Chapter 5

Jacob

GREAT. EVERYTHING was just great.

Here I was, at maybe the most important business event of my life, where I had to make a stellar impression, and I would be chained to the side of my ex the whole weekend. And not just any ex — an ex who hated my guts. The girl I hadn’t been able to get over for two years, the one whose memory had kept me from even touching the dating pool, because all I wanted to do was touch her.

And, just a small little footnote — she looked beautiful. Have I mentioned that? Because in my defense, it’s worth mentioning.

Sierra’s huge, blonde pageant curls tumbled over her slender shoulders, which were rigid with discipline and nerves. Her cheeks, dusted with blush, shone with youth beneath the candlelight, and her blue eyes sparkled gaily at colleagues — when those same eyes weren’t busy eviscerating me. And the lips — plump, moist, like a juicy grapefruit just waiting to be sucked on.

Oh, and the way her curves writhed in that dress… I gulped. Why did it have to be red? I wondered miserably. That thing was enough to make a man lose his religion, to lose his damn common sense. I wanted to grab her breasts in my hands, her thighs, to feel the dampness between her legs as we bucked wildly.

“Enough,” I said to myself, unintentionally aloud.

“What?” Sierra asked, turning to me.

“Er, nothing.”

She raised her eyebrows. “All right, weirdo.”

Shit. I was gonna have to figure out some way to redirect my thoughts this weekend. If I let myself get too far gone staring at Sierra’s undeniable beauty, my body would start to give off some pretty, uh, obvious signals. People with penises have it so much harder — no pun intended. We can’t hide our innermost thoughts, but rather, wear them between our thighs.

We were following the other members of the party through a series of sitting rooms, each decked in what I judged to be the Louis Quinze style — strong Rococo influences, floral patterns on cushions and wallpaper, intricate crown moldings. From what I knew as a framer, the architectural style had generally gone out of fashion in this area — and pretty much this era — rarely did I find myself building rows of columns and windows or balustrades. In any case, the outlandish sensibility seemed to suit every inch of Charles’ personality.

Besides, Sierra looked at home in such luxurious settings, her red dress snaking through the gold and white space with ease and seduction. Perhaps in another life, she could’ve been a duchess in halls like these, wooing men into delivering her entire castles, towns even.

Shit. I had to pull my head out of my own ass, and fast. She didn’t want to be with me — she’d made that much clear. Fixating on it wouldn’t make things better. And, in fairness, given the way I’d broken things off, I couldn’t exactly blame her for being pissed. This was a mess of almost exclusively my own making. The only thing left to do was respect the fallout and try to get through the weekend with as little pain as possible. Even if, in my head, all I would be thinking about was getting close to that perfect mouth.

Nope, no thinking about the mouth, my brain interjected. Think about your business, your future. It’s all on the line.

That was true. The fate of Got Wood Inc. rested on this retirement village coming to fruition, so it was time for me to dig deep and find some goddamn self-restraint, to make my dad proud.

At last, we entered the dining hall. The table was at least thirty feet long, lavishly covered with enormous floral arrangements from which errant roses and orchids sprang at will. The dangling crystal chandeliers illuminated a king’s ransom in fine china and hand-worked silverware. The Queen of England would’ve considered the setting a little ostentatious. I wondered why Charles was giving a construction company this treatment. But, of course, there’s no point trying to understand rich people. They are, at best, an inscrutable race.

We all began looking around for our place cards, heads bent over the table as we scanned anxiously.

“Well, that just fucking figures,” Sierra grumbled from my side.

“Hm?”

She gestured with exhaustion to a few feet down the table, and I followed her indication to see our names, set right next to one another, at the head of the table, where Charles had already taken his seat. Oh man, why us? Of all the people at the party tonight, how did Charles somehow manage to pick as dinner companions the only two who wanted each other’s guts on the floor? Not only were we going to have to play nice, we were going to have to put on the extra razzle-dazzle to convince this client of Pillers’ ‘family values.’

I leaned down, pressing my lips close to Sierra’s ear, and whispered, “Promise to pretend to tolerate me?”

She growled back, but nodded a quick assent. Okay, so this icy attitude wasn’t thawing anytime soon. At least I had her word that she’d go easy on me. That was reassuring, though of course I knew it was only temporary restraint on her part.

We walked to our seats and I gently extricated her hand from my arm before, with an unnecessary flourish, pulling out her chair.

“M’lady,” I said with exaggerated formality. “Your chair.”

“Thanks, lovebug,” she replied, her voice hot and thick with Southern sweetness but those eyes as cool as a winter’s day.

She settled into the seat and I pulled out my own at her side, scooting it out and sitting down. The table was long but there were many in the party. I found my arm just a few scant inches from Sierra’s, close enough that if my arm hairs stood on end, I could almost brush against her.

Charles grinned at us and clapped his hands. As a dozen servers emerged as if out of thin air, bearing heavy platters, he leaned in to the two of us.

“Hello,” he said. “Sierra and Jacob, I presume?”

Sierra nodded. “Yes, sir. And may I just say what a lovely home you’ve got.”

He ignored the compliment, replying, “It gets the job done, I suppose.” His large palms rubbed together before settling under his chin. “Now, tell me about you two.”

“I’ll take this one, baby,” I said to Sierra, who didn’t look please at my seizing of the reins. “We both work at Pillers. I run Got Wood, Inc., which would be supplying the timber for this project. And Sierra…”

She jumped in smoothly, adding, “And I work as the head of marketing.”

“The head?” I asked, impressed, before remembering our charade. “Oh, yes, of course,” I lied quickly. “I thought you said… the bed.”

Sierra made a face at me, but quickly covered for the both of us. “Jacob has terrible hearing,” she told Charles matter-of-factly.

“Well, the boy hears what he wants to hear,” Charles chuckled. “And how long have you been going out?”

“Three years,” Sierra replied just as I said, “One year.”

We looked at one another in confusion, and I clarified, “We’ve been seeing each other on and off for three years, but we’ve been together for one.”

Sierra’s shoulders tightened, and Charles took a sip of his drink. He asked, “Why didn’t you settle down sooner? You seem like a fine young pair.”

I could feel her stiffen at my side before replying in a steely voice, “Jacob’s just a little noncommittal.”

This raised Charles’ brows. “That’s not exactly a trait I look for in my employees.”

“Now now, hon,” I chuckled, though the sound was strangled. “I think what you meant to say was that I was so in love with you that it scared me, and that’s why I was afraid to put a label on it. Just because my own passion was so… so frightening.”

Sierra’s eyes looked like they could laser into my face and carve chunks of my cheeks out, serve them cold-cut style for a picnic on the beach. Beneath the table, I felt her heeled foot connect with my shin — no accident.

But, like a team player, she swallowed her pride.

“Right,” she replied to Charles. “Jacob’s right.”

I brushed my shoulder against hers and loudly said, “I love when you say that.”

Through gritted teeth, Sierra whispered in a voice too low for Charles to catch, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Ah, two young lovebirds,” Charles cooed, his bushy white eyebrows rising and falling suggestively. “I generally ask my guests, even those in committed relationships, to take separate rooms in the mansion to keep them focused on the project at hand, but in your case, I’d make an exception. Would you like to be moved to the same room?”

“Oh hell no,” Sierra guffawed, before clamping her mouth shut. “I mean…”

I hopped in smoothly with, “She means, we like spending some time apart. It makes things more, er, exciting, when we get back.”

“Even though you’re based in different cities?” Charles asked, his tone mild.

Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that, and definitely hadn’t thought he’d know it. My eyes glanced sidelong at Sierra, who looked similarly thrown off balance.

“You are, correct?” Charles continued. “I just assumed, because I know corporate HQ is based out of Fort Myers, but most production takes place in Tampa.”

Well, it was time to lie, and lie blithely.

“I drive down to her every weekend,” I informed him.

Charles looked impressed. “Every weekend?”

I nodded, and clasped Sierra’s cold hand in mine. “It’s the least I can do for the woman I love.”

In a desperate bid to sell the story, I lifted her hand to my mouth and gave it a soft kiss. I saw her chest rise and fall, just once, and felt her pulse racing with my two fingers that were placed on her wrist.

Charles clapped his hands together, and sighed merrily. “Fabulous, just fabulous. How romantic. You know what? You kids are gonna spend the whole weekend right by my side so I can just suck in this youthful glow.”

“Wonderful,” Sierra replied, and I knew from experience that the smile on her face was faker than Sweet’N Low.

Without another word, Charles turned away to engage with the couple sitting across from us, some duo who worked in office admin, I assumed.

I turned full to Sierra, whose face had turned as red as her dress.

“Come on,” I goaded her in hushed tones. “Admit, that was pretty impressive.”

She nodded and whispered, “Sure. But for what it’s worth, kiss any part of me again and I’ll stab you with this fancy butter knife.” Her hand fell on one of the gilded knives in her place setting.

I gulped. “Okay, okay. I was just thinking on my feet.”

“You were thinking with your dick.”

“Same difference.”

She rolled her eyes. “You broke my heart, Jacob. You’re not gonna charm me into forgetting that.”

Quietly, I replied, “Can’t a guy try?”

Sierra’s mouth opened and shut, as though at a loss for words. I held her gaze, refusing to let her look away. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I knew at least things had to be set right between us. Even if it was just to get us through the weekend.

But she had no plans on thawing that quickly. “A guy can try,” she replied coolly. “Just so long as ‘a guy’ knows he’s gonna fail.”

I grinned. “Sounds like a challenge.”

She shrugged with forced nonchalance and tossed her blonde locks over her shoulder.

My voice dropped an octave as I said, “And you know I love a challenge.”