Against the Rules Page 5

  My heart stuttered and then sped up as if to make up for the lost beats. That voice! The one that still haunted my nights. Surely, it couldn't be...

  I knocked on the door and pushed it open. The chair behind the desk swung around toward the door where I stood frozen. Eyes that I'd never be able to forget widened in surprise as they recognized me in turn.

  "Spare me the details. Just fix it." He hung up the phone abruptly.

  The quiet between us felt suspended in the air like the interval after a flash of lightning, never knowing when the rumble of thunder would resonate. But it would. However, I couldn't have predicted how much the boom would rattle me.

  "You."

  5

  Jax

  "What the fuck happened, John? I sent you there to seal the deal with a contract."

  My morning had been a series of fixing up other people's screw-ups, and my mood was about as sweet as a boar in a briar patch.

  John Blackburn, my lead real estate attorney, leaned back in his seat and templed his fingers, tapping them against each other and frowning as he contemplated how to answer. "It was a clusterfuck. He's asked for more time before presenting it to Council."

  I collapsed in the chair behind my desk. "I don't need to tell you how bad this could be. Who is it?"

  "I don't know. Phelps wouldn't say anything other than they were considering another offer and weren't going to rush to any decisions."

  "Fuck." I slammed my fist on my desk. I wasn't usually so pissy about a setback, but this was huge. I thought I had a lock on purchasing a building I wanted. Correction, a building I needed. Granted, it was only on a gentleman's agreement, but it had sat empty for years. I thought there was little risk involved in obtaining it.

  "Who else could possibly want that building?"

  John shrugged. "Maybe someone has the same idea you do?"

  I frowned. "If that's true, it narrows down the possibilities to about two other people. But they're not as entrenched in the downtown as I am. Their success doesn't depend on it, so I can't see them investing in it."

  Why anyone else would want the former newspaper building, I'd no idea. It would take a tremendous amount of non-cost-effective renovations to convert it to anything such as offices or apartments, or even a store. What it did have that I wanted was large open areas made of concrete and reinforced steel flooring that was necessary to hold heavy presses—or cars for a parking garage. Renovations for my purpose would be minimal by comparison. I had a lot riding on that deal, and if anyone thought I wasn't willing to play hardball, they were about to learn just how tough I could play.

  "Make this happen, John. Tell Phelps I want the contract for that building or any further investment in his renewal project from me is unlikely. We had an agreement."

  "Don't worry. We’ll get it."

  I appreciated the confidence John voiced. He did his job well, and he knew the importance of making this deal happen.

  It wasn't only good business for me; it was imperative for the growth of Passion, an independent city of about sixteen thousand people with a small-town feeling. Nestled in the foothills in Virginia, it was once nothing but a meeting point of Indian trails and wagon roads. Passion became an important hub for the railroad industry in the nineteenth century. It brought thousands of workers and accompanying them were stores, hospitals, a college, and factories that utilized the convenient rail lines. The colonists' dream to create a thriving community came true. That is until steam locomotives became a part of history, the use of passenger trains gave way to cars, and trucks took over much of the transportation system. Passion began to dry up as the railroad laid off thousands of workers, and more than half the population moved elsewhere.

  Then a few years ago came the news that Lithium had been discovered while some university geologists were evaluating a rock formation about fifteen miles out of town. I did the research. If it could be recovered, it would be huge, since the U.S. imported eighty percent of the mineral. I gambled and decided to move to Passion, my mom's birthplace and the town she been yearning to return to for years.

  It paid off. Big time.

  Passion was prime for new real estate opportunities. I had a front-row seat and more opportunities than I could keep up with. I'd decided the best long-term investment was developing businesses rather than residential areas. Most other companies chose the housing market, so I had little competition. My small company grew, both physically and financially.

  Our City Manager also had the foresight to see that many new families and businesses might locate here once the new mine was in production, but not if there was nothing else to offer them. He was determined to bring the cosmopolitan feel the small city had a few generations ago back to life, and so far, he was doing an excellent job. Citizens loved the new stores and facelifts of old ones.

  The big problem? Not enough parking. People would go elsewhere to shop or conduct business if they were too frustrated trying to find parking. Just over a year ago, I'd purchased a section of old buildings and was working on remodeling them into state-of-the-art offices, worthy of the best professionals our city, or any town within a hundred miles, had to offer. But I couldn't attract owners if they couldn't entice clients who hated to come downtown because of limited street parking. When I'd approached Phelps with the idea of turning the abandoned newspaper building on a corner in the middle of downtown into a parking garage, he'd agreed without hesitation.

  Fucking Phelps. He has to see the bigger picture! What else could be more important?

  Across from me, John shifted in his chair and crossed his leg over his opposite knee.

  My eyebrow arched. While we got along well, we didn't do idle chitchat. I respected John immensely, but he was twice my age, and we didn't have much in common outside of work. "Something else wrong?"

  "I ran into an old friend yesterday, someone I knew in high school but haven't seen since."

  Why the hell was he telling me this? "Oh?" I sorted some plans and estimates on my desk.

  "We got to talking. It turned out she’s your mother."

  I pushed the papers aside. It seemed we might have more in common than I thought. "I didn't realize you knew her."

  "As I said, it's been awhile. I hadn't known she was related to you, nor that she'd moved back to town." He held my gaze.

  I leaned back in my chair. "Why are you telling me this?"

  John looked me straight in the eye. "I'm taking her out to dinner tonight. I thought you should know."

  Well, shit! Didn't see that coming.

  "Okaaay," I said.

  "Depending on how it goes, it might not be the only time."

  "I see." While I tried to keep my expression neutral, my insides felt like they were on a Tilt-a-Whirl ride.

  "We went out a few times in high school. It was nothing serious at the time. Then she met your dad, and that was that as they say. Your dad was a super guy, and they made a great couple. Caroline and I remained friends for the rest of high school, but we didn't stay in touch after graduation. It was good to see her today, and we hit it off, just like old times."

  John shifted in his seat while I continued to stare at him. "Your dad was a great guy, Jax. I'm sorry about what happened to him. I'm sure it wasn't easy on you or your mom."

  You have no idea, I wanted to say. Instead, I nodded. "It wasn't."

  "Your mom is a wonderful woman."

  "She is. There's no one better."

  He continued to sit there, waiting for me to say something to break the awkward silence. He finally stood. "Well, just thought you should know." He turned to leave.

  "John," I said, standing. "My mom deserves nothing but the best."

  He nodded and held my gaze. "I agree."

  I admired a man who didn't back down in an uncomfortable situation. "In that case, you should know that she loves Italian food and doesn't appreciate fancy or fussy."

  He smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. "Good to know. No other warnings? No threats?"
>
  "Do I need to?"

  "No."

  "Good. I didn't see the need since you already know that I have several construction sites where a body could easily be buried in cement."

  He chuckled. "Understood. And Jax? I got this. Don't worry."

  I knew he meant not only about my mom, but also our building contract. I shoved my hands in my pockets. "I know you do."

  After John left, I turned to stare out the large window behind my desk, staring down to the sidewalks below. It would be strange to see a man in her life after so many years, but she deserved to be happy. My happiness lay before me, encased in steel beams and concrete floors—indestructible—unlike the fragility of the human heart.

  From my vantage point, I could look over the streets and avenues bustling with businesses almost unable to keep up with the new economic turn. While I wasn't the only investor in the rejuvenation of downtown, I could see my efforts in every direction. Seeing the improvements and knowing I'd had such a large hand in it offered me immense satisfaction.

  Usually.

  Today had been a colossal collision of unwelcome events, starting with the delivery of the wrong cabinetry for one building almost finished and a broken water pipe in another. Then came the news of Alan Phelp's unwillingness to sign a contract, followed by John’s revelation that he wanted to date my mom.

  I knew today's shitstorm, as irritating as it was, was only a temporary setback. They were almost to be expected when you were in this line of work. I had an excellent team in place to manage all of these crises.

  No, the fault for my earlier shitty mood was much deeper and much less understandable. It lay with a beautiful blonde with stunning sapphire eyes.

  Half angel, half seductress.

  Pastor's daughter.

  The first explained why I wanted Grace unlike I had ever wanted a woman before. I couldn't forget how she felt in my arms, how her curves fit against me exactly right, how her scent pervaded my senses. It wasn't just her pretty face, with its creamy skin and dark blue eyes that sometimes sparkled with mischievousness, either. I'd dated many beautiful women. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was more that she didn't take herself so seriously. I'd been drawn to her sense of humor, even when it had been at my expense. And her response to my kiss was so genuine, giving as good as she got.

  But, the unexpected knowledge of who she also was, the daughter of a clergyman, caught me off guard. In my estimate, it either made her the quintessential "good girl," or the stereotype rebel who wanted to rub her dad's nose in her dubious deeds. My gut told me it was the former. Which made her off-limits. Grace was not the kind of woman I could have some fun with knowing I'd discard her later. I knew it. Her dad knew it. And by her own admission, thanks to some schmuck who'd told her about my relationship viewpoint, she knew it, too. Although it hadn't kept either of us from yielding, however briefly, to the other.

  Still, wasn't that the definition of temptation? Wanting something you know you shouldn't have? Kissing her had been like tasting the forbidden fruit, and of course, now I wanted more. I was used to nights with only a handful of hours of sleep, but for the past two nights, those hours had been interrupted by memories of her. And worse, if she were that close to Derek's new wife, I'd probably encounter her in the future at some point. That would definitely make things awkward.

  "Mr. Carter? Your two o'clock appointment, Ms. Hart, is here. And Clarissa is on line one for you."

  Fuck, just what I needed. "Put little Miss Charity off for fifteen more minutes," I barked into the intercom on my desk phone. I paused a second before I realized I was taking my grumpy mood out on her. "Please."

  As if today hadn't been shitty enough, now I had to deal with yet another person out to see how much money they could get from me. The story of my successful life. I tried to be supportive of charities so long as all I had to do was cut a generous check.

  But my secretary, Eleanor Jablonsky, or Ellie as she liked to be called, had scolded me that I was too stand-offish and uninvolved while organizations happily took my money. I didn't see why I needed to be more invested in them; the organization had the dough they wanted from me, and I had a tax write-off and the fleeting feeling of doing something good. But Ellie was determined to 'humanize' me—her words. I believed I was plenty human; I merely valued my privacy and saw no reason why my face had to accompany that of the checks I wrote.

  But in her motherly way, Ellie had convinced me that I should know where my money went and be sure it was a worthy expenditure. "How do you know the animal charity you give to isn't providing electric blankets to cows?" she had challenged. I suggested the deed be passed to the head of my accounting department, but that wasn't good enough. "You oversee every business expense. Don't you think this should be important to you, too? Who knows? Maybe you'll discover there's a world out there beyond your work."

  She'd leveled her stern gaze at me, and I'd surrendered. I don't know why I couldn't say “no” to this woman as I did to countless others. Maybe because she was old enough to be my grandmother, and I didn't want her to have a stroke or heart attack from arguing with me. Maybe because she didn't listen anyway.

  I sighed and pulled my thoughts together. Time to get back to the more important matter of running my business.

  I swiped the phone receiver up from my desk. "Clarissa. What news do you have for me?"

  I listened as one of my architects who was leading the troubled office renovation caught me up to date.

  "So that's solved, but now we're dealing with a power loss to the elevators. The elevator company says it's a wiring issue for the electrician. The electrician says it's the elevator company's issue."

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. God save me from incompetent people. "Tell them I expect both of their people on the scene, or I'll start deducting from their bill."

  A knock sounded at my door. I glanced at my watch; it had been fifteen minutes on the dot. Another time I might have grinned at my secretary's perfect timing. My door pushed opened, distracting me from whatever Clarissa's answer was. I looked up to see a stunning blonde step into my office. A very familiar one. Clarissa's voice faded into the background. "Spare me the details. Just fix it." I hung up.

  "You!"

  6

  Grace

  His single word held all manners of interpretation: surprise, confusion, and maybe only because I wanted to hear it, a touch of trepidation.

  I couldn't believe that J. Carter was the one and only Jaxson, Maggie's cousin-in-law and vanishing kisser extraordinaire. And here I thought I was going to be able to push him out of my mind.

  Grace - zero; fate - one.

  Jade had been accurate, if not crude, in her assessment of the man she'd sent me to see. Personal knowledge of how well he could kiss added to the panty-dampening factor. I mean, if he could kiss that way, I could only imagine how he'd make the other men I'd known seem like boys. Not that I'd had a lot of experience in that area.

  Oh, god! Was that why he left me cold? Could he tell I didn't have a lot of experience with sex? Was I that bad at kissing? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph help me get through this.

  I plastered on my best "calm face." Smile, Grace. You can do this.

  "I'm surprised you recognize me given the back of my head was the last thing you saw."

  Okay. That probably wasn’t the best way to start!

  His eyes dipped knowingly to my legs and slowly worked their way back up, lingering on my breasts before refocusing on my face. His eyes flashed, and his mouth curved into a smirk as he squared his shoulders and met my eyes head-on. "Oh, I assure you, as beautiful as it is, the back of your head isn't what I remember most about you, Grace."

  Damn it! The way my name rolled off his tongue like butter on hot corn sent a dangerous thrill down my spine. I might have held the advantage the second he saw me, but this was a man used to taking control.

  My face flushed under his gaze. He strode around his desk with the grace of a panther u
ntil he stood before me, not touching but close enough I had to look up at him.

  I cleared my throat and focused on why I was here. I thought I managed to sound cool and collected. "Shall we get on with our appointment, Mr. Carter? I'm sure your schedule is as busy as mine." I scooted around him and sat in a leather chair in front of his desk.

  "So formal today, Grace. What happened to 'Jax?'" Instead of returning to his side, he crossed his legs and leaned against his desk.

  Geez. Now his crotch was right at my eye level. Even with the loose pleats in his pants, I could see a bulge behind the zipper as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Why was I here again? He grinned as I scowled. "We ceased being on a first name basis the moment you disappeared without a word last weekend."

  "Very well. We'll play it your way." He scooted back behind his desk and folded his hands on top of the surface. "I believe you were here to negotiate some money for a charity event you're organizing, correct?" His formal tone marginally helped me regroup.

  Forcing my gaze to his, I took a deep breath and started my well-rehearsed spiel. "Yes, I'm selling tickets for a charity dinner. The City Council voted to create a new youth facility where kids can—"

  He held his hand up. "What's the bottom line, Ms. Hart? How much are you asking for?"

  "Don't you want to know what the money is for?"

  "I'm assuming if you're vetting it, I won't have a problem with it."

  "But, you don't even know me." He was making this too easy, and a wave of apprehension washed over me.

  "I learned enough about you a few days ago. You have high standards, and you care enough about people to respect their feelings even when they're idiots. How much more do I need to know you to write you a check for something you obviously believe in?"