The Dare Collection: April 2018. Stefanie London

a fucking turn-on. She’d come here to explore the sex between them, sex good enough to keep him awake last night even after she’d lied to her brother and kicked him out.

      Clearly he’d been on her mind too. Good to know he wasn’t alone in this rekindled-to-the-point-of-combustion attraction.

      Their coffees arrived.

      Jack caressed the handle of the espresso cup, a kick of satisfaction warming his gut when her stare followed the path of his fingertips. Yes, she was definitely in this, the physical connection between them hard to ignore.

      ‘So last night was good for you?’ His ego didn’t need stroking and her internal muscles had clenched him like a vice, but he enjoyed the pink flush of her skin, and if he could persuade her beautiful, cultured mouth to talk dirty, all the better.

      She sipped her coffee, her eyes glaring above the rim even as her cheeks obliged with another rush of colour.

      ‘Mmm.’ A shrug, as if sex that good were commonplace. But then she wouldn’t be here if that were true.

      His lips twisted. ‘Your orgasm better than the previous one?’ He’d take the confirmation he was a man of his word.

      She rolled her eyes, shoulders sagging with a sigh. For a moment he thought she’d refuse to answer. After all, it likely wasn’t every day she sat in a Bronx deli discussing the quality of her orgasms.

      The moment she decided to be candid, she met his stare, head-on.

      ‘So good, I stopped breathing. But you know this.’ She flicked a fallen strand of hair behind one ear and adjusted the neck of her blouse.

      He did know. He’d witnessed her unrestrained rapture, revelled in it, the surge of triumph almost making up for his unceremonious dismissal. Almost.

      He instinctively knew her body as if he’d had the past nine years to learn every plane, every contour, every pleasure point. And she wanted more?

      He tilted his head, staring into her eyes until she squirmed. After a pause, he reached for his coffee cup and took a sip, all business. Energy flooded his limbs, the way it did when he negotiated any deal, but more, the best deals hard won. And here she was, the ultimate prize, not above begging for what he offered.

      ‘If we do this, you’re going to need to allocate some dedicated time.’ He placed the cup back on the saucer, taking his time to find her wide eyes again.

      At her crinkled brow, he continued.

      ‘I’m not a stud to be slotted into your busy schedule whenever you’ve got an itch.’

      Tightly pursed lips. Shoulders back. ‘I didn’t assume—’

      He lifted his hand.

      ‘I’ll call you any time. Any place.’ He shrugged. ‘If you want more...’ He had boundaries, too. She wanted to explore their explosive chemistry until it fizzled out? He could oblige. But on his terms. His agenda. His timescale.

      He took another sip of coffee, waiting, the bitterness on his tongue lingering like her taste. If the deli weren’t crowded with office workers seeking a caffeine fix, he’d pay the owner to close the place and go down on her at this very table, until the only word spilling from her parted lips was yes.

      A thousand emotions flitted across her sea-green eyes as she warred with herself.

      Time to reorder your priorities, ma belle. You want me, yes. But how far are you willing to go for my promised orgasms?

      ‘Okay.’ A hoarse whisper, barely audible over the general noise of the busy café, but he’d take it.

      Blood flooded his groin, his belly tight with anticipation. He smiled.

      ‘So, chérie. I’ll be your dirty little secret.’

      She shook her head, the excitement in her eyes dulling.

      ‘It’s not like that. I—’

      He held up a hand, keeping his expression light and easy.

      ‘I get it. Family is everything, right?’ The bitter coffee taste grew more pronounced.

      Yes, their families were enemies. But, they’d set the rules in play. The game, it seemed, was on.

      * * *

      ‘Has the green silk come in?’ Harley asked Belinda, the manager of the Give concept store on Fifth Avenue. The other woman nodded, indicating a display rack near the fitting rooms, and answered the phone with an apologetic shrug.

      Harley went to the rack, her expert eye assessing the new garments. Her hand trailed over the luxurious fabric, its sensual glide over her fingertips reminding her of Jack and the way he’d touched her. With reverence, with possession, as if he knew her body inside and out. As if he wanted her so badly, he couldn’t stop himself touching. Her own fingertips tingled. She knew the feeling.

      She hadn’t seen him since their shared coffee two days ago. But her every waking thought and some of her sleeping thoughts too were of his command of her pleasure as he’d lured her to the edge with hoarse encouragement, addictive praise and cocksure prophecy.

      You’re going to come soon. Look at me.

      And he’d been spot on. She shivered. Delicious reminders fluttering low in her belly.

      She flicked impatiently through her beloved autumn collection, the hours of hard work, luxurious fabrics and form-flattering designs completely lost on her. Her skin itched. Every second she didn’t hear from him increased her longing to have him inside her again, no doubt exactly the reaction he intended.

      Bastard.

      She’d tried to banish the constant ache, diminish his power over her. She’d masturbated only this morning, her tepid C-grade orgasm mocking her efforts. And it hadn’t helped. Clearly her body refused to return to mediocre self-pleasure. Having experienced the fully grown, man-with-serious-bedroom-skills Jack, it craved the A-grade variety with a side of sheet-clawing, hoarse-throated OMG. And that was currently to be found only with Jack.

      Belinda finished her call and called out an apology as she scribbled a note. Harley surfaced from her trance and glanced over her shoulder at her competent manager with a smile. She didn’t really need to be here, her business a well-oiled machine staffed by competent and trustworthy people who understood Harley’s priorities and her limitations.

      In fact it operated better without her...interference. She’d learned early on to leave the ordering, invoicing and bookkeeping to someone else. The one time, when the store first opened, she’d sent Belinda out on a lunch break, she’d had to hide in the back room to conceal her panic attack from a customer who’d insisted Harley use the computer there and then to order in a particular garment in her size.

      She relied on her staff, perhaps more than she should. But she compensated them well. And as her beloved workroom was above, she regularly visited the boutique-style store to ensure everything was as it should be for her loyal and growing clientele, who favoured the luxury-with-a-social-conscience brand she offered.

      ‘Let’s feature this in the window, shall we?’ Harley pulled a size two green silk dress from the rack and began to remove the protective tissue wrapping. ‘Let’s team it with the tan suede pumps.’ The spreadsheets, marketing and correspondence might be above her, but she understood how to put an outfit together, her eye for accessorising and layering contrasting textures spot on.

      Belinda nodded, her attention snagged by someone entering the store behind Harley. She waved Belinda away. Her store manager moved to the front of the shop to intercept the customer.

      Harley hung the dress on a hook outside the fitting room and stooped to snag the pumps she’d wear with this particular dress. Yes. That worked. She’d designed a faux-fur bolero that would finish this look to perfection...perfect for the opera, or theatre or...

      Her phone buzzed and she snatched it from her purse, her shoulders drooping when