Her Dirty Little Secret

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.’