hated. Ash stilled her escape with his hand on her arm and drew her back into the conversational circle with a tight smile and a glass of champagne.
With flight temporarily thwarted and her brother occupied by the bore, Harley sipped her drink and glanced around surreptitiously for another glimpse of Jack.
This time, when their eyes met, he made his excuses and, not once taking his eyes off her, stalked her way.
Harley’s throat dried. Her feet shuffled half a step in his direction as he approached. The silk of her dress scraped across her sensitive skin, her nerve endings tingling to life as she held his bold, seductive stare with what she hoped was one of her own.
How did he fray every scrap of her composure, easily unravelling her with an arch of his thick brows or a heated look that seemed to speak directly to her rampant libido? Rampant for him.
She swallowed and glanced at Ash, who was still trapped in conversation, but cognisant enough of her bid for freedom to shoot her a warning glare.
She stood her ground, waiting, anticipation twice as potent as the champagne. She fingered the skirt of her dress, enjoying the appreciative gleam in Jack’s eyes.
She’d dressed with him in mind, selecting her favourite gown and donning the rose-pink lingerie, which contrasted well with her creamy skin tones and showcased her ass to its best advantage. If, as he professed, he had X-ray vision, he certainly had an eyeful right about now.
At last he reached her side, all handsome masculinity, impeccably dressed and eye-fucking her, as he’d promised.
‘You look beautiful.’ His words whispered over her neck as he bowed to kiss first one cheek and then the other in that French way of his.
She sucked in his scent for an indulgent, unguarded second. ‘Thank you. This is one of my favourites.’ She indicated the dress.
‘Mine too. Beautiful and talented.’ His voice was low, murmured, so that even surrounded by people, with Ash only a few steps away, he effortlessly created a bubble of intimate privacy.
She laughed. ‘I could say the same about you.’ She eyed his tux, once more enjoying the breadth of his shoulders and the way the pants stretched taut across his slim hips. ‘Italian?’ She lifted the jacket, inspecting the whimsical flash of colourful lining and the cut of the tailoring.
He quirked his mouth, tutting.
‘French. An emerging designer.’ He touched her waist, drawing her closer. ‘I’ll introduce you if you like, next time you’re in Paris.’ He dipped low again, his lips brushing her ear so only she could hear.
‘Are you wet for me? Been dreaming, all afternoon, of the orgasm I’m going to give you?’
She swayed towards him, righting her posture at the last minute to deny herself the feel of his firm chest and strong arm around her. She looked up, all innocence, face blank.
‘Perhaps I couldn’t wait for you. Perhaps I saw to my own needs.’
Instead of scolding or expressing shock, he laughed, his head shaking and his eyes alight. ‘Good. Practice makes perfect when it comes to orgasms.’
How did he know that? Was he some sort of sex guru in his spare time? Did she care as long as
