I tried to stay calm for Lena's benefit, but my companion's anger was starting to raise my own ire. "Yes, I got accepted," I said to Jack's retreating back. "But I never visited the campus. It wasn't my first-choice school, and I couldn't have afforded to attend anyway." Even if Harvard had offered low-income students the same free ride at that time as they did now, relocating to a new city would have been vastly beyond my means at eighteen. Six years later, I had more of a nest egg saved up than my completely-empty foster-kid bank account had boasted, but I still didn't possess nearly enough funds to drop everything and hare off to school in New England. In fact, it felt cruel of Jack to bring up the past when I'd been forced to accept that further education wouldn't be part of my future. "Sometimes, you just have to let your dreams go," I finished quietly.
Lena had been trailing along behind us, distancing herself from the drama, but now she lengthened her stride to catch up. "I've decided which school we're visiting next," the teenager said, breaking through whatever strange argument Jack and I were engaged in. I would have hugged the girl in gratitude for her rescue if I didn't think she'd stiffen like a board at my touch.
Jack didn't appear to be as relieved at the change of topic as I was, but he took a deep breath anyway and turned to face his sister, all unpleasant emotion wiped from his face. "Great," my employer said, refusing to look at me as he gave Lena his undivided attention. "Where are we going next?"
"We can drive to Amherst," Lena replied, pecking at her smart phone as she pulled up a map constructed while the two of us were attempting to maneuver through the minefield of our disparate upbringings. "Then it's three more hours to Middlebury, and we should probably take a plane back down to Swarthmore after that. Or we could drive by way of New York City and spend the night in our flat there—I miss the view over Central Park. Does that sound okay?"
Jack digested his sister's words in silence, and when he glanced in my direction at last, his face looked a bit chagrined. "So you don't think much of the ivy leagues?" he asked Lena after a long pause.
"Harvard is interesting," the girl replied, sticking to her guns. "But it's not for me. Well? What do you think?"
"I think," Jack replied, "That Ginny was right after all."
***
By Saturday afternoon, the three colleges we'd seen so far were starting to run together. All of the buildings were covered with ivy, all of the doors were plastered with invitations to intriguing events, and I could have happily lived in any one of their libraries for the next decade without ever wanting to leave its quiet halls. I just hoped that Lena was a more discerning judge of institutions than me, because if this had been my college tour, I would have been stumped.
Thankfully, whatever bee Jack had gotten in his bonnet at Harvard was also long gone. Instead, our companion had returned to Mr. Fish Sticks-level charming, but with Jack-level intensity, and I struggled not to let my intense attraction to my boss turn into anything deeper. It didn't help that Jack seemed bound and determined to introduce me to new experiences that my budget-conscious lifestyle had required me to miss out on, or that Lena was having just as much fun as her brother teasing me into sampling sushi (remarkably delicious) and subways (relatively terrifying).
"So, don't freak," Lena told me now, "But the elevator is going to open up right into our penthouse apartment and the windows can be startling." I hadn't asked how many apartments the Reynolds owned, but it was clear that this Big Apple residence wasn't their primary home. Despite that fact, the doorman had greeted Jack by name, plucking the luggage out of our hands and seeming to know both Reynolds on sight.
As a result, I was unencumbered when I stepped out of the elevator, walked past the vase of cut orchids, and halted in front of the huge window completely covering one of the living-room walls. It felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, peering down into a valley, but this landscape was full of city lights and billboards. "Wow," I breathed, exhilarated.
"Enjoy the view, but don't settle in," Jack said, coming up behind me. His hand almost (but not quite) made contact with the small of my back, then my companion changed his mind and shifted back to maintain a professional distance.
Jack's charm had definitely worked its magic over the last day and a half, and I yearned to be touched. But I couldn't quite summon the boldness to say so in words, the Harvard kiss having apparently exhausted my store of courage. Unfortunately, my companion seemed unwilling to advance into public displays of affection unless I overtly stated my wishes, so we hovered on the edge between touching and not touching, the indecision threatening to drive me mad.
"Are we going out?" Lena asked now, leaping up to balance on the arm of the sofa behind us so that she could look out over our heads. At moments like this, the girl seemed much younger than her fifteen years, and I was absurdly grateful to realize that my charge hadn't completely lost her childhood to Clean Power and to the Reynolds' empire-building. Personally, I would have preferred settling in for a quiet evening at home, but if Lena was this excited about going out on the town, I was game. At least our upcoming outing would take my mind off the firm muscles barely covered by Jack's button-down shirt, buttons that I itched to slip out of their holes so that I could have access to the skin underneath.
"I tracked down tickets to Les Mis," Jack confirmed, and Lena squealed her excitement. For my part, it took a moment to translate my companion's shortening of the Broadway play's name, and even after I figured out the evening's entertainment, I still couldn't quite imagine attending a high-end musical in my ragged jeans and t-shirt. Luckily, my employer had covered all the bases. "And since we're traveling light," he continued, "I ordered clothes for everybody."
The garment rack had gone unnoticed when we entered the apartment, the scene out the window consuming all of my attention, but now I allowed Lena to lead me over to the dresses and suit pushed up against one wall. There were multiple gowns, plenty for both me and Lena to choose between, and I knew without even touching the fabric that each of these outfits cost far more than I would ever make in a week, even at my current exotic salary. But how could I begin counting pennies now, after riding in a private jet, being ferried around by limousine and expensive rental car, and then shacking up in a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park? Jack had told me to think of this as a vacation, and I chose to do so—not just as a vacation from work, but also as a vacation from my usual ethics and lifestyle.
Lena was already intent on taking her chosen dress off the hanger, which gave me time to shoot a glance at my employer at the other end of the room. Jack was eying me back, his jaw clenched as if he expected me to pitch a fit at the fanciness of the clothing, so I stuck to the only honest but kind answer I could give. "Thank you," I told him simply.
The real smile that spread across Jack's face was worth more than all of our outfits combined.
***
"You hated it," Jack said the next morning as we enjoyed a breakfast that had miraculously appeared in our entryway a few minutes earlier. It had taken a while for the three of us to tumble out of our respective beds after our late night, and I wasn't quite sure if I was alert enough to rehash the previous evening's difficulties. Because the unfortunate truth was that, while I'd tried to embrace this experience just like all of the others, I'd been forced to paste a polite smile onto my face partway through dinner, and the expression hadn't slipped since. Too bad those pseudo-smiles that had served me so well in the past didn't seem to make headway amongst the Reynolds siblings.
"I didn't hate it," I answered, unsure what to say without being rude in the face of Jack's extreme and continued generosity. Perhaps humor would suffice. "It's just, I'm not used to eating at restaurants where there are no prices on the menu. And I don't really see the point of four forks for one person, unless you want me to use the excess silverware to pin up my hair." Lena stifled a chuckle, and I shot her a grateful glance. At least someone could find the previous evening amusing. "The food was good, though," I finished lamely.
/>
"But the show," Jack said, still pounding away at the issue and sounding frustrated at my tepid response. "Women are supposed to love musicals."
Okay, the play itself had been riveting...if I didn't allow myself to consider the combined market value of all the jewels draped over an audience that was supposed to be watching a piece on poverty. That irony aside, when we'd eventually walked out into the street, the three of us had been startled by flashbulbs of society reporters, an event so far outside my previous experience that I would have bolted if Jack's hand hadn't been so solid against my back.
"It was just more than I'm used to," I said simply, picking at the equally fancy breakfast fare (although, thankfully, our current meal had been offered up with only one fork apiece). "Anyway," I continued, attempting to change the subject, "Are we going on to Swarthmore today?"
"Tomorrow," Lena replied, deciding for all of us. "Ginny is worn out, and I want to poke around the city for a while this morning. Do either of you wanna come?"
And, just like that, our minor disagreement was forgotten as the temperature in the room increased by about ten degrees. Jack's eyes met mine and I was suddenly thrown back into our kitchen kiss, the attraction that had been smoldering between us ever since flaring vividly to life. If our chaperone was going to leave us alone in the apartment, then my confusion over high society definitely took second place to thoughts of what her brother and I might get up to in the girl's absence.
"No, we're good," Jack responded for both of us. And for once, I let my companion get away with the unilateral decision.
***
Lena departed with a promise to call before she came home. "In case you think of something you want me to pick up," the girl had said, but I immediately realized that the young matchmaker was granting us extra space on purpose. That knowledge made me blush again, and the girl's glib smile stoked my nervousness to never-before-seen heights. At some point, I was going to have to decide whether I was really going to take such an irrevocable step with my employer. Was I willing to risk the oxytocin response that inevitably made women fall in love with men they slept with, when Jack had promised me nothing more than a truce from our power-plant battle during this working vacation? Could I handle the fallout when it became clear that he hadn't fallen in love with me back?
And was the oxytocin issue even relevant when I had a sneaking suspicion that Jack had wriggled through my defenses just fine on the weight of a mere kiss?
Yet despite all of my second (and third and fourth) thoughts, as soon as the elevator door closed behind my charge, I found myself in Jack's arms, my lips locking onto his. This time, we weren't constrained by a tiny mobile-home kitchen, but Jack still chose to press his body up against mine, the evidence of his erection firm against my belly. I allowed myself to be pushed backwards until I was steadied by the wall, relishing the way Jack's larger form encompassed my own, and I allowed my hands to roam across his body, attempting to circle his biceps and trailing across the exposed skin of his neck.
"You are the most startlingly delicious woman I've ever met," Jack whispered in my ear as we came up for air. Then, taking my hand, he pulled me into the living room and tumbled us together onto one of the large leather sofas flanking the glass wall.
"I like the view," I offered, sitting up to face the windows at the same time that sensations gave way to sense, nervousness once more filling my mind.
But Jack wasn't going down that road. "So do I," he growled, but the businessman wasn't looking out the window.
And neither was I once I realized that my partner's shirt had disappeared, exposing a whole new realm of bare skin for my viewing pleasure. I felt as if Jack's body were a magnet, and I was unable to resist reaching out a hand to stroke his chest, the muscles hard beneath his skin.
Jack followed my lead, slipping his palms up under my shirt to caress my belly, the gesture sending tingles to my core. Reaching higher, he snapped my bra open with a flick of his wrist, and I was startled into a laugh. "You've been practicing," I said inanely, and then Jack silenced my words with another kiss, this one so deep I thought I might drown in it.
"Jack, wait a minute," I forced myself to say before we went so far that there was no coming back. Already, I could feel my rational mind disappearing beneath my companion's caresses, and there were things that both he and I needed to hear before any more clothes came off.
"Right," Jack said abruptly, pulling away from me with a strange sort of smile. And then, to my chagrin, my companion lifted a briefcase off the floor and onto his lap, then popped up the lid.
Chapter 18
"Um, this isn't a business deal," I said, furrowing my brow in confusion. Although, maybe to Mr. Fish Sticks, sex and business would be intertwined. I'd read that the upper crust liked to sign pre-nups before marriage—maybe there was a similar contract that the Reynolds expected their lovers to agree to before sex? A nondisclosure agreement, perhaps?
"That's good to know," Jack responded with a smirk. "Here." He handed over a sheet of paper covered with numbers that at first glance made no sense to my addled brain, but that slowly materialized into STD-testing results. Jack was as clean as a whistle.
"I know you like things planned and controlled," Jack was saying as he pulled another printout from his valise and handed it over to me. "And when I start to undress you, I don't want you worrying about anything other than whether the neighbors can hear your screams of pleasure. Which they can't, by the way. This place is soundproofed."
The second report involved efficacy rates of various types of contraceptive techniques, numbers that would have scared me more if I hadn't been keeping track of my menstrual cycle and knew that I was at extremely low risk of getting pregnant today even if we used the least effective contraceptive method on the chart. That choice, apparently, was up to me since I could see condoms and other unidentified packets poking up around the remaining papers in Jack's briefcase.
Despite myself, I began to laugh. To any other girl, this businesslike rundown of the risks of intercourse would have been a turnoff, but coming from Jack, the data actually felt romantic—as if he fully understood my neurotic nature and had put a lot of effort into making this experience worry-free for me.
"Okay, a laugh right now isn't a good sign," Jack continued, his voice actually sounding a bit nervous when my only reaction was merriment. "But I can work with it. I want you to look at these statistics before you make your final decision." The paper my companion tried to thrust into my hands this time around was obviously compiled from several different sources, and I noticed that Jack had highlighted certain lines to make his presentation go more smoothly.
"I know that it's a huge leap of faith to trust me," Jack went on, and the paper I'd yet to accept began to shake in his grasp. "But if you read this report, you'll see that romantic relationships are actually beneficial to your health. Did you know that sex helps you grow new brain cells? That being part of a happy marriage increases your expected life span by the same amount that smoking a pack a day decreases your longevity?"
I knew it was time to put my couch-mate out of his misery, but I couldn't quite resist teasing him one last time. After all, Mr. Fish Sticks had made me squirm often enough in the early days of our whatever-this-was. "Is that a proposal?" I asked, keeping my face straight with an effort.
"No," Jack said firmly, then rushed to mitigate what might have sounded like a rejection. "Because I know you wouldn't trust a marriage proposal when we've only known each other for a few weeks...."
My companion could have kept digging himself out of that particular pit for quite a while, but I took pity on him. Accepting the final paper out of his hand and carefully placing it back into its folder along with the other reports, I plucked a foil-wrapped condom out of the briefcase in exchange. "I made my pro-con lists before we left home, Jack," I told him at last. "And the pros came out ahead by a mile."
To my delight, the sexy smirk that I enjoyed so much made a reappearance on my compa
nion's face as he took in my words. "Can I see your list?" he asked, letting the briefcase fall to the floor and the papers flutter across the room as he pinned me to the couch.
"No," I answered. "But I'll show you something you'll like even better."
***
That oxytocin is some powerful stuff. As I lay with my head on Jack's shoulder, the two of us sprawled across the king-sized bed where we'd eventually wound up, I felt my companion's energy pouring into my body in a gentle yet steady wave. In that moment, I knew that all of our differences were minor in comparison with the bond we'd already forged. This whatever-it-was between us was already as strong as Pippin's roots, and our connection was growing by the moment.
My happiness only expanded over the next two days as we finished up Lena's college tour. Jack was so solicitous of my needs that any niggling hint of doubt that might have impinged on my late-night mind was soon squashed. We toured the final school on our list, then spent one glorious afternoon at a botanical garden that nearly made me happier than all of the college libraries we'd toured put together. Not wanting the trip to end, the three of us opted to drive south rather than hooking back up with the Reynolds' jet, and Jack planned frequent pit stops at parks and tourist attractions along the way.
That's why, when all was said and done, we barely pulled back into my hometown half an hour before the Cuadic meeting began. But I didn't mind. I figured I could pick up Florabelle and bring her with me—most of the organization's members had expressed an interest in being introduced to my pet at one time or another, so today could be my show and tell. I wouldn't have traded a single instant of the hours I'd spent with Jack for solitary prep time to expedite the meeting to come, and I'd told my companion as much that morning when we were planning our excursion's final day.
Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1) Page 13