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Eve of Passion
A.C. Arthur


The Silk Sisters–longtime friends Janelle, Sandra and Vicki–have turned their business savvy into a top-tier event agency. And in the wealthy enclave of Wintersage, Massachusetts, there's an abundance of lavish parties, society drama and longing hearts to keep them busy. Premier event planner Janelle Howerton swore off dating after college. Now her father wants her to make nice with an influential donor to his congressional campaign. After all, it's just one date….Billionaire Ballard Dubois wants to help Darren Howerton win the election. But he wants Darren's daughter more–and his desires seldom go unfulfilled. Suddenly "one date" quickly spirals into a hot relationship, and celebrity gossip sites crown them the new "it" couple. And when Ballard proposes all of a sudden, Janelle shocks herself by saying…yes!As the wedding date looms, Janelle and Ballard wonder: Is this marriage a mere political ploy? Or could this become a real, lifelong love?







The Silk Sisters—longtime friends Janelle, Sandra and Vicki—have turned their business savvy into a top-tier event agency. And in the wealthy enclave of Wintersage, Massachusetts, there’s an abundance of lavish parties, society drama and longing hearts to keep them busy.

Premier event planner Janelle Howerton swore off dating after college. Now her father wants her to make nice with an influential donor to his congressional campaign. After all, it’s just one date….

Billionaire Ballard Dubois wants to help Darren Howerton win the election. But he wants Darren’s daughter more—and his desires seldom go unfulfilled. Suddenly “one date” quickly spirals into a hot relationship, and celebrity gossip sites crown them the new “it” couple. And when Ballard proposes all of a sudden, Janelle shocks herself by saying…yes!

As the wedding date looms, Janelle and Ballard wonder: Is this marriage a mere political ploy? Or could this become a real, lifelong love?


“Ballard?”

He blinked as he heard his name on her lips, recovering quickly from his momentary speechlessness as he stared at her.

“A good-night kiss,” he whispered, moving in closer.

Her open palms immediately came to his chest, pushing slightly against him. He was certain it was to stop him. The problem was that it hadn’t reached her eyes. Instead, as Ballard looked at Janelle, he saw her lips parting slightly, her tongue snaking out to lick the bottom one then retreating inside quickly as she cleared her throat.

“Yes,” he began, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his fingers along her cheekbone and down the line of her jaw. “You can agree because you want to. Or you can simply tell me no, and I’ll leave.”

She hesitated, her hands still on his chest, making his desire burn hotter. After another second or so of indecision, her lips parted once more, and a small sound escaped.

“Ye—” she began to say.

And Ballard moved in, swooping his lips down over hers, taking the plumpness into his mouth before pressing his tongue inside.

She replied hungrily, grabbing the lapels of his jacket tightly in her fingers, tilting her head slightly so that when he deepened the kiss she was more than ready.


A.C. ARTHUR

was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, where she currently resides with her husband and three children. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school, and she hasn’t stopped since.

Working in the legal field for almost thirteen years, she’s seen lots of horrific things and longs for the safe haven reading a romance novel brings. Determined to bring a new edge to romance, she continues to develop intriguing plots, sensual love scenes, racy characters and fresh dialogue—thus keeping readers on their toes!

For all the latest news on A.C. Arthur’s books, giveaways, appearances and discussions, join A.C.’s Book Lounge on Facebook.




Eve of Passion

A.C. Arthur





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dear Reader (#ulink_946a45fd-05f1-5f2a-8013-342628cd4928),

One of my favorite hobbies is event planning. So imagine my elation when I was asked to write this story about Janelle Howerton, an event planner! I absolutely love weddings and have planned a few in my time. Writing about Janelle’s hard-won trip down the aisle was a tremendous pleasure.

Janelle and Ballard were a special couple in that they both had high ideals for themselves and expectations neither of them could possibly meet—not alone, anyway. As they traveled the path to love, I felt a sense of pride at their personal growth and cheered them on every step of the way. I hope you, too, will root for this couple as they discover that no amount of material possessions or career achievements could make up for loving someone and being loved equally in return.

A.C. Arthur


To all the newlyweds, make every moment count!


Contents

Cover (#u193fd198-59bc-5447-a333-4332efe67bf2)

Back Cover Text (#u51e9de6e-0aae-54a5-9ac6-45dc0a924a96)

Introduction (#ue0799973-4a0a-5712-b766-5cf593af194f)

About the Author (#ubec726a8-00a4-59b3-8b72-d855cfb5f44b)

Title Page (#ua1a3720b-3039-53d6-8387-6ce196fb9ff6)

Dear Reader (#u69cfc7c7-6e87-5ac5-8788-3f94025526dc)

Dedication (#uda8e2b60-75ca-5997-8a47-1dd6095e7008)

Prologue (#u43521cf0-7ee0-594a-b8ab-d08254728fe5)

Chapter 1 (#u717f501d-9546-5668-a767-43b5a3502317)

Chapter 2 (#u11eb0765-f164-5705-8b53-d2a92124fd78)

Chapter 3 (#ub21450a9-08cb-54c0-a4b9-0dadc2c2ab21)

Chapter 4 (#u0847d43c-222b-51af-a7dc-9d9e7700a682)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ulink_bfe818a3-5475-5f52-b62c-a18900d74eed)

“You did not just say Justin Bieber,” Sandra Woolcott exclaimed after setting her wineglass down as gently as she could manage.

Vicki Ahlfors chuckled and shook her head.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Janelle Howerton replied. “Or rather, that’s what the Parents’ Association secretary had typed on the list of demands they presented me this afternoon. In their words, ‘it is imperative that this year’s event have a wow factor.’”

“And Justin Bieber is a wow factor?” Sandra asked, still looking as if she just could not wrap her mind around the committee’s suggestion.

“Justin Bieber is a ‘wow, look what he’s doing now’ factor,” Vicki offered. “The last thing we need in Wintersage is the press and those no-class tabloid people hanging around reporting Bieber’s dirt and mixing it in with our homegrown dirt.”

Janelle nodded. “I absolutely concur. We have enough going here in Wintersage to write a couple of tell-all books. Besides, I’m thinking of classier entertainment.”

“Well, I guess by wow factor, they must mean who’s hot in the music industry right now. You could get Rihanna,” Vicki suggested.

“I never did understand why the town put so much time and money into a homecoming dance,” Sandra said. “It’s a high school function, not a national holiday.”

Janelle tapped a glossy peach-painted nail against her glass, partially agreeing with Sandra’s last comments. It was only a high school dance, but just about every adult living in Wintersage had attended Wintersage Academy, and thus all of them, the mayor and her director of finance included, thought this was the biggest event of the fall season. And since they’d already paid half Janelle’s commission to plan the event, she had no choice but to go along with their madness.

“Do you remember the homecoming dances when we went to Wintersage? They were the best parties of the school year,” Janelle recollected.

She, Sandra and Vicki had attended Wintersage Academy together and had even gone on to Nillson University in North Carolina as a trio. When their career dreams seemed as in sync as every other aspect of their lives, they’d opened The Silk Sisters, a one-stop shop for the most over-the-edge, sophisticated and creative events. Alluring Affairs was Janelle’s heart and soul, as it gave her the opportunity to do what she did best—manage and plan. Her résumé of successful events spanned the globe, from corporate events for one of the world’s largest banks to a stellar after-party during NYC’s Fashion Week and the lavish wedding of their very own mayor.

Sandra’s Swoon Couture was fast becoming one of the go-to boutiques for unique fashions. Her friend’s focus was now on growing her business on a national level, which Janelle knew would be an absolute success, despite how Sandra’s parents liked to downplay their daughter’s dream.

As for Vicki, her passion had always been the whimsical beauty of floral design. Petals was the name of her flower shop that occupied the first floor of the grand yellow Victorian they’d transformed into their business offices.

“Girl, yes, I remember,” Sandra replied. “Johnny Blackwell is all I have to say.”

Janelle laughed and nodded. “Yes! You and Johnny Blackwell dancing so close Principal Chaney personally came to pry you two apart.”

“And then you carried that X-rated mess back behind the bleachers, using me as a lookout. I should have made you pay me,” Vicki added.

“Hmm, that seems like forever ago,” Janelle stated. “Remember we were so ready to get out of this town and really live?” She definitely remembered that time herself, even if her best friends didn’t. It had been a time of changes, of rejuvenation, of expectancy. Now, years later, Janelle felt more as if she was in a time of denial, or at least stagnation, and she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with that revelation.

“What I remember are the nights we used to stay up late, drinking that nasty beer we’d snuck into the dorm,” Vicki said. “We would lie on our beds, bottle in hand, and fantasize about our wedding day. Remember that?”

Janelle sat back in her chair. She remembered but for years had tried to forget. Not that the memory was painful; it was more that her perfect wedding would not come to fruition. The topic never failed to bring her spirits down, but as usual, she wouldn’t let it show. Janelle Howerton would never taint her family’s name with the darkness that had once hovered around her.

“I remember you talking about your dream wedding nonstop, like you thought Romeo was going to call to you from outside the window,” Sandra added to Vicki with a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh—I remember that perfectly, too.” Vicki sat up straighter in her chair, her long hair pulled back into her signature tight bun, clearing her throat and smiling.

Janelle couldn’t help but smile right along with her. Vicki had always been the romantic of the bunch. She was the one who maintained long-term monogamous relationships always with the hope of meeting Mr. Right, while over the years, Janelle and Sandra had resigned themselves to believe otherwise and to make the necessary concessions.

“Small, sweet and simple,” Vicki continued. “That’s what I want. I’ll wear my mother’s wedding dress and be surrounded by all my family and friends. It’ll be perfect and romantic and everything I ever dreamed.”

Sandra nodded. “And it will probably only happen in your dreams.”

Janelle tried not to chuckle this time, noting the crestfallen look on Vicki’s face at Sandra’s words.

“It can happen for her,” Janelle said, reaching a hand out to cover Vicki’s. “If she believes in her heart that this is what’s in store for her life, it can happen.”

“Well,” Sandra announced, slapping her palm on the table, “I believe that Swoon will become an international name among anyone looking for uniquely designed outfits. That’s my goal for the foreseeable future—to hell with all this love and happily-ever-after.”

“This coming from the woman who has had more dates than I can even imagine ever having in my entire life,” Vicki responded.

Sandra shook her head, long highlighted strands of brown hair moving alongside her stylish hooped earrings. “A date is not a husband.”

Janelle didn’t speak but nodded her agreement. This was an old discussion that they’d had more times than she could count during their girls’ meetings at the Quarterdeck. Since their return from college—and even though they worked in the same building and often collaborated throughout the day with each other—the ladies had had a standing ritual to meet every Monday at one of Wintersage’s most popular taverns.

It helped that the Quarterdeck was located centrally, at the corner of Main Street, its back facing the bay with boats coming and going, right around the corner from the old Victorian they’d renovated for their offices.

While they normally chatted about business, the events they’d completed and the ones that were upcoming, the conversation, more often than not, ventured back to their own ideas about marriage and men, and so far nothing the others had to say was changing their viewpoints.

“Well, at least you’re dating,” Vicki continued, ducking her head as she twisted the stirrer in her white wine spritzer.

“Are you referring to me?” Janelle asked, knowing very well she was.

“There’s only one of us here that hasn’t had a man wine, dine and tap that behind in ages.”

Sandra laughed at her own comment, while Vicki continued to avoid eye contact. These two had been in Janelle’s life so long, they were the sisters she’d never had biologically, and they both meant well—she knew they did. But her reasons behind not dating and the strict guidelines she had for when she did date were her own business and she wasn’t about to defend them. She couldn’t.

“Whatever,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “I’m not complaining.”

And she wasn’t. Her life was exactly the way she wanted it, her business was a success and she was healthy. What else could she ask for?


Chapter 1 (#ulink_de4313ff-0c04-55e2-8c2f-963e5d2d0156)

The minute he walked into the room, Janelle knew she was going to regret working from home this morning. But she’d awakened with a horrendous headache, the third one this week, and try as she might, the stress-free yoga DVD she’d purchased and the two ibuprofen she’d downed thirty seconds after rolling out of bed were not helping. The headache and tired shoulders and general feeling of fatigue were becoming an everyday occurrence for her and while she didn’t want to become worried, she was.

Sitting at the dining room table with vendor contracts spread out in front of her, she looked up into the eyes of Darren Howerton Sr. and wanted to groan with annoyance. Sure, he was her father and there was no other man on this planet that she loved more, but his mere appearance in this room, at this time of day, meant he was about to ask her to do something. And from the way he pulled out the chair across from her with ever-so-slow movements before sitting and staring at her with almost apologetic eyes, she knew she was on point with her assessment.

“Hi, baby girl,” he greeted her, smoothing his paisley-print tie down in front of him.

“Hi, Daddy,” she replied expectantly.

“Are you busy? I need to talk to you.”

While her father didn’t openly suggest that Janelle’s career as an event planner took a second seat to Howerton Computer Technologies, as Sandra’s parents did with her career, his almost complete disregard of her career was a dead giveaway this was how he felt. So whenever he asked if she was busy, it really didn’t matter if she said she was or not—he would proceed with whatever it was he wanted. She’d blame that on her mother if Susan Howerton hadn’t died suddenly in a car accident five years ago. At any rate, Darren Howerton had gone from his own mother’s overindulging arms straight into the arms of a young and eager-to-please wife, who made him feel as if he’d hung the stars and the moon. After her death, Darren expected Janelle to pick up the torch and treat him the same way. In addition to moving back to her childhood home to help her father cope, she’d slipped right into the pattern of expectancy her mother had created. She was basically there for whatever her father needed. Back then, it had been best for both of them. Janelle hadn’t wanted to be alone—fear an all-too-prevalent part of her life at that time. And her father hadn’t been able to be alone either; he would surely have died of a broken heart if he had been.

“What can I do for you, Daddy?” she asked, attempting to let the past remain there.

“Ballard Dubois. Do you know who that is?”

Janelle figured she probably should, and maybe if it hadn’t felt as if someone were driving spikes into her temples for the sheer hell of it, she could have given it a little more thought. But things being as they were, she didn’t even try. “I don’t think I do. Why? Should I?”

Her father raised thick eyebrows, probably at the spike in her tone, but he didn’t speak of it, just continued on. She wasn’t even surprised—her wants and needs were always secondary.

“He runs Dubois Maritime Shipping with his father, Daniel. Hudson Dubois is the family patriarch, the old coot. Each generation of Dubois is insanely intelligent, shrewd and devoted to that company. But Ballard’s the one with his hand on the pulse of a growing political concern—health care.”

Janelle watched as her father talked, engrossed by the slightly raspy sound of his voice and the aristocratic air he exuded when speaking about his business. What she couldn’t figure out was where all this business and political talk was going. Two years ago her father had decided to hand over the reins of HCT to Darren Jr., who was three years older than Janelle and much more suited to work in the family business than she ever claimed to be. Not one to be idle, Darren Sr. announced his candidacy for a seat in the state House of Representatives about six months ago.

With that flashback she thought of just how much she’d seen her father in the past six months. It hadn’t been often since he’d completely thrown himself into the campaign. At any rate, she hadn’t seen him this excited about anything since her mother’s death. That was why she’d stopped what she was doing and tried like hell to ignore her headache to listen attentively to what he was saying. She owed him that much and probably ten times more after all she’d put him through when she ended her engagement with Jack.

“Health care is taking care of itself,” she replied, “or rather, the current president is wading through those muddy waters.”

“My platform needs a strong backing in this area,” Darren continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “Ballard, through his foreign and domestic dealings, has developed his own core of health-care reform supporters. Having Ballard and Dubois Maritime backing me would be beyond beneficial. It would give me the push I need to build an even bigger margin between myself and Oliver Windom.”

In Janelle’s estimation, Oliver Windom didn’t stand a chance against the weight the Howerton name carried in Massachusetts. Still, she could tell her father felt very strongly about this. “Okay, I understand what you’re saying. How will you go about getting them to back you?”

Darren smiled and Janelle almost faltered. It had been so long since she’d seen a genuine smile on her father’s face. Sure, he’d appeared happy during the holidays and then at small family gatherings when Darren Jr.—DJ—had come into town. But for the most part, the day his wife died, the joy seemed to have died in him. Her heart ached at the thought.

“I’d like for you to schedule a meeting with Dubois. Visit him in his Boston office and talk to him about the campaign.”

All other thoughts fled from Janelle’s mind as she completely grasped what her father had been saying.

“You want me to get Ballard Dubois to support your campaign? Me? Not DJ?” she asked her father, more than a little amazed at what he was suggesting. It was obvious that since DJ had already taken over the family business, he was destined to follow in his father’s footsteps, and as such would be the one building his family’s legacy.

“DJ already has his hands full with the rollout for next year. Competition is fierce and HCT has to stay on top of the market.”

She nodded, understanding what her father had just said, and the fact that he hadn’t really answered her question.

“I have a business to run, too,” she told him. “The mayor’s executive assistant emails me at least four times a day about the homecoming dance and we have three more weddings before the end of this year.” She was just as busy as DJ and she was certain that DJ hadn’t been the one to swear off dating for fear of getting hurt and embarrassed the way she had been before. She was absolutely positive he wasn’t the one who had almost been raped.

Darren leaned forward, his charcoal-gray suit jacket adjusting to the movement as he let his arms rest on the table, his gaze intent on his only daughter. “I need you to do this for me, Janelle. It’s very important to the campaign.”

Say no. Say no. Scream the one-syllable word and then run like hell before he gets a chance to really work his persuasion skills. It wasn’t worth it; the risk far outweighed the gain. Didn’t it?

“I don’t have time to go to Boston right now, Daddy. I have vendors to interview, two site visits in as many days and a Skype conference with a French designer at the end of the week. I just can’t,” she told him, her heart pounding with the mere thought of going on this date, whatever the reason.

Darren shook his head. “You know, you look more like Susan every day,” he began, his voice a little lower, his eyes... Were they blurring?

“Sometimes I hear you talking on the phone and I could swear it was her. I just listen and remember and miss her all over again.”

She reminded him of her mother. Of course, she did look like Susan Howerton with her high cheekbones and eyes often called exotic due to their natural upward tilt. They also shared the same chocolate-brown complexion and wide smile. Janelle knew all this, had known it all her life. Still, when her father said it, when it caused him to miss her mother even more, she never knew what to say or how to handle it.

“You know she was the one to first talk about politics. She was sure it was the direction I needed to go in. It took me too long to realize she was telling the truth.”

Janelle took a deep breath, listening to her father’s deep and somehow desolate voice.

“I’ll see if I can work a quick trip into my schedule, Daddy,” she said, clenching her fingers as she did. “But I cannot make any promises.”

Darren smiled. He stood then and came around the table. His hand was on hers as he leaned down closer, kissing her on the cheek. “You’ll do wonderful, baby girl, just wonderful,” he said before standing and leaving her alone once more.

When he was gone, the only thing that Janelle could recall about her father’s presence was that he smelled like Calvin Klein Obsession cologne. That scent was just as dependable as her father had always been in her life. She’d always been able to count on him, always been able to run to him or her mother with whatever issues she had and know without a doubt they’d move mountains to fix them. Yet she hadn’t come running home to them the night Jack had assaulted her. She hadn’t run to anyone, for that matter. She’d handled the situation entirely on her own and she was still doing so. The only difference now was that she was tired of hauling guilt and fear around like carry-on luggage.

* * *

“I need your help, Janelle. I’m desperate,” Rebecca Lockwood said from the other end of the phone. “I cannot bail on this client. Mal Harford is the owner of Pacific Royal Airlines. He’s eccentric, to put it nicely, his wallet’s bigger than his mouth, and what he wants he gets, all the time. Please say you’ll do this for me.”

Sitting in her office two days after the very strange conversation with her father, Janelle had thought she’d managed to escape drama for today. She had been wrong.

“Slow down. Wait a minute. What are you asking me to do exactly?” She really didn’t want to do anything. Her workload was big enough and the Parents’ Association was driving her absolutely insane over this homecoming. Clients that just signed checks and let her do her job were her favorite and she wished she had more of them.

Rebecca took a deep breath, let it out on a heavily exaggerated huff that made Janelle roll her eyes, then continued, “My younger sister Alexa just called to tell me she’s having surgery on Friday morning. Her husband is serving his second tour in Iraq and she has a six-month-old daughter and nobody to help take care of either of them. So I have to leave for Colorado first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, sorry to hear that. Hope the surgery and the caretaking go well,” Janelle replied with a nod, her attention traveling to the window, where she could see the sun finally beginning to set.

“Thanks,” she said on another huff. “So what I’m asking you to do is supervise Harford’s charity masquerade ball for me. This is a yearly event and I had to beat out six other bids to get the contract. It’s Friday evening and all the vendors are in place. Everything is paid for and my staff will be on hand to assist. But this guy’s one of my biggest clients this year and I’d like to have his return business. So I need somebody really fantastic to be here just in case something goes wrong.”

Janelle didn’t immediately respond.

“But nothing will go wrong,” Rebecca continued. “I promise. There are just some really important people coming to this benefit and I want to make sure they have the best experience ever. But I have to be there for Alexa. So can you help? Please don’t make me beg, Janelle,” she finished finally.

Janelle couldn’t help but smile. She’d known Rebecca for four years, since meeting her at an event-planning conference in Orlando. They’d kept in close contact since then, seeing each other at least twice a year at other industry events.

“You’re talking about this Friday, right? As in day after tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry for the short notice, but Alexa has to have this surgery sooner rather than later.”

“I understand,” Janelle said because she did. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Sandra or Vicki, who were the closest she would ever have to sisters. If they lived across the country and were having surgery, she’d be on a plane to them, as well.

“And all I have to do is supervise? Everything else is done?”

“Yes. I even called all the vendors to confirm this morning. I’ve briefed my staff and we did a last site visit at lunch today. So if you say yes, I can brief you on everything now and send you a complete copy of my file.”

She couldn’t say no. Janelle knew there was no good way to back out of this, and really, she didn’t want to. For as busy as she was here in Wintersage, she felt as if getting out of town for a few days might be good. Things in the Howerton household had become quite tense with the election growing closer. Not to mention the fact that having a chance to work with Mal Harford—even secondhandedly—was a great coup for her career.

“I can give you thirty minutes to brief me. Then I need you to send me everything you have on Harford and this event. I’ll make some adjustments and see when I can get up to Boston,” Janelle told her.

Rebecca used one of those thirty minutes to thank Janelle and swear her debt and gratitude. Then they got down to business, which was a welcome distraction in Janelle’s hectic life.


Chapter 2 (#ulink_24808584-5e66-51d7-81bb-9616f2bcc211)

Ballard Dubois touched the edge of his plain black mask, lifting it slightly so that his vision would be unfettered. He hated attending these types of functions—not that he had anything against contributing to the research for and treatment of children with cancer, which was Mal Harford’s favorite project since the death of his twin daughters when they were just ten years old. It was more that he didn’t like the time it took away from working or thinking about how to move his family’s company further into the twenty-first century. Still, public appearances had always been good for Dubois Maritime Shipping, a majority of their work connections having been made through the networking of his father and his grandfather before him. So getting out, being the face of the company, was a part of the job. If he thought of it that way, he could reconcile dressing in a tuxedo and even wearing this god-awful mask for the past hour and a half.

Harford’s events always had a theme and this one was a masquerade. Ballard had to give it to the old man, he definitely knew how to draw rich and uptight socialites who were otherwise focused on making even more money than they already had out into a night of drinking and celebrating—and how to depart with some of their well-earned money. Tonight they were at Boston’s Royale Nightclub, a different scene for this batch of upper-class characters but one of such creative allure, they couldn’t resist the opportunity to attend.

The lighting and decor were phenomenal, gold, green and red illuminating the gleaming hardwood floors. Couches were strategically placed throughout the large space, while more than three hundred guests milled about sipping Perrier-Jouët, wearing formal attire and masks ranging from the ornate to the unembellished.

He’d been here for about an hour now, and he decided that thirty more minutes would meet his quota and he could head back to his penthouse. The evening had gone according to protocol as he’d spoken to two international vendors that worked with his company and had been introduced to, and had secured a private meeting with, Yujin Chan from the Chinese consulate in New York, whose family had a huge trade conglomerate and were currently looking for a U.S. partner. So it had already been a good night as far as business was concerned.

And now, as he pulled his mask completely off and continued to stare at the tall, leggy beauty standing about ten feet away from him, it might just be heading in the same direction on a personal note.

She wore a black dress that scraped just past her knees in a fluid material that Ballard thought he just might be in love with. At her shoulders slips of that same material feathered over her skin. From the side, her curvaceous body was what had immediately caught his attention, plump backside and high palm-sized breasts that his palms actually itched to grip. Then she turned and his breath caught in his chest. He blinked just to make sure the lights weren’t interfering with his vision. The dress that he was thanking the designer ten times over for creating took a deep plunge in the front, so deep he had to swallow twice, and even then his erection was still on the rise.

He took the first step toward her and realized music was playing, a mellow jazzy tune. Ballard didn’t want to dance, but he did want her body close to his. Actually, he wanted her naked body on top of his naked body, but for now the dance would have to suffice. She turned again as someone came up behind her. They talked, and he watched her nodding slightly, hair pulled up high so that the length of her neck was bare. He barely registered the person beside her—if they were male or female or if they had horns or a floor-length tail. As he grew closer, another person approached her. It was a man, he noticed this time, and Ballard didn’t like it.

The man said something and she extended her hand to him. “I’m Janelle Howerton. So nice to meet you, sir,” she replied.

Janelle Howerton. The name seemed familiar but not really, as though maybe he’d heard it over the course of the past few weeks. Then again, he’d heard a barrage of names, since their annual meeting of the board was a month ago in New York City, where their newest warehouse had just been expanded. He might have heard the name there but he wasn’t sure. And right now he didn’t really give a damn. All that mattered was that he was now close enough to get a serious whiff of her perfume and his body heated instantly.

“Would you like to dance?” Ballard found himself asking even though he distinctly remembered not wanting to dance a few minutes ago.

She turned to face him then, and only because he was a thirty-five-year-old man, with vast experience when it came to the opposite sex and the responsibility of running a multibillion-dollar company on his shoulders, did he not gawk at her striking beauty and fall at her feet.

“Ah, I don’t think so,” she said, the soft lilt of her voice as alluring as the smooth milky complexion of her skin.

“Sure, go ahead. I won’t hold you up,” the man who had been talking to her said. He even extended a hand to touch her elbow—which irritated Ballard to no end—edging her closer to him. “You two young people go ahead and cut a rug. Shame to put this great band to waste,” the man continued.

“Thank you, sir. Shall we?” Ballard extended his hand to her, almost couldn’t wait for the moment she put her palm in his, and attempted a smile.

They’d barely moved three feet before he turned and pulled her slowly into his arms, letting the music wash through his mind and guide his movements instead of giving his body full control—his body, which was already in overdrive from the quick and potent attraction to this woman.

“Well,” she said once her hands settled on his shoulders, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight.”

“I am now,” was his quick response. “How about you?”

She shrugged. “I’m actually working, but this is a really nice event.”

“Working?”

“Yes, I’m managing the event tonight. So I probably shouldn’t continue dancing.”

“But we’re so good at it,” he replied, pulling her just a bit closer. She felt soft and pliant in his arms, his hand resting at the small of her back, his gaze focused on her face, partially covered by the black domino mask. It had an intricate design that laced around each of her eyes, coming to sexy points at her temples, decorated with white rhinestones. Another rhinestone twinkled over the bridge of her nose and he found himself wanting to touch it, to rub his fingers along the mask, then remove it to see the complete beauty of her face.

He cleared his throat, determined to act like a normal, functioning human and not the bundle of hormones he actually felt like instead. “So you work for the club?”

“Oh, no. The event planners,” was her response.

She looked around the room then and he figured, with the job she’d just told him about, she was checking to see if all was going well.

“It’s a great event. I’m sure Harford will receive a ton of hefty donations.”

This time she nodded, her gaze returning to him. Her eyes were brown with tiny flecks of gold, or maybe that was the lighting again. Either way, he liked them.

“That’s wonderful. It’s such a good cause. My father donates.”

“Yes, a wonderful cause indeed.” He was about to say something else but she’d mentioned her father and then the name clicked in his head. “Is your father Darren Howerton?”

She stopped dancing, looking at him with perplexity. “Ah, yes, he is. Do you know him?”

He nodded, letting the weight of the situation rest slowly in his mind. “I’ve never met him personally, but my family knows of him, of his campaign, I should say.”

“Oh, really?” Her voice seemed just a little brighter. “I guess we should have taken care of these formalities already, but I’m Janelle Howerton.”

Ballard smiled, as he already knew that. “And I’m Ballard Dubois.”

His smile wavered only because hers did, the cordial and sexually charged air around them dissipating with the motion.

“You’re Ballard Dubois?” she asked.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

Slowly, prettily, her smile slipped back into place but didn’t quite elicit that sparkle he’d previously seen in her eyes. “Not a problem, just a coincidence.”

“Well, I don’t really believe in coincidences. I do, however, believe in chance and I would be terribly remiss if I didn’t take this chance to invite you to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

She hesitated, looking around the room again. They’d resumed dancing but now she stopped again, taking a step back so that their bodies were no longer touching. He missed her instantly.

“That sounds nice,” she replied, her tone a little more standoffish than it had been before. “I’m staying at the Four Seasons. But I should really get back to work.”

Ballard would accept that excuse, for now. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissed the back as his gaze remained focused on her. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”

She smiled again, a wide brilliant smile that might have been practiced but rubbed along his body like warm oil anyway. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven,” she said before slipping her hand from his and turning to walk away.

Ballard watched her walk. He watched the sway of her ass, the line of her shoulders, the curve of her calves, and he wanted her. Damn but he wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman in his life.

* * *

In his king-size bed hours later, Ballard lay on his back, his eyes closed but still seeing her, her scent still wafting through the air around him.

This was ridiculous. He did not do this over women. Ever. He met them, conversed with them, took them out, slept with them and then moved on. The connections were mutually beneficial in the physical sense and usually unsatisfactory on any long-term platform. He’d gone through his entire adult life perfecting that situation; until now he barely remembered most of the women who had been in his life.

Yet he remembered Janelle Howerton with startling clarity.

In fact, he thought, his hand drifting down beneath the sheet, the hot weight of his length waiting, he remembered too much about her. Like the softness of her skin, which Ballard believed would most likely encompass the entire stretch of her body. The graceful curves of her breasts and backside that had his length jutting upward.

When his fingers wrapped around his erection, prepared to go along with the memory and take him to a pleasurable release, he moaned. Then he yanked his hand from beneath the blanket, thoroughly agitated with himself for even thinking about going there.

That wasn’t the type of man he was. He didn’t need to pleasure himself when there were so many other women out there who were up to the task.

But his dreams didn’t continue with any of those other women; they progressed with one female in particular as the star performer. Cloaked only in the intriguing black domino mask, she enticed him throughout his sleep, pushing him to the brink until the next moment he woke in a sweat, erection so hard it was painful, mind so full of her he almost whispered her name—Janelle.


Chapter 3 (#ulink_ff16639d-f8e0-5062-b1ed-d9fca73ea61c)

He was not what she’d expected.

Actually, Janelle hadn’t expected anything where Ballard Dubois was concerned, because he’d been the absolute last person on her mind. The man her father asked her to speak with, to convince to support his campaign, had not been on her radar at all. Last night had been all about making Mr. Harford’s party a success for Rebecca’s sake as well as for her own. Now that it seemed she’d done that—as evidenced by Mr. Harford’s continual praise throughout the event and once he and his wife were preparing to leave—Janelle could allow herself to think about that other matter.

He was tall and extremely good-looking, two things she hadn’t really considered he might be after her conversation with her father. He smelled good, which was always a huge plus in Janelle’s book. Dancing was definitely something he did well, in addition to holding a female close enough to make her almost swoon—which hadn’t happened to her in more years than she could count.

Swooning meant falling and falling meant giving up every piece of who she was to someone who might or might not handle that commodity with care. Giving up everything left one extremely vulnerable and susceptible to deceit and, later, absolute mortification. In essence, to Janelle’s way of thinking, and courtesy of her past relationship, swooning was the beginning of the end. It was a definite no-no, as evidenced by her lack of dating life and the intention to keep that plan going.

With that said, Ballard Dubois and his lean build, pecan skin tone, close-cropped black hair and neatly barbered goatee could certainly make a woman want to change her mind about the no-dating status. A woman other than Janelle.

Yet here she was, preparing for a dinner date with him. No, correction, this was not a date, because Janelle did not date. She was meeting with him as a favor to her father and that was all. The butterflies flitting around in the pit of her stomach as she rode the elevator down to the lobby told another story entirely, but she’d decided to ignore them no matter how persistent they seemed.

She’d dressed in a simple pantsuit, one of two she’d brought with her just in case, navy blue with a short jacket and a silver shell beneath. Her shoes were new, four-inch-heel pewter platforms that she loved like the French toast she’d had for breakfast. Her hair was down, straight and pulled over her left shoulder—the down-and-casual look. One hour was all she’d allotted for this little get-together. Then she was hitting the road, heading back to Wintersage and the many meetings she’d had to reschedule with the Parents’ Association and other vendors to discuss the infamous homecoming dance.

Traffic in the lobby was pretty busy and Janelle found herself looking from the front entrance to the walkway, both viable spots for Mr. Dubois to enter the lobby. A glance at her watch confirmed he was late, by four minutes exactly. She was a stickler for being prompt, early if possible, hating the notion of abusing anyone’s time. Clearly, he did not subscribe to the same belief.

She folded her arms, gazing down at the bold black-and-gold floor design, then up to the vibrant and colorful floral arrangements strategically placed around the area. Vicki would love the color selection and how it offset the dark flooring. She probably would have stood here rearranging the position of the flowers to her liking for a better vantage point, or most certainly would have examined them for the best use of color and variety. Vicki was a perfectionist that way, Janelle thought with an inner smile. Janelle, Vicki and Sandra were all similar in that regard. That was why the Silk Sisters had garnered such rave reviews for their work.

“I hope that smile on your face is because you’re thinking of me.”

His smooth, deep voice interrupted her thoughts and Janelle tried not to be annoyed by that fact coupled with his tardiness. She also tried not to notice how good he looked in his smoke-gray suit with the faintest pinstripe and ice-blue dress shirt and matching tie. There was no doubt that a man who could wear a suit well was tops in her book, but there was also no doubt that she was not supposed to look at Ballard Dubois that way.

“Actually, no, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not pleased to see you,” was her cordial reply.

“Okay, well, we’ll let my bruised ego deal with that later,” he said, offering his arm to her. “Shall we?”

It was a little much, she thought. She didn’t need to walk arm in arm with him to have dinner. Still, she reminded herself that she was doing this for her father, for his precious campaign, as she laced her arm through Ballard’s and walked with him toward the hotel’s very popular lounge.

“I figured you would be tired from last night’s festivities and made reservations someplace close,” he told her as they moved through the glass-door entrance.

Great, she thought, giving him a nod and smile of agreement. She wouldn’t have far to go to get back to her room.

Once they were seated, Janelle allowed herself another indulgent look at her dinner partner. Damn, that suit looked good on him, or was it that the man might possibly look good in anything? She wasn’t sure. A gold watch—she didn’t even guess at the name brand, knowing instinctively it would be expensive—glimmered at his right wrist, a huge signet ring casting the same posh glow on his right ring finger.

“So, your family has made quite a name for itself in the shipping industry. I’ve heard nothing but glowing remarks about Dubois Maritime.”

“Really? Do you work with a lot of clients in the shipping industry?” he asked in what sounded to Janelle like a skeptical tone.

“As a matter of fact, I was born and raised in Wintersage. Our founding fathers made their fortune in the shipping industry. My family’s very active throughout the town, so hearing your company’s name mentioned from time to time isn’t all that unusual.”

So there, she thought, lifting the glass of water the waitress had discreetly placed in front of her for a sip.

“Wintersage,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That’s about an hour or so away from Boston, correct?”

“Correct,” she replied even though she got the impression he knew exactly where Wintersage was. He’d probably done precisely what she had this morning and researched everything about her family on the internet. She was not fooled by his very calm, very assessing demeanor, not one bit—especially considering how scrumptious he looked wearing that demeanor.

Wow, she really needed to calm her raging and self-deprived hormones.

“So you’re heading the company now. That’s a huge responsibility for someone so young. Has it been difficult for you?” she asked.

He smiled then, slow, knowing, and she shifted a bit in her chair, covering the action by picking up the menu and acting as if that held more of her interest.

“One misstep will not end the date, Janelle,” he commented.

Her head immediately snapped up. “This is not a date,” she stated firmly. “And what misstep?”

His smile stayed in place, the expression a bit on the arrogant side, but she was trying to make this work, for her father’s sake.

“I’m not running the company just yet. My grandfather is still the CEO, my father the CFO. Right now I’m the regional manager, so I handle all of the day-to-day operations.”

He spoke as if he were educating her and Janelle was immediately offended. She had already opened her mouth to fire back when he held up a hand to stop her.

“I’m joking,” he said, chuckling lightly afterward.

Her lips snapped closed and she sat back in her chair, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You looked like you were ready to give me hell, so I figured I’d better clear that up quickly,” he continued.

Janelle had to smile in response. “Not quite hell, but I was going to say a few things.”

He nodded, his laughter subsiding. “I know it. But I’d like for us to have a nice dinner, to get to know each other better. So if it makes you feel better, we won’t call this a date. Besides, it’s probably better that way.”

Now she was offended again, or at least she thought she should be. But maybe not, since she’d been telling herself all day long that this wasn’t a date. She admitted only to herself that for the first time in a very long time, she was thrown off—even marginally—by a man.

“I would like to have a nice dinner, as well. So I won’t ask why it’s better not to call this a date.”

But she just had, hadn’t she? Maybe she should just leave.

“When I date a female, we focus on getting to know each other, and if that’s pleasing to us both, we take it to the next level,” he stated as if he were reading a report at a meeting.

“The next level being sex?” she asked without her normal processing-before-speaking rule.

He lifted a hand and smoothed down his tie, the motion confident, probably overly so, but intriguing at the same time. If she had to sum up Ballard Dubois right at this moment, she’d peg him as a conceited, self-important businessman who was used to getting exactly what he wanted. Which to her and for the purpose she was here for tonight was going to mean she had her work cut out for her, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to go that route just to get his family’s support.

“Yes, the next level being sex,” he answered.

“So you have a very methodical way of dating, I see.” Whereas she had a method of her own—don’t do it!

“I like to look at it as logical structuring,” was his reply. He leaned forward, pushing his menu to the side, his dreamy brown eyes holding her gaze captive. “It is logical to date before sleeping with someone because it clarifies the understanding between the two adults before their focus shifts to more physical pleasures. Once that understanding is perfectly clear, future dealings are smoother.”

“And by future dealings you mean for the time you wish to continue sleeping with her. What happens when that time is up?” she asked, curious and simultaneously annoyed at his candid nonchalance when it came to dating and relationships.

“You’re angry,” he said with a nod. “Let’s change the subject, since this is not a date.”

Janelle did not want to change the subject. She wanted to leave. She wanted to get as far away from this infuriating, egotistical man as she could. But if she didn’t get this out of the way now, she’d have another bullheaded man to deal with and she really wasn’t up for that battle either. So she stayed for dinner, ate her food, participated in the basic conversation and counted the minutes until she could slip that key card into the door of her room and get the hell away from Ballard Dubois!

* * *

Ballard had insisted on walking her to her door. He knew that their evening had started out strenuous but was pleased that eventually, it had warmed into a pleasant experience. He’d asked her about her business, which calmed and animated her. The way in which she spoke about her events was both passionate and professional and he found himself wanting to have some type of party or gathering just to have the chance to be around her again.

At one point she’d shared a story about a client who had endured one disastrous wedding planner after another until finally contracting with her Alluring Affairs. She’d laughed and he’d felt as if he’d been punched in the chest, the air so swiftly leaving him at the sound.

A strong physical reaction, he’d realized, and had proceeded with the evening, not giving it much more thought.

Now, standing in front of her with her back to the door of her room, he couldn’t help but think of the way he’d felt in the restaurant, because he was feeling the same way now. Seeing her face unobscured by a mask tonight had been a huge plus, but then, he’d already known she was a very attractive woman. The slight upward slant of her eyes, her full lips and the smooth milk-chocolate tone of her skin had blood rushing quickly through his veins.

“Ballard?”

He blinked as he heard his name on her lips, recovering quickly from his momentary speechlessness as he stared at her.

“A good-night kiss,” he whispered, moving in closer.

Her open palms immediately came to his chest, pushing slightly against him, to stop him, Ballard was certain. The problem with that motion was that it hadn’t reached her eyes. Instead, as Ballard looked at Janelle, he saw her lips parting slightly, her tongue snaking out to lick the bottom one, then retreating inside quickly as she cleared her throat.

“Yes,” he began, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his fingers along her cheekbone down to the line of her jaw. “You can agree because you want to. Or you can simply tell me no and I’ll leave.”

She hesitated, her hands still on his chest, burning the desire he was already ensconced in deeper into his soul. After another second or so of indecision her lips parted once more, a small sound escaping.

“Ye—” she began to say.

And Ballard moved in, swooping his lips down over hers, taking the plumpness into his mouth for a deep suckle before pressing his tongue inside.

She replied hungrily, grabbing the lapels of his jacket tightly in her fingers, tilting her head slightly so that when he deepened the kiss, she was more than ready. On the inside, Ballard quivered, his entire body vibrating in reaction to her proximity, her scent, her taste. His hands cupped her face, slipping back until his fingers were tangled in the thick mass of her hair, holding her head steadily where he wanted it, where he could plunder her mouth mercilessly.

He pressed her into the door, his body flush against hers, his rigid erection most likely felt by her as he did. The fact that they were in a hotel hallway, that at any moment someone could come out of another room or off the elevator and see them, lingered somewhere in the back of his mind. Alongside was the fact that they’d gone to great lengths to clarify that this was not a date, and if it had been, it was still too soon for a reaction such as this, a joining of passion like this. But he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t even consider pulling his lips, his hands, his body away from hers at this moment. It felt too good, felt...almost...right.

It was Janelle who made the move to break away. Simultaneously releasing his jacket and turning her head away from him, she gasped once for breath before saying in a very quiet voice, “Good night, Ballard.”

He released her then. Of course, he had no idea how when his body was sending every sign possible indicating it wanted to stay precisely where it was. Still, he took the necessary steps backward, even cleared his throat to let her know he was still standing there since she wouldn’t look at him.

“Good night, Janelle,” he said, and forced himself to walk away.

This was not the norm for either of them, Ballard suspected, but most assuredly not for him. He needed time to breathe some fresh air, to clear his mind, to let this raging erection subside and to figure out just what he planned to do next where Janelle Howerton was concerned.


Chapter 4 (#ulink_1c1298f4-5897-54b2-a723-5ada02848f02)

She’d spent the morning returning phone calls from vendors—the caterer was locked in, the stellar menu including a great grilled Maine lobster with chive ricotta that Janelle had been privy to tasting a week ago. Vicki was contracted for the floral arrangements; Janelle knew she didn’t need to do more than send Vicki an email with the date, time and colors, and everything would be taken care of from there.

That was the type of rhythm their friendship had. Whenever she booked a wedding, she referred the bridal party to Sandra for their wardrobe and to Vicki for the flowers. Likewise, her friends referred their clients to her for all their event-planning needs. They were a solid unit, just as Janelle thought a couple should be, complementing each other in business and on a personal level.

Something she and Ballard Dubois did not do.

And why she was even thinking about Ballard for the billionth time today, she had no idea. When she’d arrived home after her dinner with Ballard, her father had already been gone. She’d written him a short note saying she’d met and had dinner with Ballard but that they hadn’t had the opportunity to really get into the political discussion. She strategically left out that it had been because they’d been too busy talking about her job and his to get around to speaking about whether he and his company would back her father’s campaign. Darren would bring that up the first chance he got, so she made a note to be prepared for that conversation.

Ballard was an extremely proud man who took running his family business very seriously. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who was simply along for the ride, taking what was given to him. No, he clearly worked very hard for the company, his vision for expansion that he’d shared with her seeming very promising. So much so she’d found herself offering to help him announce the new locations via a spectacular opening event. Surprisingly, he’d been very agreeable to that suggestion.

Dinner had turned out well, considering how it had begun. And the good-night kiss. Damn. That was all she could think of to describe it.

Janelle’s fingers froze over her keyboard with that thought. She’d been typing budget figures into her accounting database but now couldn’t do anything but remember last night.

That kiss.

It had been just...so...damn, again.

With a sigh, Janelle sat back in her chair, turning so that she was now facing the window. It was nearing six o’clock in the evening, so some of the local fishermen were pulling into dock with the second part of their haul for the day. Over the next few months traffic at the dock would slow to almost nonexistence as the winter chill settled over their little shipping town. Farther up the road, she could see more houses like the one they’d renovated that also sheltered local businesses. Most of them would be closing up for the winter. The fresh seafood market was one. Another was the gift shop that specialized in Wintersage trinkets handmade by Selia DuVane, an eighty-something-year-old lifelong town resident who used the colder months and lack of tourists to replenish her stock.

Black lampposts occupying each corner were now draped in orange-and-brown ribbons signifying the imminent arrival of fall, at which time the town wholeheartedly adopted the harvest decor. Staring out at the traditional, the safe and steady she knew she could rely on, calmed Janelle. Whereas each time her thoughts drifted to Ballard Dubois, which had been too many times to count, her heart rate increased, worry tapping an annoying rhythm against her temples.

“Whoa, she’s in deep thought. Maybe we should go.”

She heard Vicki’s voice from behind and turned in her chair.

“Please, that’s the best time to sit down and find out what’s on her mind,” Sandra quipped, already entering Janelle’s office and taking a seat in one of the honey-colored guest chairs that complemented her light oak desk and the warm beige-painted walls.

“Nothing’s on my mind but work,” Janelle told them with a sigh of resignation. The numbers she was crunching would have to wait a little longer.

Vicki had followed Sandra’s lead, taking a seat in the matching guest chair. This was after she’d glanced at Sandra, then at Janelle. Something was going on.

“What’s up with you two?”

Sandra shook her head. “Not a chance,” she said, waving a finger, one long fuchsia-painted nail in front of her. “You’ve been closed in this office all day either on the phone or staring at that computer. Now, I know we’re all busy but we never forget Monday nights. Never,” she reiterated.

Janelle sat back in her chair, clasping her fingers together as she looked at her friends. A part of her wanted to curse the fact that she had completely forgotten about their weekly meeting. Another part wanted to moan, because she could use a drink right now.

“I’m sorry—I had a lot of catching up to do since I took those days to go up to Boston and take care of the party for Rebecca. I just got caught up. We can go now if you want.”

Sandra shook her head once more. “Or we can sit right here while you tell us what’s going on.”

“She doesn’t have to tell us, Sandra,” Vicki chimed in. “We know what’s bothering her. The same thing that’s been on all of our minds today. We might as well get it out in the open.”

Janelle couldn’t help but feel a bit confused, even though she’d figured there was something wrong, with the way they’d both come in here. “What’s been on our minds, Vicki?”

Sandra rolled her eyes, picking at nonexistent lint on her skirt. “It’s not a big deal. Vicki’s just being melodramatic, as she’s been known to be before.”

Vicki frowned. “No. I’m being realistic and I’m sharing my feelings with my two closest friends. That is what friends do, isn’t it?” she proposed, arching an eyebrow at Sandra, who refused to look at her.

“Okay, you two, what is it?” Janelle finally asked.

“My brother took a job working on Oliver Windom’s campaign. Vicki thinks it’s a big deal. She thinks this election business might get weird for us, working together and being friends,” Sandra said in what sounded like one breath.

“That’s not what I said,” Vicki told Sandra, then looked at Janelle. “I was just concerned about us having to choose sides. We’ve been friends forever. Now your father is running for the House of Representatives and Sandra’s brother is working for his biggest opponent. That’s a huge conflict.”

Great, the election again. Janelle was officially tired of the pending election and it was still weeks away. Sure, she was proud of her father, always had been, but she just did not need this added drama in her life. Having dinner with a guy that she normally would stay a couple of states away from and now watching one of her friends stress over something that shouldn’t be an issue for either of them. Still, with a deep inhale and slow exhale, she understood where Vicki was coming from. She also knew that all her frustration was not coming from this election.

“There’s no conflict for me,” she told them. “This is a free country—vote for who you want. All I ask is that you remain informed while doing so.”

Sandra laughed. “Exactly. Do what you want. Hasn’t that always been our motto?”

Vicki smiled. “Yes, it has. But you sound like an infomercial,” she told Janelle.

“What? Why? I’m just saying that there are two things never to be discussed at work—politics and religion. Freedom to worship who or what you want as well as to go to the polls and put in your ballot.”

“And you don’t care if we don’t vote for your dad?” Vicki persisted.

Without thinking—actually, sick and tired of having been thinking on one particular subject all day—Janelle let her head fall back on her chair. She closed her eyes, bringing her fingers up to massage her temples. “Girl, please, I am so sick of thinking about my father’s campaign and what he needs to win this election. I don’t know why it’s my job to secure this last bit of support for him. Why’d I have to go out with the stuffy, arrogant man just to get his vote? Damn.”

The second the diatribe was complete, Janelle recognized her mistake. Her head jerked up to both ladies staring at her, Sandra with an elegantly arched eyebrow lifted in question, Vicki with her mouth gaped open.

“You went out with a man?” Sandra asked slowly.

Vicki held up a finger. “Correction—a stuffy, arrogant man.”

Janelle sighed. “Damn. Again,” she muttered. “I can already see we’re not going to leave this building without me telling you this, so here it goes. And before I start, it’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. Understand?”

Sandra and Vicki shared a conspiratorial look, then turned their full attention back to her.

“His name is Ballard Dubois. My father wants his family’s support for the campaign. He asked me to go out with him to gain that support. I wasn’t going to, or rather, I didn’t want to but I felt trapped. You know how my father is,” she said, letting out another sigh, then looking down at her own neatly manicured nails. She hated how compelled she felt to please her father, to make up for the embarrassment she and her failed attempt at marriage had caused years ago.

“Anyway, I did that party for Rebecca over the weekend and just my luck, Ballard Dubois was in attendance,” she continued, refusing to reflect on the past another second of this day.

“Okay, just for clarification,” Sandra said, leaning forward, her legs crossed, “you are talking about the Ballard Dubois. Forbes Top Ten Richest Men Under Forty for the last six years. He was on the cover of GQ just a few months ago with those sexy-ass eyes and was reported to be involved with Alaya Bentley, the next Diahann Carroll of the movie screen.”

Of course that was the Ballard Dubois she was speaking of, and all that irrelevant information Sandra had just offered, Janelle had learned just this morning when she’d continued looking into his life via Google.

“That Ballard Dubois?” Vicki echoed the query.

Janelle tried to reroute their thoughts, and her own, for that matter. “Ballard Dubois who is next in line to take over Dubois Maritime Shipping, the successful businessman with enough power and influence to bring my father the final votes he needs to clinch this election. That’s the one I’m referring to.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Sandra sat back in her chair. “Continue.”

They were thinking something, Janelle could tell, and whatever it was, she didn’t want to hear it. She just did not want to go there.

“So anyway, we end up dancing together. I didn’t know who he was and he didn’t know who I was until the end of the dance. Then he asked me to dinner and I agreed because of my father’s request. I figured since fate was lending a hand, I’d just get the deed over with. We went to dinner last night and now I’m home. Deal done.”

There was silence as she finished speaking, silence and staring. Janelle was on the receiving end of those knowledgeable stares that only people who knew things like when she’d had her first period, her first kiss, her first sexual experience, could dish out. In essence, they knew all her firsts, which meant they probably knew her as well as she knew herself. Damn was beginning to be the theme of the day for her.

“And which deal would that be? Hot sweaty sex with that fine-ass, rich-ass man?”

Leave it to Sandra to keep things in perspective. Janelle waited, knowing instinctively that Vicki would follow up. See, she knew her friends just as well as they knew her.

“Or did you get the support your father needed?” Vicki asked—as expected.

“Hell, if she went for the hot, sweaty sex, then that instantly sealed the political deal. Please, tell me I’m right,” Sandra implored with her signature smile. The one that made you believe you could do whatever it was she was so excited about and at the same time made men want to fall at her feet.

Janelle simply shook her head. “There was no sex and we didn’t talk enough about politics for me to secure his support.”

Vicki looked confused “So you just ate? No talking, no nothing.”

“We talked,” Janelle replied simply. “We talked about my job and about his job. About his take on dating and how absurd I thought it was.”

Sandra interrupted quickly. “You mean to tell me someone else has a dating criteria like you and you disagreed with him?”

“First, I do not have a criteria. I just choose not to date. Second, he has this system—first date, discussion about where this could lead, when they’ll have sex, when it will end. Nonsense like that is what I disagree with.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Vicki offered. “You could think of it as having a business plan, which we all do.”

“Plenty of people have made sex a viable business,” Sandra began, holding up a hand to stop Janelle’s instant protest. “But not you, and I don’t think Dubois either. The problem may be that both of you are overthinking this. Just go with the flow. Sleep together if you want. Move on if you have to,” she finished.

“You sound like those girls we talked about back in college,” Janelle added with a grin of her own. The Silk Sisters had always been the most sought-after females in school, the prettiest, most times the richest and the majority of the time the most difficult to attain. That had been their reputation and now, looking at them as adults, they seemed to be in the same boat. Janelle wondered why that thought made her worry.

“I’m not saying you should pick up your tramp card and hit the streets,” Sandra corrected. “But, Janelle, it’s been five years since that mess with Jack. That’s five years since we all discovered he was an asshole. Not just you and not by yourself. We were there, remember.”

Oh, how she remembered. Janelle sat back again, looking out the window this time. She didn’t want to think about Jack Trellier or their wedding that never happened, didn’t want to think about how embarrassed and betrayed she’d felt that day and the hundreds of days to follow. And she definitely did not want to think about the secret she still kept from her best friends.

“I agree,” Vicki said. “It’s time to move on.”

Janelle almost said she had moved on. She almost argued that they were completely off base and that her reservations about dating, casual or otherwise, were not rooted in the broken heart her former fiancé had handed to her on a silver platter and the shame he’d served her as dessert. But these were her friends, and if she could limit her dishonesty with them, then she would.

“This is a business deal for my father. It’s not personal,” she reminded them when she looked their way again.

“Did you talk about politics at all during dinner?” Sandra asked.

“No,” Janelle replied.

“Did he kiss you good-night?” was Vicki’s question.

Janelle sighed again, the memory bringing a soft smile to her lips. “It was one hell of a good-night kiss, too.”

Sandra was instantly smiling. “Then that means the hot steamy sex is imminent. Let’s get to the Quarterdeck, order our drinks and discuss what you should wear for this night of seduction.”

Vicki stood, joining Sandra on their way out the door.

“Ah, we don’t have another date scheduled. I mean, he lives in Boston and I’m here and I was just going to send him an email asking about my father’s campaign, then maybe follow that with a call in a week or so. That’s all,” she told them frankly.




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