in her comments about his sister’s happiness. She’d learnt her lesson, both from Hal and Phil.
Ash’s words rang in her ears. Was she a good judge of character? Yes, she’d seen through Phil. She’d realised her relationship with him had been more about her relationship with her father and trying to please him.
But had she grown sloppy, or been mesmerised by her physical attraction to Jack and missed a crucial character flaw? Was he the kind of businessman who had more in common with Hal than she realised?
Her empire, her dyslexia school in particular, meant everything to her. But she’d walk away from their deal in a heartbeat if he’d deliberately deceived her. Especially if, as Ash suggested, he’d used her for some sort of revenge. She cringed. If he’d managed to dupe her because the documents and contracts pertaining to the Morris Building swam before her eyes and made her head hurt...
Or perhaps she’d put everything she’d built up in jeopardy with her constant challenges. Perhaps Hal was right. Was it time to stop messing around and return to the safety of the family fold?
Jack stepped closer, his erection grazing her thigh. Her limbs quivered as if she’d drunk more than she had, her nipples peaked through her top and chafed on his shirt and her sex clenched in anticipation. She swallowed, her eyes closing and her forehead leaning against his firm chest.
What was wrong with her? Doubting his integrity and professionalism one minute, about to claw at his clothes and ride him the next. Was the sex with Jack really that good? Good enough she couldn’t walk away if her business interests dictated their connection over? No regrets? If he’d lied to her, duped her...
She closed her eyes tight, the sexy beat of the music and the rhythmic swipes of Jack’s thumb on the bare skin of her waist lulling her into sensual waters. Unlike the forgettable Phil, everything this man did, said and was lured her there.
And she did want what they created together. Something she’d failed to find with anyone else. This searing connection, flammable chemistry, a forbidden addiction... Until she’d had chance to fully investigate Ash’s claim, could she really abandon it, abandon him again, so easily?
And while she hadn’t known Jack for the intervening nine years, the man she’d spent the day with yesterday—the same one who’d picked out tiny giraffe-printed romper suits and a cuddly snowy-white swan for his pregnant sister—she just couldn’t reconcile that man with one who orchestrated dodgy deals, professionally. Perhaps that made her stupid, an emotion she’d grown up with.
Jack’s lips grazed her temple and she opened her eyes.
‘You didn’t answer my texts.’ Not a question. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled. She leaned into him, following the slight sway of his body, which moved them in time with the sensual beat of the music in a dance of their own.
‘No.’ Why did swaying on the edge of the dance floor with this man feel a hundred times more intimate than anything she’d experienced with her ex-fiancé, a man she’d almost married? Harley looped her fingers into the belt loops on his jeans so their hips moved in unison. If she closed her eyes, kept this moment, her dancing with Jack, alive, she could avoid thinking about the doubts, both of him and herself, eating her away inside like acid.
Jack stilled.
Harley opened her eyes, reluctant but a realist.
He looked down, expression unreadable. Not angry. Not even insulted that she’d ignored him without explanation, it seemed.
He placed his beer on a nearby table and took her hand. No explanation. But she didn’t need one. She followed him, her pulse thrumming between her legs as their bodies weaved through the crowds. Heat curled inside her. She couldn’t be sure if it was shame that she’d sidelined her concerns and succumbed to her constant physical need for Jack, or the heat that rarely dissipated from her body when he was around. Either way, she offered no resistance, which was how, moments later, she found herself in a darkened corridor off the club, the chill of the air and the dulling of the music shutting out everything but Jack, his body warm and insistent against hers.
He crowded her and she tugged him with her as she leaned back against the wall. He scooped the hair from one shoulder, his fingers brushing her skin as his eyes held her captive.
‘Tell me...’ a small frown dulled the searing intensity of his stare ‘...did I imagine your cries, your satisfaction yesterday?’ He slotted one leg between hers, the scrape of denim against her inner thighs firing her nerve endings to screaming life.
She rubbed herself shamelessly on him, her hips undulating as he found the sensitive skin beneath her ear and caressed it with his mouth, waiting for her answer.
Her head hit the wall behind her, eyes rolling back.
‘No,’ she whispered, uncaring of the needy catch in her voice or the way her nails clung to his rippling shoulders as he pinned her to the wall.
His hand eased between her legs, which parted without resistance, his fingers slipping beyond the scant barrier of her panties, fingertips strumming her clit.
She pulled him closer, her mouth finding his. The hollow ache between her legs intensified. She wanted him. Here. Now. Her sister or her ex could come searching for her any moment, but all she could think about was Jack inside her, fucking her against the wall. The ecstasy she knew he’d deliver, the sex, between them so easy.
The only easy thing in her life right now.
She scrunched her eyes closed, willing the rapture she knew was out there. But it hovered just out of reach, her mind warring with the needs of her body and, for once, coming out on top. Her timing sucked, the need to prioritise answers over her body’s demands.
‘What’s wrong, chérie?’ His eyes cleared. His fingers stilled. He removed his hand from her panties and smoothed her skirt over her hips, hands lingering there.
She looked away. Still confused. Still balanced on a tightrope, afraid to look down for fear of what she might see. She shook her head.
Outside their business deal, she had no right to probe. But their conversation about Isabel and her doubts about the Morris deal dragged up questions.
Did he hate her family enough to deliberately conceal facts about the Morris Building? Her mouth opened and closed. She folded her arms across her waist. She had no right to answers when she herself kept a secret from him. And did she really want those answers when they could mark an end to the best sex of her life?
‘I—’ Her throat scratched. How could she question his motives without telling him the full story of the reasons for their families’ rift? Demand complete honesty from him, while concealing something so enormous herself?
He sighed, adjusting himself before putting his hands in his pockets. When he looked at her again, she shivered.
‘Are you letting me down gently, this time?’ His mouth tightened a fraction, or she might have imagined that because his tone stayed light. ‘Are you done with our little game?’ His neutral expression gave nothing away, as if he didn’t care either way. As if he could walk away, right now. Tonight. No regrets.
But could she?
His hand scrubbed his stubbled cheek as if he was about to say more, but held back. What would he say? We were just fooling around...? Au revoir?
Harley
