by JC Harroway
Her delicate scent the most potent aphrodisiac and her green stare clinging to his as if begging him to taste her again. Just as she’d begged him at seventeen. He shifted, adjusting the steely ache in his groin.
Fuck his integrity, his sense of honour. He’d held back then, never got to explore her the way he’d wanted, to see if the passion burning in her eyes could be fanned to an inferno. Because she’d dumped him. Out of the blue. No Dear John, no explanation, no regret.
And then his life had turned to shit. Jack rubbed a hand over his face, swallowing back a surge of bitterness.
What an idiot he’d been—on multiple levels. His naïve belief he’d have time to explore his budding relationship with Harley. His foolish conviction she’d cared for him and his complete lack of understanding when it came to the complexities of relationships.
He closed his eyes—even the word carried a bitter aftertaste. Sucking discipline through his flared nostrils, he willed his body back under control. But without the visual distraction of his surroundings, the memories amplified.
The feel of her against him in the elevator. Her soft curves pressed to him, flooding his body with renewed life as if he’d been dead all these years and she’d jump-started him with forty thousand volts. Her nipples peaking through the fine wool of her dress. The tantalising swipe of her pink tongue brushing across her plump lower lip. The flawless creamy skin flushed with...arousal or just anger?
Stop.
He raked his hand through his hair. At this rate, he’d have to wait out his hard-on before he could enter his building and take a cold shower.
Of course, he’d known she’d show up some time. The minute he’d discovered the CEO of Give, the company purchasing a run-down piece of commercial real estate in the Bronx, was the girl who’d broken his young heart.
But like an idiot, he’d underestimated the impact of seeing her again in the flesh. Even with the hard hat, the impractical footwear and the blaze of belligerence, she was as achingly beautiful surrounded by building dust as she’d been at seventeen.
And even more so, because she’d matured into a sophisticated and, from the glimpses he’d seen today, savvy and determined woman. All woman—every curve waking primal urges within him, every plane of her exquisite face a bittersweet reminder of his youthful naiveté.
But he was no longer a besotted teen. And Harley had taught him his first relationship lesson—that ‘love’ vanished as quickly as it appeared and meant nothing.
His parents’ divorce, which had followed in close succession to the sour business deal between his father and Harley’s, had taught him the second lesson, and life as he’d known it had spiralled out of control, changed for ever.
He cursed. He tried not to think of those times, but Harley had stirred up more than his libido.
His father had never truly recovered from the implosion of his joint business venture with Hal Jacob or the demise of his marriage. And Jack had vowed never to be as vulnerable to that level of devastation, fighting damn hard through his late teens and early twenties to survive the crumbling of his once-happy family and to forge his own career path independent of his father’s failing business.
Every step of that hard-won journey had been achieved by taking control of his life, making the decisions and shelving pointless sentimentality.
He rubbed his still-buzzing lips. He’d come so close to kissing her. Some caveman part of him demanding he give her both a taste and a demonstration of what she’d been missing.
Fuck, he’d come close to hoisting up that reveal-nothing wool dress and plunging inside her right there in the elevator of the building he was renovating.
He cracked his knuckles, stopping just short of punching the wood-panelled door. He’d once been a stupid kid, a dreamer. But he’d be damned if his residual and frankly irrelevant sexual attraction to her would rule him this time, even if it was clearly reciprocated.
Harley could no more hide the shallow breaths and fluttering pulse at her throat than he could hide his steely length in his pants.
The chemistry still raging between them affected her too. Perhaps she wanted more from him than the Morris Building. Perhaps she craved a taste of what she’d once callously thrown away.
He snorted, the idea growing in his mind. It had merits.
A game.
A mutually satisfying interlude that served a dual purpose—show Harley what she’d missed out on and scratch this insistent itch they’d sparked in each other.
Only this time he’d be firmly in control, as he always was. His rules, his playbook.
Being confined in a slowly moving vehicle with Harley in his head tested every ounce of his usually abundant patience. But that too could be channelled to serve his purpose. He reached for his phone to dial his assistant.
He dismissed polite preamble. He’d apologise when his mood improved and his head cleared of Harley’s image.
‘Find out if Give has any connection with Jacob Holdings.’ He’d vowed long ago never to do business with Hal Jacob, the man who’d shafted his father professionally, stripping him of his self-confidence to make good decisions. A vow he intended to keep, despite the way his body responded to Harley.
‘Yes, sir. We’ve already completed those checks,’ Trent reminded him.
‘Double check.’ He wouldn’t make the same mistakes his father had made. If Harley’s business, her foundation, was tied up with Hal Jacob, he’d ensure the Morris deal stayed dead.
He hadn’t lied to her. There were irregularities with the contract that required ironing out. But he’d been handed a gift, one he’d take full advantage of if he discovered she could be as deceptive as her father.
‘Employ an industrial investigator. I want it ironclad.’ One luxury of being head of your own multinational was the enviable position of being able to cherry-pick your business associates and clientele. A luxury that satisfied his need for control. He’d worked too hard to be led by his dick.
Fuck, perhaps he needed to get laid. He’d neglected himself in recent months, building up his New York contacts, renting offices, finding the right apartment to renovate as a showpiece for his architecture clients.
And he hadn’t spent the past nine years living like a monk. His life was full—personally and professionally satisfying. He’d made good on his promises to himself, his business going from strength to strength and the women in his life taking a gratifying but always temporary back seat.
‘Mr Demont,’ Trent interrupted, ‘Mr Lancaster is in town. He’s sent over a ticket to a function tonight. He’d like you to join him and Ms Noble.’
Perfect. That was what he needed. A night out with his cousin and his fiancée, somewhere glamorous with the distraction of plenty of gorgeous women. Women beautiful enough to chase away the memory of Harley’s pert breasts pressed against his chest, her heartbeat thundering against his.
‘Send the ticket over, Trent. And let Mr Lancaster and his fiancée know I’ll be attending.’ It didn’t matter the nature of the function. He needed a diversion. Fast. It had been months since he’d had a woman in his bed. Too long.
The thought of sex flooded his mind with imaginings of Harley. Her blond hair fanned out over his pillow, her naked body wrapped in his sheets, her delectable scent clinging to the bed linens long after she left...
At this rate he’d have to bang one out before he left his apartment for the evening. He scrubbed his hand through his hair. Why hadn’t he prepared himself for the sight of her? He should have guessed she’d take umbrage at him stalling the sale while his team investigated the error they’d unearthed at the eleventh hour. An error, it turned out, that originated with her.
Typical Harley. She’d breezed over that fact. And her family already owned half of Manhattan—of course she’d charge in and simply demand what she felt she deserved.
But he’d be damned if h
e’d give it to the pampered princess, no questions asked. He wouldn’t trust Hal Jacob to the end of the street and he wouldn’t make the same mistakes his father had made by becoming embroiled in a Jacob Holdings deal.
He’d witnessed the devastating fallout of that decision—his father’s confidence, all his future enterprises and even his marriage fell victim to his miscalculation.
Jack credited his own business success to his determination to step out of his father’s shadow, even shucking his father’s name, literally reverting to his mother’s maiden name to keep their businesses distinct, untainted by association with Hal Jacob.
No way would he allow his dick to lead him back into that viper’s nest. No. This time, he’d keep Harley Jacob where he wanted her—under contract or under him, if she wanted a sample of what she’d missed.
The car pulled up to the kerb outside his Midtown apartment building and he strode inside, impatient for a shower to wash away the memory of Harley and her lingering scent on his clothing.
When he exited his private elevator on the top floor, his feet skidded to a halt and his heart bucked against his ribs.
Harley.
How had she beaten him here? She sat on the loveseat beside the doors to his penthouse, her eyes trained on the elevator and trained on him.
In seconds he was back to rock hard.
‘How did you know where I live?’
She stood, her long eyelashes fluttering on a series of blinks.
‘Some people would call this stalking.’ Damn if her persistence didn’t ramp up his interest. Was she keen for more than her precious building?
‘I looked you up and tipped the doorman.’ She shrugged. Clearly she’d grown up her father’s daughter, not above bending morals to suit her personal needs.
But, man, had she grown up. And damn if he didn’t want to drag her inside and give her the guided tour, starting with his bedroom. Fuck the bedroom. He’d unwrap her from that sheath of expensive wool, splay her over the minimalist slate-topped console table he’d imported from France in his foyer and go down on her until she sobbed out his name and forgot her own. That would be difficult for her to dismiss.
‘I’m on my way out. Make it brief.’ Swiping his key card through the reader, he ushered her inside, ahead of him, his innate good manners accepting nothing less, regardless of their past.
She paused in his entranceway, her gaze flitting around his space as if she’d been invited here and had every right to touch his home with her beautiful, perceptive eyes.
He used the time wisely, his stare tracing her curves, lingering on her luscious ass, which, despite the demure dress concealing it, was high and toned. He groaned inwardly, his cock twitching with renewed enthusiasm.
With a flick, she tossed the swathe of silver, silky hair over her shoulder and lifted one brow in question. He dragged his mind away from her naked on all fours in front of him and led the way into the living space, throwing his suit jacket over the back of the sofa.
Knowing she stood behind him, no doubt assessing his choice of décor or the views from his windows, his shoulders tensed. He was proud of his home. The five-thousand-square-foot apartment dated to pre-war, but he’d renovated it with a flair for modern, while keeping some of the original features, a look that worked if his growing clientele were any judge.
‘Drink?’ Why was she here? Did she think he’d change his mind so easily? Sign a flawed contract just because she came from real-estate royalty? Or perhaps she thought he was still the love-struck sap he’d once been, willing to give her anything she desired.
‘No, thank you.’
He selected a frigid bottle of still water from the fridge, unscrewing the cap and finishing it in three swallows, wishing for a split second it were Scotch. But the last thing he needed around Harley was any lowering of his physical inhibitions. He was close enough now to showing her what she’d been missing all these years.
And the way she looked at him, as if she wanted the lesson, made it increasingly difficult to ignore the hormones raging through his blood. But hadn’t she been engaged? He vaguely recalled something in the society pages. Surely she’d found some Jacob-approved yes-man to show her a good time.
The water sloshed inside him, bitterness lingering in his throat. He checked her ring finger, finding it bare before his eyes flicked away. Not his problem. If she was here for sex, who was he to deny her the ride of her life?
‘You changed your name.’ She hadn’t moved from her spot just inside the doorway, her back only centimetres from the wall as she eyed him warily. They were, after all, strangers.
Nine years ago, she’d made no attempt to let him down gently, stay friends, or keep in touch. And he’d channelled his dislike of her ruthless father and his impotence at his crumbling family into determination, driving his own success. Forgetting all about the Jacobs and that tumultuous time of his life. Forgetting about Harley.
He shrugged, his eyes raking her immaculate appearance. How would the heiress look undone by pleasure, rumpled and replete?
‘I went to university in England. Jacques became anglicised over the years.’
‘And Demont?’ She licked her lips.
His eyes followed the swipe of her tongue, fresh blood pulsing in his groin. He needed to get her out of here before he offered that tongue another occupation than questioning his attempts to be a better man than his father.
‘My mother’s maiden name. A business decision.’ He lifted his chin, daring her to question.
She nodded, the move small and thoughtful. Then she rolled her shoulders back, game face on.
‘Look, I want you to know. I plan to turn the Morris Building into a school. A special school.’ Colour seeped into her cheeks, heightening her attractiveness. Would she flush like that as she climaxed? Was she ashamed she’d come here begging? Or just struggling to beg him, a man she deemed of little consequence?
Regardless, damn if he didn’t want to poke at her, to see the flashes in her eyes as she lambasted him turn to that sultry warmth as he kissed her the way her eyes had begged him in the elevator earlier. Sick bastard.
‘Yelling at me didn’t work, so you thought you’d try guilt?’ He stepped closer, the flare in her eyes a jolt of electricity to his chest. ‘Tell me, if I resist your demands long enough, can I expect a full-blown sexual charm offensive?’ Not that he’d mind—he’d be up for a little...inducement if that were how she planned to get her own way.
In fact, if he decided to toy with her, her tactics played right into his hands. A little revenge sex might be just what he needed. Of course, he’d ensure she enjoyed it too. Perhaps she’d even fall for him? Then he could walk away without hesitation as she’d done to him.
How she must hate coming to him of all people, cap in hand and clearly so turned on she couldn’t stop her gaze flicking to his crotch every few minutes.
Her hand clenched, and he expected her to slap him.
‘You really have matured into a world-class asshole.’ Her stare narrowed, hip jutted to one side.
He shrugged, impervious to her insults. She’d done her worst nine years ago. Cast him adrift without explanation, allowing him to fill in the blanks while he rode the storm of his imploding life.
In fact, she’d done him a favour, her rejection shaping him, clarifying his priorities, laying the foundations for all future liaisons with the opposite sex, which had been, without exception, on his terms.
‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I plan to build a dyslexia school.’ She hesitated over the word dyslexia as if it was bulky in her throat, but then she tilted her chin, eyes hardening to emerald chips. Vulnerable or manipulative?
And why a dyslexia school? Did he care enough to ask?
‘There are lots of dyslexia schools.’ Instinct told him the Morris Building was more than important to her. It was personal.
‘Not in the Bronx.’ Her eyes darted away.
His fingers itched to tilt up her chin, to keep her open to him, in case he’d imagined the flashes of defensiveness. His skin tightened, as if he’d stayed still for too long. He closed the distance between them, unable to resist the pull.
Her watchful eyes grew rounder. Her lips parted, breaths short and choppy, lifting her pert breasts with each inhale.
‘Why are you here, Harley?’ If she’d come to demand he jump through her hoops, he’d kick her out. Fuck, he should kick her out anyway because the longer she stayed, the harder it became to ignore her mentally undressing him with those big eyes.
Power surged through him, flooding his muscles, demanding he act.
‘I...’ The pulse at her throat fluttered and her eyelids drooped to a sultry half-mast.
His body tensed, on high alert, an effect of her closeness and a side effect of his raging need to touch her again. He focussed on her mouth—plump lips parted to emit those breathy little pants that called to his dick.
‘Did you come for a sample of what might have been?’
He took another step.
Her huge eyes glowed, deep pools that a lesser man could drown in. But he’d never again lose his head. This close, her pupils dilated as she looked up at him. Did he imagine the regret hovering in the depths of her eyes? Less obvious than the excitement she couldn’t hide.
Had she come to explain why she’d called things off between them? The last thing he needed was to hear her belated let-down.
He braced himself to turn away. This trip down memory lane was over. Best to leave the past undisturbed. After all, he’d made damn sure he moved on. And this buttoned-up heiress, polished, sophisticated and accomplished, was a complete stranger to him.
‘Time to leave. Whatever it is you came for, you won’t be getting.’ Unless all she wanted was a fuck for old times’ sake.
She touched his arm, closing the distance between them, fingertips digging in. Her purse hit the floor with a thud that matched the pound of his pulse as she stepped up close and lifted her face to his.