“All
rise.”
Spectators and participants in the Wellington High Court rose as one. Day one
of the defamation case brought by Randall Thorne, founder of Thorne Financial
Enterprises, against Syrius Lake had begun.
Seated
behind his father in the front row of the gallery, Nick Thorne frowned as his
younger brother slipped into the empty seat beside him. “You’re late,” Nick
muttered without heat. Adam was always late, even while on holiday.
The
judge bustled in and motioned for everyone to take their seats.
“Would
you look at that?” Adam whispered, nudging Nick. “Little Jordan Lake, all
grown up and pretty as a picture.”
Nick
tilted his head and flicked a glance to his right. He’d noticed her earlier,
surprised at how demure she looked with her hair tied back, wearing a white
blouse and a knee-length black skirt. Everyone
here would be more used to seeing her in the tabloids, partying it up with
some rock star or other, her golden hair flowing and plenty of long, smooth
leg on display. She was every inch the heiress, daughter of one of the richest
and most flamboyant men in New Zealand.
Adam
leaned in close. “I’m surprised you’ve never considered hooking up with her.
An alliance with the Lake princess would be one way to bury this stupid
hatchet that’s been the bane of our lives forever.”
“She’s
more your type than mine,” Nick murmured, settling back in his seat as his
father turned his head and sent him a disapproving look.
It was
true. Jordan and Adam were rebels whereas Nick was the duty-driven,
responsible one. The brothers could almost pass as twins with their olive
coloring, dark hair and brows and their father’s tall broad frame. But Adam
with his designer stubble, flashy suits and bad boy demeanor was far removed
from the quieter, more conservative Nick.
“True,”
Adam whispered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “but I live in London.”
The
infamous feud between Randall Thorne and Syrius Lake had tainted their whole
lives, especially their late mother’s, a former close friend of Syrius’ wife,
Elanor. Nick felt a pang of compassion for the woman sitting at the end of the
row in the aisle to his right. Elanor had spent thirty years in a wheelchair
because of Nick’s father, all the more galling because she and his mother were
once national ballroom dancing competitors and partners in their own dancing
studio.
“You
can’t help your looks, big brother,” Adam went on, “but you’re still not a bad
catch. CEO of the biggest privately-owned finance company in New Zealand…”
“Not
yet,” Nick said tersely.
“Soon.”
His brother waved a nonchalant hand toward Jordan Lake. “Cultivate something
with her. It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it.”
Their
father turned again, this time with a stern look at Adam.
The
respective counsels droned on. Nick shifted impatiently. He’d felt duty-bound
to stand by his father today on the first day of the trial but there was no
way he could afford to be here all day, every day for the next week or however
long the trial took. That would fall to Adam who’d come home for a few weeks
holiday and to support his father through the trial.
To
his right, Nick caught a flash of tanned leg as Jordan Lake shifted. His eyes
lingered on her black pump-clad foot as it bounced up and down. Was she as
bored and impatient as he was? Hell, she had nowhere else to be. She didn’t
work, unless you counted the pursuit of a good time work.
The
hairs on the back of his neck stirred and Nick looked up. The heiress was
watching him, a cool and amused slant to her mouth. Then she tilted her head
toward her mother and whispered in her ear.
Adam
cast him an amused glance, seeing the direction of his gaze. “You know you
want to,” he murmured.
Nick
gave his brother a wry smile. It was great having him around. Nick missed him,
even though their father constantly played them off against each other,
unheeding of Adam’s wish to have nothing to do with the family business.
Randall
raised them with an abiding fascination for money but Adam preferred to be at
the cutting edge while Nick liked to have his finger on the pulse, maintaining
and building strength. Adam departed four years ago to live his dream as a
trader in London’s stock exchange.
At the
break, his father and lawyer seemed supremely confident, Randall declaring
none too softly that he intended to annihilate Syrius Lake, whatever it took.
With a sinking heart, Nick realized that if it wasn’t this case, it would be
something else. Without his mother’s tempering influence, Randall would stop
at nothing to get his revenge – and that directly impacted on Nick’s future.
He intended to be named successor of Thorne Financial Enterprises when his
father retired in a few week’s time. If his father retired…
Adam’s
words played over in his mind. Could he honestly consider cultivating
something with Jordan Lake, putting an end to the bitterness their fathers had
supped on for three decades? The more he thought about it, the more he agreed
with Adam. His eyes followed the swing of her ponytail as she walked ahead of
him back into the courtroom and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Jordan Lake would be the ultimate takeover.
A few
days later, Nick stirred as the mattress shifted and the woman next to him
rose and walked into the bathroom. Sated, a little sleepy from the late nights
he’d been keeping since his brother hit town, he wondered idly if he’d drifted
off.
In a
few short weeks, Adam would be gone, back to the high-velocity stock exchange
world he ruled. Privately, Nick worried how long his brother could keep the
pressure up. He might be flavor of the month now, lauded by all and making an
absolute fortune. But that was the thing about the share market. There was a
never-ending supply of hungry young sharks circling, just waiting until
someone made a mistake. Adam had been one of them not so long ago.
Nick
stretched and plumped up his pillows, resting one arm behind his head. The
bathroom door opened and a tall, slender blonde walked into the room. She
moved to the dresser mirror, her arms raised as she fiddled with her long,
tawny hair. Nick’s eyes feasted on the long line of her spine, the curvaceous
swell of her hips, and her skin, which had a luster to it even with the heavy
drapes drawn against the afternoon sun. He liked how at ease she seemed about
her nudity.
“Got
time for a drink or are you rushing off?” he asked, aware that his question
would surprise her. They didn’t make a habit of small talk after their love
making sessions.
The
woman flicked him a curious look in the mirror and continued twisting her hair
expertly into a knot that looked at once messy but sophisticated.
“Let me
guess.” Nick clicked his tongue. “Cocktails. The Zeuss Bar.”
Again,
he felt the wash of cool blue in her glance as she turned. “A little early for
me.” She bent and plucked something from the floor.
Clothing would be scattered all over, he thought. It was always like that. The
moment they were inside the room, there was no decorum, no neatly undressing
and folding and hanging. Sometimes they were lucky to get out of here without
ripped garments.
Today
she’d worn a short shift dress, the color of fuchsia, with a strap over one
shoulder tied in a big extravagant bow. Easy to get in – and out – of, and
entirely suitable for cocktails in any of the bars she was frequently snapped
at, although never with him.
Despite
her accessible outfit, it had still seemed to take an age to get his hands on
her today. Time moved like a slow-motion movie clip when he entered this suite
at the five-star hotel every Friday. Each image burned into his brain: the
silkiness and fragrance of her creamy skin, the tumble of her hair as he
tugged it into disarray, her sighs as he bared her to his hungry mouth and
hands. As if she too had pictured this moment, his kisses and touch, the way
he tore at her clothing. As if she too, had longed for it every day between.
Each set of images stayed with him, replayed over and over in his mind
throughout the week until he could have her again.
Once a
week for four months, and Nick knew nothing about her, about the person,
except for what she bought to his bed.
“I saw
you on TV last night,” he commented as she untwisted her panties from her
dress. “A short, puffy black skirt.” He paused. “And a tall puffy pale man.”
The
woman daintily stepped into her underwear. “Not me. I stayed home last night.”
Nick’s
mouth went dry at the little shimmy her hips did to facilitate the placement
of her underwear. “I’d know those legs anywhere,” he countered mildly. “I
could sculpt them.”
She
blinked, shaking out her dress. Probably wondering what on earth did it have
to do with him, he thought.
“I do
have a short black puffy skirt, and,” a breathy huff of amusement burst from
her lips, “a tall puffy man or two, but it wasn’t last night.”
She
raised her arms fluidly and the dress floated down like a pink cloud, veiling
her body.
Nick
gazed at her, desire curling its claws into him again. Even after two
tumultuous orgasms in less than two hours, he wanted her again, quite
savagely. “Where do you go, Jordan Lake, when you leave my bed?”
From "Friday Night Mistress" by Jan Colley
Silhouette Desire March 2009
ISBN:
978 0373769322
Copyright: © 2008 Jan Colley
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher.
The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. For more
romance information surf to:
http://www.eHarlequin.com
