All Bets Are On (4 page)

Derek leaned in close to her. “I think you’re doing everything you can to resist the idea, but you just can’t help thinking: what would it be like to feel my lips on your neck, kissing you here?” He touched her sensitive skin right below her ear, just soft enough to send a tingle shooting through her.

“You are a devil,” she whispered, as she fought the sensations moving through her.

“So I’ve been told.” He grinned. Wicked and confident. And, for a second, she thought she was doomed. She had to remember her mother. Remember the chaos in her life a moment of weakness could bring. She’d made the mistake herself a time or two. She knew better.
Focus on that, Jaclyn
.

And not on how much she wished he would kiss her right then.

The servers placed a salad in front of her. Thankful for the diversion, she tried desperately to get Derek out of her head by turning away from him to make small talk with Mr. Wells, who was seated next to her. And yet, even though she wasn’t touching Derek, she could still feel his heat moving over her. Calling to her. All that wine in the limo had to be the reason she was so intensely aware of him.

He reached across the table for the breadbasket, his shirt tightening around the hard muscle of his bicep. She imagined touching it, fantasized about what it would be like to feel his arms wrapped around her. Pulling her against him and holding her tight. Wondered how it would feel to run her fingers across the hardness of his skin and grasp hold.

Heat spiked within her. She picked up her glass of water once again and downed half of it.

“Is everything all right?” His silky voice reached deep inside her to caress her core. “You seem flushed.”

She swallowed. “Absolutely.” No matter how handsome the man was, no matter how much she might actually want to, she was not sleeping with him.

Chapter Seven

Derek couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman next to him. Her transformation from mouse into a dro
p-dead beauty who had all the men at this table mesmerized, was truly something.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she said.

“What?” He hoped she’d been reading his mind and was thinking the same thing as him: race you to the hotel elevator!

She held up a piece of chicken speared across her fork. “Not rubbery at all.” She looked up at him. What he could have sworn were dull moss-green eyes just the other day were now sparkling green jewels. She smiled a knock-em dead smile that had him wishing they were alone in a room upstairs, away from the crowd, his business, and the rubber chicken.

When the chocolate mousse arrived, he watched her dip her spoon into the creamy mixture and bring it to her mouth. The way her lips moved over it and the look of absolute rapture filling her face had his cock stiffening all over again. He wanted to see that look while she was lying beneath him. There was a touch of whipped cream on her lips from the mousse and he longed to lean forward and lick it off, slowly and thoroughly.

But so far she seemed immune to his attempts at seduction. This was quickly moving beyond his wanting to win a bet; now he just wanted her. Bad. He moved his hand over her knee and slowly drew it up her thigh. Her eyes snapped to his, widening with surprise. He smiled and leaned in close. Close enough to smell her sweet scent. “Soon the music will start. I hope you will give me a dance.”

Much to his growing frustration, she dropped her hand over his, stopping his ascent to heaven. “I’m not sure.”

“Don’t worry. We don’t have to have sex. That is unless you want to,” he whispered, knowing damn well she wasn’t going to escape him tonight. Come hell or high water, they were going to have sex, incredible sex. All night long. He never lost a bet, and he never failed at getting a woman he had his sights on into his bed. And he had this one front, lined, and centered.

Her cheeks blushed a sweet red as his hand dropped to the inside of her thigh. She shifted, blocking his access to her heat when the waiter arrived to refill the wine glasses. Even though she’d been slowing down, she picked up her glass and almost downed it in one gulp. He grinned. Oh yeah, he was getting to her.

His phone rang. He stared down at his display then answered. “Minos, how’s the buyout going?” He glanced over at Fredricks, who was looking a little green around the gills.

“We’ve bought a lot of the stock, but it’s going to be close. Don’t know if we can secure a majority.”

“Keep on it.”

“We might need to create a little disaster, something to cause a dip in shareholder confidence to get them to sell. I was thinking perhaps a fire in an empty warehouse.”

Derek thought back to his mother’s comments about him being too soft. Too lenient.

“Do it,” he said, and then hung up the phone.

“Is everything all right?” Jaclyn asked.

“Better than all right. The band has just started up. Would you care to dance?” Before she could deny him, he stood, swept her into his arms and onto the dance floor, where he whirled her around in time to the music. His hands moved up the bare skin of her back as he pulled her against him; her hips swayed softly against his erection, giving him sweet friction. They fit together nicely. He liked the feel of her in his arms. The feel of her breasts pressed against him and, for a moment, he could almost forget where he was and why he was there.

Why she was there.

If things continued the way he’d planned, even if she wanted to run for the hills, she wouldn’t. Skittish or not, she was attracted to him. She might like to deny it, but her hands kept moving up his arms, lingering on his chest. Her pulse was racing, her breathing shallow. Her defenses were definitely weakening. His fingertips grazed her skin, raising goose bumps. He shifted, moving her leg between his, letting her feel exactly how much he wanted her. The pressure of her thigh against his cock had him longing to whisk her out of the ballroom and into his limo right then and there. But he couldn’t, not yet. The timing had to be perfect.

He held her close and imagined dancing her toward the stage, slipping behind the curtain, lifting his hand up her skirt, and making her moan—

His mother was suddenly standing next to them in the middle of the dance floor—the proverbial cold shower after a hot, wet dream. “I have to run,” she said. “But I wanted to stop by and tell you how wonderful it was to meet you tonight, Jaclyn.”

Jaclyn jerked back from him, obviously lost in her own salacious thoughts, and turned to his mother, her face flushed. He was pleased to see he wasn’t the only one affected by their closeness.

“Thank you,” Jaclyn said, her voice sounding slightly raw. “You, too.”

“I hope we’ll get to see you again.”

“You will, I’m certain,” Derek responded for her and felt her tense slightly at his words. What exactly was his mother up to? Fishing?

“By the way, good job with Fredricks,” his mother said and smiled that feline smile of hers. “Can I have a word?”

“Now?” Disbelief coursed through him.

“Yes.”

Derek reluctantly took his arms away from Jaclyn. “I’ll see you back at the table?”

She nodded and walked away.

He turned to his mother, more than a little annoyed. “What is it? What couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

She stepped into his arms and reluctantly, he moved so they wouldn’t be standing still in the middle of the dance floor and calling attention to themselves. “I have a new job for you.”

“And you couldn’t give it to me in the morning?”

“I could. But right now is so much more fun.”

His jaw stiffened as he bit back an expletive. “Fine. What is it?”

“Your little bird’s foundation. I want you to shut it down.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Safe Haven. Jaclyn’s foundation for homeless kids.”

“Yes?”

“After I met her tonight, I had it looked into.”

“All right. I’ll bite. What’d you find?”

“Someone has been embezzling the donations. You need to take her down, along with the foundation.” She stepped back from him and walked away.

Derek stood still watching his mother. He’d been with Jaclyn all night. Touching her. Holding her. If she was the least bit involved, he would have sensed it. Wouldn’t he? Or had he been too preoccupied? He looked at Jaclyn sitting at the table, her little beaded pocketbook full of her brochures clutched in her hand.

Embezzling from her foundation? From the kids she kept talking about?

No way.

Chapter Eight

Jacly
n’s head was spinning and she was growing more nervous and agitated by the minute when Derek came to her and pulled her back onto the dance floor. The words he told his mother when she’d asked if she’d see Jaclyn again, “you will, I’m certain,” kept echoing in her mind. She was fairly sure she didn’t want to see him again. He was out of her league and way, way out of her comfort zone. The more she saw him, the more she would think about him. She’d begin to dream and fantasize that maybe he was the “one” who could take away her loneliness. Who could give her that family she’d never had.

And then he’d walk away and leave her alone and empty. No. She wouldn’t go there. Certainly not with him. Tonight was all about business, about raising money for the foundation. That was all that mattered to her. Not how hot this guy was, or how he had every nerve ending in her body lit up and sparking. She couldn’t think about that. Even if there wasn’t the money at stake, and let’s not forget there was, she didn’t do casual sex. Ever.

Sex for her came only after she was in a long-term relationship, only after there was a strong commitment and a good amount of trust built up. Trust that as soon as the sun came up, Mr. Perfect wouldn’t be high-tailing it out the door. But as Derek whirled her around the floor, holding her close, his hands caressing her body, she really wished she could let herself go and be casual, just this once. But one night with Mr. Gorgeous wasn’t worth the cost.

Though he did have a way of making her laugh as he pointed out one guest after another, spilling their dirty little secrets. “The Wilcoxes are into oil. The Thortons, precious jewels, the Gallaghers, land development. And those are the Franciscans,” he said, pointing to an older couple standing by the bar. The man looked bored. The woman, whose diamonds appeared to be choking her, was laughing too loudly at another man whose face was so close to her prominently displayed heaving bosom, if he leaned in any closer, his nose would disappear into the depths of her cleavage.

“Sweatshops,” he whispered. “All over. New York, Nicaragua, and Vietnam.”

“That’s terrible.” She knew about sweatshops, and seeing these two overstuffed swine dripped in jewels made her nauseous.

“What should we do about it?” he asked, as he whirled her toward their table for another glass of wine.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I wish we could do something.”

“Lots of little kids working in windowless warehouses for twelve hour shifts, and it happens everywhere all the time. You think America is immune? Spend some time in the textile district of San Francisco or New York City or even here in Miami. Money doesn’t just talk, it screams.”

“Do you know where these places are?”

“Sure.”

“Then call a hungry journalist, leave a tip.”

“You think that would help?”

“Would it hurt?”

He thought for a moment. “It would be better if Mrs. Franciscan could be caught in one of her own warehouses.”

“How would you manage that?” she asked, wracking her brain for ways to stop them, to expose them. To make them squirm under the spotlight.

“I don’t know. It wouldn’t be easy but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

She smiled as he handed her a glass of wine, and she took a sip.

“Let’s see if you can point out the good from the bad,” he said.

She looked around her. “From this crowd of people?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you another $1,000 for your charity. See if you can pick out another scumbag in this room. Trust me, it’s like spearing fish in a barrel.”

She grinned at him and looked around. All the men were distinguished, well dressed, and dripping in money. “That one,” she gestured with a nod. “The aging one with the slicked back hair and a young woman on his arm.”

“Why, because he likes hair gel? Or because he’s with a woman more than half his age.”

She giggled. “Both.”

“Ah, well, you’d be wrong. He’s a widower and the young woman is his daughter. He’s been very distraught since the death of his wife and his daughter accompanies him everywhere.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” she said, bringing her hand to her chest. “I feel terrible for thinking the worst of him.”

“And that’s why you’re so sweet.” He smiled, his eyes locking onto hers and in that moment, she thought he was the most perfect man in the universe. Or at least her universe.

She was doomed. This had to end, and quick.

The band played a slow melody. “Would you care to dance again?”

Would she care to dance? You mean stand there in the middle of the floor with his arms wrapped around her and her head resting on his well-formed chest as they swayed to the music? Hell, no. It was time for a speedy exit. She was circling the drain and fast. But as she stared up into his big, beautiful blue eyes, instead of saying no, instead of running home as fast as her high-heeled feet would carry her, she smiled and said, “I’d love to.”

What was wrong with her? Had she no backbone? No strength to resist him at all? He whisked her back onto the floor and swept her into his arms, and she had to admit, she liked the feel of him holding her. She wasn’t ready for the night to end. A few dances and glasses of wine later and she was having a hard time extricating herself from Derek’s arms. Or even wanting to. Any more time spent clinging to his wide, strong shoulders would be a recipe for disaster. But that didn’t mean she could make herself leave.

As if reading her thoughts, he whispered into her ear. “You ready to go?” The low timbre of his voice resonated within her, tickling her insides and making her tingle. Everywhere.

She looked around them at the almost empty dance floor and nodded. He led her out the front doors and to his limo. She had to admit, she’d had a wonderful time. Not only had he been a perfect gentleman, and a lot of fun, he’d introduced her to several big hitters who seemed very interested in her foundation. She’d even scored a few donations. A successful evening all the way around. And she wasn’t ready for it to end.

She climbed into the backseat of the limo next to him, and suddenly his lips were covering hers, stealing her breath and making her stomach flutter and her head swim. Her hands pressed flush against the swell of his chest. Her breath caught as heat surged through her. Damn this man was hot. A small moan caught in her throat and she was kissing him back, pushing her tongue into his hot mouth. Giving herself to him fully.

She couldn’t let this happen. She had to stop him, somehow, someway. Then his hands touched her breasts. The pad of his thumb moving over her nipple, shooting fire through her. To her horror, a moan escaped her lips. She pulled back and tried to catch her breath, to wrestle hold of her runaway libido, when his lips fell over hers once again, sending her pulse racing and desire crawling up her belly. Yes, she would stop him. She
had
to stop him.

And she would.

In just a minute.