The Dare Collection: April 2018. Stefanie London
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to her brother rather than scouring the mass of glamorous socialites in search of her quarry.
‘You look beautiful tonight. Is this one of yours?’ Her brother, her biggest fan, dipped his chin at her outfit, a strapless bias-cut gown with a thigh-high split.
She nodded, her admiring stare taking in her handsome sibling. ‘You look good too. Here alone?’ Ash never went far without some statuesque beauty on his arm. Not that they lasted long enough for Harley to learn their political leanings or career aspirations. Ash had been badly burned once.
He grinned. ‘I am. Why? Spot someone promising?’ He glanced around, scanning the crowds.
She nudged him with her elbow. He winked, the cocksure expression that had rescued him from endless childhood misdemeanours, and turned away to snag them a couple of glasses of champagne from a circulating waiter.
Then she winced, herself turning in the opposite direction as Old Man Jibber-Jabber returned and collared her brother, calling him Jacob Junior, a name Ash hated. Ash stilled her escape with his hand on her arm and drew her back into the conversational circle with a tight smile and a glass of champagne.
With flight temporarily thwarted and her brother occupied by the bore, Harley sipped her drink and glanced around surreptitiously for another glimpse of Jack.
This time, when their eyes met, he made his excuses and, not once taking his eyes off her, stalked her way.
Harley’s throat dried. Her feet shuffled half a step in his direction as he approached. The silk of her dress scraped across her sensitive skin, her nerve endings tingling to life as she held his bold, seductive stare with what she hoped was one of her own.
How did he fray every scrap of her composure, easily unravelling her with an arch of his thick brows or a heated look that seemed to speak directly to her rampant libido? Rampant for him.
She swallowed and glanced at Ash, who was still trapped in conversation, but cognisant enough of her bid for freedom to shoot her a warning glare.
She stood her ground, waiting, anticipation twice as potent as the champagne. She fingered the skirt of her dress, enjoying the appreciative gleam in Jack’s eyes.
She’d dressed with him in mind, selecting her favourite gown and donning the rose-pink lingerie, which contrasted well with her creamy skin tones and showcased her ass to its best advantage. If, as he professed, he had X-ray vision, he certainly had an eyeful right about now.
At last he reached her side, all handsome masculinity, impeccably dressed and eye-fucking her, as he’d promised.
‘You look beautiful.’ His words whispered over her neck as he bowed to kiss first one cheek and then the other in that French way of his.
She sucked in his scent for an indulgent, unguarded second. ‘Thank you. This is one of my favourites.’ She indicated the dress.
‘Mine too. Beautiful and talented.’ His voice was low, murmured, so that even surrounded by people, with Ash only a few steps away, he effortlessly created a bubble of intimate privacy.
She laughed. ‘I could say the same about you.’ She eyed his tux, once more enjoying the breadth of his shoulders and the way the pants stretched taut across his slim hips. ‘Italian?’ She lifted the jacket, inspecting the whimsical flash of colourful lining and the cut of the tailoring.
He quirked his mouth, tutting.
‘French. An emerging designer.’ He touched her waist, drawing her closer. ‘I’ll introduce you if you like, next time you’re in Paris.’ He dipped low again, his lips brushing her ear so only she could hear.
‘Are you wet for me? Been dreaming, all afternoon, of the orgasm I’m going to give you?’
She swayed towards him, righting her posture at the last minute to deny herself the feel of his firm chest and strong arm around her. She looked up, all innocence, face blank.
‘Perhaps I couldn’t wait for you. Perhaps I saw to my own needs.’
Instead of scolding or expressing shock, he laughed, his head shaking and his eyes alight. ‘Good. Practice makes perfect when it comes to orgasms.’
How did he know that? Was he some sort of sex guru in his spare time? Did she care as long as she reaped the obvious and abundant benefits?
Another body entered her personal space, putting an end to the frisson of lust sparking between her and Jack. Ash grinned, clearly oblivious.
‘Is my sister working you over for a donation? She’s tenacious when it comes to her causes. Be warned.’
Harley dipped her chin to try and conceal the heat blooming in her chest. She had yet to work Jack over the way she wanted to. If she looked at him now, Ash might see that written all over her face.
Her brother eyed Jack, his hand outstretched in greeting and his polite smile drooping slightly as he tried to place the other man.
Damn. She’d forgotten about this eventuality.
‘I’m always happy to contribute to a worthy cause,’ said Jack. ‘Especially one important to Harley.’ He shook Ash’s hand, squaring up to her brother with a puffed-out chest in that way men faced off.
Silence stretched as she gaped at Ash to see if he’d recognised Jack. Her jaw worked as she looked between the two men but no sound escaped. Lost for words. Struggling to label this thing with Jack and reluctant to expose herself to Ash’s likely criticism.
Jack cast a lifeline. ‘Jack Demont. You’re Ash Jacob.’
Harley awoke from her trance, her hand instinctively reaching for Jack’s arm as she clarified the introductions. ‘Jack is a property developer and architect. Remember, I’m purchasing the Morris Building?’
Ash nodded, the cogs of his mind visibly clunking into gear as he flicked eyes dawning with recognition between them. Harley let her arm fall to her side, but Jack stepped close, his hand proprietary on her hip. Had he just laid claim?
‘You remember me, I’m sure. I’m Joe Lane’s son.’ He lifted his chin, staring her brother down. A face-off pissing contest ensued as the men gleaned the measure of each other the way men did. Silently assessing, fixed grins in place. Giving little away.
Harley, too, stood her ground, although she longed to waft away the testosterone permeating the air. After years of trying to fit into the Jacob mould, she wished she were past caring what her family thought of her choices.
Hating her dyslexia every time she saw a flash of disappointment in Hal’s eyes or he openly compared her to her two high-flying siblings, she’d tried to forge her own path—doing something she loved, something she was good at, and measuring herself against her own goals, the only way she could claw back a shred of her tattered self-esteem.
But her self-doubts were deeply ingrained. Her shoulders twitched with the effort of staying straight-backed. To his credit, Ash concealed whatever he thought behind a thin but polite smile.
‘Of course. It’s been a long time. So, have you relocated to New York?’
Harley’s heart sank. She knew that look. She had a reckoning to face. And then her blood froze as another thought occurred to her. Had Ash found out about the real reason for the Lane-Jacob bust up? After all, he worked every day with Hal. Would he let it slip now? Throw it into the conversation as some sort of macho put-down?
Jack tilted his chin. ‘Temporarily. I’ve recently opened offices here, although most of my business runs out of Paris and London.’
‘And you two are...’ Ash pointed his finger between them, hedging.
‘We—’ Harley jumped in, stuttering to a halt. What could she tell her brother?
We’re having the best sex of my life? I propositioned Jack over coffee? Before the night is over I hope to be screaming out his name loud enough to wake you? And, no, I haven’t told him about Dad’s