He exhaled. “I know you want the truth out, but, man, that would be some clean-up campaign for me.” He took her hand and curled his fingers around hers. “Although I bet it would sell your proposal and I do have a vested interest in that getting done.”
She gave a sly smile, letting him know she understood why. “Same, honey.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier…” He lifted their hands to kiss her knuckles. “To put you in your own room every night.”
Her eyes shuttered on a sigh. “Remind me why I wanted to wait for that again.”
Laughing, he squeezed her hand. “If I have to remind you, it’s a stupid idea.”
She turned as they passed Nana’s cottage and he caught her nibbling her bottom lip as she stared at the little house. “Stupid to some,” she murmured.
“And what if this amazing book does get accepted?” he asked. “I’ll still be a…what did you call me? Subject.”
She lifted his hand to her lips and placed a kiss on his knuckle. “We’ll cross that—”
“Graham’s here,” he interjected, spotting his uncle’s familiar black Range Rover.
“Will I get to talk to him?” She sat straighter, following his gaze. “Even if you’re there, Brock, I have to.”
“I’m sure you will. He’s here for the whole Founder’s Day weekend, so there will be time at tonight’s cocktail party at the Vault, or even before the parade tomorrow. If you don’t have time with him, I will.”
“And you’ll ask him about Platt and Salmon Falls?”
Maybe. Maybe not. “I can. I can find something that can help you write a winning proposal.”
“Something…like Claire’s secret? Or Alistair’s?”
“How else are we going to get this proposal done and accepted?” he said, only half joking.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “So you’d ask him about those things just…for sex?” She laughed a little, but he didn’t. He didn’t say a word as he climbed out of the car.
She didn’t wait for him to open her door, but he met her in front of the car.
“Brock? Would you risk a stain on the Blackthorne name for that?”
He didn’t answer for a long time, seriously considering the question as he slid his arms around her and rubbed his hands up and down her back, knowing what he had to say. “If only it was just sex.”
He felt the tiny shudder that went through her whole body in response. “It’s…not?”
“Is it for you?” he asked.
“There’s only been one night of sex…so far.”
With a slight smile, he slid his hand along her jawline, thumbing her soft skin. “Every minute that I’m with you, it feels like…” More. So much more. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
She swallowed, holding his gaze. “It feels like that to me, too,” she admitted on a whisper.
“Like what?” he urged, needing her to put into words these feelings he didn’t understand or recognize.
“Like…” She smiled. “The opposite of lonely.”
“Exactly,” he whispered, lowering his head for a kiss.
She reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, gripping hard, pressing into him, opening her mouth to kiss him in a way that always left them both wanting more.
“Hello, Brock.”
He froze at the sound of his uncle’s voice, slowly inching away from Jenna. Opening his eyes, he looked up to the top step of the porch, where Graham Blackthorne stood staring at him. Next to him was a much smaller, thinner man Brock didn’t recognize.
“Uncle Graham.”
With her back to the men, Jenna closed her eyes and let out a nearly silent grunt. To ease the moment of embarrassment for her, he put his arm around her to make the introduction as casual as possible. “I think you’ve met Jenna Gillespie.”
As she turned, he felt her whole body stiffen as she hissed in a shocked breath. The man next to Brock blinked, then his jaw loosened in disbelief. “Jenna?” he asked, his voice gruff with disapproval and disbelief.
“Hello, Mr. Hazlett. What a surprise to see you here.”
Hazlett? Her publisher? What the hell was he doing here?
It didn’t matter. She’d been caught, and from the look on that man’s face, it could cost her everything. One look at Jenna’s bloodless face and open mouth confirmed that.
* * *
“You look beautiful.” Brock delivered the compliment with nothing but sincerity in his dark eyes, reaching out to Jenna when she met him in the great room that evening.
She smiled her thanks, but her gaze shifted around the empty room, as if she expected someone else to jump up from behind the grand piano or step in from the terrace.
“No worries, they’ve all left for the Vault already. The cocktail party has already started, but we do have to make an appearance.”
“I know.” She smoothed the white strapless dress she wore, taking a calming breath. “And…he’s going to be there?”
“Ollie? Yes, he’ll be there.” He eased her closer and planted a kiss on her head, sliding a hand over her bare shoulder. “He told us that this afternoon, or don’t you remember?”
The brief conversation in the driveway was a blur. She vaguely recalled Graham Blackthorne explaining that he’d invited Ollie up for Founder’s Day weekend, along with some key Blackthorne customers and family friends. After that, she’d begged off to “work,” but the only thing she’d done until now was worry that her publisher seeing her sucking face with the main source for the book would be the last nail in the coffin of her already shaky career.
“Did he say anything to you? About…us?”
“Ollie? I didn’t talk to him after I left with you,” he said, leading her toward the door. “I talked to my uncle, though.”
“Did you ask him about Platt and Salmon Falls?”
He snorted. “He wouldn’t even dignify that with a response beyond telling me it’s stupid, ancient balderdash—that’s a quote—that we’ve dismissed a thousand times.” He added some pressure to his hand on her back. “He also urged me to tell you to drop it.”
“And if I don’t?”
He was silent as they walked down the stairs and he opened his car door for her. Finally, after he got into the driver’s seat, he said, “He might have to have a word with Ollie.”
The answer hit as hard as if he’d used his fist to deliver it. “He’d get my book killed over it?” She didn’t care that her voice rose in anger.
“I don’t think it will get to that.”
But he didn’t know. He didn’t know how easily Oliver Hazlett could change her life with the stroke of his pen. It had already happened once.
“The point is you’re going in the wrong direction over this. It’s not the blockbuster revelation you think it is. There’s no there there.”
Then why was her gut on fire? Why did he refuse to go back to Salmon Falls? Because the barrel with two names on it was too high for him? And why oh why did a Blackthorne give seventy-two million dollars to the Platt family? Her mother would never quit trying to find out, and her father would lose all respect for Jenna if she did.
“So, I’m guessing you didn’t get very far asking him about the ‘secret’ your aunt mentioned before she left.”
He groaned softly. “That question wasn’t just shot down, it was basically flattened by the verbal machine gun that is Angry Graham.”
She shifted in her seat, still torqued about Graham’s threat to kill the book. “Maybe I should go to Paris and talk to her.”
As he stopped at a light, he turned to her, something so raw and real and unreadable in his eyes, it took her breath away. “Would you do that?”
“I…might. I mean, I could. I should, actually, but maybe not for the proposal. When I write the…” She frowned, searching his face. “Brock, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer until he pulled into the parking lot at the Vault, then he took her hands in his. “Yes,” he whispered.
&n
bsp; She shook her head, confused. “Excuse me?”
“This afternoon, you asked me if sex with you is worth the risk of…of whatever damage you could do to our family name.”
“And you want sex so much that it is?”
“I want you,” he said. “And I told you, it isn’t just sex. I want more than that. I want…you, Jenna. Mind, body, and soul.”
She sucked in a quick breath at the confession—and the incredible rush of unexpected happiness it gave her. “You’re not just saying that to steer me clear of family secrets?”
He looked genuinely hurt that she’d asked. “You do what you have to do,” he said. “Dig, talk, ask, travel, whatever. I’m still going to want you. I’m still going to care about you. And I’m still going to wait until this proposal is finished so I can show you how much.”
Before she could respond, he leaned in to kiss her hard on the mouth. Pulling her head toward him, he intensified the kiss, melting her into him. She kissed him back, leaning over the console to get more of him, her breath trapped in her lungs, her hands fisted on his chest, her head light and dizzy with need.
“Maybe,” she whispered, feeling weak and helpless when his hand landed on her thigh, searing her skin. “We don’t have to wait…that long.”
He chuckled into the kiss, sliding his hand under the hem of her dress. “Then let’s make an appearance at this party and behave like professionals…” His hand traveled higher, hotter with each inch. “So we can get the hell out of here and behave like…” His fingers grazed the lace of her panties. “David and Jenna again.”
She moaned into the kiss, all the reasons she had for holding back fading into the background as her entire focus became Brock. “Yes, please.”
She was still quivering from the sexy encounter when they walked into the dark, wood-toned, upscale lounge, where a private party was already well underway.
They stayed next to each other, or within eye-contact distance, and every time their fingers brushed or their gazes met, Jenna’s whole body weakened like it had in the car. She was sure there was a very good reason not to sleep with Brock Blackthorne, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember it.
Until she turned and came face-to-face with Oliver Hazlett. And just that minute, a woman Jenna recognized as Sarah McKinney, the daughter of the distributor owner negotiating with the Blackthornes, slid her arm around Brock’s and stole him away.
“Jenna.” Ollie gave her a tight smile. “You seem so surprised to see me.”
“I’m delighted to see you,” she lied through her own fake smile. “It would have been nice for you to let me know you were coming.”
“And miss that lovely display of affection?” He launched a bushy gray brow. “Get your research however you can, right? I’m sure that’s what Char May would say.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hazlett, I fail to see what my mother has to do with this.”
He tightened thin lips. “She wouldn’t have let the House of Villeneuve debacle happen, for one thing.”
Fury skittered down her spine, but she managed to stay perfectly silent.
“So, my dear,” he said after an awkward beat. “I do hope all that tonsil hockey is getting you a bombshell, because we will accept nothing less.”
“A bombshell?”
“You know, something I couldn’t get on the links with Graham. Something deep, dark, dirty, and designed to sell a lot of books.”
Like the fact that this whole empire was built on a recipe Alistair Blackthorne had stolen? Would that be enough? Or did he want blackmail…and murder?
It could all be there if she dug deep enough. She could ruin this family name, and sell a boatload of books, guaranteeing more contracts for her in the future.
“I’m working on it,” she said, but even as she spoke the words, they made her feel sick. She didn’t want to do that to Brock, or to this family. It’d feel like a betrayal of him and Fiona and even long-dead Meredith.
“It’s the Claire thing, right?” Ollie asked after taking a sip and looking past her, already on the hunt for someone more important and exciting. When she didn’t answer, his gaze returned to her and narrowed. “You know she left carrying some massive secret. I expect you’re finding out what it is.”
“I’m looking into…all the history.”
He pulled out his phone to read a text, ignoring her for a moment. She glanced around for Brock, but didn’t see him anywhere. She did see Sarah McKinney, though, but now she was deep in conversation with Graham, on her tiptoes to talk into his ear over the crowd noise.
“Like that,” Ollie said, staring at them. “Are you looking into that relationship? Graham with a beautiful woman practically licking his ear?”
“No, because that woman is part of the McKinney family, which owns a liquor-distribution company that the Blackthornes are negotiating to acquire.”
He surreptitiously angled his phone and tapped the screen.
“Did you just take a picture of them?” Jenna asked on a choke.
He shrugged. “I suggest you pursue that line, as well. Graham’s infidelity would help your proposal tremendously.”
She screwed up her face. “I haven’t heard one word about either one of them being unfaithful.”
“Really?” He lifted his brows. “Last time we golfed, he had a few drinks and told me he suspected some guy in his boatworks company. Today, he said that was a mistake, but if he’s wondering, there must be something to it.”
“There’s nothing to it,” she said with confidence. “I’ve spent almost two weeks talking to dozens of people in and around this company, and no one has breathed a word of any possible chance either one of them would be unfaithful.”
“This picture would say differently.” He showed her the phone, and she squinted at the image of Graham with Sarah McKinney whispering in his ear, her hand flat on his chest in a gesture of intimacy that Jenna guessed was anything but. Graham had his arm around her, the camera capturing a split-second expression that could be silly or, to some, sexy.
“Isn’t Graham your friend?” she asked.
He slipped the phone in his pocket. “So how’s your proposal coming along? We’ll have it next week, right? I’d love to be able to take it to the editorial board and really push for this to be one helluva profitable project, Jenna.”
“Because it’s all about the profits, not the story.”
He gave her a look that confirmed every word of that. Before she could say anything else, a strong and sure hand landed on her shoulder. “Jenna, I have someone I want you to meet,” Brock said. “This man will definitely help with your research.”
“Who’s that?” Ollie asked.
“Friend of mine named David. Excuse us, will you?” He swooped her away, guiding her through the crowd and slipping into the empty game room. He closed and locked the door behind them, tugging her into darkness.
“David…” she whispered, but the name was trapped by a kiss as he pressed her against the wall. “Mmm. David.”
He stroked her sides and breasts, rocking into her, hard and ready. “I can’t even talk to people,” he confessed. “I can’t think about anything but you.”
Her knees nearly buckled with each kiss and touch, but he held her pinned to the wall, both of them already moving against each other. “The dart room? You have such bad luck in here.”
That made him laugh, but he still managed to work her dress higher. “I’m better at some games than others.”
“You’re good at…that.” She could barely breathe it felt so amazing.
He turned. “Pool table or back home?”
She was so damn tempted, but she slid her dress down and found her last shred of common sense. “Take me home, David.”
He just smiled and tipped his head to the other side of the room. “There’s a back door that only Blackthornes know about.” He kissed her again. “There. Now you have a secret. Feel better?”
“I think I’m about to.”
Chap
ter Seventeen
Taking Jenna home was the closest Brock had ever come to driving under the influence. Because he was drunk on the anticipation of getting her into bed, absolutely hammered by the promise of her every time he stopped at a light and they kissed. By the time he parked in the estate drive, his whole body was pulsing with need, and it only got worse when they started kissing again.
“Why do you drive this dumb sports car?” she joked as he trailed kisses down her throat and filled his hand with the sweet curve of her breast.
“Dumb?”
She tried to ease her leg over him. “I can’t straddle.”
Chuckling at that, he broke the kiss. “Come with me. Plenty of room.” He had her out of the car in no time, taking her hand and leading her through a back door, then up to his second-floor suite.
“The attic?” she joked.
“Maybe next time.” Outside his door, he pulled her into him and leaned her against the wall again, taking a minute to search her eyes for even the slightest hesitation.
“I’m sure,” she whispered as if she’d read his mind.
“What changed? Ollie seeing you here? You figure he knows, so why not?”
“Brock, do you think I make decisions like this based on what my publisher thinks?”
“No, but something changed your mind tonight.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired of making decisions based on the possibility of meeting or missing other people’s expectations.”
“Good girl.”
“The only expectations I want to meet are mine.” She smiled. “And yours.”
“I don’t have any,” he said honestly.
“Really?” She reached up and threaded her hands behind his neck, pulling his head toward hers. “Because I’m expecting David to take me into his room, throw me on the bed, and make love until I can’t walk to the parade tomorrow.”
“Expectations I will meet…and exceed.” He kissed her mouth, tasting the remnants of Blackthorne Gold on her lips. He held her around the waist with one hand and opened his bedroom door with the other. There was a light on in the en suite, and some moonlight seeped through the plantation shutters, but the room was mostly shadows.
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