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Swooning meant falling and falling meant giving up every piece of who she was to someone who might or might not handle that commodity with care. Giving up everything left one extremely vulnerable and susceptible to deceit and, later, absolute mortification. In essence, to Janelle’s way of thinking, and courtesy of her past relationship, swooning was the beginning of the end. It was a definite no-no, as evidenced by her lack of dating life and the intention to keep that plan going.
With that said, Ballard Dubois and his lean build, pecan skin tone, close-cropped black hair and neatly barbered goatee could certainly make a woman want to change her mind about the no-dating status. A woman other than Janelle.
Yet here she was, preparing for a dinner date with him. No, correction, this was not a date, because Janelle did not date. She was meeting with him as a favor to her father and that was all. The butterflies flitting around in the pit of her stomach as she rode the elevator down to the lobby told another story entirely, but she’d decided to ignore them no matter how persistent they seemed.
She’d dressed in a simple pantsuit, one of two she’d brought with her just in case, navy blue with a short jacket and a silver shell beneath. Her shoes were new, four-inch-heel pewter platforms that she loved like the French toast she’d had for breakfast. Her hair was down, straight and pulled over her left shoulder—the down-and-casual look. One hour was all she’d allotted for this little get-together. Then she was hitting the road, heading back to Wintersage and the many meetings she’d had to reschedule with the Parents’ Association and other vendors to discuss the infamous homecoming dance.
Traffic in the lobby was pretty busy and Janelle found herself looking from the front entrance to the walkway, both viable spots for Mr. Dubois to enter the lobby. A glance at her watch confirmed he was late, by four minutes exactly. She was a stickler for being prompt, early if possible, hating the notion of abusing anyone’s time. Clearly, he did not subscribe to the same belief.
She folded her arms, gazing down at the bold black-and-gold floor design, then up to the vibrant and colorful floral arrangements strategically placed around the area. Vicki would love the color selection and how it offset the dark flooring. She probably would have stood here rearranging the position of the flowers to her liking for a better vantage point, or most certainly would have examined them for the best use of color and variety. Vicki was a perfectionist that way, Janelle thought with an inner smile. Janelle, Vicki and Sandra were all similar in that regard. That was why the Silk Sisters had garnered such rave reviews for their work.
“I hope that smile on your face is because you’re thinking of me.”
His smooth, deep voice interrupted her thoughts and Janelle tried not to be annoyed by that fact coupled with his tardiness. She also tried not to notice how good he looked in his smoke-gray suit with the faintest pinstripe and ice-blue dress shirt and matching tie. There was no doubt that a man who could wear a suit well was tops in her book, but there was also no doubt that she was not supposed to look at Ballard Dubois that way.
“Actually, no, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not pleased to see you,” was her cordial reply.
“Okay, well, we’ll let my bruised ego deal with that later,” he said, offering his arm to her. “Shall we?”
It was a little much, she thought. She didn’t need to walk arm in arm with him to have dinner. Still, she reminded herself that she was doing this for her father, for his precious campaign, as she laced her arm through Ballard’s and walked with him toward the hotel’s very popular lounge.
“I figured you would be tired from last night’s festivities and made reservations someplace close,” he told her as they moved through the glass-door entrance.
Great, she thought, giving him a nod and smile of agreement. She wouldn’t have far to go to get back to her room.
Once they were seated, Janelle allowed herself another indulgent look at her dinner partner. Damn, that suit looked good on him, or was it that the man might possibly look good in anything? She wasn’t sure. A gold watch—she didn’t even guess at the name brand, knowing instinctively it would be expensive—glimmered at his right wrist, a huge signet ring casting the same posh glow on his right ring finger.
“So, your family has made quite a name for itself in the shipping industry. I’ve heard nothing but glowing remarks about Dubois Maritime.”
“Really? Do you work with a lot of clients in the shipping industry?” he asked in what sounded to Janelle like a skeptical tone.
“As a matter of fact, I was born and raised in Wintersage. Our founding fathers made their fortune in the shipping industry. My family’s very active throughout the town, so hearing your company’s name mentioned from time to time isn’t all that unusual.”
So there, she thought, lifting the glass of water the waitress had discreetly placed in front of her for a sip.
“Wintersage,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That’s about an hour or so away from Boston, correct?”
“Correct,” she replied even though she got the impression he knew exactly where Wintersage was. He’d probably done precisely what she had this morning and researched everything about her family on the internet. She was not fooled by his very calm, very assessing demeanor, not one bit—especially considering how scrumptious he looked wearing that demeanor.
Wow, she really needed to calm her raging and self-deprived hormones.
“So you’re heading the company now. That’s a huge responsibility for someone so young. Has it been difficult for you?” she asked.
He smiled then, slow, knowing, and she shifted a bit in her chair, covering the action by picking up the menu and acting as if that held more of her interest.
“One misstep will not end the date, Janelle,” he commented.
Her head immediately snapped up. “This is not a date,” she stated firmly. “And what misstep?”
His smile stayed in place, the expression a bit on the arrogant side, but she was trying to make this work, for her father’s sake.
“I’m not running the company just yet. My grandfather is still the CEO, my father the CFO. Right now I’m the regional manager, so I handle all of the day-to-day operations.”
He spoke as if he were educating her and Janelle was immediately offended. She had already opened her mouth to fire back when he held up a hand to stop her.
“I’m joking,” he said, chuckling lightly afterward.
Her lips snapped closed and she sat back in her chair, eyeing him suspiciously.
“You looked like you were ready to give me hell, so I figured I’d better clear that up quickly,” he continued.
Janelle had to smile in response. “Not quite hell, but I was going to say a few things.”
He nodded, his laughter subsiding. “I know it. But I’d like for us to have a nice dinner, to get to know each other better. So if it makes you feel better, we won’t call this a date. Besides, it’s probably better that way.”
Now she was offended again, or at least she thought she should be. But maybe not, since she’d been telling herself all day long that this wasn’t a date. She admitted only to herself that for the first time in a very long time, she was thrown off—even marginally—by a man.
“I would like to have a nice dinner, as well. So I won’t ask why it’s better not to call this a date.”
But she just had, hadn’t she? Maybe she should just leave.
“When I date a female, we focus on getting to know each other, and if that’s pleasing to us both, we take it to the next level,” he stated as if he were reading a report at a meeting.
“The next level being sex?” she asked without her normal processing-before-speaking rule.
He lifted a hand and smoothed down his tie, the motion confident, probably overly so, but intriguing at the same time. If she had to sum up Ballard Dubois right at this moment, she’d peg him as a conceited, self-important businessman who was used to getting exactly what he wanted. Which to her and for the purpose she was here for tonight was going to mean she had her work cut out for her, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to go that route just to get his family’s support.
“Yes, the next level being sex,” he answered.
“So you have a very methodical way of dating, I see.” Whereas she had a method of her own—don’t do it!
“I like to look at it as logical structuring,” was his reply. He leaned forward, pushing his menu to the side, his dreamy brown eyes holding her gaze captive. “It is logical to date before sleeping with someone because it clarifies the understanding between the two adults before their focus shifts to more physical pleasures. Once that understanding is perfectly clear, future dealings are smoother.”
“And by future dealings you mean for the time you wish to continue sleeping with her. What happens when that time is up?” she asked, curious and simultaneously annoyed at his candid nonchalance when it came to dating and relationships.
“You’re angry,” he said with a nod. “Let’s change the subject, since this is not a date.”
Janelle did not want to change the subject. She wanted to leave. She wanted to get as far away from this infuriating, egotistical man as she could. But if she didn’t get this out of the way now, she’d have another bullheaded man to deal with and she really wasn’t up for that battle either. So she stayed for dinner, ate her food, participated in the basic conversation and counted the minutes until she could slip that key card into the door of her room and get the hell away from Ballard Dubois!
* * *
Ballard had insisted on walking her to her door. He knew that their evening had started out strenuous but was pleased that eventually, it had warmed into a pleasant experience. He’d asked her about her business, which calmed and animated her. The way in which she spoke about her events was both passionate and professional and he found himself wanting to have some type of party or gathering just to have the chance to be around her again.
At one point she’d shared a story about a client who had endured one disastrous wedding planner after another until finally contracting with her Alluring Affairs. She’d laughed and he’d felt as if he’d been punched in the chest, the air so swiftly leaving him at the sound.
A strong physical reaction, he’d realized, and had proceeded with the evening, not giving it much more thought.
Now, standing in front of her with her back to the door of her room, he couldn’t help but think of the way he’d felt in the restaurant, because he was feeling the same way now. Seeing her face unobscured by a mask tonight had been a huge plus, but then, he’d already known she was a very attractive woman. The slight upward slant of her eyes, her full lips and the smooth milk-chocolate tone of her skin had blood rushing quickly through his veins.
“Ballard?”
He blinked as he heard his name on her lips, recovering quickly from his momentary speechlessness as he stared at her.
“A good-night kiss,” he whispered, moving in closer.
Her open palms immediately came to his chest, pushing slightly against him, to stop him, Ballard was certain. The problem with that motion was that it hadn’t reached her eyes. Instead, as Ballard looked at Janelle, he saw her lips parting slightly, her tongue snaking out to lick the bottom one, then retreating inside quickly as she cleared her throat.
“Yes,” he began, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his fingers along her cheekbone down to the line of her jaw. “You can agree because you want to. Or you can simply tell me no and I’ll leave.”
She hesitated, her hands still on his chest, burning the desire he was already ensconced in deeper into his soul. After another second or so of indecision her lips parted once more, a small sound escaping.
“Ye—” she began to say.
And Ballard moved in, swooping his lips down over hers, taking the plumpness into his mouth for a deep suckle before pressing his tongue inside.
She replied hungrily, grabbing the lapels of his jacket tightly in her fingers, tilting her head slightly so that when he deepened the kiss, she was more than ready. On the inside, Ballard quivered, his entire body vibrating in reaction to her proximity, her scent, her taste. His hands cupped her face, slipping back until his fingers were tangled in the thick mass of her hair, holding her head steadily where he wanted it, where he could plunder her mouth mercilessly.
He pressed her into the door, his body flush against hers, his rigid erection most likely felt by her as he did. The fact that they were in a hotel hallway, that at any moment someone could come out of another room or off the elevator and see them, lingered somewhere in the back of his mind. Alongside was the fact that they’d gone to great lengths to clarify that this was not a date, and if it had been, it was still too soon for a reaction such as this, a joining of passion like this. But he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t even consider pulling his lips, his hands, his body away from hers at this moment. It felt too good, felt...almost...right.
It was Janelle who made the move to break away. Simultaneously releasing his jacket and turning her head away from him, she gasped once for breath before saying in a very quiet voice, “Good night, Ballard.”
He released her then. Of course, he had no idea how when his body was sending every sign possible indicating it wanted to stay precisely where it was. Still, he took the necessary steps backward, even cleared his throat to let her know he was still standing there since she wouldn’t look at him.
“Good night, Janelle,” he said, and forced himself to walk away.
This was not the norm for either of them, Ballard suspected, but most assuredly not for him. He needed time to breathe some fresh air, to clear his mind, to let this raging erection subside and to figure out just what he planned to do next where Janelle Howerton was concerned.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_1c1298f4-5897-54b2-a723-5ada02848f02)
She’d spent the morning returning phone calls from vendors—the caterer was locked in, the stellar menu including a great grilled Maine lobster with chive ricotta that Janelle had been privy to tasting a week ago. Vicki was contracted for the floral arrangements; Janelle knew she didn’t need to do more than send Vicki an email with the date, time and colors, and everything would be taken care of from there.
That was the type of rhythm their friendship had. Whenever she booked a wedding, she referred the bridal party to Sandra for their wardrobe and to Vicki for the flowers. Likewise, her friends referred their clients to her for all their event-planning needs. They were a solid unit, just as Janelle thought a couple should be, complementing each other in business and on a personal level.
Something she and Ballard Dubois did not do.
And why she was even thinking about Ballard for the billionth time today, she had no idea. When she’d arrived home after her dinner with Ballard, her father had already been gone. She’d written him a short note saying she’d met and had dinner with Ballard but that they hadn’t had the opportunity to really get into the political discussion. She strategically left out that it had been because they’d been too busy talking about her job and his to get around to speaking about whether he and his company would back her father’s campaign. Darren would bring that up the first chance he got, so she made a note to be prepared for that conversation.
Ballard was an extremely proud man who took running his family business very seriously. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who was simply along for the ride, taking what was given to him. No, he clearly worked very hard for the company, his vision for expansion that he’d shared with her seeming very promising. So much so she’d found herself offering to help him announce the new locations via a spectacular opening event. Surprisingly, he’d been very agreeable to that suggestion.
Dinner had turned out well, considering how it had begun. And the good-night kiss. Damn. That was all she could think of to describe it.
Janelle’s fingers froze over her keyboard with that thought. She’d been typing budget figures into her accounting database but now couldn’t do anything but remember last night.
That kiss.
It had been just...so...damn, again.
With a sigh, Janelle sat back in her chair, turning so that she was now facing the window. It was nearing six o’clock in the evening, so some of the local fishermen were pulling into dock with the second part of their haul for the day. Over the next few months traffic at the dock would slow to almost nonexistence as the winter chill settled over their little shipping town. Farther up the road, she could see more houses like the one they’d renovated that also sheltered local businesses. Most of them would be closing up for the winter. The fresh seafood market was one. Another was the gift shop that specialized in Wintersage trinkets handmade by Selia DuVane, an eighty-something-year-old lifelong town resident who used the colder months and lack of tourists to replenish her stock.
Black lampposts occupying each corner were now draped in orange-and-brown ribbons signifying the imminent arrival of fall, at which time the town wholeheartedly adopted the harvest decor. Staring out at the traditional, the safe and steady she knew she could rely on, calmed Janelle. Whereas each time her thoughts drifted to Ballard Dubois, which had been too many times to count, her heart rate increased, worry tapping an annoying rhythm against her temples.
“Whoa, she’s in deep thought. Maybe we should go.”
She heard Vicki’s voice from behind and turned in her chair.
“Please, that’s the best time to sit down and find out what’s on her mind,” Sandra quipped, already entering Janelle’s office and taking a seat in one of the honey-colored guest chairs that complemented her light oak desk and the warm beige-painted walls.
“Nothing’s on my mind but work,” Janelle told them with a sigh of resignation. The numbers she was crunching would have to wait a little longer.
Vicki had followed Sandra’s lead, taking a seat in the matching guest chair. This was after she’d glanced at Sandra, then at Janelle. Something was going on.
“What’s up with you two?”
Sandra shook her head. “Not a chance,” she said, waving a finger, one long fuchsia-painted nail in front of her. “You’ve been closed in this office all day either on the phone or staring at that computer. Now, I know we’re all busy but we never forget Monday nights. Never,” she reiterated.
Janelle sat back in her chair, clasping her fingers together as she looked at her friends. A part of her wanted to curse the fact that she had completely forgotten about their weekly meeting. Another part wanted to moan, because she could use a drink right now.
“I’m sorry—I had a lot of catching up to do since I took those days to go up to Boston and take care of the party for Rebecca. I just got caught up. We can go now if you want.”
Sandra shook her head once more. “Or we can sit right here while you tell us what’s going on.”
“She doesn’t have to tell us, Sandra,” Vicki chimed in. “We know what’s bothering her. The same thing that’s been on all of our minds today. We might as well get it out in the open.”
Janelle couldn’t help but feel a bit confused, even though she’d figured there was something wrong, with the way they’d both come in here. “What’s been on our minds, Vicki?”
Sandra rolled her eyes, picking at nonexistent lint on her skirt. “It’s not a big deal. Vicki’s just being melodramatic, as she’s been known to be before.”
Vicki frowned. “No. I’m being realistic and I’m sharing my feelings with my two closest friends. That is what friends do, isn’t it?” she proposed, arching an eyebrow at Sandra, who refused to look at her.
“Okay, you two, what is it?” Janelle finally asked.
“My brother took a job working on Oliver Windom’s campaign. Vicki thinks it’s a big deal. She thinks this election business might get weird for us, working together and being friends,” Sandra said in what sounded like one breath.
“That’s not what I said,” Vicki told Sandra, then looked at Janelle. “I was just concerned about us having to choose sides. We’ve been friends forever. Now your father is running for the House of Representatives and Sandra’s brother is working for his biggest opponent. That’s a huge conflict.”
Great, the election again. Janelle was officially tired of the pending election and it was still weeks away. Sure, she was proud of her father, always had been, but she just did not need this added drama in her life. Having dinner with a guy that she normally would stay a couple of states away from and now watching one of her friends stress over something that shouldn’t be an issue for either of them. Still, with a deep inhale and slow exhale, she understood where Vicki was coming from. She also knew that all her frustration was not coming from this election.
“There’s no conflict for me,” she told them. “This is a free country—vote for who you want. All I ask is that you remain informed while doing so.”
Sandra laughed. “Exactly. Do what you want. Hasn’t that always been our motto?”
Vicki smiled. “Yes, it has. But you sound like an infomercial,” she told Janelle.
“What? Why? I’m just saying that there are two things never to be discussed at work—politics and religion. Freedom to worship who or what you want as well as to go to the polls and put in your ballot.”
“And you don’t care if we don’t vote for your dad?” Vicki persisted.
Without thinking—actually, sick and tired of having been thinking on one particular subject all day—Janelle let her head fall back on her chair. She closed her eyes, bringing her fingers up to massage her temples. “Girl, please, I am so sick of thinking about my father’s campaign and what he needs to win this election. I don’t know why it’s my job to secure this last bit of support for him. Why’d I have to go out with the stuffy, arrogant man just to get his vote? Damn.”
