or the fact their families had parted on bad terms nine years ago, he’d clearly forgotten the reputation of her hard-ass, cut-throat father, a man who’d raised her with his own personal brand of subtle put-downs, constant reminders of her failings and barely concealed disappointed looks.
With a twitch of his lips, Jack looked away, closing his laptop.
‘Gentlemen, excuse us. Any queries, speak to the foreman.’ The bite of his tone and the astute stare he levelled on her slammed her mission back to the forefront of Harley’s lust-addled mind.
Mission. Contract. Signature.
The group disbanded, dispersing one by one until all that separated her from the man who now went by another name was a heap of ancient history and the crackle of sexual tension that rent the air like the buzz of power tools.
Her paper-thin confidence wavered, blurring the lines between past and present. Yes, for a few heady months she’d believed herself in love with teenaged Jack, back when the idea of love and naïve romantic ideals had ruled her head.
But perhaps she was alone in this renewed violent surge of attraction. Perhaps he didn’t recognise her. Perhaps her ending their relationship had been insignificant to him then, easily forgotten the minute he’d returned to France with his family. And the subsequent heartache and guilt she’d felt on calling it off without explanation had been completely unnecessary.
She used the stalemate stare down they had going to reacquaint herself with the object of all her teenaged fantasies on the perfect man. Of course, now she understood there was no such thing.
Time had changed him, but for the better. His dark blond hair was shorter, the unruly flop of youth now cropped at the sides and back, still a little wild on top—a place to slide her fingers. His face, still handsome, had lost its boyish charm, his square, clean-shaven jaw was more pronounced and the cleft in his chin, which, from memory, perfectly fitted the tip of her index finger, was still prominent. How she’d love to test the scrape of his stubble against her skin. To kiss the curl of derision from his sexy mouth.
But one thing was glaringly obvious—the boy of her childish recollections had left the building. This man before her, dressed in a button down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned muscular forearms, and tailored pants, oozed testosterone from every pore. The scorch of his stare alone told her he was in charge. Power dripped from him, the proud breadth of his chest, the dominating height of his stature and the determined jut of his arrogant chin.
Harley sucked in a breath.
‘I—’
‘What can I do for you?’
Their words clashed.
Their eyes clashed.
Harley swallowed, her resolve solidifying despite the flare of lust drawing her back in time. Now she’d met the man on the other end of their broken deal, she wouldn’t leave without being heard out. She stood taller. She’d leave with his signature on the contract and they need never cross paths again.
The animosity between the Lanes and the Jacobs gave her an edge—know your enemy. And this was her turf. Her dream at stake. And despite not quite fitting the mould, she was a Jacob.
That Jacques Lane, or Jack Demont, now held that dream in the palm of his sexy, grown-up hands—hands she’d like to reintroduce to her traitorous body—provided an additional hurdle.
But she’d learned harsh lessons from her father’s years of disapproval. Hardening herself to others’ expectations and battling, daily, the personal limitations of dyslexia had become her norm. It would take more than his brooding sexuality to trip her up.
He continued to stare, his eyes sultry, as if they’d already peeled the layer of wool from her body. But still, he showed no hint of recognition.
Harley faltered, her composure fleeing, replaced by the ingrained insecurities that hovered close to her polished surface. But his cluelessness could be to her advantage. Time to throw him off balance. Why should she be the only one floundering and ignorant?
‘You don’t remember me?’
‘Oh, I remember you, Harley.’ He grinned, a superficial mask that didn’t reach his eyes, which glittered with sparks as they traced her from head to toe. As if he’d plugged her into one of the sockets scattered about and attached her to the mains, his lazy perusal lit her up from the inside. And then his words registered and an all-over-body chill replaced the heat of moments ago.
He’d known the identity of his purchaser and deliberately stalled the sale. What other explanation could there be? Was this delay tactic some sort of petty revenge for the bad blood between their families? Or just revenge against her?
Harley jutted out one hip and fisted her hand there. If he’d stalled over some historical family feud...that was easily ironed out.
‘You do?’ She shifted her weight, her limbs liquefying under his molten stare.
She expected his dismissal or anger. After all, she’d unceremoniously dumped him years ago. But she hadn’t expected the instant buzz of attraction or the urge to rip him out of his fine tailoring and see what havoc age and maturity had wreaked on his sublime-looking, rangy body.
But the clenched muscles in his jaw told her he not only remembered her, he also recalled the bitter feud between their families.
‘Of course.’
Heat of a different kind crept under Harley’s skin. She’d learned more than how to break someone’s heart that summer. She’d learned about the lies adults told, the deceit hidden in plain sight and the true value of her so-called love.
Rearing back from memories of that time and her foolish infatuation with the boy Jack had been, she started when he stepped closer, encroaching on her personal space so she was forced to look up at him if she wanted to maintain eye contact. His heat burned into her, shunting her body temperature so high, she regretted the cashmere even more.
‘I remember you, just fine.’ His stare dipped to her mouth and she licked dry lips, an unconscious gesture.
Why, despite the harshness of his expression, did his words slide over her like a caress from the finest silk? He’d barely spoken, but the husky drawl of his voice reverberated viciously between her legs.
Just as it had at seventeen, her body reacted to him. But this time, she too was all grown up and her libido seemed to have multiplied exponentially in his potent presence.
But she wavered, caught between the successful entrepreneur of today here to seal the promised deal and the smitten schoolgirl of yesterday—insecure, lonely even within her family and infatuated by Jack’s abundant confidence, his exotic accent and his cocky smile.
No.
She bit her lip, trying to dampen the licks of arousal coiling in her belly.
Not her.
Not him.
The events of that ill-fated family holiday with Jack’s family had completely overwhelmed seventeen-year-old Harley, ripping apart everything she’d known to be true. In her confusion, fear and disillusionment, she’d abruptly broken things off with Jack, despite her rampant crush.
So
