His Style of Seduction

by Roxanne St Claire

  “I did.”

  “But I convinced him to consult,” Bryce added, then lifted his lips in a dry smile. “At a ridiculously high price, I might add.”

  “Then why didn’t you…”

  Call.

  The unspoken word might as well have been screamed.

  “I’ve been very busy,” he said, ignoring her dubious expression. He had been busy. And he wouldn’t call, write or show up at her door until he had everything in place and proof that he’d changed.

  And now he did.

  He tried to tell her that with one meaningful look, but she turned to Bryce.

  “We’re looking for you to help coach our creative people in a slightly different way than you usually do,” Bryce told her, pretending not to be aware of the dynamics ricocheting between them. “We want them all to loosen up a bit. Drop the suits, ties and wingtips, you know?”

  She looked from one to the other. “I usually work in the other direction. I tend to tighten people up, not loosen them.”

  “You change people,” Jack said softly. “I’m living proof.”

  Before she could argue, Bryce pushed himself from the conference table.

  “I’m going to let you think about it, Lily. Talk to Jack for a few minutes. I’ll be back with some paperwork, fee schedules and details for you to consider.”

  Bryce left them alone and Jack didn’t waste a second. He reached across the table and closed two hands over the ones she’d kept clasped in front of her. The first skin-to-skin contact he’d had with her in six months—with any woman, to be fair—sent a shock wave through him.

  “You look great, Lily,” he said. “I miss you.”

  She paled at the words. “Do you live here now, in London?”

  “I don’t live anywhere. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Of course you don’t,” she said quickly, drawing her hands away from his touch. “That’s a perfect life for you.”

  “I wouldn’t call it perfect,” he said with a soft laugh at his own understatement. “There’s plenty of room for improvement.”

  She nodded, as though she understood. “Well, I’m really glad this all worked out for you in the end.” For a long moment she just stared at him, trying so hard to swallow he could see her struggle.

  “Nothing’s worked out for me. And nothing’s ended yet.”

  “Of course it has. You consult and travel and hang out with other cool creative types. You have no day-to-day responsibilities, no employees, no worries, no home, no problems.”

  “I have plenty of problems,” he corrected.

  She pushed out from the table. “I’m happy for you.”

  She hadn’t heard him. And even if she had, nothing was sinking in.

  “Lily,” he said, standing at the same time she did, “I need to show you something.”

  “No, thank you.” Her voice was tight with emotion and he saw her clench and release one hand. Hadn’t she taught him that was a sign of self-protection?

  “I think it’s time to pull out my trump card.”

  “Save your trump card, Jack. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Everything’s changed.” He zipped around the table, blocking her way to the door and taking her hand again. “Come with me, Lily. I want to show you something.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Maybe you’ll be interested in this.” He put his fingers on the snap of his jeans and she jerked back, looking shocked.

  “Keep your trump card in your pants, Jack. I’m not interested.”

  He smiled at that, tilting his head. “I just want to show you my new tattoo.”

  She almost laughed, then let her gaze drop. “Sure. I’ll call your bluff. Show me.”

  He unzipped his fly less than half an inch, then folded the corner of the jeans down over his lower stomach to reveal his new ink. “What do you think?”

  She stared at the design, her jaw loose, her gaze riveted. “It’s a lily.”

  “Yep. And it’s permanent.” He zipped up before his body responded to the proximity and smell and admiring gaze of the woman he loved.

  “That’s it?” She half choked. “You think you can keep me here just because you went out and got a tattoo? That’s your trump card?”

  “No.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and dangled it in front of her. “This is.”

  Twelve

  “W here are we going?”

  Lily slid her hand into Jack’s because the streets of London were crowded and unfamiliar, and because he’d broken into a near jog since they’d left the conference room ten minutes ago. Not because it felt so utterly blissful to hold his hand again.

  “We’re going to the bank.”

  “The bank?” Why in God’s name were they going to the bank? But she didn’t ask. Instead, she inhaled the scents of a foreign country, speed walking past the high-end flats and upscale clothing shops of Knightsbridge. Cars whizzed by—on the wrong side of the road—and nannies rumbled strollers in their path.

  Jack bounded toward his destination like a man on a mission, never letting Lily get more than two inches from his side.

  No matter that this was all wrong and dizzyingly confusing, it felt so good and so right to be with Jack that Lily had to fight to keep from skipping and throwing her arms around him and dancing for the unadulterated joy of being on one of his wild rides again.

  Instead, she checked out the sights and held tight to his large, warm hand. At the entrance to a building bearing the insignia of Moneycorp Bank, he held the heavy glass door for her. “After you, Lil.”

  No one else ever called her Lil. It still made her legs weak.

  “Are we making a deposit or picking one up?”

  “Neither.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  He paused in front of a tall information counter and set the gold key down, letting it snap on the gleaming wood and yanking the guard to attention.

  “Safe deposit boxes, please.”

  “Just a moment, sir,” the guard said in a thick British accent.

  While they waited, Jack took her other hand and inched her closer to him.

  “Brace yourself,” he whispered.

  Chills cartwheeled down her spine.

  The guard returned, hustled them to another part of the bank, checked Jack’s ID and, in less than five minutes, they were alone in a small room lined with safe deposit boxes and almost filled by one large table in the center.

  Jack went purposefully to one box, inserted the key and opened a drawer, then pulled out a long, thick roll of documents fastened with a rubber band.

  “I told you I’ve been busy,” he said.

  Lily squeezed her hands into fists. “Doing what?”

  He smoothed a large piece of paper on the table, drawing her attention to the blue lines and square slanted writing.

  Blueprints.

  “What is this?”

  “This, my love, is a home.”

  “A home?” My love. The chills shuddered through her whole body now. “Whose home?”

  He looked up from the paper, his emerald eyes so serious and penetrating. “Ours.”

  She couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

  He reached for her. “C’mere. Look.”

  Taking his hand, she let him guide her around the table to stand next to him. Taking a steadying breath, she looked at the blueprints. Of a home.

  Ours.

  “This is the front elevation.”

  Gabled windows, a sloped roofline, a glorious widow’s walk across the top was all she could take in. “It’s…pretty.” Pretty amazing.

  “I think so.” He flipped to the next page. “This is the first floor. That’s the family room, which is really big, as you can see. And the kitchen, and that veranda runs the perimeter of the house. See?”

  Lily could feel Jack’s gaze move from the blueprints to her, gauging her reaction, waiting for her words. But all she could do was place a finger on the drawing and travel over the thin bl
ue sketches of the house.

  Ours.

  She blinked to focus on the lettering. Formal living room. Office. Library. Media room.

  He turned over the large paper to reveal more. “This is the second floor.” She could hear the excitement in his voice. “Check out that master. Massive, huh? And all those bedrooms are designed to be in hearing distance…in case anyone…anyone small…needs something at night.”

  The lump in her throat cut off her air and the blueprint floated as her eyes welled. “Uh-huh,” she managed.

  “And this is the best part.” He turned to the last page. “The third floor is pretty much all glass. This is an art studio. And office and meeting rooms in case I have clients in.”

  “All windows,” she said, her voice husky. “No walls.”

  “And here’s the view,” he said as if he could read her mind. “Actually, this is the view from everywhere in the house.”

  He slowly turned the last page, to a layout of large photographs. At first all she could see was red, burgundy and bright maroon.

  For a moment she thought the water in the pictures was moving, but that was only because she was looking at the cranberry bog through tears.

  “This is the view from that hill,” she said, finally looking up at him. “Over the bog. Where we had our first picnic at night.”

  “That’s where we’re going to build our house.”

  Our house.

  “But you said it was owned by some…” Her voice trailed off. “Somebody with more money than time. Who…How did you…?”

  His eyes answered the question. He was that somebody.

  “I bought that parcel of land when Reggie bought his house in Nantucket, about eight years ago. Now that I’m consulting, I have the time. And…” He took her hand and closed it in both of his. “I want to build this home for you. For us.”

  She knew if she blinked, the tears would pour. So she looked down at the photos, and the first drop hit the page with a splat. Jack placed his finger on the tear and smeared it.

  “Lily,” he whispered. “Even tears can’t wash down a paper wall if the love that built them is strong enough.”

  She almost buckled with emotion, but in an instant he had his arms around her, pulling her so tightly into his chest she could hear his heart hammer at the same insane rate as hers.

  “Please, tell me yes, Lil.”

  “It depends on what you’re asking,” she said, closing her eyes and inhaling the glorious scent of Jack. Of dreams. Of forever.

  “I’m asking you to spend your life with me.” He guided her chin up to face him. “I love you, Lily. I love you so much. I want you to be my wife and my partner and my lover and my best friend and the mother of my children.” His voice cracked on the last one and that just about did her in.

  “Jack.” She drew back to look at him, stunned to see the tears he fought were as real as her own. “I love you, too.”

  He kissed her, gently at first, then hungrily as the ache they’d fought for six months evaporated.

  “We have one year to shape this company together,” he said. “During that time, we’re going to build that house, travel the world, plan our future, name our babies, make our dreams and fall in love all over again.”

  A sense of joy so complete and total washed over Lily, and she clung to the man she loved. “Are you sure, Jack? Are you positive you want to do this?”

  “Lily, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” He cupped her face and kissed a tear. “I’ve lived for this moment ever since you walked away in New York. I’ve examined my heart, and I took all sorts of time for that self-discovery you suggested.”

  “What did you discover?” she asked, her fingers moving automatically to the one strand of hair that hung close to his eyes.

  “That I’m more whole and more happy and more free with you than without you. I want walls, Lil. If you’re inside them with me, I want them all. That’s the real freedom in life. The freedom to totally be yourself with the one person who loves you, and who you love.”

  “Ah, Jack.” She slid her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

  “I’ve changed, Lily.”

  She drew back enough to look into his eyes. “No. No, you haven’t. And I don’t want you to. I love you exactly the way you were and are and will be. Don’t change a thing.”

  “I love you, too,” he whispered, kissing her gently, then letting the passion rock them again.

  She broke the kiss, a frown on her face. “All this in a year? Build a house, handle this assignment, plan a life and make all that love? How can we do that?”

  “Easy.” He nibbled at her neck and worked his way back to her mouth, easing her backward over the table. “You get the days. I get the nights.”

  “It’s nice to know…” She kissed him lightly and slid a loving hand through his long hair. “That some things will never change.”

  Jack surveyed the blanket of color that unfolded beyond the veranda, the jeweled reds and golds of early autumn in New England, warmed by an unusually powerful September sun. He inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of the cranberry bog mixing with the salt of the not-so-distant sea and the aroma of the single lily that Dots had pinned on his lapel with tears in her eyes just moments ago.

  The first quiet notes of a piano melody filled the air and Jack clasped his hands together in front of him and turned toward the rows of seats.

  “Nervous?”

  Jack glanced to his left and gave Deuce a get-real look. “Were you?”

  “Are you kidding? I was scared to death your sister would change her mind. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Jack smiled. “One of them.”

  “And there’s another,” Deuce said, indicating the back of the aisle with a wide smile that crinkled his eyes.

  Both men beamed at the tiniest attendant, two-year-old Jacquie Monroe, toddling forward in layers of gold crinoline, a very serious look on her precious face. She stepped slowly the way they’d practiced the night before, plucking each flower petal and fluttering it to the makeshift aisle with earnest determination, sparing a glance at the audience as they let out a collective “Awwww.”

  Deuce and Jack shared a look, acknowledging this passage in their lifetime of friendship, then back at the little girl. She lifted her head and her eyes locked on Deuce.

  “Uh-oh,” Jack whispered. “Trouble.”

  “Daddy!” Jacquie broke into a run and headed straight for Deuce.

  “Hey.” He scooped her up as the guests burst into laughter. “That’s not what we practiced.”

  Her little face fell in shame, but Deuce eased her to the ground. “It’s okay, pumpkin. You were perfect.”

  The little trauma over, the next beautiful woman started down the aisle. Kendra looked radiant in a burnished gold gown, her gaze, like her daughter’s, locked on Deuce. As she approached the flowery altar where Jack would be married, she looked at her older brother.

  “Be happy,” she mouthed.

  “I am,” he whispered back as Kendra took her spot next to Jacquie, giving her daughter an encouraging smile.

  The piano hidden around the corner suddenly paused midnote, then started the first few notes of a song Jackson Locke never really thought he’d hear. At least, not played for him.

  How could he be so lucky?

  She appeared around the corner, a vision in satin and cream. She curled her fingers over Reggie’s arm, smiling at him, exchanging a quick word that made Reggie chuckle.

  Then she turned to the woman on her left. Samantha Wilding was thin and pale, but the Swiss treatment was definitely working miracles. When Lily had asked that both the Wildings give her away, Sam had cried with joy. They made an unconventional little trio walking down the aisle, but that was precisely what Jack liked about the idea.

  After all, none of this would have happened without Sam.

  “Thanks, Reg,” Jack said, shaking the older man’s
hand when they reached the minister. “And, Sammy, how can I thank you? All this time I thought the gods loved me, but it was really you.”

  Sam reached out, her eyes moist, her mouth quivering. “You don’t need those gods anymore, Jack, because now…” She took his hand and joined it to Lily’s, giving them both a squeeze. “You have an angel right here on earth.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-0972-9

  HIS STYLE OF SEDUCTION

  Copyright © 2007 by Roxanne St. Claire

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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