CHAPTER SEVEN
JACK’S MADISON AVENUE pre-war apartment was renovated to an exquisite standard. Clean minimalist lines made the most of the light spilling in from the east-facing wall of windows. The masculine space could have been sterile, but it worked—a perfect balance of soft furnishings and art softened the look and made Harley want to curl up in the contemporary white leather armchair and enjoy the sunrise over the Manhattan skyline.
At the thought of armchairs, she grew hot and achy. Memories flashed—last night and what he’d done, wringing her orgasm from her with complete proficiency the way a skilled seamstress manipulated oddly shaped pieces of fabric into the most exquisite of garments. Her bare toes curled on the polished hardwood.
Forcing her thoughts away from toe-curling orgasms and back to the job in hand, she lowered the heat under the griddle and flipped the pancake with a small smile. Teenaged Jack had loved pancakes. They’d often met early, before the others awoke, to share breakfast at the Aspen lodge their families rented every year for skiing holidays. He’d always chosen blueberry pancakes laden with maple syrup.
When she’d roused early, before the dawn, and padded out into Jack’s comfortable living space in search of coffee, the idea to make him breakfast had struck. She’d eventually found the hidden latches on the kitchen cabinets, which had at first seemed like an intimidating wall of brushed steel worthy of an operating theatre. And she’d almost squealed with delight when she’d found blueberries in the freezer.
She plated the golden pancake dotted with blueberries and poured a generous helping of mixture into the pan for a second.
The trip down memory lane stirred up unwanted emotions, which dampened her sexed-up high, the associated memories of the bust up between Hal and Joe bringing an abrupt end to their trip that year and the demise of the friendship between the two families.
Of course, she’d already withdrawn from Jack, her fear and confusion over discovering her father’s and Jack’s mother’s affair leaving her reeling and running scared.
She flushed with heat, her throat tight. She could have handled their break up differently, with more maturity, and she’d never explained any of that to Jack.
But she couldn’t go there now. Too much time had passed for excuses. And the truth...
Harley sprinkled blueberries onto the second pancake and flipped the disc as her stomach lurched.
Did he already know about Hal and his mother? It would explain his reluctance to have any business dealings with her father. Not that she blamed him. She herself had made vows never to do business with and, more importantly, never to behave like Hal Jacob.
Although aren’t you doing just that—Jack, your dirty little secret...?
She shook her head, dragging her mind from past regrets. The bedroom was in darkness when she carried the tray loaded with pancakes and coffee back to Jack’s bed. She placed it on the dresser while she opened the curtains, allowing golden morning light to spill over the polished hardwood floors that appeared authentically original.
Jack slept on his stomach, his back muscles clearly delineated even in sleep, and the thick white sheets pooled around his slim hips. Golden hair dotted his arms, the same golden hair that covered his chest, and led, by way of a happy trail beneath his navel, to the thatch at the base of his spectacular cock.
Harley pressed her thighs together, marvelling at the vision of him naked. She crawled onto the bed, pancakes forgotten as she traced the dip of his spine between the well-developed ridges of muscle with her mouth. He groaned, stirring. She slipped one hand under his hip, burrowing for the magnificent appendage that was, blessedly, fully hard.
She gave him a couple of experimental strokes, and then released him as he started to rouse fully awake to shuck the T-shirt of his she’d donned to cook breakfast.
He rolled over, his hands reaching to cup her breasts even before his sleepy eyes had fully opened. He scraped the pads of his thumbs over her tender nipples, sending shock waves south.
‘Fucking fantastic morning...’ His voice was thick with sleep, but his cock, jutting above his belly, was thicker and Harley couldn’t help rising above him and sliding her slippery sex down his length as she kissed him, agreeing wholeheartedly with his assessment.
She nibbled a path across his scruff-covered jaw to his ear while he teased her nipples and palmed her ass, guiding her hips where he wanted her.
‘I made pancakes.’
His eyes opened wide. ‘Blueberry?’
She smiled with a nod, his obvious delight turning her insides to goo.
His expression sobered as he studied her, as if she’d snooped through his office files rather than cooked him breakfast. Perhaps she’d overstepped the mark. Outstayed her welcome. Perhaps morning-after chat should be limited to I’ll call you.
But he’d fallen asleep spooning her. He hadn’t suggested she leave and his body was certainly up for round two. Perhaps breakfast had been a step too far. Too couply.
She shrugged. ‘I should have asked.’ She reached for the T-shirt, her high dissipating.
He gripped her arm, stilling her retreat.
‘No. It’s fine. Thank you. I just...’
Whatever he’d been about to say, he stopped, kissing her instead. Her mind grew hazy under the constant stroking of his thumbs over her nipples.
Forcing her thoughts from his confusing reaction to pancakes, which was only destined to destroy her burgeoning orgasm, she gripped his cock, using her own moisture to lubricate the glide of her hand along his length. He groaned, rolling them so she no longer straddled him but lay sprawled beneath him, thighs open. Wet and ready.
His hips stilled. He stared down, his eyes so close, the brilliant blue hazed out of focus. His mouth met hers with the barest of whispers. He swept the hair from her face with a tender touch, both hands lingering in her hair. She stilled beneath him, pancakes and even orgasms forgotten as she got lost in his eyes. Lost in this precipice of a moment.
Emotion trapped in her chest, pushing aside vital organs to make room for the unnamed feelings springing up. Did he feel it too?
A ringtone killed the anticipation. Harley railed between heart-thudding relief and skin-crawling frustration.
Jack scanned the nightstand, his body tense. He flicked apologetic eyes back to her, one hand raking his hair until it stood up on end in all directions.
‘It’s my personal cell. Only a few people have the number.’ He softened against her belly but still covered her, pressing her into the mattress.
‘Of course. You should get it.’ She made to slide from under him but he held her firm, his mouth covering hers again while his hand patted the nightstand until he located and silenced his phone. He pulled his mouth from hers with a sigh, lifting the device to his ear.
‘Yes?’
His face changed from mild frustration to relaxed and happy and then he spoke in rapid-fire French she had no hope of following, even if her command of the language stretched beyond the few sex words Jack had taught her. Not that she’d really been listening, too caught up in his sexy mouth and its power to send her shooting to the stars.
Harley let her hands explore his sublime body, tracing his shoulders and back and then fingering the silvery scar on his elbow where he’d broken his arm ski boarding aged sixteen and had required surgery.
He smiled, his eyes following the path of her fingers, and then kissed her, his conversation continuing between chaste presses of his mouth to hers, her neck, even her fingertips.
And then he stilled. His relaxed and happy expression morphed into a small frown but then his French became more animated, punctuated with laughter.
A twinge settled under her ribs, a slow burn that burrowed deep. Who had put that look on his face? What made him so animated? She knew so little about his life now. Aside from his work, his sexual skills and penchant for bilingual dirty talk.
Harley tried to escape again, to offer him a modicum of privacy to finish his call. His arm tightened around her waist, and he pressed his lips to hers once more, stilling her retreat.
Harley made out a female voice on the other end of the conversation. She breathed deep, trying to still the thrum of her pulse in her head and rein in her wildly spinning imagination. He must have sensed the tension she held in her body because he pulled away, his brows dipped as he peppered her lips with kisses, presumably waiting for a break in the conversation.
With his stare fixed on Harley, he said, ‘Chérie, I’m not alone. Can I call you back?’
The response came in French and he ended the call, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand and returning his undivided attention to Harley. ‘I’m sorry.’ A soft kiss. ‘That was rude of me.’
Harley wriggled again, desperate now to dress in last night’s ball gown and call her driver. To get out of here and take her confusion and her confessions with her.
‘No problem. I need to leave anyway.’
He let her wriggle free, a small frown crinkling his brow.
She’d just made it to the edge of the bed in a sitting position when his arm scooped her waist, first hauling her back against his hard chest and then tumbling her back under him.
He was fully hard again against her thigh. His mouth swallowed her gasp and any objections. When the slow, thorough kiss ended he reared back to pin her with an open and sincere look.
‘Isabel. You remember my little sister. She got married this summer.’
She nodded, recalling the girl who looked like a female version of Jack.
His mouth tensed, the playfulness draining away as he absently stroked her collarbone.
‘You don’t approve?’
He frowned. ‘It’s not that.’ He rolled onto his back, resting his clasped hands under his head.
Harley slipped the T-shirt back on and retrieved the tray from the dresser. If Jack was anything like Ash, he’d be more communicative well-fed. She placed the tray on the bed, and he smiled, sitting up to take one fork and offer her the other. Half a pancake in, he found his voice.
‘She wanted to let me know I’m going to be an uncle.’ He studied the plate, his fork hovering.
‘And that makes you frown?’
A small snort and a shake of his head. When he looked at her, his eyes blazed. ‘I just worry... She seems so happy, but...’
Harley fought the urge to squirm. What was going through his mind? Perhaps if she kept still he’d offer more of an insight.
The prongs of his fork prodded at a blueberry. ‘It’s all bullshit, don’t you think?’
She held her breath, her gaze dipping to the half-eaten pancakes. ‘What do you mean?’
He sighed, his fork clattering on the plate. ‘Relationships. It’s bad enough risking it for yourself, but to bring a child into the mix...’ He ruffled his hair and jumped from the bed, all pent-up energy. Stalking to the dresser, he located a pair of cotton boxers, tugging them up his thighs with brisk, almost angry movements.
Harley mashed her lips together, her mind racing and her appetite forgotten. She agreed with him. Discovering her father’s affair, the devastation of everything she’d known, and the subsequent mockery he’d made of his marriage afterwards had solidified her stance on love.
And in her brutally honest moments, she could admit her initial feelings for Phil, a man she’d been engaged to, had been more about fitting into a Hal-determined mould than any real feelings.
But Jack had been hurt. By her ending their childish, teenage infatuation, or something else? Unease lifted her shoulders.
‘But she’s happy?’ Her eyes slid to a family photo she’d spied on the dresser, all four of the Lanes smile-laughing at the camera, captured in an unguarded moment, young Isabel’s smile the biggest.
Jack snorted, his tense back to her while he rifled through his drawers.
‘She’s delirious. But marriage is like that—dreamy one minute, disintegrating the next. I mean, look at my parents. I would have thought Isabel would have learned something from them.’
‘Your parents divorced?’ The few mouthfuls of pancake settled in her stomach like concrete. She’d always liked the Lanes. Jack’s parents had always been nice to her, and Isabel, two years younger, had emulated a seventeen-year-old Harley, not that she’d ever understood why. What had happened to them following the demise of the friendship between the Jacobs and Lanes? Had Joe discovered the affair? Had Amalie confessed? Was Hal to blame for their family breakdown?
Jack slammed the drawer closed. ‘Oui, spectacularly.’
He didn’t know.
If he knew about his mother and Hal, he wouldn’t be able to look at her right now, let alone tolerate her in his bed. Her throat turned scratchy. She couldn’t look at herself.
‘That doesn’t mean Isabel’s marriage will fail.’ Yes, it took two to tango, but the far-reaching poison Hal had spread... Harley covered her mouth in case the she blurted out words that would kill this dead.
He pulled on the white T-shirt and shrugged. ‘I just don’t understand why she’s so keen to play happy families.’
She should tell him. Her stomach cramped with the familiar burden that knowledge brought. For years she’d struggled with the secret, desperate to share it, lighten the load, but too scared of the repercussions.
And in some sick way, knowing about Hal’s affair gave her a connection with him no one else had. They’d never discussed it, but she’d loyally protected him all these years. So desperate for his approval. So fearful of his disappointment.
The pancakes threatened to make a reappearance. But why should she have to clean up Hal’s mess? If she told Jack, she’d have to tell her mother, too, in case Dulcie heard of it from another source.
It had been bad enough discovering them that last shared holiday in Aspen, bringing an abrupt end to her childhood and naïve notions about love and happy ever afters. Compounded by the shameful years of keeping the secret, she’d allowed her discovery to shape her own relationships. Keeping her guard up. Never falling too far.
And now? Why should she enlighten Jack on the choices their parents had made? Harley knew first hand the devastation the knowledge carried—Jack’s relationship with his mother would be tarnished for ever.
If she told him her father was responsible for his parents’ split and she’d known all along, he’d hate her perhaps more than he hated Hal—was she ready for things to be over?
Harley swallowed. It shouldn’t matter if he was done with her. After all, what they shared was just sex. Why then did she want to run and hide so he couldn’t see the truth written on her face?
‘Perhaps she is happy.’ Whatever her own motives, Isabel deserved to share her joyous news with her brother, unencumbered by Hal’s actions. ‘And you’re happy for her.’
Jack wasn’t his father or hers. He deserved to find happiness for himself. And he deserved to embrace his soon-to-be uncle role.
He paused in the hunt for more clothing, his jaw bunched but his shoulders sagging as if in defeat.
‘Wanna go shopping for baby clothes?’ Harley said.
His mouth twitched into a reluctant grin as his eyes searched hers. She swallowed, her throat hot and achy.
‘Congratulations, Uncle Jack.’
He laughed, striding back to the bed and pulling her up for a thorough kissing. Something like relief poured through her, pushing aside the guilt keeping Hal’s secret had always created. But as she succumbed once more to her physical connection with Jack she acknowledged neither emotion had any place in a short-term relationship composed solely of great sex.
* * *
Harley kicked off her shoes in the foyer of her apartment, allowing a surge of blood back into her tired feet. She padded up the connecting stairs to Ash’s apartment above. He’d texted her thirty minutes ago saying he wanted to talk, so she knew he was home. After a day spent with Jack—baby clothes shopping, lunch and then a walk in Central Park—the last thing she wanted to do was face her brother’s inquisition.
But Ash had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Better to hear him out and put him straight. The sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could wallow in the tub, something she’d been dreaming about for hours, the ache of underused muscles the only downside to fantastic sex.
She keyed her code into the entry pad, letting herself into her brother’s apartment, which, size-wise, was a carbon copy of hers. They’d both inherited the Fifth Avenue apartments from their grandfather, an Irish immigrant turned real-estate magnate and founder of Jacob Holdings.
‘Ash?’ She found him in his office. Eight-thirty on a Saturday night and Ash was still working. As Jacob Holdings’ leading corporate lawyer, he pulled horrendous hours, but he seemed to thrive off it. Another reason she could never have worked in the family business—their father’s ridiculously high expectations stretched beyond her below-average grades, poor test performance and her choice of degree.
Ash looked up from the screen of his laptop and smiled.
‘Hey, Harls.’ He stood, flicking off the lights as he led her back into the living space and poured their usual Scotch and soda nightcap.
Harley settled into one corner of plush sectional sofa that faced a state-of-the-art minimalist fireplace and sipped her drink. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, but she breathed through her apprehension, giving her beloved brother the benefit of the doubt. Sadly, he let her down.
‘I’m just gonna come out and say it.’ He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and glared. ‘What the hell are you thinking?’ Ash gripped his glass so tight, the tips of his fingers turned white.
Harley sighed.
Really?
She was twenty-six years old and he still wanted to play ‘big brother knows best’?
‘To what are you referring?’ No way would she make this easy for him. If he wanted to overstep the mark into her personal life, he’d have to do it unaided.
‘You know what I mean. Jacques Lane, or whatever he calls himself these days. The old man will flip.’ Ash rubbed his forehead and took a glug of Scotch.
‘And it’s no more his business than it is yours.’ She rolled her bunched shoulders, refusing to ruin her happy, sated, shopped-out mood. ‘Besides, we’re just fucking.’ That should shut him up. She tucked her feet under her and snuggled deeper into the cushions, her eyes drawn to the flickering orange flames over her brother’s jaw-dropping glare.
Ash scrubbed his hand through his hair, his own curse hissed under his breath.
‘Didn’t you dump him? Didn’t some major shit go down that winter, between his parents and ours? Dad never spoke of the Lanes again unless it was to badmouth Joe’s shitty business dealings. I am remembering this right, yeah?’
Heat spread from the swallow of Scotch, flooding her with fire.
‘So, what does that have to do with us? Besides, it was more than you know, more than Hal let on. The bad business between him and Joe was only part of the story.’
‘I know what happened, the collapsed docklands deal. Joe Lane lacked the backbone for it, messed up and the deal folded, Hal lost thousands, blah, blah, blah.’
Harley snorted, shaking her head. ‘Right, that’s the version we heard from Hal. Don’t you ever question him? Our father is a ruthless businessman. Don’t you think that ruthlessness might spill over into his personal life?’ She swallowed, her throat hot. During her speech, she’d uncurled from her relaxed position and leaned towards her brother, who looked at her with an infuriating unreadable expression.
But he’d touched a nerve. One that lay exposed and raw, permanently close to the surface and vulnerable to attack. Her blind faith in Hal was as thin and filmy as gossamer. And just because Joe Lane hadn’t matched Hal Jacob for cold-blooded business deals, didn’t mean Jack followed suit, not that it was a bad trait in Harley’s book. Fortunately, from what she’d witnessed, Jack shared neither of their fathers’ qualities.
‘Perhaps because you’re the golden boy, you’ve never experienced Dad’s...acerbic tongue and brutal honesty.’
Ash huffed. ‘I work with the guy every day. I’ve experienced plenty. I’m surprised you have.’
Harley smiled, sickly sweet. ‘I’m the pretty one—remember when he called me that for the first time? Well, I was smart enough to see he’d written me off academically. Too stupid to go to Harvard—’
‘You never even applied.’
‘Because I was scared of failing again, disappointing him again.’
Ash stared, open-mouthed.
‘He still tells his friends I’m the face of Jacob Holdings because he’s too embarrassed by what I do, what I’ve built, to show any pride.’ Harley slammed her tumbler onto the coffee table, and glared at her brother, daring him to defend their overbearing, often tactless father.
Shortly after that fateful last skiing holiday they’d shared with the Lanes, Hannah had made it into Harvard Business School and Ash had passed the bar, to much family rejoicing. Harley, by comparison, had applied to the New York School of Design to study fashion. Hal’s reaction, his obvious disappointment, had sealed the deal on their relationship. But his harsh comments had stung, nonetheless, shoving her firmly into the role of the family dropout.
Ash shook his head, his glass in his lap, seemingly fascinating.
‘I’m sorry he made you feel like that. He’s an asshole. We’ve always known this,’ he said, his voice quiet and his expression remorseful. ‘So what do you know that I don’t?’
Harley shrank a little inside, the memory of Jack’s face this morning crushing her when he relived the pain of his family’s implosion. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Jack. But could she tell Ash? The words hovered on her pressed-together lips, forcing their way out as if they’d taken on a life of their own.
‘Hal had an affair with Amalie Lane.’ The cathartic rush was almost head spinning but the words sickened her.
Ash gaped. ‘Bullshit.’ He slugged a mouthful of Scotch.
She nodded, the flames of the fire turning hazy as her heart thudded too fast. Now she’d spoken the confession aloud, should she repeat them to the person who had a right to know? A man who was still hurting from the consequences of Hal’s actions.
‘I saw them. That last holiday in Aspen.’ She’d never been able to look at Hal the same way again, their already shaky father-daughter relationship irreparably tarnished by stumbling across the illicit liaison and thrust into the middle of a very grown-up issue.
At the time, she’d taken her anger and pain and fear and internalised it, withdrawing from Jack the only way she’d known how to deal with such momentous knowledge. Doubting everything she’d believed, seeing her father clearly for the first time, and terrified the secret would come out.
‘Fuck. Does Jack know?’ Ash gripped the back of his neck while his mind spewed out questions. ‘Does Hal know you know? Does Mom know?’
Harley shrugged, the swirl of nausea intensifying. On the surface their parents’ marriage seemed solid. But Jack was right. Who knew what went on behind closed doors? No relationship was invulnerable. And love...? Well, that was a sham.
‘You’ve known all this time and didn’t say anything?’
‘I was scared at first...and then.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s an impossible position—if I tell, I’m ruining someone’s life. If I stay quiet, I’m condoning it. Colluding.’
‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’
Harley nodded. That was the trouble with secrets. They ate away at you inside, and if you let them escape, you simply spread their power, allowed them to infect others with their poison.
At her sigh, Ash held up a placating hand. ‘I’m sorry for sticking my nose into your personal life. I was looking out for you. But I see you don’t need my protection. I just didn’t want you to get hurt again. I mean that idiot, Phil—’
‘I wasn’t hurt by Phil. I ended it, remember.’ Harley stared at the tumbler of amber liquid on the table. Aside from making her feel small, Phil and Jack didn’t belong in the same conversation. Besides, she’d never allowed herself to get close enough to Phil to get hurt, despite being engaged to him.
She could at least thank Hal for that. On discovering his deception, she’d seen a man she’d looked up to her whole life, one whose approval was constantly worth chasing, and she’d vowed to be nothing like him. To be guarded when it came to relationships, because from what she’d seen they led to lies, heartache and betrayal.
But Ash was right. She and Jack hadn’t talked about the past and her part in it. Perhaps she’d hurt him with her rejection more than she realised. And now she’d hurt him all over again if she told him what she knew about Hal and his mother.
Perhaps he’d be able to forgive her for being young and clumsy with his feelings. If she’d been able to discuss what happened with her father, she might have worked through her confusing emotions and let Jack down with more of an explanation. More consideration.
But now? How could she explain that she’d kept such a monumental secret from him? From everyone. A secret that must have played a major part in the breakdown of his parents’ marriage and the implosion of his family.
He detested Hal—once he discovered she’d covered for her father, he’d hate her too.
She sucked in a shuddering breath, reminding herself she and Jack were just fooling around—a casual fling, great sex. Enlightening him on the real reason for the family feud and his parents’ subsequent divorce when they were just having a good time—what was the point? All these years later?
Jack had moved on from that then and he’d soon move on from her now. Harley rubbed her temples to banish the vice gripping her head.
‘I did a little fishing.’ Ash pressed his lips together the way he did when delivering bad news in the boardroom.
She pinned him with a hard glare.
He held up a hand. ‘I know, but I’m your brother. It’s my job to look out for you. And this is business.’ He sighed, eyes softening.
Of course Ash would dig. It was his job, one he excelled at. And reading people—he’d always told her that was the key to being a good attorney.
‘I can take care of my own business.’
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, a trait he’d inherited from their father that made her teeth grind. ‘The Morris Building... It was scheduled for demolition a year ago. Did you know that?’
Damn.
She glanced away, shoulders heavy. Why didn’t she know that? Something else she’d overlooked? Another mistake? The throb intensified at her temples.
Ash leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees.
‘Perhaps he’s hiding something from you too.’
Inside, Harley shrank into the sofa. Fatigue dragged her down. She was so tired of doubting herself. So tired of expecting to fail, no matter how hard she tried.
Ash took her hand. ‘If he’s such a stand-up guy, why is he trying to sell you a building that was only good enough to be knocked down? Do you think he’s out for some sort of revenge?’
Good question. Her sore head spun, nothing to do with the Scotch. It was bad enough that she doubted herself, without her brother checking up on her every move. When would people see past her dyslexia? See what she’d built?
She wasn’t some green sap, playing around with her hobby business and falling back on her trust fund. Shock turned to anger.
‘Thank you for pointing that out to me.’
‘Harls—’
‘There must be an explanation.’ She had no patience for Ash’s interference, no matter how well intentioned. ‘But don’t you think I did my due diligence? Don’t you think I vetted his company prior to commencing negotiations, even before I knew that Demont Designs was Jacques Lane?’ Anyone with a lick of business savvy would do the same. And she might not have the MBA, but she’d gleaned enough business skills from her family her whole life by watching and listening. It wasn’t enough to satisfy Hal. She’d never be enough. But she’d expected more from Ash.
Her shoulders, now somewhere around her ears, twitched, her body draining of fight and energy. He was right. She’d made another mistake. Missed critical information. How long had Jack owned the Morris Building? Was he even aware himself about the aborted demolition? Was he keeping his own secret?
She stood, her fatigue multiplied tenfold since she’d trudged up the stairs twenty minutes ago. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She’d heard enough. There was only so much self-flagellation she could tolerate in one day. And where Jack was concerned, her head chased the same problem around and around.
Ash stilled her, his hand reaching for hers. ‘I’m sorry. I only have your best interests at heart.’ She nodded, her throat too tight and her brain too fuzzy to speak. She was lucky—Ash always had her back.
‘Do you want me to look over the contract? You haven’t signed it yet, have you?’
She had. It was in her purse, ready to be couriered first thing Monday morning. She swallowed a swirl of nausea souring the Scotch in her stomach, and shook her head. Whatever mess, or not, she’d got herself into, it was her job to extricate Give from the clutches of a bad decision. And extricating herself from Jack...? Would that be as easily achieved?
She squeezed Ash’s fingers, letting him know she understood his sibling interference and his motivations. He kissed the back of her hand, regret shining in his eyes.
She was almost to the stairs when he spoke again.
‘Love you, Harls.’
She nodded, too choked to speak, and hurried down the stairs heading straight for the bath she’d promised herself. Perhaps, by some miracle, the hot water would scald all her niggling doubts and insecurities away. One thing was glaringly obvious. She didn’t know Jack beyond his astounding bedroom skills. Why, then, did the tumult spinning around her head and crashing behind her ribs feel suspiciously like emotions she had no place feeling? Stupid, naïve emotions she’d left behind long ago?
She sighed, submerging herself fully under the hot water.
Emotions or not. Business was business.