Eve of Passion Page 7

  His words had been harsh, like tiny blades pricking at her skin. She’d huddled on the bed, curling into a fetal position for the first half of his little speech. Then when he’d called her silly and naive, she’d leaped off the bed, reaching for the lamp on the nightstand. She yanked the cord from the wall, holding it comfortably in her palm, ready to swing again if his little tirade was going to shift to the physical again. Her other hand fisted at her side, she was so angry, so betrayed, so hurt.

  She didn’t speak, hadn’t said a word, simply stared him down, letting him know that she was ready, waiting for him to make another move.

  He didn’t.

  Jack Trellier and his 3.8 grade point average, his bright and shining future as the new head of Trell Cosmetics, his butter complexion and light green eyes, walked out of her bedroom and out of her life.

  Jerking up in the bed, Janelle pulled her sheets to her neck, her breathing erratic, eyes searching the bedroom she’d used on the Howerton estate since she’d been born. She blinked and blinked again, breathed until she was calm, until the demons that liked to invade her sleep periodically were gone. Then she lay back and cried, tears warm and steady streaming down her face, falling to her pillow.

  Chapter 7

  Janelle stopped walking. She took a step back and glanced at the newsstand once more. Her heart had begun a stilted rhythm in her chest and her eyes blinked repeatedly, most likely in the hopes of convincing her that what she thought she saw wasn’t possible. Luckily, she wore dark shades, so the other customers in the convenience store where she’d stopped to pick up a pack of gum and an iced tea in lieu of lunch wouldn’t notice her staring or her disbelief.

  Finally, she picked up the magazine, gasping, as close up, the picture looked even more intimate than she’d known it to be—if that were even possible. The caption beneath the picture stated “See more inside,” so she flipped through the glossy pages, her stomach twisting the moment she looked down to her own smiling face. She closed her eyes then, whispering every prayer she could think of before reopening them.

  It was no use. She was still in the picture, her arms wrapped around Ballard’s neck as she stared up at him wantonly. Yes, wantonly, dammit! Her hands shook as she continued to hold the magazine, stuck standing absolutely still in that spot. Until someone bumped her from behind.

  “Oh, I read that entire article. They make a lovely couple, don’t you think?” the older lady wearing a large-brimmed black hat with a bright red cardinal on the right side said to her with a smile.

  Janelle had to force her own smile in return. Hell, she had to prompt herself to speak in return.

  “I don’t really know. Does the article say they’re a couple?” she asked, ever thankful for the Ray-Ban Jackie O sunglasses that were a birthday gift from Sandra.

  The woman waved a jewel-clad hand, her purse slipping back on her arm as she moved. “Well, you know, it says ‘unofficial’ but just look at them, all tangled up together. I always feel like it’s watching our own version of royalty when Bostonians fall in love. Just think, the Howertons are about to be political superstars and the Dubois are shipping monarchs. You know, I went to school with Leandra Dubois. She’s a dear.”

  The woman said more, something about a lavish Boston wedding with politicians and movie stars and babies, and Janelle wanted to scream, or faint, whichever was more inconspicuous. Knowing neither was realistic, she gingerly placed the magazine back on the stand and wished the older lady a nice day. Then she got the hell out of that store, reaching into her purse to find her cell phone so she could call Sandra or Vicki or both of them and ask if anyone in Wintersage had seen that magazine. Both of them were out of the office and not answering their cells and she was now going to be late if she didn’t hustle to meet Everley Madison.

  Everley was an anxious bride-to-be who had requested an over-the-top glitz-and-glam wedding to take place on New Year’s Eve. She was a new client who had attended the Harford charity event and had traced Janelle through calls to Rebecca’s office. Since Rebecca was still out of town, Everley had insisted Janelle handle her wedding. Never one to turn down new business, no matter how busy she already was, Janelle had scheduled the Friday meeting and made her way up to Boston.

  Now the heels of her black suede booties clicked along the brick sidewalks of Boston’s historic Beacon Hill. She was meeting Everley at one of the antiques shops on Charles Street because there was a chandelier that she wanted to use for the reception. Janelle tried to clear her mind of the magazine and the suggestion that she and Ballard were “Boston’s new sweethearts,” as the headline had touted. She focused instead on business, on sharing the ideas and thoughts she’d been able to come up with for Everley’s big day. The thrill of a new event rippled through her as she crossed the street, a small smile playing on her lips. She saw the limousine parked in front of the shop where she was meeting Everley but didn’t pay it much attention. Actually, she figured it was Everley’s since the twenty-three-year-old pop singer had just released her second platinum CD.

  “Yaay!” Everley squealed the moment Janelle walked into the quaint little shop.

  She ran to Janelle, all ninety-five pounds of female with golden-blond hair hanging in deep waves to her butt, piercings in her nose, her bottom and top lips, and her eyebrow, and the really-small-but-still-there chipped diamond that twinkled from the corner of her mouth.

  “Hello,” Janelle said, going into the embrace but not really steadying herself for Everley’s body slamming into hers. She stumbled back just a step, then centered herself with a chuckle. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Janelle hadn’t really talked to Everley at the Harford party—more like she’d been introduced and Everley’s attention had stayed fixated on the drink in her hand and the gorgeous guy on her arm. Still, the moment she received the call about this lavish and highly publicized wedding, Janelle had immediately thanked Rebecca and begun working. She’d been doing double time at Alluring Affairs with the homecoming dance just around the corner and Everley’s requests clogging her inbox and her cell phone. This meeting was to get some things set in concrete so they could move forward with the fast-approaching event that was sure to be touted as one of the most talked-about of the upcoming year.

  “It’s right over here and it’s gorgeous!” Everley continued, excitement edging her voice as she moved back the few feet until she was once again standing right next to the chandelier.

  Janelle had to admit, of all the things she’d expected from today’s visit, this wasn’t it. Between Everley’s party-girl persona, her sexually explicit music and her future husband, an NBA player who was fire on the court and a ticking time bomb on the streets, she thought she might have a very stressful job on her hands. But as she moved closer, reaching out to touch the bronze-colored crystals that made up this most unique piece, she could do nothing but smile.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she told Everley.

  “It’s something called Golden Teak Strass crystal. That’s what he said,” Everley commented with a wave of her hand toward someone who Janelle suspected was the owner of the shop.

  He was a tall, thin man, his face weathered and patient as he stood to the side, Everley’s bodyguards standing near the front door and a staff-only door to the back of the shop.

  “It costs 7,000,” the man added in a surprisingly strong voice.

  “I already told you price doesn’t matter. I’ve got this,” Everley said with a roll of her eyes. She hadn’t even turned back to look at the owner as she’d replied.

  Janelle glanced at the older man and offered a conciliatory smile.

  “So this is the design idea you want to follow?” she asked Everley. “It’s elegant and this color is very unique.”

  “Right! That’s what I want—elegant and unique. I want every guest to remember this wedding for the rest of their lives,” sh
e continued. “I want my gown to be this color, too, and everyone else will wear ecru. It’ll be gorgeous.”

  She was right about that, Janelle thought with even more surprise. At the office she’d come up with some preliminary ideas based on Everley’s and her fiancé’s personalities. Standing here, she realized her thoughts had been totally off.

  Janelle was nodding while Everley continued to look at the chandelier. “I have the perfect venue in mind. You said you liked flowers. I think you should have them everywhere. And I know the perfect designer for your dress. She’s up-and-coming, drew up quite a buzz last spring at New York’s Fashion Week. You’ll be the first in Hollywood to wear one of her uniquely designed couture gowns.”

  Everley was practically glowing for the rest of their forty-minute conversation, which took place while the store owner wrapped the chandelier in plastic and carefully boxed it for shipment. By the time the bodyguards came to Everley, reminding her of another engagement, Janelle was flushed with excitement. The adrenaline rush of a new event, of the new possibilities, of a large glamorous wedding, always did this to her. It gave her a sense of purpose and a surge of energy that she didn’t experience in any other aspect of her life. Her father could have politics. Her brother could have the family business with his suits and ties and stuffy business meetings. As for her, she loved her job!

  That said, she was generally used to things not quite going according to plan. She prided herself on remaining calm and dealing professionally with whatever was thrown her way during an event. But then, this surprise, the one she was faced with as she walked out of the shop and saw the passenger door of the limo, the one parked there when she came in, open.

  The distance between the entrance of the shop and the curb was less than ten feet, and coming out of the limo door, shoes were visible first, black tie-ups. As both feet hit the redbrick sidewalk, her gaze continued upward to cuffed black dress pants, pleated, and a black suit jacket with the faintest gray stripe. A crisp stone-gray dress shirt with a black-and-gray paisley-print tie. The suit jacket rested on his shoulders, strong broad shoulders, and her pulse skipped a beat. Ballard’s shape-up and goatee were precisely cut, as if he’d just walked away from the barber’s chair. His strong hands moved softly down the lapels of his jacket as he stepped away from the door, looking at her with the barest hint of a smile.

  Janelle couldn’t move. She didn’t know what to say. It had been days since she’d heard from him, and actually, she hadn’t thought she would again. After their dinner on his yacht and the uncomfortable way in which it ended, she’d figured whatever physical thing had been between them had fizzled. Yesterday morning she’d sent him an email outlining her father’s campaign and requesting his support. Her father had asked her to do something for him and she wasn’t about to let a little lapse in judgment stop her from at least trying to see the job through. Ballard hadn’t responded and she’d figured that was it.

  Now, as her breasts felt full with desire, telltale throbbing starting between her legs, she knew she’d been wrong. The physical tug, the desire, the need, was still there. With a damned vengeance.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Janelle,” he said after he’d closed the distance between them and now stood directly in front of her.

  “What are you doing here?” was Janelle’s instant question. “Are you following me?”

  It seemed like a crazy question to ask but Ballard Dubois was a busy man. She doubted very seriously that he’d wanted to buy an antique today of all days, or that he’d sit in this car for almost an hour waiting to do so.

  His lips spread into that grin that was like a stroke of heat licking along her body.

  “Not following you, but definitely tracking you down so I could see you.”

  “That’s the same thing.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “I’m working, Ballard,” she said, attempting to move around him.

  “You’re finished with your meeting for the day. You only came to Boston to meet with this client and then you’re slated to head right back home. I called your office,” he added when she opened her mouth to ask how he knew her schedule.

  “Your partners told me where you would be after I indicated how desperately I needed to see you.”

  “Desperately?” She chuckled. “Ballard, we had a date, we made out a little and we let it go. It was out of the ordinary for both of us, remember?”

  He lifted a hand then, cupping her face right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Janelle immediately remembered the pictures she’d seen in the magazine, the allegations that she and Ballard were a couple, and she stepped back.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, turning her head away from his.

  He paused, then cleared his throat. “I wanted to see you. I’ve wanted to see you for the past few days. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “You didn’t call,” she told him without looking at him. “You didn’t respond to my email.”

  “We don’t always make the right decisions at the right time,” he continued. “I’m here now, exactly where I want to be. Join me for dinner.”

  Janelle was already shaking her head. “I don’t want to be in the tabloids. I don’t want people taking pictures of me and making assumptions about my life. I don’t want any of this,” she said in one breath, and felt as if she’d purged herself.

  She looked at him then, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath. “Whatever you can do for my father’s campaign would be greatly appreciated.”

  Janelle’s next words were cut off as Ballard came closer, this time cupping her face in both hands and pulling her to him so that their bodies were touching. When his lips crashed down over hers, she lost all sense of time and place and thought and...everything but him. His scent, his touch, his taste.

  She was simply...lost.

  * * *

  Dinner wasn’t what Janelle had anticipated. Not only had it not been in her original plan for the evening, but she’d never expected Ballard to show up or to take her to this place, of all the restaurants in Boston.

  The limousine pulled up in front of Area Four, a restaurant in the Kendall Square area of Cambridge. Ballard ushered her into the casual dining venue, where they ordered the best Hawaiian pizza Janelle had ever tasted. Their dinner was made complete with the orange-chocolate s’more with chocolate ice-cream sundae they shared like two high school students sitting in a ’50s malt shop.

  After dinner Ballard directed the limo to drive her home to Wintersage. When she protested, stating that she’d parked her car just a few blocks from the antiques shop, he insisted on having her car brought to her in the morning. As night had fallen and the past few hours had been some of the best times she’d ever had, Janelle wasn’t in the mood to argue.

  Ballard’s hand clasped hers, his fingers entwining with her own as they sat in the backseat of the limo. She accepted the warmth of his grasp, hadn’t even argued about how close he’d sat to her on the quiet ride back. She was tired, had been experiencing one nightmare after another each time she closed her eyes at night, so sleep hadn’t come easily in the past few days. Her head lolled back on the seat and she looked out the window.

  “I don’t know where this is going,” he said. “That’s difficult for me to say considering I like having all the facts, knowing the complete lay of the land before I explore.”

  That sounded like him. Always in control, always doing the right thing. Ballard wouldn’t have lied to his family and friends, as she had.

  “What I know for sure right at this moment is that I want to keep seeing you. I want us to continue getting to know each other.”

  “Is that the prelude into the next stage of dating? Does that mean we can have sex now?” The words were out before Janelle could think them through, the tinge of anger that had lingered every morning after s
he’d climbed from her bed lacing every syllable.

  For his part, Ballard didn’t flinch at the coolness of her questions. He didn’t release her hand, nor did he budge.

  “It’s a statement of fact. An undeniable one. I want to continue seeing you, Janelle. It’s as simple as that.”

  Nothing in life was simple. Nothing where a man and a woman were concerned was cut-and-dried. She’d learned that long ago, when she’d given her heart, her trust, her everything and had gotten slapped down and kicked to the side in return. Instinct once again told Janelle to bolt, to run for her life, for her sanity, for her protection. But instinct was stalled as Ballard’s thumb moved slowly over the back of her hand.

  “You’re a strong woman, Janelle. You’re a decisive businesswoman and a good daughter. Fear is not in your makeup. It’s not who or what you are.”

  She was shaking her head as he spoke. “You don’t know me. Don’t sit there and talk to me like you know me.”

  “I know that you’re as interested in getting to know me as I am you. I know that whatever is growing between us is not casual and it’s not dwindling.”

  “You know everything, don’t you, Ballard?”

  He pulled her closer to him then, touching a finger to her chin and turning her to face him. “I know that I want you. Can you honestly deny the same?”

  She couldn’t. Janelle knew the moment she’d climbed into his limo this afternoon that she couldn’t deny what was brewing between them. The magazine, the memories, the election—none of that changed what was. Ballard was right: she prided herself on being intelligent and strong and courageous—she’d had to be. Could she really deny him? Could she now deny what was so obviously there?

  “What we want is not always what we need,” was her response.