by Anna del Mar
“Excuse me?”
“You’re suffering from post-traumatic shopping disorder.” He grinned. “We’ll have to cure you of that. It’s a good thing I love shopping for you. Now open your gift.”
I pulled on the ribbon and opened the box. Cushioned in blue silk was a pair of stunning earrings, yellow garnets, cut to dazzle and dangling from long, delicate stems. Beneath the earrings, cradled in its own plush compartment, there was another piece of custom jewelry, a pair of gorgeous glass spheres swirling with gold and silver streaks.
What kind of jewelry was this?
Something pricy and fashionable, I was sure, if only because Josh was gifting it to me. A bracelet maybe? But it had no clasp. On close inspection, I found the initials “JL” finely engraved at the poles.
“These are beautiful,” I said, even if I had no clue what they were. “But I can’t accept them.”
The look he gave me could have incinerated me on the spot. “Why not?”
“They’re very expensive, I’m sure, and I couldn’t afford them on my own.”
“But I want you to have them.”
“You shouldn’t waste your hard-earned money like this.”
He rolled his eyes. “What I do with my money is for me to decide. I want you to have these and you will wear them tonight.”
I sighed. How could I feel flattered and offended at the same time?
I put on the earrings and took in my reflection on the window. The garnets’ smart cut would have favored any woman, lending beauty and elegance even to someone as plain as I was.
“They look just as I imagined they would,” Josh said. “Now this.”
He handed me the other piece of jewelry, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The glass spheres were connected together by a thin, sparkling little cord. I fumbled with the gold ring dangling from one end and still I couldn’t figure out what it was or how to put it on. I felt like a provincial simpleton.
“Do you want me to do it?” he said.
“Sure.” I handed the piece back to him.
“Just relax,” he said, pulling up my skirt, parting my legs and pressing the first sphere against my sex.
“Josh!”
It happened in an instant. I winced, he pushed, and just like that, the ball sank into my body.
“Hush now,” he murmured. “Just one more...”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the reflection of Amman’s face in the rear view mirror silenced me. I didn’t want to attract his attention. My body accepted the second sphere with a silent gulp, leaving only the little ring hanging from the silky string dangling between my legs.
I forced out the words. “What have you done?”
Josh kissed the back of my hand. “Give it a few moments. You’ll get used to the sensation and you’ll enjoy it. Here we are.”
Indeed, the Audi pulled up to an underground entrance. Amman got out and the car door opened.
“I... I can’t get out like this.” I panicked. “Please, don’t ask me to do this. It’s obscene!”
“It’s delicious,” he said. “Or so I’ve been told, and you’ll like it too, if you give it a chance. Best of all, my little gifts will keep you grounded. You won’t be worrying about the rest. Come on, we’re late.”
I got out of the car carefully, only to feel the odd load of Josh’s gifts weighing me down. I was afraid that if I stepped too hard, the little balls would fall out of me. My sex—indeed my entire body—tightened, clutching them with stubborn resolve.
“You can do it,” Josh said as he guided me to the elevator. “They’re just right for you.”
I snapped. “If you like them so much why don’t you wear them?”
“Because I want you to wear them for me. It’ll be our secret. Just knowing that you’re carrying those little balls inside you makes me hard.” To prove his point, he took my hand and rubbed it against his erection.
Oh. My. God.
“Think of them as your friends,” he said. “We’ll make a short night of it and, if at any point you’re uncomfortable, just tell me. Easy in, easy out.”
The elevator doors opened into the plush lobby of the top floor at the Prudential Tower, the second tallest building in Boston, where a lavish private party was in full swing. The floor to ceiling glass windows displayed the city lights all around us.
An attendant took my coat, but I barely noticed. A horde of people surged to greet Josh. I swayed in place, dizzy, and not just because of the crowd swarming about me. I shook hands at every introduction, but I didn’t give a hoot about who I was talking to or why. All I could do was nod politely and cling to the weight defining my center.
Soon after we arrived, a strawberry blond woman dressed in a gorgeous emerald gown climbed on the podium and thanked everyone for coming. She was stunning, commanding, and well-spoken as she urged people to donate to Future Leaders of the World.
Josh offered me a glass of champagne.
“Is he here?” I whispered in his ear. “Mega million dollar man?”
Josh nodded. “He’s here. Over there, on the podium, about to give a speech.”
“Which one is he?”
“White hair, platinum rimmed glasses, mustache, double-breasted tux.”
“Got it.” I sipped on my champagne. “He looks like an older version of Rhett Butler.”
“Rhett Butler?”
“Yes, you know from Gone with the Wind?”
“I didn’t know you liked to watch old movies.”
“Well, now you know.” I considered the man in the podium. “What’s his name?”
“Paolo DaSilva,” Josh said. “He’s the richest man in Brazil.”
“Will he be a tough sell?”
“Tough as they come.”
“Who’s he with?”
“Ernest Chamberlain.”
“Friend?” I said when the man waved in Josh’s direction.
“He wants to buy my company.”
“Oh.” I was curious. “Do you want to sell it?”
“Why the hell would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re tired of it? Maybe you want to do something else?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “It seems to me that if you’ve got enough money to fund four extravagant lifetimes, you ought to be able to live one phenomenal life.”
He glanced at me. “What’s wrong with the life I live now?”
“You’re always working,” I said. “You’re always thinking, planning, plotting. Do you ever get tired of all of that?”
“No.”
“Well, I would.”
“I’m not you.”
“Obviously,” I said, “‘cause if you were me and you were hauling around some pesky ‘friends’ in your private pocket, you’d be hurrying along to talk to Mr. DaSilva, whose speech is now over.”
Josh laughed, took my hand and led me across the room. I wasn’t sure how long I could stand the sublime torture. The weight of the little balls kneaded me from the inside out, teasing my body, rolling against the most sensitive parts of me, twirling like skillful fingers deep inside.
“Josh Lane?” A striking, short-haired woman approached us, a Cate Blanchett look-alike wafting expensive perfume and exuding confidence. Her red lips contrasted with her white silk pantsuit, which might have been described as conservative except that she wore nothing beneath. The plunging, single-breasted jacket showcased the flat curves of her small breasts.
“Perhaps you remember me?” the woman said. “Susannah Phelps, with the Business Journal?”
“I remember.” Josh shook her hand.
“How about that interview we talked about?” she said.
Josh flashed his most charming
and disarming smile. “You know I don’t do interviews.”
“A front page story about Phoenix Prime’s rise to the big leagues.”
“Pass,” Josh said. “But thanks for the pitch.”
“Oh, come on, Mr. Lane.” The woman pretended to pout. “What is it going to take for you to give me an interview? Dinner? Bribery? Extortion?”
“None of the above,” Josh said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us...”
“An exclusive would be such a coup.” The woman kept up with us as we made our way across the crowded room. “We could make it all about you. A war hero, rich, smart, successful, handsome. Boston’s dearest, darling of the world.”
“It won’t happen,” Josh said.
“Just one question then.” The woman insisted. “What do you think is the secret to Phoenix Prime’s success? Is it your personal charisma? Your stamina? Your ferocious competitiveness?”
Josh took a deep breath. “The secret to Phoenix Prime’s success is its people, the team that works tirelessly on behalf of the investors who put their trust in us. That’s your line, Susannah. Enjoy your evening.”
We left the woman behind.
“Christ, she’s aggressive,” Josh said under his breath.
“It goes to show,” I said. “A woman’s balls should never be judged by her breasts’ size.”
Josh laughed so hard that people turned around to look. I smiled like a fool. I loved it when he laughed like that, unscripted, spontaneous, freely.
“Josh!” The gorgeous strawberry blond woman from the podium barreled toward us.
I recognized her now. She’d been at the benefit for the Healing Warrior Development Fund. She threw her hands around Josh’s neck, riling me by planting a kiss on his lips.
“I knew you’d make it,” she said. “How good of you to come.”
“Lisa Artiaga,” Josh said, disentangling from her arms. “Lily Boswell.”
“Hello,” I said.
I might as well have been invisible. The woman focused her attention exclusively on Josh. “What are you doing after the party?”
“I’ve got plans,” Josh said.
She scowled. “You should come over. I’ll give you a private after party. Remember the last time?”
The last time?
Great. Fan-freaking-tastic, just peachy. I turned away and went looking for more champagne, concentrating on the maddening sensations teasing my body, ignoring the crowded room and the specter of Josh’s past.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lily
An extensive buffet ran the length of the room. I picked up a small plate and filled it with a bite-sized quiche lorraine and a tiny cheesecake. My sex gnawed on fare of its own. My God. I was aroused in a room full of strangers, salivating at much more than the cheesecake that sat uneaten on my plate.
Josh’s husky voice came without warning. “Are you running away from me?”
The feel of his warm breath blowing against my ear cranked up my body’s need. The sensual scent exuding from him captured my senses and weakened my knees. Answering some primal command, my hips swayed into his grip. Impervious to the crowd around us, he kissed my neck and pressed my ass against his groin.
“I wasn’t running from you,” I said, close to swooning. “Only from your admirers.”
“Christ, Lily,” he whispered in my ear. “The things you do to me. Do you want me to fuck you right here and now?”
“That would be scandalous.”
“Scandalous but delicious.”
The lust in his gaze spoke of a vision, a mental picture of me bent over the buffet table with my skirt hiked and my ass bared. The balls inside of me chinked in anticipation. I clung to my plate.
He checked it out. “Not hungry?”
“Famished.” My cheeks burned. “Unfortunately, it’s not for dessert.”
The heat in his eyes smoldered my soul. I looked around like a teenager seeking a make out spot under the bleachers. But there were no bleachers here, only lots of fancy people and frantic waiters, crowding every cranny and nook of the place.
The little ring dangling between my legs tickled the inside of my thighs. My friends felt heavier than before. They tested my body’s endurance, wading in a pool of my own making. My sex squeezed, a reflex that sent me smarting from the unexpected pleasure.
I blanched. “Josh?”
He took my arm. “Come on.”
“What about billion dollar man?”
“The hell with the son of a bitch.”
We were on the way out when the man who’d introduced Martin to Josh at the Wounded Warrior Development Fund gala intercepted our escape.
“Good evening,” Thomas Stratton said. “Mr. DaSilva just stepped out to the balcony. He’s waiting for you. This is your chance.”
“Damn it.” Josh pulled out a stool at the end of the bar and patted the seat. “Wait here. I won’t be long. Thomas,” he added. “Stay with Miss Boswell.”
“Of course.” Thomas took Josh’s place beside me.
My hopes for quick relief plummeted. I watched through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows as Josh stepped out to the terrace and greeted Mr. DaSilva. Josh pulled out a leather case from his breast pocket and offered the other man a Cuban, a fat one, by the look of it. Knowing Josh, that cigar was not only one of the best in the world, but also Mr. DaSilva’s personal favorite. Within moments, the two men were engaged in intense conversation.
I groaned inwardly. This was going to take a while. I pressed my legs together and chewed on my lips, trying to repress the lust coursing through my body. I sipped on my champagne, mentally urging Josh to hurry up. Unbeknown to anyone but me, the enormous tower swayed and the floor shook beneath my seat, echoing with the crowd’s steps, teasing the puddle of nervous anxiety slushing at the bottom of my stomach.
All those people. Under any other circumstance, I would have been cowering, about to fall prey to a panic attack that would’ve surely sent me running. Instead, my body ruminated on Josh’s gift, savoring the amazing sensations that took precedence over the old fears.
“Can I get you anything?” Thomas said.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m good.”
“A drink, a ride in the elevator, a taxi cab home?”
I stared at the man’s impassive face, wondering if I’d heard him right. The glare I spotted in the slightly distorted brown eyes behind his glasses confirmed I hadn’t been mistaken. “If you don’t mind,” I said. “I’ll wait for Josh.”
“Personally, I couldn’t care less,” he said, “but I have to account to Phoenix Prime’s investors.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What do I have to do with your investors?”
“Phoenix Prime thrives because of Josh’s tremendous dedication to growing the company,” he said. “If Josh is distracted, the company stops growing. You see, Miss Boswell, you have become a problem. You’re interfering with Josh’s performance.”
Distracting? Interfering? In a more private setting, I might have laughed in Thomas’s face. Didn’t he know Josh Lane? Didn’t he know that nothing, not even I, could stand between him and what he wanted?
“I don’t think you know Josh very well.” I gulped down the rest of my champagne. “He works like an ox. He’s a man of his word. He has high standards. He doesn’t shy away from effort and would never knowingly shortchange his investors.”
“‘Knowingly’ is the operative term here.” Thomas drew his slight frame into a taller stance. “When a woman leads a man astray, he hardly ever notices, until it’s too late.”
“I suppose that’s where you come in.” My voice’s dangerous edge surprised me. “You’re going to have to give Josh a little credit. He’s by no means neglecting Phoenix Prime. He’s here, isn’t he? Talking to
Mr. DaSilva, doing exactly what he has to do, better than anyone else. So what if after five years of continuous work, Josh stayed away for a few days? He deserves that. He deserves more than that. So back off, and let him do his thing.”
Thomas’s brows climbed high on his forehead. “You’re wasting his time.”
“If you knew Josh, you’d know he doesn’t waste any time,” I said. “I’m inconsequential to Phoenix Prime. For all I know, I might be gone tomorrow, but Josh, he’s sticking with his company and you fools should be grateful for it.” Another thought raised my hackles. “And if you think that you can scare me off with those nasty scrawls on my door, you’re in for a shock. There’s a police report filed and an investigation in progress.”
“What are you talking about?” Thomas said.
“Stop trying to intimidate me,” I said. “It won’t work.”
Thomas’s face puckered. “Are you insinuating that I—”
“Pardon me?” Someone tapped on my shoulder. “Are you Lily Boswell?”
“Yes?” I turned to find a pair of sparkling green eyes set on a classically handsome face looking down on me. “Who are you?”
“Excuse me for interrupting.” The elegant gentleman who’d been accompanying Mr. DaSilva at the podium earlier offered his hand. “My name is Ernest Chamberlain. I’m a friend of Josh’s.”
I recognized him as the man who wanted to buy Josh’s Phoenix Prime.
“Hello, Thomas,” Ernest Chamberlain said. “Miss Boswell, correct me if I’m wrong, but from afar, it doesn’t appear that you’re enjoying your present company. Am I right?”
“You’re very observant, Mr. Chamberlain.” I rode a satisfying wave of belated indignation.
“Please, call me Ernest.” The man turned to Thomas. “You are free to go.”
“But Mr. Chamberlain,” Thomas stammered. “Josh asked me to take care of Miss Boswell. I can’t leave.”
“In that case, perhaps Miss Boswell would like to join me for a dance?” Ernest offered me a perfectly manicured hand, “It might be the only way in which she might find relief from your presence. What do you say, Miss Boswell?”
Dancing was something I might have been able to do easily, if I hadn’t been wearing Josh’s gift. On the one hand, I was doubtful of my ability to get through a dance without experiencing some notable and intensely embarrassing occurrence. On the other hand, Ernest Chamberlain was the only graceful option I could see to shaking off Thomas.