Seducing Sullivan

by Julie Elizabeth Leto

  “Over and done with?” He chuckled and placed a placating kiss on the top of her forehead. “Not in my book, angel.”

  “Take a hint, Jack.” She yanked her arms out of his hold and disengaged herself from his warmth.

  Until he’d awoken, she’d done nothing but think about their lovemaking. Without doubt, Jack roused passions she never knew existed. She needed to save those desires for someone who wasn’t a threat to her daughter or the life she’d so carefully shaped. “This may be a first for you, but my desire for you is sated. I don’t suppose you’ve ever experienced someone using you and setting you aside after a few nights of pleasure….”

  “No, I haven’t.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. An inkling of vulnerability laced his words like a sprinkling of arsenic—nearly undetectable yet dangerous to ingest. “Neither have you.”

  She shifted her weight, uncomfortable with how waspish she sounded. “Fair enough.” She lowered her voice, attempting to drain all the spite from it. “That doesn’t change the fact that you want something from me I can’t give. You want the woman I used to be. She’s gone. She grew up.”

  He traced his finger over her blouse, outlining her cleavage. She willed herself not to move, not to react. His intoxicating effect over her was finished, right?

  “She’s grown up, all right. Enough to know what she really needs.”

  “Yes.” Her voice grew raspy as his thumb passed over her nipple. She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “And I don’t need you. I can’t.”

  “Then what was last night? And the night before?” He stepped forward slowly, his intense gaze gluing her to the spot. “You think our passion came from an old memory. Maybe we started that way—” he dislodged her hands from her protective stance and rubbed the tension out of her knuckles “—but we’re not done yet.”

  After placing tender kisses on both palms, he snapped a business card out of his wallet and slipped it into her purse. “When you admit the truth to yourself, whether today or next week or next year, you know where to find me.”

  He disappeared into the darkness of the bedroom as the bellman knocked on the door. He stood, just out of sight while she hesitated. He heard her take the card out of the purse. A minute later she answered the door, instructed the bellman to take her bag and left.

  He hadn’t expected her to walk away. Maybe he was losing his touch. Maybe Angela didn’t need him as much as he needed her. Maybe he hadn’t pleased her…hadn’t touched the depths of her soul with his lovemaking.

  Nah.

  Jack swept his shirt from the floor and shrugged into it before housekeeping showed up to prep the room for the next guest. He sat on the bed to slide on his shoes, then let himself lie back in the tangled sheets, inhaling the scent of Angela’s natural perfume, recalling the fearless way she responded to his every intimate touch. What they’d shared had been special. Unique. Unforgettable. He just had to wait for her to realize it, too.

  Though her adventurous air surprised him, he’d caught hints of the shyness she tried so hard to hide—the way she glanced sidelong when he first suckled her breasts, the way her hands quivered when he caressed her, the way she tugged her bottom lip with her teeth when he employed some new, erotic touches. The longer they’d been together, the more her intrinsic naiveté shone through, making his heart soar. He swelled with renewed desire.

  He finished dressing quickly, knowing he’d go stark, raving mad if he stayed in her room. As battle-scarred as he was with women and sex, he was humbled by how his responses to Angela were so fresh and raw. The results were downright rejuvenating—just what he’d come home for.

  If she really thought their time together was over, she had another think coming. As far as he was concerned, the reunion had just begun.

  5

  “HE DID WHAT?”

  Angela didn’t need her assistant, Nancy Brennan, to repeat herself. She’d heard what Nancy had said. She just didn’t want to believe it.

  What a great way to start a Monday. Angela glanced around her home office and checked the clock. Eight o’clock. She’d returned early on Sunday, but she’d spent most of the day unpacking, doing laundry and trying not to think about Jack. The last thing she wanted to worry about was work. She’d checked her messages religiously, and everything seemed to be business as usual. Until this phone call.

  “I’m really sorry, Angela. None of us saw this coming,” Nancy said, her young, barely-out-of-college voice brimming with sincerity—and a touch of fear. This could mean job losses. Layoffs. Bankruptcy.

  “Well, I certainly didn’t, and watching out for the company is my responsibility, not yours.” Angela chastised herself for getting so wrapped up in Jack and the reunion that one of her associates had the time and the temerity to resign and take her biggest client and two assistants with him. “Are any of his other files missing?”

  The shuffling of papers echoed over the phone line.

  “The Whispering Palms file isn’t here,” Nancy answered, her voice weak with worry.

  “Wonderful.” Angela tried to keep the tapping of her fingers from resembling the machine-gun fire she’d like to level at the traitor, Randall Hautman. “Call Mr. Davenport at Whispering Palms immediately and confirm our eleven o’clock appointment. Assure him I have a really stellar presentation for him.”

  “Randall wouldn’t dare go after that account.” Nancy attempted to reassure both Angela and herself. “If he takes Whispering Palms, we’re—”

  “Through.” Angela finished the thought. “Randall’s not stupid. We only have a tentative contract with Whispering Palms. They paid for and received the marketing analysis. We can’t take for granted we’ll win the promotion and advertising job. Randall could, theoretically, slip in right now and steal Davenport away. We can’t afford to lose this one. I’ve upgraded equipment. Hired more staff.”

  Angela switched on her home computer and dialed the office modem.

  “Confirm the appointment, Nan,” Angela continued once she’d tapped in her password, “and double-check every file in Randall’s desk. And mine. Make sure nothing else is missing. In fact, why don’t you set up meetings for me with all our major clients. Don’t start them until Wednesday. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners, I don’t care. But I need time for damage control on Whispering Palms before I take care of everyone else.”

  “What about Styler Jewels? Do you want to try to get them back?”

  Angela stretched her neck as the computer file for Styler Jewels, the purloined company, popped onto her screen. “It’s probably a lost cause by now, but I’ll make that call myself. You just get in touch with Davenport. And remember, tell him I have something huge planned for him.”

  “Sure, Angela, I’ll get right on it. But…”

  Angela had already started reviewing the Styler account when Nancy’s nervous silence gained her attention. “But what, Nan?”

  “What do you have planned?”

  Inhaling deeply, Angela questioned the caliber of Harris and Associates’ latest bid for the promotion of Whispering Palms. The pitch, slick enough to reach the target audience yet classy enough to flow with Davenport’s reputation, contained major strengths, easily outdoing anything she’d seen before. But what about the weaknesses? What if she’d been so wrapped up in her anticipation of seeing Jack that she’d ignored a vital angle or missed a unique slant?

  She pushed her uncertainty away. Angela knew marketing. She’d spent her entire professional career studying companies, recommending promotional and growth tactics, then implementing those strategies with her team of creative professionals. She’d been successful. She could do this.

  “I’m presenting the proposal we put together last week. I only hope it’s good enough to wow the man’s socks off.”

  WHEN ALLISTAIR DAVENPORT left Angela’s south Tampa office, his socks were still firmly affixed to his feet. Though he hadn’t nixed Angela’s campaign entirely, he demanded more—something spectacular, he’d said—f
rom the firm who wanted to take over his multimillion-dollar account.

  Angela spent the rest of the afternoon brainstorming with her creative team, throwing out and batting away ideas until just before her four o’clock meeting with David Styler. In a rare move, she dismissed the staff early. Tired and shocked by Randall’s betrayal, they were too distracted to produce the kind of campaign Davenport wanted.

  After a brief and unsuccessful meeting with Styler, she drove to see her accountant—a move she regretted as she maneuvered her Pathfinder down busy Tampa streets toward home. Losing Styler Jewels had hurt the bottom line more than she cared to admit, thanks to investments she’d made to secure the Davenport Homes account. For the first time since she’d started her business, financial vulnerability threatened her future.

  How could she have been so blind? How could she not have guessed Randall’s duplicity? How could she have presented a less than perfect proposal when her business depended on success?

  As she pulled into the garage and turned off the ignition, one name answered all her questions.

  Jack.

  Clearly, it wasn’t fair to blame him for her misfortune. However, even today, while fighting for her company’s survival, she’d found herself remembering the way he crooked his knuckle beneath her chin when he kissed her, reliving the tense anticipation of his lips trailing down her neck, hearing the echo of his voice gasping her name with erotic release.

  Jack wasn’t any further out of her system than the blood pumping through her veins.

  As she reached into her closet after her shower, a frightening inspiration hit her. Hung in the dry, dark space for preservation, the little violet and rose bouquet sparked an image that could change her future—privately and professionally. Allistair Davenport, a developer and entrepreneur, was respected for his knowledge of popular art. No doubt the man knew photography as well as sculpture and painting.

  Even before Jack’s face made the tabloids, thanks to his association with supermodel Lily Dee, he’d been widely recognized for his talent. His unique photographs of the Florida Everglades were used by conservationalists worldwide. The U.S. Postal Service used his sunset shot of the Painted Desert in a limited-edition stamp. A showing in New York two summers ago elicited critical acclaim, clearly distinguishing him from countless camera jocks and putting his work on the cover of New York magazine.

  Jack Sullivan was truly spectacular—in more ways than one.

  She couldn’t. Her idea was too risky. Ill-advised. Dangerous.

  Still…It could save her business.

  A minute later, she’d found Jack’s business card.

  “Sullivan here,” he answered, breathing hard, as if he’d raced to the phone.

  She thanked heaven some idiot inventor hadn’t yet come up with a cost-effective videophone. “How sweet. You’re out of breath and you didn’t even know it was me,” she teased, while shaking like a leaf from head to toe.

  His laugh from the other end was deep-throated and low. “I must have a sixth sense for sexy women.”

  And a lucky streak a mile long, Jack added silently. Balancing the phone with his shoulder, he wiped his suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans. He’d been thinking about Angela all morning as he unpacked his equipment and settled into his new home. He wondered about how she’d spent her day yesterday, and mostly how she’d spent the night.

  Did she really consider their reunion a weekend fling? Or had he branded himself deeper into her soul, as she had with him? He decided he might never know unless he came up with an excuse to see or call her.

  Now she had called him. Why?

  “What’s up?” he asked, plopping into a worn chair he’d inherited with his new warehouse-office-home.

  “Oh, Jack, you walk right into them, don’t you? Nothing is up—yet, but I’m working on it.” She punctuated her innuendo with a giggle.

  He shifted in his seat, amazed how the sound of her voice could make him hard. She’d waltzed into dangerous territory—Jack’s home turf. “Do you need a few ideas, or do you have some of your own?”

  “I don’t give away my secrets that easily. Anticipation is a powerful ally.”

  “I won’t have to wait another ten years, will I?”

  She laughed. “How about an hour? I’ll bring dinner if you haven’t already eaten. You can show me your studio.”

  “I haven’t eaten, and I’m starved.” For you. “But are you sure you want to venture into my lair?”

  “I’m an adventurer at heart, Jack. Didn’t you know that?”

  After a few moments, the conversation ended, but Jack remained in his chair with the phone on his chest. He’d hoped she’d call him, but he never anticipated he’d hear from her so soon. She had invited herself over for a reason—a good reason. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t change her mind about seeing him again without strong motivation.

  He also knew to answer the door when opportunity knocked. She wanted something from him, something she’d swallow her pride to get. He wanted something, as well, and luckily, bargaining and bartering were pastimes he enjoyed.

  She claimed to be an adventurer at heart. Good. Jack hoped her words would prove true. For tonight, she’d need every ounce of daring she had to meet him.

  With a bass chuckle, he pushed out of the chair and got to work.

  ANGELA SET THE PHONE on its cradle just in time to hear her sister singing her familiar, “Knock, knock,” greeting.

  “Door’s open, Kell,” Angela shouted from her bedroom, scurrying to shut the closet before her sister spotted the wilting corsage. She didn’t have time to fill Kelly in on the reunion, not that she had any intention of telling her about Jack. However, she didn’t want to lie. Her best bet was to avoid the topic altogether.

  Angela dug a fresh pair of panty hose out of her lingerie drawer as Kelly stuck her head around the door frame. “Hey, sis.” Her expression, dominated by round, brown eyes, twisted with disappointment when she noticed the fresh suit laid out on the bed. “I thought you were taking the night off. I wanted to invite you to dinner so you could fill me in on all the reunion gossip.”

  Kicking off her slippers, Angela sat on the bed and stuffed her feet into the hose, pulling them up quickly and trying not to remember how Jack had slithered similar lingerie off her only three nights before.

  “I was, but I’ve got less than an hour to get to an appointment and try to arrange some damage control.”

  “Sounds serious.” Kelly took Angela’s blouse off the hanger and helped her maneuver the silk over her head without smearing her makeup.

  “Very.” Angela tucked the blouse into her skirt and then shrugged on the jacket.

  While Kelly wandered aimlessly around the room, picking up perfume bottles she’d sniffed countless times before, Angela brushed out her hair, twisting and securing it with a conservative tortoiseshell clip.

  “I could’ve killed Garrett for forcing me to go to that home show yesterday.” Kelly dabbed on some Chanel. “I’m dying to hear who married who, who lost hair, who was the best-looking single guy left.”

  When Kelly’s roaming gaze neared the bedside table where she kept her phone, Angela’s heart froze. Jack’s business card lay beside it.

  “Kelly!”

  “What?”

  Angela swallowed deeply, then spun around in her best quick recovery. “How does my hair look?”

  Kelly stepped closer, away from the phone, to examine the back of Angela’s head, smoothing a few loose ends. “Looks fine.” She plopped down on the bed. “I’ve gotta tell you, Ange, I don’t know if I like the boys being gone for two whole weeks. I’m bored out of my mind.”

  “You need a hobby.” Angela palmed Jack’s card and moved to the other side of the room. At one time, Kelly had thought Jack Sullivan was an all-right guy. But her opinion hadn’t lasted long. As an older sister whose mother traveled three-quarters of the year, Kelly became responsible for little sister Angela’s well-being. At the first hint that Ja
ck wasn’t a choirboy, Kelly decided Angela would be better off without him. And she hadn’t been wrong—then or now. Angela didn’t dare spill the beans about her weekend liaison to her maternally inclined sibling. Not until she was prepared for a lethal tongue-lashing.

  Kelly propped a throw pillow under her head. “I’ve got it!”

  Angela fastened the button on her jacket and smoothed a sheer shade of color over her lips.

  “Got what?”

  “A hobby.” She laid back and tucked her hands comfortably behind her head. “I’ll take the next two lonely weeks to concentrate on finding you a date.”

  Groaning, Angela replaced the cap on her lipstick and flung it into her tiny leather purse. “Why don’t you try ceramics? The last thing I need after this weekend is a date.”

  She winced. That little admission would cost her plenty.

  Kelly sat up on her elbows. “Oh, really?” She had a way of twisting those three syllables into an entire stanza of romantic assumption. “You know you aren’t getting out of this house, appointment or not, without explaining that slip, sister dear.”

  Angela retreated to her closet to dig out matching leather pumps. Though she couldn’t give her sister specifics—she’d die first—she felt the urgent need to talk, especially after she’d invited herself to Jack’s for dinner. What she planned to do was reckless, impulsive, almost obsessive. Yet in the twenty-four hours since she’d left Jack in her hotel room, she couldn’t get her mind off him. Even Randall Hautman’s traitorous theft hadn’t distracted her for more than thirty minutes. Instead, the situation gave her cause to see Jack again. And soon.

  “So I met somebody this weekend,” she admitted vacuously. She grabbed her briefcase from beside the door and headed down the hallway. “No big deal.”

  Kelly raced behind her. “Who?”

  “You wouldn’t remember him.” She snagged a soda from the refrigerator and set it on the counter while she hunted for her insulated cup.