by A. C. Arthur
“You’ve done your research, I see,” she added. “Yes, HCT is doing very well.”
“But you’re not interested in the family company, because you have your own dream. I know Alluring Affairs is doing quite well for itself also. In fact, Harford’s still raving about you since his event last week.”
“Really?” she asked, almost choking on the sip of wine she’d just taken. “I didn’t really do anything for his event except day-of supervision. My friend Rebecca had the entire evening planned right down to the last person of the cleanup crew.”
“Well, I’d say you can probably expect more business coming your way. If not from Harford himself, his friends that will surely want to outdo him.” Ballard chuckled at that, a warm sound that ended too quickly as another voice interrupted.
“Dinner is served.”
Janelle looked to the left, to the man dressed in a tuxedo and tails.
“Shall we?” Ballard asked, standing and extending his hand to her.
Janelle followed him to the lower level, loving the decor of caramel-toned wood on the walls, plush ivory carpet on the floors and warm ivory-and-chocolate furniture throughout.
“Your decorator did a great job,” she commented as they walked to the eight-foot dining room table. She was just about to say something else when a familiar scent wafted through the air.
“Thank you. I like how it turned out,” he was telling her as he pulled out one of the covered chairs for her to sit.
“Is that jasmine?” Janelle asked, unable to shake the instantly relaxing aura the scent elicited for her.
“Yes. The candles.”
Ballard nodded toward the two long-stem candles on either side of an overflowing arrangement of pale pink and white orchids.
She looked at him in question and was rewarded by another one of his reach-out-and-grab-you smiles. She sensed he didn’t give those often and felt a little privileged at having seen it twice already this evening.
“Your business partners are extremely helpful,” he told her. “I simply called your office one day and one of them picked up. The next thing I know, I was inundated with emails detailing what you like and don’t like.”
“What? Are you serious?” She was going to hurt them, both of them, for meddling and interfering and, she figured finally with a sigh, for being the best friends a woman could ask for.
Ballard chuckled. “Don’t be upset with them. I asked for help and they were more than happy to provide it. I got the feeling they wanted you to have a good time tonight.”
She knew exactly how good a time they wanted her to have and she still wasn’t game, even if the flowers were beautiful, the scented candles that touch of romance she absolutely adored.
“I’m not upset. Still, I’ll apologize for them. I haven’t dated a lot recently and they just get so carried away.”
The man dressed in a tuxedo, whom she might as well go ahead and call the waiter, appeared again, refilling their wineglasses.
“No need for an apology. I’m just glad we’re on the same page that tonight is officially a date.”
His warm brown eyes pinned her with that statement and Janelle felt like squirming. No, she felt like getting up and going over to his chair to straddle him. She cleared her throat before speaking, using the moment to get her mind right. “I asked you to dinner to talk more about your political involvement and my father’s campaign.”
The first course was served and Janelle smiled inwardly at the steaming-hot bowl of French-onion soup that was placed before her.
“I’d rather talk about why you haven’t dated a lot recently,” Ballard countered.
No, she did not want to discuss that and was frankly pissed at herself for mentioning it at all.
“I don’t have time,” she decided to reply. “You can relate to that, can’t you? I mean, you work so much even the tabloids were shocked when you found the time to escort Alaya Bentley to the awards show.” Dammit, her mouth was just flapping away tonight with things she did not want to say to this man. To stall it at least for a few moments, she picked up her spoon, dipped it into her soup, then brought it to her mouth.
“Okay,” he said, nodding, putting down his spoon, as he’d already taken a taste of his soup. “Since we’re obviously both adept at researching, let’s just take care of the preliminaries. I dated Alaya for approximately six weeks, which, as I’ve heard since then, is considered a long-term relationship for me. We are not now, nor were we ever, engaged. I am, as they’ve printed before, an available bachelor again. Now it’s your turn.”
To say she was taken aback by his concise statement, which sounded an awful lot like an opening to a board-of-directors meeting, was an understatement. Still, as much as she wanted to dodge the question once more, she had to admit that she’d opened the door with her comment. She might as well be woman enough to step through it and reply.
“No boyfriend. No recent ex-boyfriend. I’ve spent the past five years mourning my mother’s death, doing whatever I could to help my dad get over the loss and building my business. That’s my life and I’m perfectly content with it.”
His frown signaled that maybe he wasn’t. But Janelle didn’t care. This was as personal as she wanted things to get between her and Ballard. He was a dangerous man, she’d surmised. From those sexy-as-hell bedroom eyes to the cut of his suit and the scent of his cologne, she wanted him in a physical way that had eluded her for most of her life. Hell, even Jack had called her frigid, no matter how hard she’d tried to please him. Until pleasing him was no longer an option.
She changed the subject and they talked once again about yachts, which eventually circled the conversation back to his shipping business and his plans for the future. And for the next hour Janelle thought, just maybe, she might be safe with Ballard Dubois.
* * *
The dinner had been delicious and so filling she thought for sure she’d have to run at least five miles to burn off half the calories she’d consumed. Ballard had made sure every one of her favorite dishes was on full display, even down to dessert—apple cobbler with French vanilla-bean ice cream and a fresh sprig of mint. The chef he’d hired for the evening had done an exceptional job and she’d been more than flattered. So when they moved back up to the top deck and the seats at the bow of the vessel, she was feeling very mellow and admitted to enjoying herself immensely on this first—official—date with him.
Until she heard the music and he asked her to dance.
She knew the voice—Ruben Studdard—and had that very same CD at home and instantly recognized the song. More reasons to remain seated as Ballard stood looking down at her expectantly.
“I know you dance, Janelle. We’ve done it before.”
Janelle remembered. She also remembered being in his arms on another occasion, the night after the costume ball when he’d kissed her senseless and she’d all but floated into her hotel room to have the hottest dreams she’d ever experienced about a man. Yeah, she wasn’t really ready for a repeat of that experience.
“I don’t think—” she was saying when he took her hand.
He’d hauled her up so fast, her body falling into his so quick, not only could she not finish the sentence, she’d forgotten what the hell she was going to say.
“It’s just a dance, Janelle,” he told her, his arms going around her waist, holding her close.
At first she planned to resist. Then she figured it was pointless. Not to mention it would make her look childish or needy, neither of which she wanted him to assume. So she flattened her palms against his chest but learned quickly that the feel of strength emanating from him was too much to endure that way. She lifted her arms, wrapping them around his neck instead.
For a few silent seconds they simply swayed to the music, listening to the lyrics of the song—or to the other’s rapid heartbeat,
she thought with chagrin.
“Did you like our kiss?” he asked out of the blue.
She blinked, then met his gaze, refusing to let him intimidate her on any level. “I’ve been kissed before,” was her candid response to his bold and haughty inquiry.
“Not like that,” he replied, leaning in closer. “I’ve never had a kiss like that.”
Janelle opened her mouth to speak but knew the words would never make it out. He was going to kiss her again, she was certain. She felt the urge brewing in the pit of her stomach where it had been all evening as she’d waited for each smile he divulged. She’d wanted to kiss him again. If she were absolutely honest with herself, she’d wanted it about five minutes after the first kiss.
So she took. Hell, she took as much as she possibly could, pulling him closer, opening her mouth wider, sucking his tongue deeper into her mouth. He tasted sweet, like the apples in their dessert. The feel of his hands moving up and down her back set her on fire, reminding her again of that heaven-and-hell comparison she’d made about him the moment she arrived for this date.
The song stopped. Or at least she thought it did, but really she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she was in Ballard’s arms and he was kissing her until her nipples hardened, her knees went weak and she could think of nothing else but...more.
Chapter 6
Ballard wanted Janelle. That was no secret, not to him, anyway. The feel of her soft bottom cupped tightly in his palms was just official verification. A technicality that he didn’t need but enjoyed immensely regardless.
When her hands gripped the back of his head and she pushed herself farther into him, he’d had no other choice but to moan in pleasure, taking the kiss deeper, needing more, faster. Acting purely on instinct and desire, he took a step forward, his hands going down her thighs, lifting her. He tore his lips from hers only long enough to lay her on the cushioned bench and climb on top of her. Then his mouth was on her again, kissing the line of her jaw, trailing a path down her neck. She’d spread her legs and he reached for one thigh and hiked it up to his waist, thrusting his arousal against the warmth of her juncture.
He’d never made love to a woman on his yacht. Never hired a chef to cook all the things a woman favored. Never cared enough to go to the trouble of flowers, candles, music. Yet this time, this first official date, he had. The question of why was echoing in his mind, had been all day long, but he’d pushed it away.
A week ago he’d never met Janelle Howerton, and while sex had always been a favored pastime of his, he’d never imagined or experienced wanting of this magnitude.
On the flip side of this thirst for sexual pleasure—a thirst that threatened to cause him grave physical pain—there was the ultimatum. His grandfather had candidly said if he married Janelle Howerton—a woman he’d just met—he would be named CEO of the company he’d wanted to run all his life.
As a rule, Ballard didn’t like threats or ultimatums or anyone who believed they could intimidate him into doing their bidding. He was his own man; he walked his own path, did his own thing. He did not, as much as the prize meant to him, take orders from someone else—even his grandfather, whom he loved and respected a great deal.
Beneath him Janelle arched her back, her breasts pressing firmly into his chest. His kisses went lower, dipping beneath the collar of her dress to the swell of said breasts. He licked the smooth skin there, loved the softness, the sweet enticing aroma of her perfume. He whispered her name. She sighed, “Yes.” And for the first time since he was thirteen years old, Ballard thought he might actually find his release in his pants.
He paused then, closing his eyes, then reopening them. Pulling back slightly, he looked down at Janelle, at her kiss-swollen lips, passion-filled eyes and ruffled dress. And he cursed.
In the next seconds, he was moving until he was sitting at least three feet away from her on the bench, staring forward to the water as he heard her moving beside him. She was adjusting her clothes, sitting upright, trying to control her breathing, trying to figure out what the hell they’d been doing. The latter he’d been working on himself, cursing the fact that he’d actually been on his way to freeing his erection and sinking into her waiting heat.
“I apologize,” he said softly. “That was out of line.”
She cleared her throat, finally going still on the bench. He thought about looking at her, making eye contact so that she knew he was sincere about his apology, but he couldn’t. Desire still tore through him like a mighty wind. His fingers still itched to touch her, his tongue to taste her. He closed his eyes, attempting to clear that fog from his mind once more. This hesitation, these recriminations were not his normal routine with females.
“We’re consenting adults, Ballard. There’s no need to apologize for something we both wanted,” she told him.
He did look to her then, surprised at her words since she’d been the one drawing a clear line between their attraction and a platonic acquaintance. Maybe he wasn’t the only one grappling with personal contradictions tonight.
“I’m not usually like this with women,” he admitted.
Ballard wasn’t sure why the urge to be brutally honest with her was so strong. Sure, he prided himself on setting the parameters early for his relationships, but this, what he was saying to her, was different. It was as if he needed to remind himself of how far he should and should not go.
“I set the tone. I lay out the rules. She either accepts or she doesn’t.” He shrugged. “Either way, I walk away completely intact.”
“And that works for you?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “The strict rules and limitations are always agreeable?”
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, still unable to look at her.
“It’s what I do,” he replied simply.
“Like your job? Your contribution to society? Your privilege?”
She was angry—he could tell by the rise in her voice. He didn’t want her to be, but he didn’t want her to feel misled either. He stood then, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking down at her. “I believe in being up-front, letting people know where they stand. Is that a crime? Or would you rather I lie to you, lead you on and then break your heart?”
That was when she stood, taking the extra steps to face him directly. She was a tall woman, with terrific legs and shoulders that squared when she was angry, eyes that flared when she was about to lay down the law.
“The only way you could break my heart, Ballard Dubois, is if I let you, which, for the record, I have no intention of doing,” she stated coolly. “Is that up-front enough for you?”
Ballard smiled. He couldn’t help it. She was so damned sexy, so alluring. Her voice, the movement of her lips, the tilt of her head... He desired her like he’d never wanted another female in his life before.
“I believe that’s a fair statement,” he replied.
She nodded. “Good. I’m ready to leave now.”
He nodded in agreement, not really ready for her to leave but knowing it was best, tonight, for both of them.
* * *
That night Janelle dreamed of his hands on her breasts, cupping them, squeezing them. His lips on her nipples, suckling, then clasping them lightly with his teeth. She sucked in a breath, arched her back and pressed her palms against the back of his head, edging him forward, loving the sensations rippling through her body as he did.
When one of his hands left her aching breasts to slide down the torso, over her belly and farther still to her smoothly shaved juncture, she sighed. Her legs parted willingly, impatiently. His fingers explored her folds, peeling them back like petals to a flower, finding her swollen bud inside. Her body trembled, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He pressed two fingers there, rotating them in a circular fashion until her breathing hitched and a gasp escaped. When her thighs shook uncontro
llably at his ministrations, she whispered his name.
“Ballard.”
His reply was instant, an urgent murmur. “Yes, Janelle, yes.”
The words instantly went into replay, convincing her that yes was the answer, that giving her all to this man was the key, that surrender would not be the end but the beginning.
Then the tenderness shifted. The room that had been warm with a slight breeze coming off the bay, the scent of salt water tickling her nostrils, was now cold, foreboding. The voice that spoke to her this time was neither smooth nor deep. It was frightening.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered. “Watch while I teach you what pleasure is.”
Her eyes shot open, even though she knew it was a mistake.
The man looming above her wasn’t six-plus feet tall with a darker skin tone and dreamy brown eyes. He wasn’t wearing an expertly tailored suit or that enticing cologne. He didn’t look at her with clear confidence and the sense that she was the only woman in the world.
No, this was not Ballard.
It was Jack and he was hurting her, again.
“No!” she screamed, instantly bucking up her knees to kick him away.
He slapped her then, so hard the tingling traveled from her cheek to her eye sockets, down to the roots of her teeth, the tips of her toes. Before she could rebound, his hand was between her legs, pushing, breaching, forcing.
Janelle screamed. She swung her arms, landing slaps against the side of his head, his back, his arms. She fought him every step of the way. Yelling for him to stop, to get away from her, until finally he pulled away.
“You’re a stuck-up bitch! Always have been, walking around campus teasing every guy that was foolish enough to look your way. But when it really comes down to it, you’re just a silly little girl, Janelle Howerton,” he spat. “A silly, naive girl that’s too frigid and uptight to know how to please a man. And I’m tired of trying to teach you, trying to wait for you to grow up and get with the program. There are too many other females out there just waiting to give me whatever I want, whenever I want it.”