A.C. Arthur - Eve of Passion

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.