One-Click Buy: March 2009 Silhouette Desire

by Katherine Garbera

  “Some friend. I thought you were satisfied with our arrangement.”

  “I was.” Her eyes flickered away and back. “I am. But I think we’re being watched.”

  Nick raised his brows, waiting.

  Sighing, she clasped the edges of her pajama top closed and pushed past him, padding down the short hallway through a stylish kitchen and to a side table in the lounge. Nick followed, his eyes closely monitoring the sensual slide of blue silk-clad hips.

  Jordan picked up an envelope from the table and turned to him. “These came yesterday.”

  Nick took the envelope and pulled out two enlarged photographs of Jordan entering and leaving their Friday hotel, wearing a little black dress with a wide belt. He remembered it because the belt had an unusual clasp and his eager fingers had wasted at least three seconds fumbling with the damn thing. The photo was dated last Friday, their last meeting. “You’re always being watched and photographed.” He handed the photos back. “What of it?”

  “These were couriered to me here, yesterday morning. No note. No sender details.”

  Nick pursed his lips. “And that was enough to send you rushing into Jason Cook’s arms.”

  She gazed at him steadily. “Why do you suppose we went to the Backbencher’s Bar, Nick?”

  “Probably the only place in town he hasn’t been thrown out of.”

  “Because it’s the press’s watering hole, where most of them spend their Friday afternoons. I did it to throw whoever might be watching us off the scent.”

  Nick processed her tone and earnest expression and battled down the jealousy bubbling in his blood. Considering the publicity surrounding the court case, she would have known her presence at that bar, especially with a man of Jason Cook’s reputation, would end up in the next day’s papers.

  Not to make him jealous. Not to patch things up with a past lover. The relief surprised Nick with its intensity. He had to remember his purpose here tonight—keep her guessing, spike her interest. His very real jealousy was an added bonus.

  Jordan shifted under his gaze as if uncomfortably aware that her face was covered in green goop. “Get yourself a drink,” she told him, pointing at the small bar in the corner of the room. “I’ll go and clean up.”

  Nick’s eyes stayed with her until she turned into the first door down the hall. Her bedroom, he presumed, relieved to be left alone momentarily. It gave him a chance to explore, try to get a handle on her.

  He moved fully into the lounge, his eyes busy.

  Her apartment was modern, minimalist, but surprisingly homely and welcoming. One of the two black leather sofas was scattered with papers. There were more papers on the coffee table and a mug of something in the middle with steam coming off it. The expansive drapes were drawn but he’d bet there was an amazing view of the city and harbor beyond from her thirteenth story apartment. The walls were bare except in the dining nook where two large, striking sketches faced each other above her elegant dining table. One depicted a 1920s couple sitting at a table, the woman looking coyly away as the man held her arm by the wrist and above the elbow, kissing his way up her arm. The other was a couple dancing, maybe the tango, he decided.

  The bar had everything he could want but Nick wasn’t in the mood for alcohol. He walked to the sofa, sweeping the papers into a pile and setting them on the coffee table.

  There was a property listing on top, torn from a real estate magazine. It depicted an old villa in the Marlborough Sounds at the top of the South Island. Not the sort of place Jordan would be interested in, surely. The lady could afford to buy the entire South Island. She was luxury all the way. What use would she have for a broken-down old villa?

  Then again, what did he know of her likes and dislikes outside of the bedroom?

  While waiting for her return, he glanced at the next item on the pile and saw a newsletter headed The Elpis Foundation. He only took note because the author was Reverend Russ Parsons, an old family friend.

  Before he could read the contents, Jordan returned, her face clean and her hair released from the headband. Nick nearly smiled when he saw she’d changed. A cream sweater and soft black pants were probably safer than the lovely but flimsy pajamas. She obviously didn’t trust him to keep his hands to himself.

  Jordan perched on the arm of the couch, her hands restless. Her feet were still bare, toenails pearly-pink and gleaming. Nick swallowed the remnants of his unwarranted anger and jealousy, thinking that this was how she looked alone in the evenings. Freshly bathed, by the clean scent of her. Her hair brushed out and gleaming. Skin scrubbed and glowing.

  She fidgeted under his scrutiny, her mouth a little sullen.

  “Nice apartment,” he commented pleasantly.

  She glanced at his empty hands. “Did you not want a drink?”

  He wasn’t bothered but then again, he liked the idea of her waiting on him. It would also serve to prolong his visit, break the ice, open the way for him to try out a little charm.

  “A Scotch would be good.”

  She hadn’t expected him to say yes, he knew by the little twist of her mouth. He settled back while she prepared his drink with a kind of polite displeasure. No smile when she handed it to him, either.

  Nick reached for the mug on the coffee table. The liquid inside was cooling by the pinched look of the surface. He handed it to her, thinking how improbable this was. Jordan Lake home alone on a Saturday night with only a face mask and mug of chocolate for company.

  She took the mug. An awkward silence descended.

  “Looking to invest in some property?” he asked, picking up the leaflet. It would be a good investment. Marlborough Sounds boasted some of the most desirable real estate in the country.

  “I already bought it.”

  Nick looked up in surprise. “Can’t see you in the DIY store, somehow.”

  Her mouth twitched but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

  He leaned back, spreading his arm along the back of the couch. Their eyes met and held for long seconds and that old familiar awareness arced between them. She was so naturally beautiful, larger than life beautiful, even with little or no makeup on. Nick’s chest swelled when her eyes widened and then hazed over with her own recognition of the incredible desire between them. She felt it, too, he exulted, this pull that gripped his throat and stole his breath. Every time was like their first meeting in a sterile elevator. An unquenchable desire that hit him like a bullet between the eyes.

  Just like now.

  Jordan broke the spell and looked down into her drink. “You’re—different,” she said. “What’s changed?”

  She shifted one foot to rest on top of the other, her restlessness showing insecurities he didn’t know she had.

  Nick faced her fully. “I want you, Jordan,” he answered truthfully. “That hasn’t changed.”

  She looked up under her lashes. “And you can have me. On Fridays. At the hotel.”

  It didn’t surprise him that she’d picked up on his recent change of behavior toward her. In their brief conversations to date, she’d shown a perceptive intuitiveness, eroding his assumptions that she was nothing more than a spoiled heiress who liked making an exhibition of herself.

  Damn his brother for putting the thought in his head. Damn his mother for the will and her belief that he was the perennial dutiful son, and his father, too, for being such a vindictive, intransigent bastard. But for their interference, Nick would be perfectly happy with the prior arrangement. The thrill of a forbidden pleasure. A once-weekly event that, while momentous at the time, belonged in a compartment of his brain that had no bearing on how he lived his life or the decisions he made.

  “Perhaps it’s seeing you in court every day,” he suggested. It was as good a lie as any, he supposed.

  She nodded. Her feet were still playing with each other, he noticed. “By the way, I’m sorry about my father’s behavior the other day.”

  Jordan shrugged, drawing his attention to her front, h
is interest quickening when he saw she wasn’t wearing a bra under the soft wool.

  “They’re as bad as each other,” she responded.

  “What would Syrius do if he found out about us?” Nick probed.

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  Nick knew that was his major stumbling block. He had to get her so interested, so wound up in him that she’d forget about her father’s wrath.

  “And yours?” she inquired politely.

  He sipped his drink, wondering how truthful to be. Lies had a way of tripping you up, so it was best to keep things simple. “He wouldn’t like it,” he said slowly, “but it’s not up to him, is it?”

  Jordan sighed and looked away. “Maybe we should…”

  Nick’s whole being jolted in rebellion. He knew what she was going to say. Stop? No way! He was already on edge after only a week’s abstinence. It was torture sitting in that courtroom day after day, watching her every move out of the corner of his eyes. Her mile-long legs crossing and uncrossing, the drift of her expensive scent, an occasional hot-blooded glance in his direction. Nick was at the end of his tether. He shook his head adamantly. “I’m not ready to give it up just yet.”

  Jordan pursed her lips. “And the photos?”

  Nick had had enough. The desire he felt for her was too close to the surface. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to allow her to see that she affected him. Intensity so often created the same interest in the recipient.

  He stood abruptly, looming over her. She raised her head just as his hands dived her hair, lifting her face to his. “You think I want this? Need this?”

  Her eyes were wide with surprise. She gasped in a quick breath.

  “You’re like a drug to me,” he gritted, glowering down. “An addiction. Every Friday, I leave that hotel and think, yes. This time, I’ve got her out of my system. This time…”

  Despite this being about knocking her off-kilter, his own body was primed like a detonator. He exhaled, fighting for control, searching for the innate good manners and responsible behavior that had shaped his life. He was a businessman, dammit, not one of her playboys.

  He gentled his hands, stroking her hair. Soothed by the silky soft strands running through his fingers. “But then I change my mind, start thinking about next Friday.”

  He caressed her cheek and her eyelids fluttered as he knew they would.

  “It’s just sex, Nick,” she whispered, turning her face to press a kiss in his palm, that one small act softening her cavalier words.

  In her hurry to wash, she’d missed a tiny patch of green by her earlobe and he rubbed his finger over it, his own excitement rocketing when her lips parted involuntarily on a sigh.

  “Yes it is,” he murmured. He stroked one finger down her throat, felt her pulse leap. She ghosted a fraction closer while keeping her backside in contact with the arm of the sofa. Her head fell back even more in invitation and he bent to nuzzle the fragrant skin under her earlobe. Soft and smooth, her skin was still slightly damp from being freshly washed. Whatever she’d used in her face mask smelled good enough to eat, to taste, again and again.

  She strained up, her face turned to his. Darned if he could remember what they were talking about when her mouth bumped against his cheek. It was too much of a temptation, even though he was pretty sure he’d started the body contact not intending to kiss her, only to tease a little. To make the point that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Just before his lips met hers, he touched his index finger to the corner of her mouth and frowned down into eyes that smoldered with electric blue desire. “I won’t give it up just yet.”

  Her expression softened. Dipping his head, he took her mouth, filled her mouth, sank in welcome relief. His desire flowed from him into her and back again in a heady rush. She moaned low in her throat, trying to rise, pressing up into him. Happy to help, he slid one arm down her back and brought her hard up against him. The kiss deepened, she opened for him, hungry, appealing for more, her tongue eagerly seeking his.

  With one arm supporting her back, he slid the other hand under the sweater, needing the silky slide of her skin. Always when he touched her, some part of his mind registered the softness of her skin. Never had he felt such soft skin; his fingers rejoiced in it. He palmed her torso; she felt hot, so hot. She swayed, her hands clutching at the backs of his arms. Nick slid his hand up, climbing the taut slope of her breast. He heard her breath catch, felt his, when she twisted and pushed her nipple, tight and hard, into his palm. He held her like this, almost horizontal, one arm supporting her back, the other playing with her breasts, exulting in the response he knew he could elicit in her.

  But then she sucked in air and shrank away, her mouth stilling under his. When she opened her eyes he could see the battle she waged, need versus denial. Self-denial.

  Jordan swallowed audibly. “Not here.”

  “Are you sure, Jordan?” He ran his thumb over her nipple again, loving it’s proud texture.

  Jordan closed her eyes and her mouth fell open on a gush of air. “You can’t…” She arched her back to press against his hand once more.

  Nick bent his head and sucked at the pebbled peak through her sweater, hearing her whimper. He doubled his efforts when he felt her knee nudge in between his legs, stop, and rub again.

  “I can,” he whispered, raising his head. Still supporting her, he took his hand from under her sweater and placed it between her thighs.

  She tensed and squeezed, her body stiffening.

  Nick cupped her, feeling her damp heat. “We both know I can.”

  He took her mouth again, recognized her capitulation in the way she strained against him, the insistent push of her knee into his aching groin. He’d held this woman in his arms, practiced his seduction on her enough times to know she was fast reaching the point of no return.

  To know he was, too.

  But even as her arms came around his neck, as she sagged back onto the arm of the couch, her weight dragging him down with her, his brain kicked into a higher gear, sending messages he didn’t want to hear right now. He tensed, listening to her breath come in gasps, feeling her fingers tugging at his shirt buttons.

  Yes, he could take her right now, right here. He’d proved it. But that made it just another coupling that underlined the shallowness of this affair. He needed her to believe he felt more for her than just a quickie once a week, to wonder if he had real feelings for her. If that was his goal, he had to stop.

  Now.

  Groaning, Nick pulled back, tearing his mouth away. She stilled, clutching a handful of shirt and confusion and desire smoking up her eyes. He pulled her upright and removed his hand from between her legs. “You’re right.” His thought processes might be on target but his hands were unsteady and awkward as he tugged the hem of her top down. “Not here. Not now.”

  Jordan sank back onto the arm of the sofa, her breathing still labored. As she fussed with her clothes and hair, a deep blush crawled up her throat and face.

  Nick sighed. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “I didn’t come here tonight to take you to bed.”

  Her eyes slid over him briefly, then she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, studying her feet. Her hair gleamed, a sparkling curtain in the dim light. Nick reached out and stroked it, feeling ridiculously tender.

  “Come out for a drink with me.” He tugged on a long lock of silky hair. “Who cares what anyone thinks?”

  She shook her head, not looking at him. “I can’t go out for a drink with you.”

  “Because of our fathers? How long are we going to let two old men dictate our lives?”

  “It’s just not worth the hassle, Nick.” For a moment there, he almost thought she sounded sad.

  “I think it is,” he argued, surprised at how stubborn he felt.

  “Let’s just stick to Fridays for now.” She reached out and covered his hand with hers, looking at him beseechingly.

  If she didn’
t care a little, wasn’t secure in the knowledge that he cared a little, she wouldn’t have looked at him like that.

  Mission accomplished. At least, he’d given her something to think about. He couldn’t afford to push too hard or force her to choose between family loyalty or him until he was assured of success.

  His breath returned, along with the blood to the rest of his body. He checked his buttons—often an occupational hazard with Jordan’s impatient fingers. “Next Friday?”

  Jordan rose to show him out. “Shouldn’t we at least change the time or place?”

  She was obviously still wary about the photos she’d received but Nick wasn’t worried. “It’s just some eagle-eyed reporter sniffing around. If he’d meant business, there would be a photo of me leaving the hotel, too, or a blackmail note.”

  Besides, he paid the hotel handsomely for their discretion. Why improve the odds of discovery by going somewhere else? “Make it earlier, then. Two p.m.”

  Five

  To heck with chocolate! Jordan took her mug into the kitchen and tipped the cold contents down the sink, then poured herself a glass of pinot noir. Frustration, confusion—she paced the floor restlessly, going over every minute of the last half hour.

  The whole episode was an embarrassment, starting with him catching her in a stupid avocado, cucumber and milk-powder face mask—oh, very elegant! Her humiliation was complete once he touched her, kissed her. He’d said she was like a drug, but he’d lit her up so quickly.

  Thank goodness he’d had the sense to stop. Nick Thorne was already commanding way too much of her mind lately. Not that she’d ever tell him, but she thought about him plenty outside the hotel room. Several times a week at least, and always with a shiver of erotic anticipation. And when she did, suddenly the days of the week until Friday were an interminable bore.

  The last thing she needed was the memory of him here in her lounge, naked, making love to her.

  She flicked through the TV channels in an attempt to banish that enticing vision. Although—Jordan turned off the TV—thinking about sex with him was safer than thinking about anything else with him. Confident she could hold him enthralled in the bedroom for a while longer, she determinedly crushed the hope that, someday, Nick might see her as more. Starting a relationship with sex gave her no room to maneuver. He would never take her seriously—no one did. Even her father, her biggest fan, considered her an ornament. Despite her best efforts to change her lifestyle and prove everyone wrong, it really was easier to accept the cynicism and get on with the job. But she had the right to protect her heart along the way.