by Joss Wood
She needed this—this hot, illicit sex—especially after her family’s reality-show performance at the hospital two days ago.
Jarrod looped his arm beneath her to pull her higher as he plowed into her, cupping the fullness of her breasts in his large hand. His groan rose from his toes, and Elana knew he was close. So was she.
Sex with Jarrod fueled her, validated her in a way that her mundane day-to-day life didn’t. With Jarrod, her body felt powerful. She was addicted to him. She was marrying Thom, but their sex life was nothing like this.
Jarrod’s pace quickened. The sound of wet flesh slapping together intensified.
Elana cried out, “Harder.” She reached back and grabbed his ass, digging her long pink nails into his flesh.
Jarrod grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back as he rode her to the finish line.
Elana witnessed their writhing reflections in the mirror as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. Her vision blurred; her body shook as if electrified. This was what she lived for, this sensation of power and bliss all mixed up together.
Jarrod pulled out and rolled onto his back, breathing hard. The dark curly hairs on his chest glistened with sweat.
Elana lifted one long leg and pointed her perfectly polished toes toward the ceiling before draping the dancer-like stem across Jarrod’s body. She twirled his chest hairs between her fingertips. She’d lost count of how many days and nights she’d spent in Jarrod’s marital bed. She probably should feel some sort of guilt. She didn’t. Sure, Thom was sweet and a nice guy, but there was no fire. It was...wholesome. The thought of only getting that kind of mundane missionary sex for the rest of her life was a nightmare. But what choice did she have short of running away? They were all pushing her down the damn aisle kicking and screaming.
Although she and Jarrod had only been together a short six months, she’d grown addicted to their trysts, the way he made her body feel. When she ultimately walked down the aisle and became Thom’s wife, maybe she would have to find a way to be with Jarrod. She didn’t think she would survive what was sure to be a lackluster marriage otherwise.
She’d met Jarrod at a fund-raising gala. His wife had hung on his arm, but as far as Elana was concerned, Jarrod Jones was the real star, and she’d made it her business to introduce herself. She made her move when she spotted Jarrod alone by the bar. She walked over to make his acquaintance.
His smile was slow and hot. His dark eyes picked up the light and quickly dipped down to enjoy the show of her bountiful cleavage barely encased in a formfitting bloodred Herve Leger gown. “Elana Marshall.”
“So you know who I am.” She rested her jewel-encrusted purse on the bar top.
He got her a drink; they talked. She knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
“Dance with me.”
She put her drink down, picked up her purse and let him lead her onto the crowded dance floor. They found a spot in the shadows of the ballroom near the door. Jarrod held her respectably close while the chatter and music from the band floated around them. His fingers lightly played with the exposed flesh on her back, sending electric waves of need racing through her.
“We move very well together, don’t you think?” he’d whispered in her ear.
“I’m sure this is only the beginning of us moving together,” she’d whispered back. “Am I wrong?”
“Far from it. I’m pretty sure I can prove it to you.”
She’d glanced quickly around. Her family was well on the other side of the room. “When?” she asked a bit breathless.
“Now.”
“Show me.”
He’d released his hold on her, took her by the hand and led her out of the ballroom. They casually walked passed guests milling in the corridor, sneaked into the stairwell and went up one flight.
They were barely on the deserted landing before Jarrod pulled her tightly against him and kissed her. She could have sworn rockets went off when she tasted him for the first time, a mixture of his own essence and the heat of the whiskey he’d drunk.
Jarrod pressed her up against the wall. His hands were everywhere. She’d fumbled with his zipper. He slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and dipped his head to feast on her tempting flesh.
She knew how crazy and dangerous this was, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was as if she’d been shot with some kind of drug. She was so wet and needy that her hands shook when she’d tried to release him from his pants. When she did and felt him in her hand for the first time, she’d gasped.
Jarrod chuckled deep in his throat. He gathered the folds of her dress and tugged it up, cupped her in his palms while Elana raised her leg to wrap around him. He dipped his tongue deep into her mouth an instant before...
A door opened below them, followed by footsteps coming their way. Jarrod didn’t seem to notice or care.
Elana looked over Jarrod’s shoulder to see the stunned expression of her brother Rafe.
“Elana! What the hell?”
Jarrod swiftly zipped up before turning around.
When Rafe saw who it was that had his sister backed up into a corner, half-undressed, he lost it. He darted up the steps, grabbed Jarrod by the shoulder and shoved him hard. “You low-life bastard.” Then he turned his outrage on his sister. “Get yourself together. Mom and Dad are ready to make their announcement and want all of us there.”
Rafe flashed a lethal look at Jarrod, who took his cue, brushed by Rafe and descended the stairs.
Elana had been more annoyed than humiliated. “Thanks, brother dear.” She pushed by him and returned to the ballroom. Of course Rafe told their mother, who went off on one of her epic tirades, but it didn’t stop Elana. Once she got a taste of what things could be like with Jarrod, there was no turning back for her.
The very next day, she found the number for the studio where he worked and called him. She apologized for her overzealous brother and indicated that they had unfinished business.
Jarrod told her that his wife had left that morning for a movie and would be out of town for at least a month, and that he felt a bout of loneliness coming on. She assured him that she had the cure for that.
When she pulled up to his house later that afternoon, it was the beginning of a ride that she had no intention of getting off. That first time with Jarrod was beyond anything she’d ever experienced in her life. She was totally addicted and found all kinds of ways to be with him. She became expert in concocting one lie after another to be with Jarrod, from shopping trips to doctor’s appointments—whatever it took.
And then Thom asked her to marry him, and the secret world that she’d built with Jarrod came crashing down. At least if he’d proposed in private she could have gently told him no. But instead he did it in front of her entire family, and of course they were beyond ecstatic.
So here she was, on the cusp of marrying a man who would be perfect for someone else, but for her the lights simply didn’t come on. She did care, she cared deeply about Thom, about their longtime friendship. But love...passion...
Elana flipped onto her side, laced her arm across Jarrod’s chest and snuggled against him.
“Any luck in postponing the wedding?” Jarrod asked, his voice thick and dreamy.
Elana snuggled closer. “No,” she whimpered. “I don’t know that I can, especially now with all that happened with my father. And...” She hesitated. She wanted to tell him about the Fixer. Maybe Jarrod could help her figure out who it was—then maybe her family wouldn’t continue to paint her as the flighty idiot of the group. But she really didn’t know enough to be able to tell Jarrod much of anything. The last thing she wanted was for Jarrod to think she was silly, too. Besides, if she didn’t marry Thom, did that mean that Jarrod would leave Finola?
Jarrod talked from time to time about how unhappy he was and even
hinted that he wished he could walk away from it all. Of course she couldn’t push the idea, considering her own convoluted situation. And to be honest, what would life with Jarrod even be like? Besides mind-blowing sex and listening to complaints about each other’s significant other, they didn’t have much in common. She and Thom had a lot in common... Still, she would opt for great sex and no conversation over what her life was mapped out to be.
Her cell phone flashed the reminder on the bedside table: Meet Thom.
“And what, babe?” He stroked her cool hip and brought her thoughts back to the conversation.
“I tried to mention to Thom the other day that maybe we should wait until my dad is better, and he practically flipped out on me. Then my mother twisted the guilt knife.”
He frowned. “How?”
Elana sighed deeply. “She said my father’s biggest wish is to see me marry Thom.” Her voice broke. “It’s almost like a damned deathbed request at this point. If they are going to make me get married, I want to at least have my father walk me down the aisle. No one seems to get that.” She sniffed back tears as images of her father in that hospital bed, barely recognizable, flashed in her head.
“I don’t want you to worry, baby. Your father will come through.” He eased her closer and stared up at the mirrored ceiling, their bodies on full display. Elana’s incredible form still radiated in the afterglow. Her perfect breasts stood high, her peaked nipples dark against her tanned skin. The thin strip of hair that led to her center of pleasure beckoned him. He grew hard and grabbed his cock in his hand. He slid his other down between Elana’s damp thighs, absently teasing her swollen clit until she began to squirm. Everything he wanted—fame, money, influence—was just within his grasp. The reach of the Marshall fortune extended beyond their restaurants and hotels, their family estate and vineyards. The Marshall name alone made people take notice, lift their heads and pay attention. He wanted to be part of the rarefied air the Marshalls breathed. Elana was his ticket. Two things stood in his way—Finola and Thom.
He turned on his side and slid a finger inside her wet walls. Elana’s breath hitched. He inserted another and then suckled the soft skin of her neck.
“Let’s not worry about that now, babe,” he whispered in her ear before rising above her and bracing his weight on his forearms.
“How can I not worry about my father...the wedding...” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears even as her hips rose and her legs spread for him. “My whole life is about to change. What about us?”
“Shh.” He covered her mouth with his. What he needed now was release. He pushed deep inside her. Her cry died in his mouth. No more talking. The rest they would figure out. One way or the other.
* * *
Thom rang the bell again. Had she actually forgotten that he was coming?
Finally the door was pulled open. “Oh, Mr. Scott. The family isn’t here,” Joy, the Marshalls’ live-in chef, greeted him.
“Joy, hi.” He took a quick look at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet Elana.”
“Of course. Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and Thom walked into the expansive entryway.
“Can I get you anything, coffee, tea, a snack?” she asked over her shoulder.
Thom smiled. “No, thanks. I’m fine. What’s on the menu for today?”
Joy turned, slipping her hands into the pockets of her white jacket. “With Harrison still in the hospital, everyone is in and out all day. I’m ready for a full meal if they want, but I have some small dishes prepared and plates of hors d’oeuvres.” She smiled, and her deep dimples carved her cheeks. “And of course the seafood paella that Mariella loves.”
“Pretty sure that’s a house favorite,” he said with a smile, recalling the dinners he’d shared with the family and Joy’s famous paella as a main course.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
“No. Thanks. I’m fine. I’ll just wait in the reception room.”
Joy gave a short nod and turned to leave, her shoulder-length ponytail swinging behind her.
Thom strolled down the wide foyer, the artery that branched off to the rooms that occupied the main level of the mansion. The closest reception room was to his left. A small corner of his mind hoped that when he stepped across the threshold he would miraculously find Elana waiting, and for once he would be the one who was late and needed to apologize. Pure fantasy.
Thom wanted to be annoyed, but he’d grown used to Elana’s disregard for time. It had been a running joke between them since they were kids. If you wanted Elana to be anywhere on time, tell her the appointment started an hour earlier. Thom smiled, checked his Rolex and shook his head. Sometimes it worked, but then there were days like today when it didn’t.
Absently he picked up a crystal decanter from atop the eighteenth-century Spanish colonial console, turned it in his hand and set it back down. His chestnut-brown eyes scanned the controlled opulence of the family room. This space, more than some of the many others on the estate, reflected Mariella’s vision by echoing the lush Santiago heritage, from the furnishings to the art.
Thom always found it amusing that the Diego Rivera was on one wall while the Frida Kahlo hung on the other, truly a reflection of the famously volatile couple and occasionally mirroring Mariella and Harrison’s union. Through the years while he hovered on the fringe of the family, he got an up-close view of the interactions between Harrison and Mariella that could shift from near erotic to World War III in the blink of an eye. They were both passionate about their beliefs and had no problem letting their opinions be known. But no matter what, even a blind man could see the devotion between them. They were a team first and foremost, and Thom wondered if that would ever be possible between him and Elana. From family, to business to the exotic purchases that made their extravagant house a home, they were a team.
A Persian rug probably easily worth hundreds of thousands, partially covered the teak floors beneath a six-foot rosewood table and a crystal chandelier that glittered like a tree of diamonds. The value of this room alone was easily in the tens of millions, yet it still breathed family. The mahogany mantel as well as the eggshell-white walls boasted photos of the Marshall clan.
Thom strolled over to one of the inlaid tables and fingered the glided-framed photo of Mariella and Harrison posing on the bow of his yacht named after his wife. There were photos of Luc as a young boy, budding athlete, graduate and successful doctor. Elana’s, on the other hand, simply showed off Elana, smiling for the camera at one party or the other. Another series showed Gabe clinging to Mariella’s hand when he was a small boy, standing off to the side as a teen and in the back as an adult. Thom had never quite understood Luc and Rafe’s clear animosity toward their cousin or why Gabe was often referred to in the tabloids as “the other one.” Gabe, as far as Thom could tell, was a stand-up guy, and he adored his aunt and uncle.
Thom stopped by an eight-by-ten photo of Rafe standing in the foyer of the Palm Springs home where he’d done the interior design. The photo stood out in it silver frame, but knowing Mariella and her adoration of her younger son, it was probably platinum.
“Oh... Mr. Scott...”
Thom snatched his hand away and turned.
“I didn’t know anyone was here. I can come back.”
Thom cleared his throat. “No. No. It’s fine, Vanessa. Come in.”
The housekeeper stepped inside, carrying a dust cloth and furniture and glass cleaner in a small bucket.
“I will only be a few minutes,” she assured him.
“No worries. I’m the one in the way. Waiting for Elana,” he offered.
“Oh.” Her sleek dark brows pulled together. “I didn’t see Ms. Elana this morning.”
“No. She’s supposed to meet me, but she’s running...late.”
Vanessa gave a short smile then went right to wo
rk. She expertly moved photos, precious glass and sculptures from the mantels and side tables, dusted and replaced each item exactly the way she’d found them.
Thom stood by the floor-to-ceiling window while Vanessa worked and couldn’t help but notice her efficiency. Even he could see that she in no way fit the picture of a housekeeper but rather a Sports Illustrated cover girl. The standard black uniform did little to camouflage her curvaceous body or her lustrous dark hair and haunting eyes.
“Do you have family here in California?” he asked.
Vanessa stopped dusting and glanced at him. “No, Mr. Scott, I don’t. My parents—” her cheeks colored “—they passed several years ago.”
He held up his hand in apology. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It’s okay.” She continued dusting.
“Sisters and brothers?”
“No. Only child.”
“So am I,” he said feeling an odd kinship.
Her eyes sparkled in the light.
“Sometimes it can be difficult being part of this big noisy family when you’re used to growing up as the only one,” he said and laughed.
“Yes, the Marshall family is...apasionado, passionate.”
“That they are,” he agreed.
She beamed a bright smile and gathered up her supplies. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, Joy already asked. I’m fine. Thanks.”
She bobbed her head, hesitated for a moment then asked, her tone almost reverent, “Is...there any news on Mr. Marshall?”
Thom slowly shook his head. “No. I’m afraid not.”
“So sad. He is such a fine man.”
“Yes, he is.”
“I will continue to pray for him.”
“We all will.”
“Enjoy your day, Mr. Scott.”
“You, too.”
Thom turned to gaze out the window. He lifted the drape and looked out onto the expansive lawn that glimmered like a sea of emeralds under the spray of the automatic sprinklers. How many times had he and Elana darted through those sprinklers as kids?