Jordan paused, aware that this project departed somewhat from the more conventional fund-raising activities of the church, but the Elpis Foundation, though closely affiliated, was not a religious organization. “It’s not that sort of auction, Russ. It’s more of—” she searched for the right word. If there was one thing Jordan Lake knew, it was rich people and parties “—an event. It’s invite only and no press.”
She knew how to put on a classy yet original function, and she’d managed this one on the cheap. She would pay the orchestra herself but the ballroom was gratis, courtesy of her mother’s old dancing contacts. Friends in a local venue management company had agreed to take care of the lighting and decorating for nothing. She had plenty of “volunteers” as wait staff since she’d promised an amazing after-party. The champagne hadn’t been confirmed yet but the coup-degras—the catering—was coming together nicely. A truckload of fish and chips would be delivered on the night to astound the ballgown-and-tuxedo-wearing guests, courtesy of an old beau whose family owned a chain of fast-food restaurant outlets. Jordan was notorious enough to be able to pull off such a cheeky gesture. “It’s all in hand,” she assured Russ. “At this stage we have about a hundred people coming, but I have a bit more time.”
Russ pursed his lips. “I’m sure if we advertise, we can do better than that.”
“Russ, that’s a hundred extremely wealthy people, the movers and shakers of the country. Trust me, the really rich want discretion with their philanthropy.”
He smiled wryly. “Is that why you’re so reluctant to put your name on all the good work you do?”
Jordan shot him a warning look. “No one takes me seriously. The kind of publicity people associate with me is not the kind of publicity I want for the Elpis Foundation. That was the condition of me setting it up. It’s better that way, believe me.”
Famous for being famous…She walked into the waiting room, determined to make Mr. Hansen like her. Forever the focus of the newspapers and TV cameras but for all the wrong reasons, even though she had toned it down over the last year. Reporters didn’t care a jot if most of what they wrote was wrong. Philanthropy was a serious business and she needed to protect the Elpis Foundation. It was her one redeeming feature.
On Friday morning, Jordan passed Nick in the corridor of the High Court. He paused as they drew level, looking straight ahead. Since court was in session, there were few people around.
“See you at three?” he asked in a low voice.
Her pulse skittered as it always did when she looked at him. His presence in the courtroom for most of this week had underlined her desire for him and the forbidden thrill she got from knowing that he wanted her.
But they had to take care. It wasn’t just the stress her father was under. Nick was different. Somehow, she wanted to keep him to herself.
She hadn’t expected the amount of public interest there was in the case—every day she ran the gauntlet of photographers and reporters, all of whom seemed more interested in what she was wearing and how her love life was than the actual semantics of the trial.
“Nick, there are so many reporters,” she whispered back. “Don’t you think we should cool it, just till this trial is over?”
He turned his head and met her eyes and Jordan’s heartbeat went wild. If eyes were the windows to hell, then Nick was on fire—for her. Right now, this moment.
Her knees turned to water.
Nick nudged her toward the stairwell a few steps away. She kept her head down, aware that if anyone looked at her face, they’d know exactly what she was thinking—that she wanted his hands, his mouth on her. Preferably both and now would be good.
He pushed through the door, her hot on his heels, then turned and crowded her against the wall, his arms resting on the wall above her head. The rest of his body did not touch her at all.
The sweep of his eyes over her face, down her body and back again, was a tangible caress. Thankful for the support of the wall at her back, Jordan pressed into it, squirming with a restless heat.
His face was close—not close enough, but close.
“You want to ‘cool it?’” Nick demanded in a hot whisper.
“I don’t want to,” she whispered back. “Your reputation as a steady, conservative banker will suffer a lot more than mine if we’re caught.”
“It’s driving me mad, seeing you in there,” he growled. “So close, not able to touch.”
She reeled with the need to touch him, and with her own panic. Nick had never done anything so reckless before. “Oh, Nick, this is dangerous.”
“I haven’t touched you,” he murmured, his eyes burning. “Yet.”
He knew, as Jordan did, that if he touched her, she’d offer no resistance, despite the fear of discovery.
“Someone is going to walk through that door any minute,” she cautioned him.
His eyes tracked a heated path, lingering on her lips, then in slow, hot increments down her body. “All part of the fun, isn’t it?”
Their eyes met. Clearly, steady and conservative Nick Thorne was as hooked on the danger of the situation as she was.
She shifted again, craving his touch, knowing she shouldn’t. It was torture being this close, seeing him this excited, yet denying her.
His hand landed in her hair, then moved around to cup her chin. Despite her alarm, her lips parted in anticipation.
Nick stared down, his thumb moving softly over her cheek. “You are seriously beautiful.”
Her eyes flew wide. That was new, too. Nick preferred a more earthy flavor to his compliments, more show, don’t tell. The daily exposure in the courtroom must be having an effect on him as well.
Meantime, his gaze moved down to her mouth, stayed, heated. His thumb circled down and laid on her bottom lip. His face bent, inched closer. He was, quite simply, driving her mad. Who cared if anyone saw? She clamped her lips around his thumb, drawing it slowly into her mouth. Nick’s eyes widened, and then some more when she swirled her tongue around the tip. Two could play at that, she thought triumphantly, watching the torture darken his eyes.
But then he slid his thumb slowly out of her mouth. “Cool it? I don’t think so. I’ll see you at three o clock.”
He stepped back and Jordan ducked smartly out from under him. She looked back as she passed through the heavy door. He still leaned on the wall, his head raised, looking after her.
The cooler air of the corridor was a welcome relief. Away from Nick’s potent presence, she pressed her hand on her stomach, aflutter with nerves. Even if he was willing to take the risk, she couldn’t embarrass her father while he was under so much stress.
Still, her mind and body hummed with anticipation. Instinctively, she knew that their afternoon rendezvous would have more bite to it than usual.
Spending every morning in court was impacting his work, so Nick sighed when the intercom buzzed and his personal assistant’s voice informed him that his brother was here. The door opened and Adam appeared, looking relaxed in jeans and a leather jacket. He turned side-on to Nick’s desk and approximated a smooth golf swing. “It’s a beautiful day, big brother. What say you play hooky for the afternoon and we hit the golf course for a quick nine?”
Nick shook his head. In little under an hour, he would be at the hotel, relieving a certain heiress of her clothes. And for that reward, he didn’t care if he had to work all weekend to catch up. “I have an appointment.”
Adam frowned and flopped down in a chair facing Nick. “Cancel it.”
“If I get this backlog cleared tonight, I might be free tomorrow,” Nick said with a pointed look at the stack of papers in front of him.
Jasmine, his personal assistant, appeared at the door. “Would you like coffee?”
Adam spun around in his chair. “I would, thank you, Jasmina.”
The beautiful brunette blushed and turned away.
Nick frowned. Adam had a hide like a rhino. No way could he have missed Nick’s “I’m busy” hint.And the last thing he needed was his Casanova brother upsetting his workplace. “Stop flirting with my personal assistant.”
Adam turned back to him. “Why? Something going on with you two?”
“Adam, she works for me.”
“So? If she worked for me, I’d add to her job description.”
Nick sighed and made a show of checking his watch.
“I thought you should know,” Adam began, “Dad’s been ear-bashing me over lunch again about staying on and giving you a hand.”
The real reason for his visit…“I don’t need a hand,” Nick said in a long-suffering tone.
“I know that, Nick. You have more than earned your place at the helm of this ship. I have no intention of muscling in on your territory.”
Nick’s jaw tightened. “There’s the rub. It isn’t my territory, is it?”
It was Randall Thorne’s greatest wish that both sons run his empire after he retired. No matter how often Adam resisted, his father never stopped trying to lure him back from London. The disbursement of their mother’s will last year had shocked the brothers and delighted their father. Instead of a sizeable chunk of the company shares going to Nick, as everyone expected, he got baubles and a beach house and Adam got the shares. Whether his mother intended it or not, she had handed his father a lofty weapon to pit brother against brother. To delay, yet again, announcing his retirement and naming Nick as his successor.