All or Nothing

Or more precisely, his eyes stayed locked on Jayne at the indoor pool with Donavan’s wife. He couldn’t take his eyes off the image of her relaxed and happy. Jayne wore clothes instead of a swimsuit, not that it mattered when he could only think of her wearing nothing at all. She was basking in the sun through the solarium windows.

Donavan sailed his hat across the room, Frisbee style, nailing Conrad in the shoulder. “Are you doing okay, brother?”

Conrad plucked the hat from the floor and tossed it on the table alongside his half-eaten bowl of ratatouille. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Malcolm lowered his chair legs to the ground again. “Maybe because your ex-wife is in town and you haven’t stopped looking at her on that video monitor since we got in here.”

“She’s not my ex-wife yet.” He resisted the urge to snap and further put a damper on their lunch. “Anybody up for a quick game of cards?”

Donavan winced. “So you can clean me out again?”

Malcolm hauled his chair back to the table. “Now who’s whining?”

Pulling his eyes if not his attention off Jayne, Conrad swept aside the dishes and reached for a deck of cards.

Between their freelance work for Interpol and their regular day jobs, there was little time left to hang out like they’d done during the old days. Damn unlucky for him one of those few occasions happened to be now, when they were all around to witness the final implosion of his marriage.

And what if he didn’t get one last night with Jayne? What if he had to spend the rest of his life with this hunger gnawing at his gut every time a blonde woman walked by? Except no woman, regardless of her hair color, affected him the way Jayne did.

No matter what he told his brothers, he was not okay. But damn it, he would be tonight after the concert when he lay Jayne back on that sofa and made her his again.

* * *

Jayne hadn’t been on a date in three years, not even to McDonald’s with a friend. How ironic that her first post-separation outing with a man would be with her own estranged husband. And he’d taken her to a black-tie charity concert on the Côte d’Azur—the French Riviera.

Although she had to admit, his idea of finding a peaceful middle ground had merit—even if he’d all but blackmailed her to gain her cooperation.

At least seated in the historic opera house she could lose herself in the crowd, simply sit beside Conrad and enjoy the music, without worrying about temptation or messy conversations. Malcolm Douglas sang a revamp of some 1940s tune, accompanying his vocals on the grand piano. His smooth baritone voice washed over her as effortlessly as the glide of Conrad’s fingers on her shoulder. So what if her husband had draped his arm along the back of her seat? No big deal.

In fact, she’d been surprised at how little pressure he’d put on her throughout the day, especially after their intense discussions, their potent attraction, the night before. Waking up alone was one thing. But then to have him spend the entire day away from her...

His amenability was good. Wasn’t it?

That niggling question had grown during the rest of the afternoon without him. Lunchtime passed and she started to question if she’d heard his offer of a date correctly. Except Hillary had mentioned it, as well. Then the staff brought a selection of evening wear in her size. She’d chosen a silver gown with bared shoulders, the mild winter only requiring a black satin wrap.

By the time Conrad arrived at their suite to pick her up, her nerves had been strung so tightly, she was ready to jump out of her skin. The sight of him in a tuxedo, broad shoulders filling out the coat to mouthwatering perfection, had just been downright unfair. All the way to the limo, she’d thought he would make his move, only to find Troy and Hillary Donavan waiting in the limousine, ready to go out to dinner with them before the concert. But then hadn’t Hillary said Troy and Conrad were having some kind of reunion    ?

The evening had been perfect.

And perfectly frustrating.

Conrad’s thumb grazed the sensitive crook of her neck, along the throb of her pulse. Did he know her heart beat faster for him? Her breath hitched in her throat.

Hillary leaned toward her and whispered, “Are you all right?”

Wincing, Jayne resisted the urge to shove Conrad’s arm away. “I’m fine, just savoring.”

Savoring the feel of Conrad’s hand on her bare skin.

Damn it.

He shifted in his seat, his fingers stroking along the top of her arm and sending shivers along her spine. She struggled not to squirm in her seat and draw Hillary’s attention again. But that was getting tougher and tougher to manage by the second. He had to know what he was doing.

Still, if he’d been trying to seduce her, he could have been a lot more overt, starting with ditching the other couple. Her mind filled with vivid memories of the time he’d reserved a private opera box for a performance of La Bohème and made love to her with his hand under her dress.

Only one of the many times he’d diverted an argument with sex.

Yet now, he turned her down. Why?

The lights came up for intermission, and Conrad’s arm slid away as he applauded. She bit her lip to keep from groaning.

He stood then angled back down to her. “Do you and Hillary mind keeping each other company while Troy and I talk shop? He’s developing some new software to prevent against hackers at the casino.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” She’d given up the right to object when she’d walked out on him three years ago. Soon, their breakup would be official and legal.

“Thanks,” he said, cupping her face in a warm palm for an instant before straightening. At the last second, he glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you look even more beautiful than the night we saw La Bohème.”

Her mouth fell open.

The reference to that incredible night had been no accident. Conrad had known exactly what he was doing. No doubt, her savvy husband had planned his every move all day with the express purpose of turning her inside out. The only question that remained?

Had he done so just for the satisfaction of turning her down again? Or did he want to ensure she wouldn’t back away at the last second?

Either way, two could play that game.

Four

Conrad downshifted his Jaguar as he took the curve on the coastal road, Jayne in the passenger seat.

After the concert ended, he’d sent Troy and Hillary off in the limo, his Jaguar already parked and waiting for the next part of his plan to entice Jayne. She’d always loved midnight rides along the shore and since neither of them seemed able to sleep much, this longer route home seemed the right idea for his campaign to win her over.

When he took her back to the penthouse, he wanted to make damn sure they were headed straight for bed. Or to the rug in front of the fireplace.

Hell, against the wine rack was fine by him as long as he had Jayne naked and in his arms. The day apart after the fireworks last night seemed to have worked the way he’d hoped, giving the passion time to simmer. Even after three years away from each other, he understood the sensual side of her at least.

He glanced over at her, moonlight casting a glow around her as she toyed with her loose blond hair brushing her shoulders. His fingers itched to comb through the silky strands. Soon, he promised himself, looking back at the winding cliff road. Very soon.

She touched his arm lightly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather visit with Malcolm tonight?”

Instead of being with her?

Not a chance.

“And steal Malcolm away from his groupies?” He kept his hand on the gearshift, enjoying the feel of her touch on him. Too bad the dash lights shone on her empty ring finger. “Even I wouldn’t be that selfish.”

“If you’re certain.” Her hand trailed away, searing him with a ghostly caress.

His hand twitched as he shifted into fourth. He winced at the slight grind to the finely tuned machine. “We had a chance to shoot the breeze this afternoon with Troy.”

“Malcolm seems so different when he’s away from the spotlight.” She stretched her legs out in front of her, kicking off her silvery heels and wriggling her painted toes under the light blast of the heater. “It’s difficult to reconcile the guy in holey blue jeans jamming on the guitar in your living room to the slick performer in suits and ties, crooning from the piano.”

“Whatever gets the job done.” He forced his eyes back on the road before he drove them over a cliff. “You and Hillary seem to have hit it off.”

“I enjoyed the day with her, and it was nice to have another woman’s opinion when I picked out which dress to wear tonight.” She trailed her thumb along her bared collarbone, her black wrap having long ago slipped down around her waist.

The silver gown glistened in the glow of the dash, all but begging him to pull over and devote his undivided attention to peeling off the fitted bodice....