by JC Harroway
All those holidays, the time they’d spent together—she’d never once mentioned dyslexia and neither had her family. Perhaps she was only mildly affected? No, that wouldn’t explain her obvious disappointment in herself.
‘I... I struggled to talk about it back then.’ She lifted her gaze to his—clear, unguarded. ‘It’s not easy being the dunce in a high-achieving family.’
Something visceral shifted in his chest, and his throat tightened. What the actual fuck...? He knew Hal Jacob was a world-class asshole, but surely he valued his daughter and her extensive achievements?
Not your problem. Keep walking.
Her phone beeped again. She read the text with a curse.
‘Problem?’ So he was a glutton for punishment.
She sighed, her shoulders sagging. ‘There are press outside. My driver is stuck.’ Her eyes slid to his—fatigue-tinged and wary.
‘Camera shy?’ Surely she was used to that. He’d seen her photographed many times over the years at some high-profile event or charity gala. She was New York elite after all, her status rendering her practically a celebrity.
She pinned him with a hard stare.
‘I wanted to keep a low profile tonight. The other designers...’ She sighed. ‘I know how hard it is, starting out. If they see me—’ she pointed down the stairwell, indicating the press ‘—they’ll concoct some story about how I’m using the Jacob name to promote my label, my own interests. It’s...’ she mashed her lips together, her perfectly arched eyebrows knitted ‘...distracting.’
He stepped closer, his movements slow and easy as if he feared he’d spook her. Or perhaps he was simply stopping himself from touching her again.
‘I have a car. Want a lift?’ He held his breath, her answer way too important for someone who shouldn’t care if she walked across Manhattan alone in four-inch designer heels.
No. It was the least he could do after Alex.
She looked up, a small shake of her head.
‘Your car is probably snared up in the same jam as mine. It’s chaos out there.’ She fingered her temple, her brow furrowed.
His hands twitched, the inexplicable urge to pull her close, to feel her feminine curves pressed against him again, relentless pounding waves. It must be the chemistry or sexual frustration on his part. Or the way she looked at him, as if she too liked the idea.
He retrieved his phone from his pocket and fired a quick text to Will. There was likely a back entrance to this building. Aside from everything, Harley looked beat. And despite what she thought of him, he wasn’t an asshole...revenge fucks aside.
‘I’ll sort something out.’ He pocketed his phone, his hands staying safely tucked in his pockets. Hands that remembered every contour of her and how readily she’d embraced their physical connection, her greedy abandon at his apartment the biggest turn-on.
She still wore the frown, eyes wary.
‘Why are you helping me?’
He shrugged, hiding the rush of skin crawling her question and the look on her face caused.
‘I’m a nice guy.’ She’d have once known that if she’d stuck around.
Not that their tender, naïve relationship would have lasted. After his parents’ acrimonious split, he’d re-evaluated all areas of his life, not deeming entanglements worth what it cost him in the control stakes.
He swallowed the surge of bitterness, forcing dangerous thoughts from his mind.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her top lip as she dissected him with her stare. A shot of lust zapped his balls. She favoured cherry-red lip-gloss; he’d noticed that this afternoon and again this evening. What would those pouty, luscious lips look like wrapped around his cock, leaving behind a red print? Damn, he really did need to get laid.
Her stare flicked south.
Was she thinking the same thing? Did she, like him, want another taste?
Perhaps this would tick all the boxes. He’d settle the score and she’d get a sample of what she’d missed out on. After all, he’d never had any complaints and she’d been keen enough this afternoon. She couldn’t hide her physical interest, no matter how much she disliked or distrusted him.
‘Do you want to hang about here in a draughty stairwell or shall we talk about the orgasms?’
Her eyes widened, a pretty pink flush staining her neck and cheeks. She shifted, crossing one foot over the other.
He held back a smile. So his words struck home. He could control this. Them—his physical craving for her and her reaction to the chemistry neither of them seemed able to resist. On his terms. They’d both get what they needed.
She tilted her chin, eyes blazing with challenge, and, he hoped, lust. ‘Orgasms?’
He nodded, slowly encroaching until her body heat registered and her delicious scent tickled his nose.
‘We established earlier, there’s little trust between us. But we don’t need to trust each other outside of the bedroom to have a good time.’
Her pulse fluttered in her throat and he let his stare linger there, letting her know he saw that she wanted him.
‘You trust me with your body.’
She laughed, a nervous snort she used to conceal the rush of excitement lighting her eyes. ‘Cocky much?’
He nodded. Slow, sure, sincere. He’d show her a good time. For old times’ sake. A taste of what she’d never got to experience and what she clearly craved.
His blood pounded harder, her excitement ramping up his own.
‘Here’s how it’s going to go.’ He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the kick of satisfaction when she looked him up and down, her tongue darting out onto that glossy red lip.
‘I’ll call the shots, and you’ll reap the orgasms.’
She lifted one brow. ‘Plural?’
Another nod. Another inch closer. ‘Think of this afternoon as a prelude—not my best work.’ He allowed his eyes to linger on her parted lips, her soft rapid pants encouraging him. ‘The next one will be better. And better...’
She stared as if he’d proposed a naked run through Central Park. ‘Call the shots?’
He held his ground, but she stepped half a step closer. Perhaps she wasn’t even conscious of it. Now only a sliver of air separated them, practically sparking with erotic possibility.
He nodded, his hand sweeping the swathe of her hair behind one delicate shoulder, while his stare searched hers.
‘Are you done?’ He lifted a brow, tempting. ‘Or do you want more?’ He leaned in, his eyes practically closing as her warm scent bathed him. ‘You know I can give them to you. The question is, how much do you want them?’
She placed her hand on the centre of his chest, fingers flexing with enough pressure that he wasn’t sure if she’d push him away or curl those fingers into a fist around his shirt and pull him in.
Fuck, perhaps he’d played too hard? Miscalculated?
No. The unfinished business between them went beyond the stalled deal for the Morris Building. He knew it. She knew it.
Would she submit to his proposal, pick up where they left off earlier, leaving everything but sex at the bedroom door? She called it cocky, but he was a man of his word, he’d prove that to her, even if he had to drag that understanding from her one orgasm at a time while he worked this itch from beneath his skin.
She came to him, her petite frame pressing into his body from breast to thigh, and her breath gusting over his lips. The eyes she lifted to his glowed, the passion and defiance he’d guessed at earlier clearly on display.
‘I’m not sure that one earlier can be topped.’ Her fingers curled into his shirt.
His blood surged, thick and powerful.
‘Oh, I’ll top it.’ Lust slammed through him. A primal roar. Game on.
With a swoop from him and a tug from her their mouths collided. He manoeuvred her against the wall and kissed her, pouring ev
ery scrap of frustration into the slide and skim of lips and tongues. The surge of lust that had simmered beneath the surface since this morning at the building site flooding through him, breaking free, seeking fulfilment.
She whimpered, as if he’d held back for too long and she was as starved as him for the ferocious kisses. She palmed his cock, drawing a hiss from him, and he tugged the hem of her clingy dress, exposing bare, toned thighs. Pale and smooth—a place a man could lose himself.
She spread them, her fingers hooking into his belt loops to pull him between her legs, her hands as grabby as his, her need matching his with every stroke. He ground his erection into her, the clothing barriers hindering his goal—to get inside her and take them both over the edge. Over and over until she begged for more.
He pulled back from her hungry mouth, his gaze flicking up and down the stairs in case they were being observed. Harley kissed and nibbled a path to his neck, tonguing his earlobe until his eyes rolled back.
Was he seriously considering fucking her in a stairwell where they could be interrupted at any time by someone leaving the fashion show or someone entering from the street? Harley seemed up for anything. Her hands found his belt buckle, tugging and grappling as she returned her mouth to his.
Reality dawned.
He stilled her hands just as his phoned buzzed in his pocket. He soothed the rejection by palming her fantastic ass, pressing her centre to his hard length while he twisted away from her kiss to read the text.
‘Car’s here,’ he mumbled against her swollen lips.
Pocketing his phone, he pulled back, sliding her dress back down her shapely legs, and bit back a curse. He’d lost himself in the moment, almost fucked her in a public place.
He cupped her flushed cheeks, pushing her dishevelled hair back from her face. Her lip-gloss had vanished, her hair was tousled and her breasts, pressed against his chest, lifted and fell with her rapid pants.
She nodded once, stepping aside and tweaking her hair and her dress so she was once more the immaculate goddess.
With a flick of her blonde tresses, she followed him to the fire exit and his waiting car, where they made their escape into the night.
CHAPTER FOUR
HARLEY HOISTED HER dress to mid-thigh and clambered astride his lap to continue the frantic, almost desperate kisses that had begun the moment the car’s doors closed. She couldn’t get enough of the chemistry that arced between them. It was as if she’d been living under water, everything dull and muted. This...lust...flared hotter than anything she’d ever known.
Combustive. Addictive. Uncontrollable.
And in this moment, she’d never wanted anything more than to pick up where they’d left off this afternoon in Jack’s apartment.
She reached between them, rubbing him through his pants until he groaned into her mouth and bared his teeth on a hiss. It wasn’t enough. She craved him naked, every inch of his magnificent body hers to explore. She yearned for him sweaty and determined above her, pushing her over the edge as she instinctively knew he could.
She didn’t give a damn about his driver, or the passing traffic. She’d had a brief taste this afternoon and she wanted more. More of what he offered. Just sex. The amazing, sheet-clawing kind.
When he’d suggested a ride home, she’d reasoned that accepting provided an opportunity to try one last time to convince him to push through the sale of the Morris Building. But honesty won. She wanted him. Plain and simple. And she wanted the orgasms he promised. Why shouldn’t she take what she could get? A fling she could walk away from, hopefully clutching the Morris contract in her hand.
They weren’t kids any more, clearly both capable of separating sex from the rest of their lives. And right now business, their pasts, their families, were the last things on her mind. A mind full to capacity with this sexy, grown-up Jack, his mouth, the rumble of his deep voice, the hard body under her exploring fingertips.
Kissing him was like kissing two different people—the teenager she’d once swooned over and the man he’d become. Familiar and foreign. Larger than life. Sexier than her wildest imaginings—more demanding, more intuitive, more everything. When combined with the hint of forbidden...she hovered close to orgasm just from kissing him alone.
The journey to her Fifth Avenue apartment was blessedly short. Just like when they were teens, Jack applied the brakes more than once during the ride, literally removing her hand from his underwear and slowing things down, where she would have ridden him in the back seat, onlookers be damned.
The touching, kissing and groping continued into her building and twice she dropped the electronic key card to her private elevator in her haste to get him upstairs and get him naked. To continue this clandestine connection behind closed doors.
Once inside the deserted car, he pressed up behind her, his erection slotted between her buttocks shooting tingles up her spine. His hand swept her hair aside, and his lips found the back of her neck, nibbling.
‘Do you live alone?’ His voice, thick with arousal, scraped over her nerve endings, speaking directly to her clit. She could barely stand upright.
When he held her hips still in his large hands, pressing himself home, she twisted her head over her shoulder to capture his mouth.
‘Yes.’
Her older brother, Ash, lived in the apartment above, but she didn’t want to stop kissing him long enough to explain that unnecessary detail.
As the elevator ascended Jack once more shimmied her dress up her thighs to her waist, his hands trailing fire along the bare skin he exposed. He reached for her hands, lifting them and curling her fingers over the brass handrail at waist height. ‘Hold on.’
She had no time to luxuriate in the thrill pounding through her at his command or what it meant. Jack dropped to his knees behind her, nudging her legs apart and kissing first one cheek of her ass in an open-mouthed caress and then the other. The scrape of his teeth skittered down the backs of her thighs and weakened her knees.
What was he doing to her? Why was she such a willing accomplice? Her breath stalled in her lungs, and she clung to the rail with enough force to ruin her manicure. But it was worth it.
With a shuffle and a sexy grunt, he manoeuvred her hips backwards so she bent over at the waist, her ass in the air. Jack slid the thong of her underwear aside and plunged his tongue inside her quivering sex.
Her cry joined his throaty groan. His fingers curled around her hips and his stubble grazed the sensitive skin between her legs. She clung to the handrail as the sensations assailed her. Jack’s raw hunger and the carnal urgency with which he took what he wanted sent thrill after thrill trickling along her spine.
Jack slipped one hand between her thighs, rubbing at her clit while he continued to plunge his tongue inside, sending jolts of fire to her toes.
She sank deeper into the sensual haze, uncaring of where she was, every nerve in her body focussed on the havoc Jack wreaked between her legs.
With a judder she couldn’t be sure originated outside her body, the elevator stopped. Harley opened her heavy eyes. The polished brass of the car’s wall reflected her image. Wanton, dishevelled, lust-drunk. There was no hiding the effect he had on her or the abandon he’d effortlessly instilled. Abandon that left her willing to partake in public sexual acts. Twice in one day.
His mouth left her and her knees wobbled. He slid her dress down and took her hand. Within seconds, they were inside her darkened apartment. A single lamp shone on the table just inside the entrance.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack, leaving her side long enough to carefully place the designer lamp on the floor.
Hormones pounded Harley, fogging her mind. ‘Why?’ Had he changed his mind? And why was he shifting the light fitting?
His mouth covered hers once more, tongue delving as his hands tugged the dress back up. He broke free, a fierce look on his face. Harsh need. A th
rilling wildness.
‘Because the first time’s going to be right here.’ He indicated the table and a fresh wave of moisture slicked her panties. He shucked his jacket, tossing it to the floor, working his belt free with one hand while he scooped the other around her waist and kissed the breath from her.
Harley’s lust-addled mind caught up with dizzying euphoria, and she couldn’t help him quickly enough, dropping her purse and lifting the dress all the way up and overhead. An ominous tearing sound accompanied her efforts, but she tossed the garment without ceremony, desperate now to have Jack inside her. No more skirting around. The hard length of him through his clothing...she wanted him. Now.
‘Fuck.’ He paused to cup one breast through the lace of her bra, his thumb tracing the nipple as his eyes devoured every inch of skin. Then she was airborne, Jack’s hands splayed around her waist lifting her onto her antique hall table.
They were wild for each other. Her hands fumbling alongside his to free his erection, her lips clinging to his, tongues duelling and her thighs holding him captive. She’d get what she wanted this time. No more unfinished business.
With a grunt, he tore his mouth from hers, pulling his wallet from his pocket, locating a condom and tossing the rest over his shoulder. He tore into the foil with his teeth, sheathing himself while his hot stare toured her splayed-out body clothed only in scanty black lace and four inch heels.
Harley worked on his shirt buttons, ignoring the mild discomfort of being perched on the table, desperate to see more of him. To touch every inch of him. To feel the spring of his chest hair on her face and the taut ridges of muscle under her fingers.
She’d barely pushed the fabric over the rounded contours of his ripped shoulders exposing his well-defined pecs and a glimpse of rigid abs when he circled his arm around her hips and tugged her ass to the edge of the table. Clearly Jack was as close to his limit as she was.
‘This needs to go.’ He tugged at the filmy black thong, scraping it down her thighs with impatience and a look of fierce concentration on his handsome face. Halfway down her legs he stopped dead, his mouth grim but eyes hot.