CHAPTER NINE
TRENT BUZZED HARLEY in seconds before she swanned into Jack’s office with little more than a cursory knock. Eight-fifteen in the morning and her eyes sparked with fire, burnishing the green to gold, the resolute tilt to her chin announcing she had an axe to grind.
He rose from his chair and rounded the desk to meet her, his cock twitching at the sight of her all elegant, sexy as fuck and clearly pissed with him.
Could he blame her? He’d thrown down the gauntlet last night then tossed and turned, his mind racing at the possibility this was over. He’d come to know her well enough to see she hid something from him, and whatever she concealed should be none of his damned business. But the hypocrite in him wanted to pry, while keeping his own feelings securely locked behind the fantastic sex.
‘Trent said you were alone,’ she said by way of explanation, not that he assumed for one second she was here for a Monday-morning quickie to start the working week off with a bang. He rested on the front edge of his desk, feet spread and cast his eye over her from head to toe. Her tight skirt outlined the flare of her hips and her nipples peaked through her blouse. Pissed but aroused.
He slipped one hand into his pants pocket, discreetly adjusting his semi. ‘What can I do for you?’ Apart from unzip that skirt and bend that delectable ass over his desk so they could both feel better and delay the inevitable showdown. That he’d awoken alone, a hollowness gnawing at him, had already soured his day.
She held out the sheaf of documents he’d hand-delivered to her store last week.
‘I came to personally deliver these. All signed.’ She dropped her arm, her glare intensifying. ‘Tell me. Did you know the Morris Building was earmarked for demolition a year ago?’ Her chin lifted, eyes sparking as she popped out one hip and stared him down.
So she’d done a little digging. Doubted his motives? Assumed he’d allow their past to influence his business ethic? He bit back the first retort to form on his tongue and stared, poker-faced, until the flush from her chest spread to her neck.
His stomach rolled—he’d known going in they lacked trust between them, but the sting flayed him just the same. He clenched his fist in his pocket—why should it bother him now? Hadn’t he started this as a game of revenge? To show her what she’d been missing? Yes, that had fulfilled his need to control this searing chemistry between them. But could he really say his hands were spotless?
‘You know—’ he rubbed his jaw, fingers itching to get hold of her despite the wall that surrounded her, ten feet tall ‘—I can’t decide whether to kick you out—’ he rested his hands on the edge of his desk beside his hips ‘—or fuck you over my desk until we both have a do-over on this Monday morning.’ A partial lie—his mind already on board with option B.
She gave a small snort, her head shaking.
‘Answer my question.’
Jack pushed away from the desk and strode to her, reaching for the signed Morris contract and flicking his gaze over the first page, which bore his signature and hers. His insides boiled with a sickening mix of frustration and arousal. And perhaps other emotions he refused to dissect.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted the pages to eye level between them, holding the challenge in her stare with one of his own. He tore the entire document in half, the kick of sick satisfaction stirring in his belly as her eyes widened.
‘Wh-what the...?’ she stuttered.
He returned to his chair via the waste-paper basket, dropping the contract in the trash. He settled back against the leather, willing himself calm. He never lost his unflappable business exterior, his tight grip on control, but dealing with Harley pushed him to his limits. Professionally and personally.
He shrugged, his fingers steepled in front of his face. ‘Without trust...’ a shrug ‘...we have nothing worth having.’
‘So you’re back to refusing to sell?’
She would think that. Another blow to the gut. Perhaps physical communication worked best for them. They certainly had no concerns in that department.
He leaned back in his chair, fighting the urge to kiss her. ‘No. Not at all. I’ll draw up another contract, only this time I’ll put my money where my mouth is.’
She fisted both hands on her curvaceous hips, her lush mouth tight.
‘Or you could just answer my question.’
‘My actions speak for me, chérie. Consider that contract null and void.’ He rubbed his jaw with a sigh. ‘To reassure you, Ms Jacob, the Morris Building is sound. The previous owners saw more value in the land than the old building.’ The moment’s hesitation flitting across her face gave him no satisfaction.
‘I had planned to renovate that building myself, until other projects demanded more of my time.’
She dropped her defensive stance but kept him on the hook.
‘You perhaps should have mentioned that to a prospective buyer.’
He tilted his head, conceding. Fuck, she was magnificent—smart, determined, taking no bullshit.
‘I didn’t set out to dupe anyone.’ Only to use their mutual attraction to level the score—not his finest moment. But he couldn’t tell her that. Because admitting she’d hurt him nine years ago took this...fling way out of the realms of casual sex. A place he never set foot.
‘That information is public record. You perhaps should have had your team unearth information that’s clearly there for anyone to see.’
She flushed and he winced. Fuck, he’d wondered about the quality of her lawyers, but she’d take that as a personal attack. He softened his tone.
‘I’ll make you another deal.’
What was the real issue here? Her checks and the documentation he’d provided with the sale agreement would have highlighted any major structural issues with the building. This, her doubts, her easily undermined trust, went way deeper.
Prying again? What did it matter if she didn’t trust him? And why did he want to crawl out of his skin right about now?
‘I’ll sell the very sound Morris Building to Give, if you bring me on board to renovate, pro bono.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s completely unnecessary.’
Not to him. ‘The price of my integrity is worth ten times that to me.’ And the price of your trust.
Fuck—there it was again. He’d always known she’d held back. And he didn’t need her trust outside the bedroom. He focussed on her wary stare, refusing to dissect his motivations.
‘Would I sell you a dud building and then attach my name to the development?’ The irony that if she agreed they’d be in partnership together on this deal, just as their fathers had been all those years ago, made him wince. Only the stakes seemed to soar much higher. And for Harley...? He had no clue where her head was. Only her body.
She regarded him for so long, he expected her to walk out. And then her shoulders dropped by the merest fraction. ‘I don’t think you’d sell a dud.’
‘And yet you doubted me anyway?’ He shouldn’t care. But a vice constricted his chest. Yes, their families were enemies. Yes, he’d initially sought payback for the way she’d callously abandoned what they’d had nine years ago. So he’d toyed with her a little, used their chemistry to show her that he was twice the man she’d discarded... But now...?
He swallowed, throat tight, too terrified to go there.
‘I—’ She mashed her lips together as if she feared what would emerge. Hiding something herself?
‘Nothing to say?’
Emotions flitted over her exquisite features, a battle raging within. Her shoulders dropped and her guard followed until all that remained was the stark honesty and candour he’d seen every time they’d connected physically. But he longed to see it outside the bedroom, too.
With a sigh, her words rushed out. Heartfelt, stripped bare, and setting off a tidal wave of relief through his body. ‘I want you.’ A small shake of her head. ‘I’m not ready for this to end.’
So she didn’t trust him fully, but she wanted him anyway. Euphoria pounded inside him, flooding his muscles until his body screamed at him to act. To remind her how good they were together. How much better things could be...
No. This was all there was.
While he stood mute, pushing aside his own dangerous thoughts, Harley kicked off her shoes, tossed her purse on a chair and began unbuttoning her blouse.
His cock surged against the front of his pants. Barely nine in the morning and he seriously contemplated fucking her in his office? His mind filtered through his calendar for the morning—nothing that couldn’t wait.
Without waiting for his reaction, Harley locked the door she’d stormed through only minutes earlier and sauntered his way, hips swinging as she crossed his office on stockinged feet. She perched her delectable ass on the edge of his desk between his spread thighs. With a little shimmy, she’d lifted the figure-hugging skirt to mid-thigh and he got a glimpse of lace-topped stockings.
Fuck. He was so done for. Although this form of communication, all they had, worked for him, part of him, the small niggle at the back of his mind, for the first time, entertained the possibility of more.
He came to his feet and Harley yanked on his tie, pulling his mouth down to hers. She took, pressing her tongue into his mouth with a whimper that pounded need through him. But that part of him held out for more.
He’d had his revenge; he’d proved to her again and again his worth as a lover. But he was nowhere near done, his need for her evolving, morphing, transforming.
He kissed her back, ignoring the ‘why’ in his head. He’d draw out her faith piece by piece if he had to.
His hands grasped her hips and he slid her ass forward to the edge of the desk and onto his rock-hard erection.
‘Do we have a new deal?’ He wouldn’t let her hide. He ground his hips into her, one hand cupping her breast, his thumb honing in on her puckered nipple. He wasn’t her toy, available to scratch any itch she might have. If she still wanted to play, he wanted her assurances, her belief in their professional partnership at a very minimum. A starting point.
Her head fell back. She spread her thighs wider, pressed her heat closer. ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’ Her sincere stare burned into his while she waited, poised, like him, on the edge of a new precipice. But he was as powerless to this physical need as she seemed. He slanted his mouth across hers, pouring his passion, his honour, his commitment into the kiss that stole a throaty gasp from her throat.
She loosened his tie, undoing shirt buttons with impatient hands. His hand slipped between them, his fingers probing beneath her drenched panties. He found her clit, primed and plump, and rubbed the pad of his thumb there as he tore his mouth from hers and said, ‘Do you trust me...to help you build your school?’ Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why push this? She was ready, begging him.
Her hips jerked and she reached for his belt.
‘Yes.’ Her mouth traced his jaw, his neck and between his pecs. She groaned, her face buried in the hair on his chest. ‘Yes, Jack, I do.’
Appeased for now, he ripped at his fly, the scent of her arousal as potent as the hit of his morning coffee, his stamina at its limit.
‘Quick... Hurry.’ Her frantic hands freed him from his boxers, shoving his clothing over his hips as she returned her mouth to his with nibbling kisses that drove him perilously close to the edge.
He left her briefly to stride to his personal bathroom and locate a condom. When he returned, tearing into the foil with his teeth as he crossed the room, she’d shimmied out of her panties and lifted her skirt to waist height.
Her sophisticated look would be ruined, but she didn’t seem to care, any more than he cared that her ass was crushing some blueprints and his laptop was at risk of hitting the floor.
Within seconds, he filled her and they groaned together, chests heaving as if they’d held their breath for too long. The rightness of it, of her, made his head swim—euphoria or trepidation? He couldn’t tell and didn’t want to look too closely.
As he pounded them both to a torrid climax that left Harley wailing loud enough for the whole building to hear, he made himself a vow to discover what she held back. He didn’t stop to question his own motives.
* * *
Two days later Harley wished Belinda goodnight just before closing time, her mind, as always, on Jack. He’d flown to Paris the day she’d confronted him about the Morris Building, a prior business meeting requiring his attention. He’d made sure to send the revised contract over before he’d left, along with a personal note that left her reassured and cranky at the same time.
Looking forward to our new working relationship. I have to be back in Paris in a week but hope to begin on the Morris plans before I leave again.
The more she thought about him, the more restless she grew. Had this, somewhere along the way, shifted from just sex? Every time he popped into her head, her chest pinched. Every text alert sent her heart rate soaring and then plummeting, and she counted down the hours to his return tomorrow.
She braced herself against the bite of the evening chill as she stepped out onto the street. Then she came to a halt.
Jack stood at the kerb, leaning up against his car with his phone in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. Seeing her, he quickly pocketed the phone and strode in her direction, his grin lighting her up inside as much as the sexy smoulder coming from his eyes.
With a certainty that stalled everything but her thudding heart, she had her answer.
‘Bon anniversaire, ma belle.’ He handed her the flowers and swiped a cold kiss over her mouth, one that finished all too soon.
She swallowed, throat tight.
‘You remembered my birthday?’ A flush warmed her from inside while her head whirled. She was never more certain of anything—she’d fallen for him. How had that happened, and what did she do with the information?
He tilted his head in that French way. ‘Of course.’
He’d never given her any indication he wanted more than sex. His cynicism about his sister’s happiness, the impact his parents’ divorce must have had on him and the demise of his father’s business, confirmed he shared some of Harley’s own reservations about relationships. But the look he shot her seemed to peel back her layers until she stood before him, exposed.
Memories of her seventeenth birthday surfaced. They’d been at her parents’ house in the Hamptons. Jack had waited until everyone else was occupied in various parts of the house before suggesting a walk on the beach, where he’d not only presented her with a book on the life story of Coco Chanel, one of her favourite fashion heroines, but also kissed her for the first time. She still had that book on her shelves at home.
She pressed her tingling lips together.
‘How long have you been waiting?’
He stepped close, his hand on her waist as he looked at her as if he wanted to devour her, right here on the street within gawping distance of half of Manhattan.
‘That doesn’t matter.’ His eyes searched hers and she blinked, uncertain what he saw and unsettled by the probing depth. ‘Do you have plans?’
She shook her head. She’d celebrated with Hannah and Ash last night. All she’d planned for tonight was food, a bath and sleep. But now Jack was back a day early...a birthday girl could find some energy for whatever he had in mind.
His lips grazed her temple as he scooped his arm around her and huddled her into his side, away from the wind.
‘Send your driver home. I want to feed you and fuck you in that order. I missed you.’
The return sentiment bubbled up from her throat, but she swallowed it back, too terrified to let the words free. Because, for her, the words now came with feelings. And feelings changed everything. They carried added responsibility.
The weight of the secret that wasn’t hers to tell pressed her into the sidewalk. She should tell him, before she fell deeper? Before too much time passed and he’d never be able to forgive her for concealing something so momentous.
She wouldn’t carry the burden any longer, refused to be like Hal, refused to be his accomplice through her silence. Jack deserved the whole story.
But finding the right moment...
Jack looked at her expectantly. As birthday presents went, what he offered was up there with the best. She forced a smile, shelving her confession like a coward, and quickly spoke to her driver before joining Jack in the back of his car.
He’d chosen her favourite restaurant, a chic, intimate establishment in Soho. They sat side by side in a booth with mellow lighting that lulled her into embracing the moment.
He touched her often, a hand on her knee, a clasp of her fingers, frequently brushing hair back from her face while he told her about his trip home and asked about her ideas for renovating the Morris Building.
Over dessert—her favourite, a classic chocolate mousse—he pulled a gift from his breast pocket. Harley licked a smear of the rich chocolate from her lip, finding it hard to swallow.
He handed her the exquisitely wrapped gift, a small, rectangular box. ‘This designer, a Parisian, reminded me of you. You share a vision, I think.’ He smiled, his hand on her knee under the table.
Harley tore into the paper, anything more than a hoarse ‘thank you’ beyond her.
Eyes alight, he watched as she opened the box. ‘She uses reclaimed precious metals and ethically sourced stones in her designs.’
Harley fingered the delicate gold bracelet, her burning stare lifting to his. That he’d put so much thought and effort into her gift choked her. She urged him to help her fasten the fine strand of gold around her wrist, laughing as they both fumbled with the tiny clasp.
He could have bought her diamonds. He could have spent enough to feed a family for a year. But he understood her. Saw her. Eschewed flashy ostentation for the simplicity of a gift that, like her range of fashion and accessories, carried a message and a social conscience.
She kissed him, a surge of emotions welling up to paralyse her vocal cords. She snuggled into his side and focussed on the simple bracelet that sparkled on her arm while she breathed through her feelings.
That was how they left the restaurant, arm in arm, her close to his side. The flashes startled her from her dreamy state. Two or three paparazzi crowded the sidewalk outside the restaurant, their cameras popping as they fired questions and called Harley’s name.
Jack gripped her waist, guiding her to the car, which idled at the kerb. His other arm shielded them from the most insistent pap as they hurried inside the vehicle.
‘Drive,’ he barked at Will, looking over his shoulder at the photographers they’d left behind. He gripped her hand.
‘Are you okay? Does that happen often?’ He looked ready to break something, nostrils flared, jaw clenched.
Harley shrugged, the adrenaline dissipating and leaving her limbs heavy and her head fuzzy. Way to kill her birthday buzz.
‘Only if there’s no one more gossip-worthy to pester.’
Jack pulled her into his lap, his nose nuzzling below her ear as his own breathing slowed to normal.
‘You look tired.’ A soft, undemanding kiss. ‘The birthday fucking can wait.’
She pouted, wriggling on his lap until he groaned and dropped his head back on the leather. She rose up onto her knees astride him, leaning above him to swipe her mouth over his, coaxing.
‘But I want my birthday fucking and you promised. Better and better, remember?’ She’d missed him, whether or not she could say it aloud. Four days without their searing physical connection seemed like a year. She rubbed herself over his lap, her mouth parted as the tingles between her legs snaked along her belly.
Jack held her face between his palms, his gaze flicking over her face. ‘Fuck, woman, what are you doing to me?’
She laughed, swooping to kiss a trail along his jaw until she arrived at his earlobe and sucked. He gripped her waist, fingers flexing. And then he pushed her away to pass his hot, mischievous stare over her.
‘Take your panties off.’ A gruff order, one that she hurried to obey.
She slid to the seat beside him and shimmied her underwear down her thighs. She dangled them from one finger, her breath catching at the look of unbridled lust on his starkly handsome face.
He took them from her, holding them to his nose and inhaling deeply before tucking them inside his pants pocket.
‘Touch yourself.’ He leaned back in the seat, relaxed, unhurried, confident of her compliance.
Harley glanced at Will through the privacy glass, her body temperature rocketing into dangerous territory. The driver couldn’t see or hear, but with the thrill of the illicit—her pleasuring herself as they travelled the darkened streets of Manhattan—she couldn’t act quickly enough.
Jack stroked his chin as if waiting for a conference call, face blank, seemingly bored. As Harley trailed her fingers up her thigh, he grasped her wrist, his voice low and rough.
‘Slow. Don’t come.’ And then he settled back to watch, a stare so hot, so intense burning on his face as he traced the progress of her hand along her thigh, she feared she’d have to disappoint him.
How did he do this to her? Turn her into an exhibitionist? But as she located her clit, her eyes fixed on his, all thoughts other than Jack fled.
It was the longest and the shortest journey home. By the time they made it inside her apartment, Jack barking, ‘bedroom’, in between stripping her, stripping himself and kissing her senseless, she was already so worked up, she doubted he’d have time to get inside her before she went off.
When he had her naked but for the hold-up stockings, he slowed things down, stepping behind her to cup her breasts from behind as he pressed himself between her buttocks.
‘Do you trust me?’ His breath lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.
She sagged against him, desire turning her blood to thick syrup.
‘Yes.’ No hesitation.
His expert fingers worked her nipples into peaks—firm, insistent, enough pressure to send licks of flame down to her clit. She clung, desperate to stay aware of every touch, every caress, even as she slipped into the fog of arousal.
He palmed one cheek of her ass, his large hand kneading and stroking, warming her flesh.
‘I want to see this gorgeous ass while I fuck you.’
Her knees buckled, and he wrapped one strong arm around her waist. With a nudge, he urged her towards the bed where she climbed onto all fours. She sucked air in through her nose, anticipation setting her belly aflutter. The crinkle of foil pushed her heart rate higher, and then the bed dipped as he leaned over her, his chest to her back.
His hands found her nipples again, and she arched back into him like a cat.
He groaned.
‘Soon...soon.’ His voice hypnotic.
He pulled her up to a kneeling position, her back to his front as he continued torturing her breasts and scraped his teeth over the skin where her neck met her shoulder.
She swayed into him, her head spinning and limbs languid. How would she survive what he did to her without blurting her feelings or her confession? She bit her lip, holding the words inside.
One of his hands covered hers and he guided their linked fingers down her belly, through her strip of hair into the wet folds of her sex.
‘Touch yourself.’ His fingers moved beside hers as, together, they set up a rhythm that had her crying out his name while she clung to him with her free arm. Her anchor.
‘Keep going.’ He positioned her on all fours again, and she balanced her weight on one arm to carry out his husky instructions, once more locating her clit and stroking herself as he’d commanded.
‘Jack, hurry.’ She was already so close and she wanted him inside her, too empty without him.
Gripping her hips with both hands, he pushed inside, slowly, one inch at a time. Harley’s back arched as he filled her up, her fingers strumming faster to counter the stretch with a thrill of fiery heat burning beneath her clit.
‘Slow, Harley. Not yet,’ he warned as his hips moved, steady, sure and so deep she gasped.
‘Fuck, I love your ass.’ He gripped her hip again with one hand, caressing the opposite cheek with the other as he rocked into her over and over. ‘So fucking perfect. Just watching you walk, these gorgeous hips swaying, is enough to make me hard.’ All the while he spoke, he slammed into her, filling her up with his cock and his words of admiration.
He loosened his grip on her hip to stroke the length of her spine, from between her shoulder blades to the small of her back, the flat of his hand splayed over her in an act close to possession. She closed her eyes, slipping deeper. In that moment, his.
The lightest pressure from one fingertip hovered at the top of her crease. Harley’s eyes slammed open.
‘Ever played here?’ His finger delved between her buttocks with feather-light touch over her rosette.
She whimpered, the foreign sensations so good she struggled to utter a single word. She shook her head, too turned on to speak. Too full of him, her mind, her body, her senses crammed full with Jack and the way he strummed her body alive.
He growled what she assumed could only be a French expletive, his finger lingering over her sensitive flesh.
‘Want to try it? I won’t hurt you.’ The pressure of his fingertip increased slightly, and she pushed back, her own fingers circling wildly between her legs.
‘Yes. Oh, please...yes.’ Harley closed her eyes again, strung out on sensory overload. Every nerve in her body sang. Jack pummelling her from behind, her slick clit throbbing between her fingers and his husky voice, tempting her to push boundaries, safe in his hands.
‘Tell me when you’re close,’ he gritted out, his hips rocking the entire bed and his fingertip skating over her rear entrance with every pound, thrilling.
When words began to spill from him, French, broken English, garbled sounds of how good she felt and how good he wanted to make her feel, she lost it.
‘Jack!’ As the climax hit, bombarding her from all sides, his fingertip pushed inside, and she cried out until her throat burned. Wave after wave struck, the orgasm so intense, she broke the sublime contact with her clit to brace both arms on the bed, the covers clenched in her grasping fists.
‘Perfect. You’re perfect,’ Jack muttered just before he yelled out himself and went rigid behind her, his steely thighs pressed against hers and his hands pulling her hips back with almost bruising force.
They collapsed together, side by side. Limbs tangled and breaths harsh in the quiet.
‘Better?’ He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.
Speech impossible, words lost apart from the ones trying to escape her wildly thundering, but terrified heart, she nodded.