Читать книгу Eve of Passion - A.C. Arthur - Страница 11

Chapter 2

Ballard Dubois touched the edge of his plain black mask, lifting it slightly so that his vision would be unfettered. He hated attending these types of functions—not that he had anything against contributing to the research for and treatment of children with cancer, which was Mal Harford’s favorite project since the death of his twin daughters when they were just ten years old. It was more that he didn’t like the time it took away from working or thinking about how to move his family’s company further into the twenty-first century. Still, public appearances had always been good for Dubois Maritime Shipping, a majority of their work connections having been made through the networking of his father and his grandfather before him. So getting out, being the face of the company, was a part of the job. If he thought of it that way, he could reconcile dressing in a tuxedo and even wearing this god-awful mask for the past hour and a half.

Harford’s events always had a theme and this one was a masquerade. Ballard had to give it to the old man, he definitely knew how to draw rich and uptight socialites who were otherwise focused on making even more money than they already had out into a night of drinking and celebrating—and how to depart with some of their well-earned money. Tonight they were at Boston’s Royale Nightclub, a different scene for this batch of upper-class characters but one of such creative allure, they couldn’t resist the opportunity to attend.

The lighting and decor were phenomenal, gold, green and red illuminating the gleaming hardwood floors. Couches were strategically placed throughout the large space, while more than three hundred guests milled about sipping Perrier-Jouët, wearing formal attire and masks ranging from the ornate to the unembellished.

He’d been here for about an hour now, and he decided that thirty more minutes would meet his quota and he could head back to his penthouse. The evening had gone according to protocol as he’d spoken to two international vendors that worked with his company and had been introduced to, and had secured a private meeting with, Yujin Chan from the Chinese consulate in New York, whose family had a huge trade conglomerate and were currently looking for a U.S. partner. So it had already been a good night as far as business was concerned.

And now, as he pulled his mask completely off and continued to stare at the tall, leggy beauty standing about ten feet away from him, it might just be heading in the same direction on a personal note.

She wore a black dress that scraped just past her knees in a fluid material that Ballard thought he just might be in love with. At her shoulders slips of that same material feathered over her skin. From the side, her curvaceous body was what had immediately caught his attention, plump backside and high palm-sized breasts that his palms actually itched to grip. Then she turned and his breath caught in his chest. He blinked just to make sure the lights weren’t interfering with his vision. The dress that he was thanking the designer ten times over for creating took a deep plunge in the front, so deep he had to swallow twice, and even then his erection was still on the rise.

He took the first step toward her and realized music was playing, a mellow jazzy tune. Ballard didn’t want to dance, but he did want her body close to his. Actually, he wanted her naked body on top of his naked body, but for now the dance would have to suffice. She turned again as someone came up behind her. They talked, and he watched her nodding slightly, hair pulled up high so that the length of her neck was bare. He barely registered the person beside her—if they were male or female or if they had horns or a floor-length tail. As he grew closer, another person approached her. It was a man, he noticed this time, and Ballard didn’t like it.

The man said something and she extended her hand to him. “I’m Janelle Howerton. So nice to meet you, sir,” she replied.

Janelle Howerton. The name seemed familiar but not really, as though maybe he’d heard it over the course of the past few weeks. Then again, he’d heard a barrage of names, since their annual meeting of the board was a month ago in New York City, where their newest warehouse had just been expanded. He might have heard the name there but he wasn’t sure. And right now he didn’t really give a damn. All that mattered was that he was now close enough to get a serious whiff of her perfume and his body heated instantly.

“Would you like to dance?” Ballard found himself asking even though he distinctly remembered not wanting to dance a few minutes ago.

She turned to face him then, and only because he was a thirty-five-year-old man, with vast experience when it came to the opposite sex and the responsibility of running a multibillion-dollar company on his shoulders, did he not gawk at her striking beauty and fall at her feet.

“Ah, I don’t think so,” she said, the soft lilt of her voice as alluring as the smooth milky complexion of her skin.

“Sure, go ahead. I won’t hold you up,” the man who had been talking to her said. He even extended a hand to touch her elbow—which irritated Ballard to no end—edging her closer to him. “You two young people go ahead and cut a rug. Shame to put this great band to waste,” the man continued.

“Thank you, sir. Shall we?” Ballard extended his hand to her, almost couldn’t wait for the moment she put her palm in his, and attempted a smile.

They’d barely moved three feet before he turned and pulled her slowly into his arms, letting the music wash through his mind and guide his movements instead of giving his body full control—his body, which was already in overdrive from the quick and potent attraction to this woman.

“Well,” she said once her hands settled on his shoulders, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight.”

“I am now,” was his quick response. “How about you?”

She shrugged. “I’m actually working, but this is a really nice event.”

“Working?”

“Yes, I’m managing the event tonight. So I probably shouldn’t continue dancing.”

“But we’re so good at it,” he replied, pulling her just a bit closer. She felt soft and pliant in his arms, his hand resting at the small of her back, his gaze focused on her face, partially covered by the black domino mask. It had an intricate design that laced around each of her eyes, coming to sexy points at her temples, decorated with white rhinestones. Another rhinestone twinkled over the bridge of her nose and he found himself wanting to touch it, to rub his fingers along the mask, then remove it to see the complete beauty of her face.

He cleared his throat, determined to act like a normal, functioning human and not the bundle of hormones he actually felt like instead. “So you work for the club?”

“Oh, no. The event planners,” was her response.

She looked around the room then and he figured, with the job she’d just told him about, she was checking to see if all was going well.

“It’s a great event. I’m sure Harford will receive a ton of hefty donations.”

This time she nodded, her gaze returning to him. Her eyes were brown with tiny flecks of gold, or maybe that was the lighting again. Either way, he liked them.

“That’s wonderful. It’s such a good cause. My father donates.”

“Yes, a wonderful cause indeed.” He was about to say something else but she’d mentioned her father and then the name clicked in his head. “Is your father Darren Howerton?”

She stopped dancing, looking at him with perplexity. “Ah, yes, he is. Do you know him?”

He nodded, letting the weight of the situation rest slowly in his mind. “I’ve never met him personally, but my family knows of him, of his campaign, I should say.”

“Oh, really?” Her voice seemed just a little brighter. “I guess we should have taken care of these formalities already, but I’m Janelle Howerton.”

Ballard smiled, as he already knew that. “And I’m Ballard Dubois.”

His smile wavered only because hers did, the cordial and sexually charged air around them dissipating with the motion.

“You’re Ballard Dubois?” she asked.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

Slowly, prettily, her smile slipped back into place but didn’t quite elicit that sparkle he’d previously seen in her eyes. “Not a problem, just a coincidence.”

“Well, I don’t really believe in coincidences. I do, however, believe in chance and I would be terribly remiss if I didn’t take this chance to invite you to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

She hesitated, looking around the room again. They’d resumed dancing but now she stopped again, taking a step back so that their bodies were no longer touching. He missed her instantly.

“That sounds nice,” she replied, her tone a little more standoffish than it had been before. “I’m staying at the Four Seasons. But I should really get back to work.”

Ballard would accept that excuse, for now. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissed the back as his gaze remained focused on her. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”

She smiled again, a wide brilliant smile that might have been practiced but rubbed along his body like warm oil anyway. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven,” she said before slipping her hand from his and turning to walk away.

Ballard watched her walk. He watched the sway of her ass, the line of her shoulders, the curve of her calves, and he wanted her. Damn but he wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman in his life.

* * *

In his king-size bed hours later, Ballard lay on his back, his eyes closed but still seeing her, her scent still wafting through the air around him.

This was ridiculous. He did not do this over women. Ever. He met them, conversed with them, took them out, slept with them and then moved on. The connections were mutually beneficial in the physical sense and usually unsatisfactory on any long-term platform. He’d gone through his entire adult life perfecting that situation; until now he barely remembered most of the women who had been in his life.

Yet he remembered Janelle Howerton with startling clarity.

In fact, he thought, his hand drifting down beneath the sheet, the hot weight of his length waiting, he remembered too much about her. Like the softness of her skin, which Ballard believed would most likely encompass the entire stretch of her body. The graceful curves of her breasts and backside that had his length jutting upward.

When his fingers wrapped around his erection, prepared to go along with the memory and take him to a pleasurable release, he moaned. Then he yanked his hand from beneath the blanket, thoroughly agitated with himself for even thinking about going there.

That wasn’t the type of man he was. He didn’t need to pleasure himself when there were so many other women out there who were up to the task.

But his dreams didn’t continue with any of those other women; they progressed with one female in particular as the star performer. Cloaked only in the intriguing black domino mask, she enticed him throughout his sleep, pushing him to the brink until the next moment he woke in a sweat, erection so hard it was painful, mind so full of her he almost whispered her name—Janelle.