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He shot her a look of annoyance. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an annoying habit of asking too many questions?” He put a hand in her lower back and propelled her towards the balcony. “Stop looking so goddamned worried. I’m not going to maul you.”
She slid him a sidelong glance. “That’s not what worries me.” It was her reaction to him, and the very slippery, uncontrollable situation she found herself in. For she was not really just a guest, free to do as she pleased. She was there to work. For Hank Mann-Hughes. And now, she was heading to the balcony with his son. To do what?
She took a step out into the balmy Manhattan evening and tried not to overthink it.
“I should tell you, if it’s money you’re interested in, I’m worth five times what he is,” he said, closing the door behind them with a click and leading her to a corner spot.
Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t care about that.”
“Bullshit. Why else would you be with him?”
She floundered. It was unprofessional, and beneath her. But Carter’s proximity was doing funny things to her body. She lifted her head and levelled him with a steady glare. “It is our first date. I’m still getting to know him.”
“First date.” His smile was almost cruel. “In some ways, I would have preferred it if you were a little more serious…”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why the heck that would make a difference when he lowered his head and took possession of her mouth. It was a kiss borne of anger and frustration; so hot it seared her soul. His lips pressed against hers were hard and demanding, and his tongue warred with hers. One of his strong, broad hands was enough to trap her slender wrists high above her head, giving him easy access to her body. He let his other hand cup her breast, fondling her nipple through the flimsy material of her dress.
Jane let out a whimper of pleasure as sensation made her weak. She arched her back instinctively, earning an approving grin from Carter. “I could fuck you right here,” he whispered in her ear, so that his warm breath fanned the sensitive skin of her neck. “I’d like that.” He took her earlobe into his mouth and wiggled it between his teeth. Her body was shaking with desire; her responsiveness alone was enough to drive him wild.
“How can you be with an old bastard like that?” He demanded, slipping his hand insolently under the hem of her dress and running his fingers high up her thigh. They reached the sensible cotton of her underwear and traced the elastic.
Jane shuddered. A small voice in her head was screaming at her that this needed to stop, but her body was assailed with pleasure and longing in a way it never had been before. “He doesn’t tell me he’d like to ‘fuck’ me,” she bit out, though the venom of her statement was swallowed a little by the sensual moan that accompanied it.
“He wouldn’t know how to fuck you,” he laughed, slipping her underwear aside so that his hands could scoop her buttocks. “Not without pharmaceutical intervention, anyway.” His hands scooped her flesh, his fingers moving closer to the crease at the small of her back.
She shuddered at the possessive touch. “This is… not… right…” she moaned, her hands fumbling at his waistband and separating his shirt from his pants. She allowed them to creep inside, to touch his bare flesh, and she grinned against his mouth as contact was made.
“Oh, it’s right.”
“May I ask what the hell is going on?”
Hank’s voice, unmistakable, finally penetrated the fog of deep desire that had spun itself around Jane. She jumped, and pulled her hands away, her expression wracked with guilt and worry. “Shit,” she whispered, lifting a shaking hand to her head.
“Don’t you mean ‘thank you’?” Carter asked his father, his voice cold, in stark contrast to the heated way he’d spoken to Jane a moment earlier.
“Thank you?” Hank demanded, his dark eyes floating from one to the other.
“I saved you from marrying this one,” Carter said with an indolent shrug. “Think of what you might have had due in alimony if you hadn’t witnessed for yourself what she’s really after.”
Behind them, Jane wrapped her arms around her mid-section. She was besieged by the unmistakable feeling that she’d made a critical error. That her sexual attraction had been overwhelming and overpowering, but that his behaviour had been dictated by calculated decision making.
“I had no intention of marrying her. She’s little more than a Goddamned prostitute,” Hank hissed, mopping his brow with a starched handkerchief.
“A what?” Carter turned to face her with an expression of distaste.
Hank’s eyes shone with fury. “Not for much longer though. Your agency will hear about this.”
She didn’t s
tay to hear another word. With a hand over her mouth to muffle her sob, she ran from the party. Ashamed, hurt, and trembling with thwarted desire.
CHAPTER TWO
So far as birthdays went, hers had been spectacularly shitty.
Jenna had left for work by the time Jane woke. Anita had left for school and wouldn’t be home for two nights owing to a school excursion (though at least a quick, hand scrawled note on the fridge had told her to have a good day). On top of that, the coffee tin was empty.
The day had continued in a similar fashion. Three job interviews, at which she’d been frostily informed she didn’t have the requisite skills, followed by her favourite pair of heels snapping halfway down fifth avenue. So, by the time she reached the Four Seasons and entered the TY bar, a little after nine o’clock, she was ready to hand over a portion of her dwindling savings for a bottle of good champagne. It might have been irresponsible, but it was damned necessary.
