Eve Of Passion

Chapter 2

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

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.