Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1

by Bailey, Orla

  It seems I need to make my position clear. “Will you let CaidCo have a shot at keeping Zee-Com’s advertising account?” I annoy myself for making it sound like a child’s game of marbles.

  Jack exhales slowly. He won’t be deflected or rushed. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

  I stare at him. I understand my part of the bargain well enough without innuendo.

  “Hesitant to your soul.” Jack looms over me until I think he plans to kiss me. I react, prepare. Stiffen my spine and soften my lips. He halts, hovering above me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  I give him the benefit of the doubt. “I haven’t eaten much today.”

  “Then drink up. We won’t delay dinner any longer.” He tosses back his entire glassful in one go and waits while I take the final sip of mine to finish it off.

  “I can see I’ll have to get a whole lot more Champagne down you before you’ll relax around me,” he observes.

  I’m not sure how I feel about that either.

  Jack lifts the empty glass from my hand and wedges both flutes upside down into the crushed ice between the bottle and the bucket. He scoops up the whole lot in one arm and holds his other out for mine.

  “The table’s ready, Tabitha. Come. Let’s forget business for one evening and eat.”

  He steadies me onto my feet in my spiked heels, leading me to the far side of the central fireplace where an intimate little table has been set for two.

  Jack’s firm, warm grasp sends a spiral of heat winding through my body which tussles with the sensuous slip of cool silk against my skin as I move. I ought to remove my hand from his to vent the building pressure but I thrill to the feel of all that strength and power.

  At least I’ve learnt enough to keep those feelings to myself. I’m not comfortable with my own feelings around Jack at all. He calls me beautiful but how easily such lies come to men’s lips when they want something.

  Jack deposits the ice bucket at the edge of the table and pulls out a chair, inviting me to sit. Whatever lies he’s spinning are to facilitate his plan to have sex with me. The thought makes me want to bolt for the elevator and not because I don’t want him to, but because I do. Badly. The tension is killing me.

  “The table setting looks wonderful.” Tonight I’ll let him take from me what he didn’t want before, not even when I threw it at him. I wince. The hideous memories aren’t far from the surface.

  Jack takes the seat opposite. “Lenuta. My very efficient house-keeper.” He appraises her work and lights the candles. “She has a good eye for a stylish dinner table.”

  Even separated by the small, round table, I feel Jack’s presence far too intensely. Within reach, touchable with ease, yet he only needs to look at me to have a powerful effect on my flesh. My body has been responding to his from the moment he saw me at the elevator. What will it be like when he puts his hands all over me?

  “The flowers and decorations are amazing.” I take in the exquisite wired display of plucked lime-green Irish bells and pink orchids, the slender white candles and the scattering of golden glitter on pristine white linen between sets of silverware. Candlelight casts glinted prisms like miniature rainbows through the cut glassware onto the cloth. It’s quite magical.

  My wayward thoughts stray to hot imaginary love-making with Jack. Alone in my bed at night, as I touch myself, it’s always his hands I feel on my body. Will I be able to bear the torrid reality? There’s no disguising how aroused I feel. The thought of him making that same discovery sets a rhythmic drumming deep inside, like two strong fingers tapping impatient reminders on my most sensitive of nerve endings, just the way Jack taps on the table now.

  I struggle to re-focus my mind. “Waterford crystal and Irish linen?”

  Jack is proud of his Irish heritage. Yet, if he knew my almost encyclopaedic knowledge of all things Irish was borne of my youthful crush on him, he’d pity me. A crush long since extinguished by cold reality. Tonight, I tell myself, it’s pure curiosity. As soon as I have his body inside mine I can lay my ghosts to rest and concentrate on my business. The deal.

  “It seems my house-keeper isn’t the only one with a fine eye.” Jack’s generous smile warms me.

  I enjoy his approval yet despise myself for it at the same time. It invites an intimacy I know he isn’t offering. I’m here to be put in my place and I’ll allow it for the sake of my company. A dirty little trade-off. Nothing more.

  “Your glass needs refilling.” Jack lifts the glasses out of the ice-bucket and tops them up, handing one to me. He holds on to it when I try to take it. Frozen in time, our eyes lock. He releases the glass a single second before I feel I have to as hot blood surges through my veins.

  Jack reaches for a small silver bell and shakes it, its echoes breaking the tense silence. I start in surprise when a waiter appears unexpectedly, delivers two silver-domed plates to the table, lifts their cloches and leaves discretely. I can’t wipe the amusement from my face.

  “And what is so funny, Miss Caid?”

  He pronounces my name with his soft Irish burr, so different to the way he said it in the boardroom. Playful almost.

  “The CEO of Zee-Com deploying a low-tech solution to get food to his table.” I tinkle the bell and laugh as Jack snatches it off me, muting the sound and looking up ready to dismiss the waiter should he reappear. I wait, smile fixed, expectantly.

  “Perhaps you think I’m uncouth enough to shout or put two fingers in my mouth and whistle?” Jack’s blue eyes crinkle with mirth.

  “You should get Zee-Com’s techy boffins to address the problem.” I see his lips tighten reprovingly. “I know. We aren’t supposed to talk business.”

  “Finally. She gets it.” Jack’s expression softens, relaxing a bit more as the ice thaws between us. “Now what do we have here?” He studies his plate.

  “Something left to chance? I would have thought a man like you took every decision, even down to what’s served for dinner.”

  “A man like me?” Jack pauses. “Dinner is my chef’s area of expertise and, as a manager, I know how to recruit and delegate.”

  If he’s suggesting I don’t, I’m not rising to the bait. “Food? Not your area of expertise? I recall you having a monstrous appetite.”

  When Jack arches his eyebrows fully I wince. That isn’t what I meant to say. I don’t want to remind either of us of the happy times we sat on the fire escape stairs, stuffing huge filled baguettes from the corner deli, swigging a different kind of fizz from ring-pull cans. It might remind him of other stuff too. Stuff I definitely don’t want to remind him about.

  “Appetites change, Tabitha.”

  I blush at his words, his insinuation. The way he stares makes the flush burn deeper. I duck my head to concentrate on my food, picking up my cutlery. “My compliments to Lenuta, to your fine chef and to the intuitive waiter who only responds to appropriate bell-ringing. Dinner looks delicious.”

  “Delicious,” he echoes but his eyes linger on me.

  I don’t even need to look to know he’s staring. He makes me feel like a clumsy teenager again so I force my head to rise and my eyes to meet his. I can handle this.

  Except when he looks at me that way. My heart trips. “What are you staring at?” Will I never learn?

  “I’m thinking about what it will be like to share breakfast with you, except…”

  “Except?” The dare is thrown out in defiance of my own good senses.

  “I’m picturing you naked, licking peach yoghurt from the corners of your luscious lips.”

  I swallow hard. “That’s the sort of thought a man should keep to himself.” My voice sounds clipped, even to my own ears. Am I shocked? Aroused?

  He laughs at me. “I never thought you’d turn out to be so prissy.”

  “Prissy? I’m here for a one-night-stand. Sex between strangers. Sex for favours. My immorality suddenly knows no bounds.”

  “Tabitha.” He tries to halt my tirade but my emotions are rolling down a steep
hill without any brakes.

  “What have I done now? Are you trying to pretend this isn’t about questionable sex? That we’re not strangers? That the only reason you asked me here wasn’t to f–”

  “–That’s enough!” He looks like he wants to kill me.

  My chest heaves with emotion. Prissy? I don’t understand him or what he wants from me but it strikes me I’m here to do whatever he wants me to and the thought arouses and appals me in equal measure.

  Some terrible emotion wars in Jack’s Arctic eyes. He looks like he can’t trust himself to speak. And I’ve said enough, clearly.

  He breaks the heady tension with a measured tone. “What would you suddenly know about a man’s thoughts anyway?”

  “That some are better left unspoken.” I speak from bitter experience, my voice reduced to a whisper.

  “Then we’ll eat in silence.” Jack tosses his chin to indicate the food on the table, picks up his cutlery and forks up a mouthful. He seems so coldly self-controlled again it scares me.

  The ominous stillness eats at my brain. What is he doing to me? What is he planning to do? I try to focus on the food but my mind spins me back into the past…

  The first time I ever saw Jack he was a mature man already, confident and respectful. Not like the boys who came and went, running their mouths off and chatting me up as if I was something, even while they looked over my shoulder for the next girl to come along.

  Jack’s eyes had lifted when I burst into Harry’s office drooling like a mumbling moron around a pencil clamped between my teeth like a bit; waving papers in the air, trying not to drop any of the heavy files I was carrying. I always tried to cover ten things at once, even then. Intense blue eyes staring at me through dark fringes of hair stopped me in my tracks.

  Harry introduced us briefly, too engrossed in some report on his desk to see my reaction. But Jack Keogh saw. He gave a curt nod at my name but I couldn’t even smile in reply. He stole my breath away. It was that camera shutter moment when everything freezes for eternity.

  He held my gaze a little too long to be polite, to be decent, for a first introduction. Assured. The stillness of a totally confident man. But whatever radiated off him wasn’t simply casual and it burned me to the core.

  I’d mumbled, “Sorry,” and reversed out of the office until Jack stopped me. He stood up and held out his hand. No-one had ever stood up for me before. It was the first time we’d touched. I removed the pencil and most of the saliva, shifted the papers awkwardly from my right hand to my left so I could respond to his invitation. No. It was more than an invitation. It was a command. The first time I’d felt it. That same command that drew me from the elevator this evening. He commands. I obey.

  I can still remember the shockwave of that first skin-to-skin contact. There was heat and roughness in his touch. A firm grasp that showed he would control the situation, release me when he chose to. Those eternal seconds before he decided to let me go.

  I recall every detail like it was yesterday. The pressure as he squeezed my smaller palm within his, signalling he was stronger and that he could have me any time he wanted. He held my gaze until I lowered mine tamely away. I knew his power over me even in that first moment.

  I’d reversed out of my uncle’s office and shut the door behind me stopping to lean against the corridor wall, needing its solid support at my back. The conversation inside the room continued, as if I’d never entered, never had my whole world turned upside down.

  …“Aren’t you going to try some?” Jack’s question breaks through my reminiscences and I become aware of the silver fork hovering over my plate.

  I stare at the food.

  “Prosciutto with seared figs, mascarpone and a little rocket.” Jack tells me what’s on my plate as if I’m blind to everything but memories.

  “It looks tasty.” Did he think about me at all in those years apart?

  “Then taste it.” The way he watches me raises the fine, pale hairs on the back of my neck. “The dressing’s spectacular.”

  I lift some of the dressed rocket to my lips and savour the acidic pepperiness of the coated leaves, nodding my agreement.

  Jack raises a chunk of warm soft fig to my lips on his own fork. “Now enjoy the sweetness.”

  He holds it steady, without a trace of waver in his hand while I quake inside and out. He doesn’t even concern himself I might refuse to accept food from his hand, like a trained pet.

  My delay only heightens the expectation between us. His eyes fix mine in silent command. “We’ve shared food before,” he reminds me.

  I slide my open mouth over the tines of his fork, closing my lips around the fruit he offers…

  We have shared food before. I would steal a bite of his coronation chicken sandwich and laugh when he discovered my theft. He would retaliate by chomping down the biggest chunk of my hummus and salad bagel he could manage while I fought him off ineffectively, his longer reach and the strength of his arms keeping mine at bay.

  He’d nearly choked trying to swallow, laugh and breathe at the same time as I’d petulantly told him it served him right and pretended to be hurt and offended that he would take what was mine, until he offered me what was his again and fed me gently from his hand.

  I’d rewarded him with our first kiss.

  Such a few short months of innocent pleasure. Just enough time for an eighteen year old to imagine a future around him; to share her deepest, darkest secrets. Before he was gone, just like those inconsequential boys after all.

  …“Good huh?” Jack tucks into his plateful with a familiar appetite. A body that big and strong takes a lot of feeding, I assume. “Try the mascarpone and prosciutto together.” He pushes some between his lips, raises himself over the table and stills, his mouth just a whisper from mine. My pulse bounds in my throat.

  I see his seduction. Tonight he wants only a few short hours of pleasure from me again and he expects me to be alright with that. He waits, silently compelling me to cross that final distance by myself to touch my lips to his. I do.

  Jack moves his mouth against mine, teasing and tempting until I take the food from his insistent tongue and sit back, shamed at how quickly aroused I am by it. He hands me my glass of Champagne and I swallow the food, finishing off the whole glassful right behind it. The bubbles course through my blood as Jack refills it.

  “Aren’t you drinking too?” I ask.

  “I’m already a little drunk.” His eyes are riveted to my wet lips.

  He wears that half-smile that so torments me. I capitulate far too easily around Jack, no mind of my own when he’s near, as if the last four years never existed and I’m still crazy in love with a man too mature, too sophisticated to care about a besotted girl who will allow him to shatter her heart.

  “The Champagne is going to my head, Jack.” I have to get more food inside me before I become so sloshed I throw caution to the wind and make an even bigger fool of myself.

  “Better eat up then,” he advises.

  I tuck in, suddenly conscious of how empty I am inside. I should have eaten today, prepared better for tonight. Another silly oversight. Jack, at least, looks happier with me. Actually, he has a look of pure satisfaction on his face as he watches me.

  “What?” I chew the last mouthful, put down my knife and fork neatly on the empty plate.

  “You’ve left a little dressing,” he points out, laughing. He lifts a small basket of cut bread and offers me a piece. “Here, mop it up.”

  “You’re teasing me.” Well I don’t care. The bread will mop up the Champagne too. It’s making my head dizzy. I don’t want to be dizzy around Jack. Picking the biggest piece, I challenge him to comment with a glare.

  He’s far too smart to bite. “Walnut and olive bread. Lenuta makes it herself. It’s really delicious.”

  “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

  “I’m saving my appetite for better things.”

  Oh, God, I keep on walking straight into his insinuations. My
fingers tear some more of the soft bread which I swirl around the juices on the plate and pop into my mouth.

  “It is good.” I mumble with my mouth full, making his smile stretch. Blast. I definitely must slow down on the drinking.

  “Don’t you believe what I tell you?” Jack lifts my glass towards me again.

  I’d be a fool to believe anything Jack Keogh ever said to me. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “It’s good to see you relax a little. Loosen up.”

  If I was any looser I’d slither to the floor. Jack holds the glass to my lips without letting go. He tips it gently allowing me a sip then removes it back to the table again. He lifts his own linen napkin dabbing the moisture from the corner of my mouth. His thumb strokes firmly over the fullness of my lower lip forcing it to move beneath the pressure. I make a conscious effort not to slip it into my mouth and suck on it.

  “I’ll protect you, Tabby. Even from yourself.”

  “I don’t need protecting. Certainly not from myself. From you, however, might be a different matter.”

  “Sure you do.” Jack pauses. “I’m not going to hurt you, Tabby.” His features seem serious enough.

  A shiver runs up my spine. When did he start calling me by my pet names? But he’s already hurt me. Badly. I thought he liked me. I thought I could trust him with anything. I’m a little too sober to believe his lies but a little too drunk to care. He’s going to hurt me again, I know it and I’m going to let him. He won’t really mean to perhaps, but he will anyway.

  I admit to myself, I still want him. I’ve never truly forgiven him for not wanting me but he’s never going to find that out. Never. But I’ll never let myself fall under his spell again. Ever.

  This time, I can protect my own heart.