The Dare Collection: April 2018. Stefanie London

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СКАЧАТЬ many more physical intimacies would she love to share with this version of Jack? She bit down on her lip to stop herself answering. Or worse, succumbing to the urge to shut him up with a kiss.

      ‘You think you can show up here dressed for a runway, dazzle me and get whatever you want?’

      Fire sizzled through her blood vessels, hot colour pooling in her face. She couldn’t work out which was stronger—the buzz of arousal between her legs at his proximity, his heated stare and his sensual reminder of her first sexual awakening or the boiling rage clouding her vision at his lazy taunts.

      She swallowed down the arousal, forcing out an affirmation she was far from believing.

      ‘I’m a savvy and professional businesswoman, Mr Demont.’ When I’m not making simple errors that sabotage my own deals. ‘We had a contract, a promise, a sale and purchase agreement. Nothing more. Nothing less.’

      Harley leaned forward, prepared to burn up to make her point.

      ‘Is this some sort of payback?’ She narrowed her eyes, fighting the surge of lust he instilled. She should be outraged, appalled, furious. But all she could muster was simmering annoyance eclipsed by the raging desire to tug his mouth down to hers.

      His hard eyes glittered, holding her in limbo for long, torturous seconds where her breath stalled and her pulse throbbed in her throat.

      Harley’s toes flexed of their own accord, lifting her a few millimetres closer to those lips.

      Her breath mingled with his.

      The air between them crackled, hot and potent.

      His eyes swam before her, a flash of the familiar sparkling in the depths of his irises. He sucked in a breath, as if on the verge of a decision. The verge of an action.

      ‘Make an appointment, Ms Jacob.’ He stepped back, seemingly unaffected by the past few seconds of intense sexual awareness, and pressed the descend button.

      Harley, by contrast, hovered on the edge of spontaneous combustion. She must have misread the rampant lust burning in his eyes. Perhaps because her own underwear was on fire, she’d imagined he felt the same.

      She gripped the handrail, too uncertain of the integrity of her wobbly legs to keep her upright, and bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. His dismissal left her desperate to hide. To crawl away to lick her self-inflicted wounds.

      ‘I’ve tried on numerous occasions to make an appointment. In fact, your assistant, Trent, and I are on first-name terms. Perhaps you should employ more staff, run a more professional outfit if you find yourself so over-committed.’

      He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled a number, a small smirk on his handsome face.

      ‘Perhaps you should try my London or Paris offices. I’m often there. Perhaps you’ll have more luck. Excuse me, I need to make this call by eleven.’ Lifting the device to his ear, he spoke in French as the car stopped and the doors slid open to the ground floor foyer.

      Without a backward glance, he strode to the reception desk, deep in conversation. An obliging building attendant handed him a tailored jacket that matched his pants and he dropped the hard hat on the counter and slung the garment over one broad shoulder.

      Harley stood floundering in the tiled entranceway while he exited the building and climbed into the back of a sleek Mercedes-Benz waiting at the kerb.

      She’d been brushed off before, belittled, ridiculed, sidelined. She’d never grown used to it. And she expected it from Jack Demont; after all, she’d once carelessly dismissed him.

      And this time, she only had herself to blame.

      Perhaps Hal was right. Perhaps she was wasting her time with...hobbies. Harley followed Jack outside, texting her own driver.

      Their fathers might have instigated the Lane-Jacob war, and Harley might have jeopardised her tactical advantage, but she wouldn’t lose this battle to Jack without a considerable fight.

       CHAPTER TWO

      JACK 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.

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