Читать книгу Her Dirty Little Secret - J.C. Harroway - Страница 11
ОглавлениеJACK DISCONNECTED THE call and tossed his phone onto the seat beside him. ‘Home, please, Will.’ He pressed his lips together, offering a silent curse. He didn’t normally bark at his regular driver, but the older man had the good sense to nod and pull out into Manhattan traffic without comment.
Jack gnashed his teeth together, sucking in air through flared nostrils, willing his body into submission. Despite himself, he’d been hard since he’d laid eyes on Harley, her white-blond hair askew under the ridiculous orange hard hat, her womanly curves barely concealed by the baggy safety vest and the demure woollen dress that covered her from knee to neck, and her flawless face pinched with confusion, her astonished stare quickly unleashing sparks of fire in the wake of his barbed taunts.
And then he’d touched her, not intentionally—initially he’d forced his hands to stay by his sides, battling the urge to reach out and test if her skin was as soft and fragrant as he remembered. But then she’d literally fallen into his arms, slotting against his body and fitting him like a glove.
Her delicate scent the most potent aphrodisiac and her green stare clinging to his as if begging him to taste her again. Just as she’d begged him at seventeen. He shifted, adjusting the steely ache in his groin.
Fuck his integrity, his sense of honour. He’d held back then, never got to explore her the way he’d wanted, to see if the passion burning in her eyes could be fanned to an inferno. Because she’d dumped him. Out of the blue. No Dear John, no explanation, no regret.
And then his life had turned to shit. Jack rubbed a hand over his face, swallowing back a surge of bitterness.
What an idiot he’d been—on multiple levels. His naïve belief he’d have time to explore his budding relationship with Harley. His foolish conviction she’d cared for him and his complete lack of understanding when it came to the complexities of relationships.
He closed his eyes—even the word carried a bitter aftertaste. Sucking discipline through his flared nostrils, he willed his body back under control. But without the visual distraction of his surroundings, the memories amplified.
The feel of her against him in the elevator. Her soft curves pressed to him, flooding his body with renewed life as if he’d been dead all these years and she’d jump-started him with forty thousand volts. Her nipples peaking through the fine wool of her dress. The tantalising swipe of her pink tongue brushing across her plump lower lip. The flawless creamy skin flushed with...arousal or just anger?
Stop.
He raked his hand through his hair. At this rate, he’d have to wait out his hard-on before he could enter his building and take a cold shower.
Of course, he’d known she’d show up some time. The minute he’d discovered the CEO of Give, the company purchasing a run-down piece of commercial real estate in the Bronx, was the girl who’d broken his young heart.
But like an idiot, he’d underestimated the impact of seeing her again in the flesh. Even with the hard hat, the impractical footwear and the blaze of belligerence, she was as achingly beautiful surrounded by building dust as she’d been at seventeen.
And even more so, because she’d matured into a sophisticated and, from the glimpses he’d seen today, savvy and determined woman. All woman—every curve waking primal urges within him, every plane of her exquisite face a bittersweet reminder of his youthful naiveté.
But he was no longer a besotted teen. And Harley had taught him his first relationship lesson—that ‘love’ vanished as quickly as it appeared and meant nothing.
His parents’ divorce, which had followed in close succession to the sour business deal between his father and Harley’s, had taught him the second lesson, and life as he’d known it had spiralled out of control, changed for ever.
He cursed. He tried not to think of those times, but Harley had stirred up more than his libido.
His father had never truly recovered from the implosion of his joint business venture with Hal Jacob or the demise of his marriage. And Jack had vowed never to be as vulnerable to that level of devastation, fighting damn hard through his late teens and early twenties to survive the crumbling of his once-happy family and to forge his own career path independent of his father’s failing business.
Every step of that hard-won journey had been achieved by taking control of his life, making the decisions and shelving pointless sentimentality.
He rubbed his still-buzzing lips. He’d come so close to kissing her. Some caveman part of him demanding he give her both a taste and a demonstration of what she’d been missing.
Fuck, he’d come close to hoisting up that reveal-nothing wool dress and plunging inside her right there in the elevator of the building he was renovating.
He cracked his knuckles, stopping just short of punching the wood-panelled door. He’d once been a stupid kid, a dreamer. But he’d be damned if his residual and frankly irrelevant sexual attraction to her would rule him this time, even if it was clearly reciprocated.
Harley could no more hide the shallow breaths and fluttering pulse at her throat than he could hide his steely length in his pants.
The chemistry still raging between them affected her too. Perhaps she wanted more from him than the Morris Building. Perhaps she craved a taste of what she’d once callously thrown away.
He snorted, the idea growing in his mind. It had merits.
A game.
A mutually satisfying interlude that served a dual purpose—show Harley what she’d missed out on and scratch this insistent itch they’d sparked in each other.
Only this time he’d be firmly in control, as he always was. His rules, his playbook.
Being confined in a slowly moving vehicle with Harley in his head tested every ounce of his usually abundant patience. But that too could be channelled to serve his purpose. He reached for his phone to dial his assistant.
He dismissed polite preamble. He’d apologise when his mood improved and his head cleared of Harley’s image.
‘Find out if Give has any connection with Jacob Holdings.’ He’d vowed long ago never to do business with Hal Jacob, the man who’d shafted his father professionally, stripping him of his self-confidence to make good decisions. A vow he intended to keep, despite the way his body responded to Harley.
‘Yes, sir. We’ve already completed those checks,’ Trent reminded him.
‘Double check.’ He wouldn’t make the same mistakes his father had made. If Harley’s business, her foundation, was tied up with Hal Jacob, he’d ensure the Morris deal stayed dead.
He hadn’t lied to her. There were irregularities with the contract that required ironing out. But he’d been handed a gift, one he’d take full advantage of if he discovered she could be as deceptive as her father.
‘Employ an industrial investigator. I want it ironclad.’ One luxury of being head of your own multinational was the enviable position of being able to cherry-pick your business associates and clientele. A luxury that satisfied his need for control. He’d worked too hard to be led by his dick.
Fuck, perhaps he needed to get laid. He’d neglected himself in recent months, building up his New York contacts, renting offices, finding the right apartment to renovate as a showpiece for his architecture clients.
And he hadn’t spent the past nine years living like a monk. His life was full—personally and professionally satisfying. He’d made good on his promises to himself, his business going from strength to strength and the women in his life taking a gratifying but always temporary back seat.
‘Mr Demont,’ Trent interrupted, ‘Mr Lancaster is in town. He’s sent over a ticket to a function tonight. He’d like you to join him and Ms Noble.’
Perfect. That was what he needed. A night out with his cousin and his fiancée, somewhere glamorous with the distraction of plenty of gorgeous women. Women beautiful enough to chase away the memory of Harley’s pert breasts pressed against his chest, her heartbeat thundering against his.
‘Send the ticket over, Trent. And let Mr Lancaster and his fiancée know I’ll be attending.’ It didn’t matter the nature of the function. He needed a diversion. Fast. It had been months since he’d had a woman in his bed. Too long.
The thought of sex flooded his mind with imaginings of Harley. Her blond hair fanned out over his pillow, her naked body wrapped in his sheets, her delectable scent clinging to the bed linens long after she left...
At this rate he’d have to bang one out before he left his apartment for the evening. He scrubbed his hand through his hair. Why hadn’t he prepared himself for the sight of her? He should have guessed she’d take umbrage at him stalling the sale while his team investigated the error they’d unearthed at the eleventh hour. An error, it turned out, that originated with her.
Typical Harley. She’d breezed over that fact. And her family already owned half of Manhattan—of course she’d charge in and simply demand what she felt she deserved.
But he’d be damned if he’d give it to the pampered princess, no questions asked. He wouldn’t trust Hal Jacob to the end of the street and he wouldn’t make the same mistakes his father had made by becoming embroiled in a Jacob Holdings deal.
He’d witnessed the devastating fallout of that decision—his father’s confidence, all his future enterprises and even his marriage fell victim to his miscalculation.
Jack credited his own business success to his determination to step out of his father’s shadow, even shucking his father’s name, literally reverting to his mother’s maiden name to keep their businesses distinct, untainted by association with Hal Jacob.
No way would he allow his dick to lead him back into that viper’s nest. No. This time, he’d keep Harley Jacob where he wanted her—under contract or under him, if she wanted a sample of what she’d missed.
The car pulled up to the kerb outside his Midtown apartment building and he strode inside, impatient for a shower to wash away the memory of Harley and her lingering scent on his clothing.
When he exited his private elevator on the top floor, his feet skidded to a halt and his heart bucked against his ribs.
Harley.
How had she beaten him here? She sat on the loveseat beside the doors to his penthouse, her eyes trained on the elevator and trained on him.
In seconds he was back to rock hard.
‘How did you know where I live?’
She stood, her long eyelashes fluttering on a series of blinks.
‘Some people would call this stalking.’ Damn if her persistence didn’t ramp up his interest. Was she keen for more than her precious building?
‘I looked you up and tipped the doorman.’ She shrugged. Clearly she’d grown up her father’s daughter, not above bending morals to suit her personal needs.
But, man, had she grown up. And damn if he didn’t want to drag her inside and give her the guided tour, starting with his bedroom. Fuck the bedroom. He’d unwrap her from that sheath of expensive wool, splay her over the minimalist slate-topped console table he’d imported from France in his foyer and go down on her until she sobbed out his name and forgot her own. That would be difficult for her to dismiss.
‘I’m on my way out. Make it brief.’ Swiping his key card through the reader, he ushered her inside, ahead of him, his innate good manners accepting nothing less, regardless of their past.
She paused in his entranceway, her gaze flitting around his space as if she’d been invited here and had every right to touch his home with her beautiful, perceptive eyes.
He used the time wisely, his stare tracing her curves, lingering on her luscious ass, which, despite the demure dress concealing it, was high and toned. He groaned inwardly, his cock twitching with renewed enthusiasm.
With a flick, she tossed the swathe of silver, silky hair over her shoulder and lifted one brow in question. He dragged his mind away from her naked on all fours in front of him and led the way into the living space, throwing his suit jacket over the back of the sofa.
Knowing she stood behind him, no doubt assessing his choice of décor or the views from his windows, his shoulders tensed. He was proud of his home. The five-thousand-square-foot apartment dated to pre-war, but he’d renovated it with a flair for modern, while keeping some of the original features, a look that worked if his growing clientele were any judge.
‘Drink?’ Why was she here? Did she think he’d change his mind so easily? Sign a flawed contract just because she came from real-estate royalty? Or perhaps she thought he was still the love-struck sap he’d once been, willing to give her anything she desired.
‘No, thank you.’
He selected a frigid bottle of still water from the fridge, unscrewing the cap and finishing it in three swallows, wishing for a split second it were Scotch. But the last thing he needed around Harley was any lowering of his physical inhibitions. He was close enough now to showing her what she’d been missing all these years.
And the way she looked at him, as if she wanted the lesson, made it increasingly difficult to ignore the hormones raging through his blood. But hadn’t she been engaged? He vaguely recalled something in the society pages. Surely she’d found some Jacob-approved yes-man to show her a good time.
The water sloshed inside him, bitterness lingering in his throat. He checked her ring finger, finding it bare before his eyes flicked away. Not his problem. If she was here for sex, who was he to deny her the ride of her life?
‘You changed your name.’ She hadn’t moved from her spot just inside the doorway, her back only centimetres from the wall as she eyed him warily. They were, after all, strangers.
Nine years ago, she’d made no attempt to let him down gently, stay friends, or keep in touch. And he’d channelled his dislike of her ruthless father and his impotence at his crumbling family into determination, driving his own success. Forgetting all about the Jacobs and that tumultuous time of his life. Forgetting about Harley.
He shrugged, his eyes raking her immaculate appearance. How would the heiress look undone by pleasure, rumpled and replete?
‘I went to university in England. Jacques became anglicised over the years.’
‘And Demont?’ She licked her lips.
His eyes followed the swipe of her tongue, fresh blood pulsing in his groin. He needed to get her out of here before he offered that tongue another occupation than questioning his attempts to be a better man than his father.
‘My mother’s maiden name. A business decision.’ He lifted his chin, daring her to question.
She nodded, the move small and thoughtful. Then she rolled her shoulders back, game face on.
‘Look, I want you to know. I plan to turn the Morris Building into a school. A special school.’ Colour seeped into her cheeks, heightening her attractiveness. Would she flush like that as she climaxed? Was she ashamed she’d come here begging? Or just struggling to beg him, a man she deemed of little consequence?
Regardless, damn if he didn’t want to poke at her, to see the flashes in her eyes as she lambasted him turn to that sultry warmth as he kissed her the way her eyes had begged him in the elevator earlier. Sick bastard.
‘Yelling at me didn’t work, so you thought you’d try guilt?’ He stepped closer, the flare in her eyes a jolt of electricity to his chest. ‘Tell me, if I resist your demands long enough, can I expect a full-blown sexual charm offensive?’ Not that he’d mind—he’d be up for a little...inducement if that were how she planned to get her own way.
In fact, if he decided to toy with her, her tactics played right into his hands. A little revenge sex might be just what he needed. Of course, he’d ensure she enjoyed it too. Perhaps she’d even fall for him? Then he could walk away without hesitation as she’d done to him.
How she must hate coming to him of all people, cap in hand and clearly so turned on she couldn’t stop her gaze flicking to his crotch every few minutes.
Her hand clenched, and he expected her to slap him.
‘You really have matured into a world-class asshole.’ Her stare narrowed, hip jutted to one side.
He shrugged, impervious to her insults. She’d done her worst nine years ago. Cast him adrift without explanation, allowing him to fill in the blanks while he rode the storm of his imploding life.
In fact, she’d done him a favour, her rejection shaping him, clarifying his priorities, laying the foundations for all future liaisons with the opposite sex, which had been, without exception, on his terms.
‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I plan to build a dyslexia school.’ She hesitated over the word dyslexia as if it was bulky in her throat, but then she tilted her chin, eyes hardening to emerald chips. Vulnerable or manipulative?
And why a dyslexia school? Did he care enough to ask?
‘There are lots of dyslexia schools.’ Instinct told him the Morris Building was more than important to her. It was personal.
This kept getting better and better.
‘Not in the Bronx.’ Her eyes darted away.
His fingers itched to tilt up her chin, to keep her open to him, in case he’d imagined the flashes of defensiveness. His skin tightened, as if he’d stayed still for too long. He closed the distance between them, unable to resist the pull.
Her watchful eyes grew rounder. Her lips parted, breaths short and choppy, lifting her pert breasts with each inhale.
‘Why are you here, Harley?’ If she’d come to demand he jump through her hoops, he’d kick her out. Fuck, he should kick her out anyway because the longer she stayed, the harder it became to ignore her mentally undressing him with those big eyes.
Power surged through him, flooding his muscles, demanding he act.
‘I...’ The pulse at her throat fluttered and her eyelids drooped to a sultry half-mast.
His body tensed, on high alert, an effect of her closeness and a side effect of his raging need to touch her again. He focussed on her mouth—plump lips parted to emit those breathy little pants that called to his dick.
‘Did you come for a sample of what might have been?’
He took another step.
Her huge eyes glowed, deep pools that a lesser man could drown in. But he’d never again lose his head. This close, her pupils dilated as she looked up at him. Did he imagine the regret hovering in the depths of her eyes? Less obvious than the excitement she couldn’t hide.
Had she come to explain why she’d called things off between them? The last thing he needed was to hear her belated let-down.
He braced himself to turn away. This trip down memory lane was over. Best to leave the past undisturbed. After all, he’d made damn sure he moved on. And this buttoned-up heiress, polished, sophisticated and accomplished, was a complete stranger to him.
‘Time to leave. Whatever it is you came for, you won’t be getting.’ Unless all she wanted was a fuck for old times’ sake.
She touched his arm, closing the distance between them, fingertips digging in. Her purse hit the floor with a thud that matched the pound of his pulse as she stepped up close and lifted her face to his.
His strung-taut body acted on instinct. A cathartic release of pent-up frustration as he reached for her.
‘Yes,’ she hissed seconds before his mouth covered hers, swallowing the tiny moan she released. He pressed against her, fanning the flammable connection that had sparked to life in the elevator earlier.
As her fingers tangled in his hair and her lips parted, giving his tongue access, the past grew foggy.
He didn’t need to trust her to enjoy the feel of her body in his hands. And she was right there with him, succumbing to the searing chemistry, as physically attuned as cream and coffee.
Her soft moans punched him in the gut, his balls heavy. She twisted her fingers in his hair and pressed herself against him as she’d been in the elevator, but this time her body writhed, as if she too was trying to quench an insatiable fire inside.
Perhaps it had been as long for her as it had been for him.
He cupped her ass, drawing her heated centre to his rock-hard dick, pressing her closer, to their mutual delight if the gasp she gave was any indication. He could practically feel her wetness through their layers of clothing.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Why wait? Why deny this? Why not slake this mutual physical need? No strings attached.
Reaching for the hem of her dress, he worked his hand up one bare thigh, the silky softness of her skin a roadmap leading him home. She shifted, opening up and giving him the access he sought. Still with him. On the same page.
As his fingertips stroked her soft lips through the lace of her panties she gasped, pulling back from their kiss to stare at him while he worked his fingers back and forth with increasing pressure.
She was clearly as turned on as him. He’d barely touched her, but her panties were soaked, and her eyes were soft and heavy with desire. He pressed himself to her hip, making his intentions clear.
‘Do you remember your first orgasm?’ He cupped her, his index finger working inside the wisp of lingerie to find her wet, swollen. So ready.
She nodded, her tongue darting out to trace the cupid’s bow of her top lip.
‘Tell me.’ A test. Did she really remember? Had it meant something to her as it had to him or was she just desperate to get off?
Her eyes rolled back, her mouth open on a broken gasp as he located her clit and brushed the nub of nerves with the pad of his finger. Her moisture slid down his fingers, and he widened his legs, pushing her thighs open with his to get closer to her centre. When he pressed home, two fingers plunging inside her tight warmth and his thumb zeroing in on her clit, her eyes flew open, her stare beseeching.
‘Tell me you remember, Harley.’ She’d get what she wanted when he did. Confirmation that, if only briefly, he’d once mattered enough.
But fuck, she was responsive. Her thighs juddered, bumping his working fingers as if she were seconds away from coming on his hand. Just like the first time he’d made her come, her cries muffled into his shoulder.
She could barely speak, her breathy voice punctuated with staccato moans that matched the rhythm of his plunging fingers.
‘We were at the...lodge, in Aspen. You said...that you’d make the next one better. Oh.’
Triumph surged through him, and he ramped up the circling of his thumb. Her breath caught, her head fell forward. She clung to him, her nails gouging his arms as she held on tight, her bold, uninhibited sexuality a wet dream come true.
His own desire ramped so high he searched his mind for the location of the closest condom, reluctant to move too far from this spot before plunging inside her.
Every muscle in his body tightened to snapping point. He pressed closer, grinding his erection between the crush of their writhing, jerking bodies.
‘I was a kid then.’ He twisted his wrist, his fingers probing deeper, curling forward to rub her walls. ‘I’m not any longer.’
As firsts went, he’d been damn proud that he’d taken her there. But he’d honed his skills since then, never had any complaints. If she wanted it, he’d show her everything she’d thrown away.
No emotions.
No entanglements.
And just like her, no regrets when he walked.
‘Look at me, Harley. Look at me and I’ll make this one better.’
Her head lifted, her eyes heavy, swimming with lust. He cupped her breast with his free hand, his thumb brushing her nipple erect through the layer of frustrating wool.
He ground his teeth. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her naked. He wanted her laid bare so he could touch every inch of her sexy body. He wanted his mouth on her, every part. Laving and lapping until she went off like a rocket and screamed his name. He wanted to be inside her so bad he had to bite his cheek to remind himself he didn’t know this woman aside from his ability to get her off.
He tweaked the bud, twisting and rolling her nipple between his fingers.
‘Yes.’ Her mouth dropped open.
Euphoria pounded through his blood. She was close. She would come for him, just like the first time. He held her eyes captive. A roar in his head deafened him to everything but the frantic little whimpers she made as he worked her higher and higher.
His hand started to cramp, but he’d die before stopping, something primitive in him demanding her orgasm, showing her the man he’d become.
‘Kiss me.’ His voice wasn’t his own. Gruff. Challenging. But getting him what he wanted.
She cried out, cupping his neck and yanking him down roughly to meet her needy mouth. Her tongue welcomed his, every surge and retreat, every slide as perfect as the first time they’d kissed, the excitement of firsts eclipsing the awkwardness back then.
But there was no awkwardness now. He wasn’t a fumbling teenager any more, and she was all woman, writhing on the verge of climax.
She pulled back, wild eyes clinging to his.
‘Jacques... I—’
With her use of his French name, he groaned, the bittersweet wash of memories unleashing his raw need to stamp his mark on her as Jack Demont, not the dismissible Jacques Lane.
Her kisses turned frantic and then she tore her mouth from his, her orgasm slamming her against the wall as she cried out, her hooded stare wildly flicking between his eyes. Spasms rocked her and she rode his hand with sublime abandon.
Fuck. Perfect.
He kept up the pressure, his hand slowing but not retreating from between her legs and his thumb circling her peaked nipple. Still she twitched around his fingers, her body lax in his arms as her breaths slowed.
Finally she pushed his hands away, and he released her. A flush caressed her cheeks, her eyes slumberous, and a small, satiated smile tugged her red and swollen mouth.
She rested her forehead on his chest, the gesture so familiar, something in him recoiled from the intimacy. He pressed his body along the length of hers.
Just sex.
‘I’m a man of my word, Harley.’ She couldn’t deny she’d had a good time, and once he got inside her, he’d take her there again.
A small sated sigh. ‘We’ll see,’ she mumbled against his shirt.
He froze. Ice water replaced his blood. Had he heard her right?
He stepped back, steadying her by the forearms until she stood tall, taking her own weight.
‘What did you say?’
The post-orgasmic flush in her cheeks darkened, but she lifted her chin.
‘I said we’ll see. You’ve certainly broken your word on the Morris Building sale.’
His balls shrank as quickly as if she’d kneed him in the groin. A red film lowered over his vision—he’d always assumed that was an exaggeration, but, no, he was definitely seeing red. Hearing red. Fucking feeling red.
So she doubted his integrity, his professionalism, still blamed him for the delay despite her mistake?
He shook his head. What a fool. He stepped back, adjusting his diminishing hard-on.
‘I’m my own boss. I call the shots and I choose who I do business with. The cock up with the Morris contracts came from your office.’ His enamel creaked where he ground his teeth together.
She pushed down her dress, eyes blazing.
‘I told you, Give has nothing to do with Jacob Holdings. I’m my own boss, too.’ Her eyes flared but colour highlighted her cheekbones, and she looked away. ‘So I messed up the paperwork. But we’re not so different, you and I.’ She retrieved her purse from the floor, glaring at him again. ‘You’re so desperate to disassociate yourself from your father and the mess he made with his business, you’ve changed your name.’ She mashed her lips together, breathing hard through flared nostrils.
Perhaps he imagined the moment’s regret on her face. Either way, he was done. This—whatever this had been—was over. He turned away, gathering the last shreds of his resolve. His fingers formed a fist, frustration with his stupidity tensing every muscle in his body. How had he been so blinkered? Harley was a Jacob. She knew as much about him as he did her, but she’d already tarred him with his father’s brush. Used him to get off and then insulted him. Clearly thought no more of him today than she had nine years ago.
At least the timely reminder of the distrust between them had finally cured his hard-on. He turned back, keeping the emotions from his face. The best advice his father had ever given him—show no weakness. Not that he was weak, professionally. Only, it seemed, where his dick and Harley Jacob were concerned.
‘Well, I guess we both have something to prove.’
He needed this deal like he needed a hole in the head. He’d been half tempted to renovate the Morris Building himself. And, until the issues resolved and he was certain Hal Jacob had no hand in it, the deal stayed stalled.
‘I’ll have my lawyers contact yours when the issues are rectified to my satisfaction.’ He loosened his tie. ‘If the timing was that important to you, perhaps you should have taken better care to avoid errors.’
Her fuming glare followed the path of his fingers as he popped his shirt buttons but the satisfaction was short-lived.
‘I’m going to take a shower. You know the way out.’
Even with the water switched to arctic, he couldn’t wash away the scent of her, which clung to him as if he’d doused himself, head to toe. Nor could he banish the flash of hurt in her eyes as he’d walked away, leaving the society princess to put herself back together and show herself out.
