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That Jacques Lane, or Jack Demont, now held that dream in the palm of his sexy, grown-up hands—hands she’d like to reintroduce to her traitorous body—provided an additional hurdle.
But she’d learned harsh lessons from her father’s years of disapproval. Hardening herself to others’ expectations and battling, daily, the personal limitations of dyslexia had become her norm. It would take more than his brooding sexuality to trip her up.
He continued to stare, his eyes sultry, as if they’d already peeled the layer of wool from her body. But still, he showed no hint of recognition.
Harley faltered, her composure fleeing, replaced by the ingrained insecurities that hovered close to her polished surface. But his cluelessness could be to her advantage. Time to throw him off balance. Why should she be the only one floundering and ignorant?
‘You don’t remember me?’
‘Oh, I remember you, Harley.’ He grinned, a superficial mask that didn’t reach his eyes, which glittered with sparks as they traced her from head to toe. As if he’d plugged her into one of the sockets scattered about and attached her to the mains, his lazy perusal lit her up from the inside. And then his words registered and an all-over-body chill replaced the heat of moments ago.
He’d known the identity of his purchaser and deliberately stalled the sale. What other explanation could there be? Was this delay tactic some sort of petty revenge for the bad blood between their families? Or just revenge against her?
Harley jutted out one hip and fisted her hand there. If he’d stalled over some historical family feud...that was easily ironed out.
‘You do?’ She shifted her weight, her limbs liquefying under his molten stare.
She expected his dismissal or anger. After all, she’d unceremoniously dumped him years ago. But she hadn’t expected the instant buzz of attraction or the urge to rip him out of his fine tailoring and see what havoc age and maturity had wreaked on his sublime-looking, rangy body.
But the clenched muscles in his jaw told her he not only remembered her, he also recalled the bitter feud between their families.
‘Of course.’
Heat of a different kind crept under Harley’s skin. She’d learned more than how to break someone’s heart that summer. She’d learned about the lies adults told, the deceit hidden in plain sight and the true value of her so-called love.
Rearing back from memories of that time and her foolish infatuation with the boy Jack had been, she started when he stepped closer, encroaching on her personal space so she was forced to look up at him if she wanted to maintain eye contact. His heat burned into her, shunting her body temperature so high, she regretted the cashmere even more.
‘I remember you, just fine.’ His stare dipped to her mouth and she licked dry lips, an unconscious gesture.
Why, despite the harshness of his expression, did his words slide over her like a caress from the finest silk? He’d barely spoken, but the husky drawl of his voice reverberated viciously between her legs.
Just as it had at seventeen, her body reacted to him. But this time, she too was all grown up and her libido seemed to have multiplied exponentially in his potent presence.
But she wavered, caught between the successful entrepreneur of today here to seal the promised deal and the smitten schoolgirl of yesterday—insecure, lonely even within her family and infatuated by Jack’s abundant confidence, his exotic accent and his cocky smile.
No.
She bit her lip, trying to dampen the licks of arousal coiling in her belly.
Not her.
Not him.
The events of that ill-fated family holiday with Jack’s family had completely overwhelmed seventeen-year-old Harley, ripping apart everything she’d known to be true. In her confusion, fear and disillusionment, she’d abruptly broken things off with Jack, despite her rampant crush.
So her libido now had designs on this man. But time hadn’t altered her opinions on relationships. And Jack would be the last man she’d ever consider had she any interest in changing that stance.
As if in slow motion, he gripped the front of his safety vest, his stare lingering on hers, and he tugged, ripping apart the Velcro and exposing a crisp blue shirt, which lay open at the neck to reveal a glimpse of golden chest hair.
Mmm...keep going...
Where had that come from? She was here for their deal, her building. Her eyes darted back to his in time to see a flash of what looked suspiciously like triumph simmering there. Caught with her hand in the cookie jar and drool on her chin.
‘Did you just come to ogle me?’ He lifted a brow, stepping closer. ‘Or perhaps you like getting dirty.’ He glanced down.
She followed his line of vision to the toes of her pumps, now covered with a layer of grey building dust.
Conceited asshole.
But the way he’d said dirty, his sensual accent wrapping around the word—she wanted to roll around in the sound, cover herself from head to toe and emerge completely filthy.
She snapped back to reality when he tossed the vest onto the table and began rolling down his shirtsleeves, his amused eyes dancing over her hot face.
‘I came to get these contracts signed.’ Not indulge in fantasies of the sexual prowess he’d developed over the years. Prowess she’d been denied.
‘I have offices.’ He slipped his hands in the front pockets of his pants, tugging the fabric taut across his manhood. ‘Perhaps you should make an appointment to see me there. I think you’ll find the ambience more...forgiving to your wardrobe.’
Arrogant, conceited asshole. And staring at his crotch...really?
‘I’ve tried on multiple occasions to see you at your offices, as I’m sure you know.’ Heat boiled through her veins.
A shrug. A French tilt of his head.
Her fingers twitched. She longed to angle that head for her kiss. Rile him up and dismantle the control he now wore like a second skin. Redress the power play on display.
Harley lowered the pitch of her voice. It wouldn’t do to show him he’d affected her professional composure or her personal interest.
‘I’m here to discover why our deal stalled. And only days from completion?’ Not that she’d known the run-down commercial property she was in the process of acquiring had anything to do with Joe Lane’s son. Would she have walked away if she’d known? And had he really known Hal Jacob’s daughter was on the other end of the Morris deal? He’d yet to confirm her theory.
‘I hope you’re not going to tell me you’ve applied the brakes because of some ancient family feud?’ One look at the chips of ice in his eyes told her the answer.
‘My lawyers advised me to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. You can never be too careful in business.’ A wry twist of his sexy mouth accompanied the minute narrowing of the stare he settled on her. ‘And they uncovered a mistake with the paperwork.’
‘A mistake?’
No.
Harley’s cashmere clung, her skin growing clammy. She’d checked and double, no, triple checked the forms before passing them to her lawyers. And she paid them fat bonuses to compensate for her...limitations. Limitations that had dogged her whole life.
‘So it has nothing to do with the fact I’m the purchaser? I, after all, haven’t changed my name.’ She stepped nearer, the subtle, manly scent of him warming the air between them and sending her head into a tailspin.
The hard smile returned.
‘I admit, when I contacted the Give Foundation to discuss the misfiled documents, your name was...familiar. But I assure you, Ms Jacob, I have no ulterior motives. I’m a straight-up businessman—no agenda.’ A shrug. ‘What you see is what you get—delivered with a handshake, of course.’
Harley leaned in, her feet welded to the spot. If he expected her to be intimidated, or even conciliatory, he’d chosen the wrong sparring partner. She was used to being one step behind, used to criticism. She usually came out snarling to compensate. Another Hal Jacob lesson...
‘I assure you, Mr Demont, as the purchaser, any...mistake is an oversight and easily rectified.’
Please let it be easily rectified. If this deal collapsed, Hal would find out. Bad enough he was already fiercely opposed to this purchase. In fact he was opposed to all of his youngest daughter’s choices.
‘There’s no reason to delay. I’m watertight.’ She lifted her chin. Fake it ’til you make it.
But inside the familiar icy sweats erupted. Her whole life, dyslexia had thwarted her every ambition, but this mistake carried ten times the impact. She wanted the Morris Building—perfect for her needs and in a prime location.
But she’d messed up. Again. She could almost hear her father’s flat-voiced disappointment. The unspoken ‘I told you so’ she’d been hearing since the second grade. The last thing she needed was to prove Hal right, or, worse, let herself down once more.
She forced her breaths to slow, talking herself back from the ledge as she’d done many times over the years when the familiar panic set in. New York had plenty of real estate. She knew that better than anyone. Even though he hadn’t approved of her latest venture, Hal had offered her a bargain deal on an alternative building, keeping it in the family.
If she weren’t so determined to go it alone, she could capitulate. But then she’d have to confess to her father she’d sabotaged her project, one Hal Jacob considered a waste of time, through a simple clerical error, which a five-year-old could probably spot.
Nope. Not going there.
‘Watertight? Are you?’ A dubious sneer. ‘Jacob Holdings have been known, in the past, to act with a ruthlessness that I find...off-putting.’
Was he actually looking down his straight nose at her? Her shoulders dropped a notch. She’d grown used to condescension, was used to being dismissed. She’d spent her whole life feeling stupid, embarrassed, unworthy. Not that he knew that. But his words stung as if he’d struck at the most vulnerable part of her with pinpoint accuracy.
‘I prefer to deal with more...agreeable clients.’ He gathered his belongings from the table, tucking his phone into his pants pocket. ‘And until the documentation is corrected...’ Another shrug.
Harley’s pulse ricocheted around her body. So her instincts had been right. He carried the Lane/Jacob grudge, the same grudge that had soured not only their respective fathers’ business dealings, but also their families’ friendship.
‘I’m not Jacob Holdings.’ She forced her fingers to relax. ‘This deal has nothing to do with my family.’ If only she hadn’t messed up, her words would pack more punch.
His eyes flicked over her as if she hadn’t spoken, or her arguments carried little weight with him. He’d made his opinion. Nothing, it seemed, would shake it.
‘We’ll see.’ Completely unfazed, he offered her a tight smile and strode across the cavernous space towards the bank of elevators.
Taking a split second to admire his muscular ass under the fine wool of his pants, Harley hurried after his ground-eating strides, which made light work of the obstacles littering the floor, her own footfalls hindered by the clingy, tight-fitting dress.
Damn her dyslexia. Would its insidious grip on everything she tried to achieve never lessen? She’d personally handed him the ammunition to shoot down her dreams for the Morris Building. Another of her dreams destined for the ‘Harley tries hard, but...’ pile.
Part of her wasn’t surprised—the little girl inside who’d always craved the same pride afforded her siblings’ achievements. Of course those achievements could be measured academically—the right degree from the right school.
But how dared Jack insinuate the company she’d painstakingly built single-handed in spite of her father and her dyslexia, and Jacob Holdings, the family-run business with Hal at the helm, were bedfellows. She’d fought long and hard to forge her own path unencumbered by her surname.
Her turbulent hit-and-miss education, her enforced deviation from the Harvard to Jacob Holdings fast track her siblings had pursued and her determination to make it alone meant she’d forsaken her family name, despite its power to open any door in Manhattan.
She’d deliberately named her company Give for anonymity. Of course, it was impossible to completely disassociate herself from her New York heiress reputation. Fighting not only her family, who would see her firmly back in the fold, but also the few men of her past, who failed to understand why she eschewed a life of vacuous privilege to make it alone.
Dammit, why was he so tall, his legs so long?
‘Wait.’
The elevator doors slid open. Jack disappeared inside and Harley trotted the final few paces to catch up. If he thought she’d simply slink away with her tail between her legs and their deal in tatters, he’d underestimated her.
So she’d made a mistake—she could own it and make it right. This was her deal, her dream—to build a dyslexia school with state-of-the-art practices and affordable to all. Nothing would stand between her and fulfilling that dream. Not Hal, not her fierce reawakened attraction to the man dangling the deal overhead like some sort of petty revenge and especially not the arrogant asshole Jacques Lane had become. In fact, as today had proved, the only thing that could derail her plans was Harley herself.
She’d almost made it to the elevator doors when her spike heel caught on a plastic dustsheet and her body lurched forward, destined for the concrete floor. She flailed her arms, clutching at nothing but dusty air.
Her file of documents and her purse hit the floor and then she slammed against a wall of solid chest. The air left her in a thump as Jack caught her, hauling her entire body up until every inch of her from shoulder to thigh was pressed against a firm mass of lithe muscle and hard man.
In less than a second she’d gone from seething after him to the sublime thrill of full-on body contact.
Her muscles froze.
Her brain forgot even the most basic of functions.
Her calm and compelling argument died on her tongue.
Jack’s scent washed over her, vaguely familiar and enticingly foreign—clean, spicy, male—triggering a cascade of emotional memories and a flood of scalding need. His body warmth scorched her through the luminous yellow safety vest and the stifling layer of cashmere. Every slab of taut muscle pressed against her, spoke to her weak-willed body.
She looked up.
He looked down.
Their faces only inches apart.
Their mouths only inches apart.
The past nine years evaporated. She was seventeen again. So infatuated with the handsome, eighteen-year-old French boy, she’d begged him to take more than a kiss that last Aspen holiday their families shared. Not that he’d obliged—young Jack had had scruples, integrity and enough willpower for two.
But he’d kissed her as if she were dying and given her her first orgasm, all the while disentangling himself from her keen, persistent attempts to get him naked and take things at a pace quicker than he would allow.
But this Jack?
He was thick against her belly. His nostrils flared as if he too tried to relearn the nuances of her unique scent. His eyes turned stormy, as if he remembered the stolen minutes of ecstasy they’d snatched on those twice-a-year shared family holidays.
While their fathers had discussed business and their mothers had tanned, she’d imagined herself falling for him.
Right up to the moment she’d been rudely awoken with a lesson on relationships that had shifted her world view for ever. Another Hal Jacob lesson—this one harsher and more devastating than any before.
His mouth curled and his breath gusted over her parted lips. But instead of reminding them both of the passion and heat of those kisses she’d craved, he set her on her feet.
‘Careful there, Princess. You might break a nail.’
Bastard.
Harley battled the lust raging through her and smoothed down her dress, which had ridden up to mid-thigh during her tumble. She shrugged out of the hideous fluorescent vest and, seeing Jack had removed his, tore the hard hat from her head.
So he thought her pampered, living off her trust fund, dabbling in real estate. He knew her no better than she knew him.
And so what if her body was stuck in the past—the torrid rage of hormones he’d once inspired more potent than ever? That meant nothing. She had a mission, one she intended to fulfil.
‘Mr Demont. I refuse to be sidelined. I’d like your assurances my purchase of the Morris Building won’t be unnecessarily delayed. I have developers on standby and a deadline for opening.’ She scooped her belongings from the floor, ignoring the sizeable bulge in his pants and the hard look he shot her as the doors closed. A look laced with delicious heat she tried to ignore.
Jack pressed a button on the control panel, but, rather than commencing its descent, the elevator remained static. Just like their deal.
He stared for long uncomfortable seconds, feet spread, unruffled, his hands casually hooked into his front pockets as if highlighting his considerable manhood for her greedy stare.
