against his hand, getting herself off like a sex-starved nympho. Trouble was, she was sex-starved, at least starved of the high-calibre variety of sex she was sure came as this man’s standard. Not that her and Jack had ever hit a home run. Not nine years ago, and certainly not now.
‘I have a ticket.’ He tapped his breast pocket and her fashion-tuned eye took a few indulgent seconds to admire the cut of his suit—this one steel blue. His tailor really was excellent, but then Jack was every designer’s dream model. Tall, athletic, muscular but not buff—every inch of him expertly and expensively attired. His black shirt, open at the neck, brought out his fair good looks and highlighted the gleam in his eyes. A gleam levelled directly on her.
‘I see your label is up after the interval?’ He accepted the return of the handkerchief, slipping it back inside his breast pocket.
She nodded, marvelling at the way he could speak on such a mundane topic, all the while his eyes seemed to be stripping her bare. Was he recalling her libidinous display earlier?
Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part, the wisp of silk she wore transforming into a bulky, itchy straightjacket, begging to be tossed so she could get down and dirty with him again.
‘Yes.’ So he’d done his homework. The Give Foundation she’d established after college comprised an ethical fashion house, a cruelty-free cosmetic line and a charity arm. The dyslexia school, if the purchase of the Morris Building proceeded, would be her latest acquisition and, she hoped, her most rewarding endeavour to date. If only she could pull it off.
If only the paperwork had been properly filed.
She kept her mind on business, perhaps then she’d stop eye-fucking him or drooling over her vivid imaginings of the real deal.
‘So have you reconsidered? Will the sale go ahead?’ She might as well work on rectifying her mistake while she had him here. It took her mind off dragging him backstage and stripping him out of that suit and demanding a replay of this afternoon.
His sinful mouth quirked up.
‘So you don’t trust me, but you still want my business?’
She swallowed. A hundred answers forming on her tongue. Trust him? She barely knew him. She just wanted their deal back on track so she could forget she’d ever...reacquainted with him.
Kissed him as if the world were ending. Used his incredible skills to get off and then slapped him back.
‘I’ve spent six months searching for the perfect building. I have an architect on standby for the renovations and I didn’t say I didn’t trust you.’
Trust...? She knew little of the man he’d become. But she craved the searing chemistry between them with a fierceness she didn’t recognise as her own.
He grinned. ‘You didn’t have to say it aloud.’ His eyes lingered on her mouth, his own lip curling. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t trust you, either.’ His lazy stare dragged slowly down the length of her body, and he stepped close, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur that skated over her ear and slid down her neck.
‘And yet you trust me with your body? With your pleasure?’ His lips grazed her earlobe as he straightened, the only point of contact between them. And just like that she returned to a state of full-body meltdown.
She leaned forward as he pulled away, as if her entire being were magnetised and drawn to his, opposing poles. Memory of that pleasure snaked south, a flood of heat dampening her panties. Damn him. How could he do that to her, with a few husky words? He seemed to have a direct line, a retinal scanner and magic wand to her libido.
A round of applause heralded the end to the current show. Harley ignored the heat fizzing through her veins and the more potent heat rising from the man next to her. She placed her champagne on a nearby table to clap as the designer took the stage with his models for one last walk.
‘Your turn next,’ he said as the lights went up, heralding the start of a fifteen-minute interval. Why did his every word scrape at her nipples? His sexy accent, the deep timbre, the accompanying smoulder that seemed to be tailored specifically for her.
‘Oh, I don’t walk at my shows.’ She picked up her champagne flute, giving her restless hands something to do other than touch Jack as she busied her stare with the audience, who rose from their seats, many heading to the bar.
‘Why not?’ He sipped his own drink, his tongue taking a slow swipe across his bottom lip. A lip she’d tasted, scraped with her teeth, sucked at while kissing him as if her life depended on it. Would it feel as amazing gliding over the rest of her body?
She lifted one shoulder, heat of a different kind infecting her buzz. Should she justify her rather unorthodox choices to him?
In the past, explaining her beliefs and opinions to the men in her life had only led to criticism. And she’d heard enough of that to last a lifetime. Could she tolerate it from Jack, of all people?
‘I find my label does better without the often adverse publicity of the Jacob name.’
His brow dipped, as if puzzled by her revelation. She was about to elaborate when they were joined by another couple, the man tall and immaculately tailored like Jack, and the woman elegantly understated in that trendy, New York way.
Jack stepped aside, welcoming the couple into their space. ‘Harley, I’d like you to meet my cousin, Alex Lancaster, and his fiancée, Libby Noble. Libby is a New Yorker, too.’
They shook hands, exchanging warm, polite greetings, and then the gorgeous couple took flutes of champagne from a passing waiter.
‘So, how do you two know each other?’ asked Alex, eyeing his cousin.
Harley jumped in. ‘We...’ What could she say? Their liaisons, both then and now, too complicated for polite conversation.
‘Harley and I are in business negotiations.’ Jack flicked her a look that replicated the effect of his fingers teasing her nipple earlier. She clamped her mouth shut in case she actually whimpered out loud. How did he do that? He hadn’t even touched her.
With his eyes still on her, he spoke to his cousin.
‘Her company is purchasing the Morris Building.’ He could have used different words, other explanations.
We holidayed together as kids. Our families were once friends. We shared hot and heavy make-out sessions during stolen teenaged moments.
Highly attuned to the erotic tension coiling between her and Jack, she avoided his eyes. But she couldn’t avoid the memories—those innocent moments of sexual awakening hijacked by an awakening of another kind, one that had killed that innocence, changed her view on relationships for ever and tore their two families apart. Hal’s explanation had been a business deal turned sour. But sadly, Harley knew better.
She swallowed the bitter aftertaste those memories always evoked, along with the harder to overcome shame.
Alex looked at Jack, who still stared at Harley.
‘Oh...’ Alex glanced between Harley and his cousin ‘...are you the person responsible for the cock up?’ He grinned, his expression teasing mischief. But the barb went deep, with the accuracy of a medical laser.
Harley
