Her Dirty Little Secret / The Marriage Clause. JC Harroway
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