Spotlight & Giveaway: Tempting the Enemy by JC Harroway

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author JC Harroway to HJ!

Hi JC Harroway and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Tempting the Enemy!

 
Hi again! Thanks for having me.
 

Tell us about the book with this fun little challenge using the title of the book:

T – Tempting – T is for Tumultuous – is there anything more deliciously irresistible than a tale of enemies to lovers . Ava and Sterling discover they might hate each other in the boardroom, but in the bedroom it’s a different story.
T – The – T is for Taste – a taste for revenge that is, and there’s no better way to exact it than over each other’s bodies.
E – Enemy – E is for Everything – because that’s what at stake for Ava and Sterling if their lust for each other burns out of control and feelings start taking the lead.

Please share the opening lines of this book:

“IF YOU WERE going to gatecrash an office party, the lavish shindig thrown by BLD Global Ventures would be the one to choose. It’s a shame I’m not here for fun. Driven by desperation, I’m hunting Sterling Lombard, head of the New York division of BLD, which is housed in his building, Bold Tower—a gleaming, state-of-the art skyscraper in Manhattan’s financial district.”

Please tell us a little about the characters in your book.

In many ways Sterling and Ava are quite similar. They are both loyal to their loved ones, hard working and determined to make their respective businesses a success. Ava is passionate and wants to honour the past and her family’s legacy and Sterling is a threat to all she hold dear. Sterling values honesty and trust above all, which is why he feels played to discover the woman who seduced him at his own office party had an ulterior motive. Now he intends to make her pay…with pleasure, but this time, he’s chosen a worthy adversary in Ava.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• This book is my final for the DARE line, which ends this month…(that’s more of a sad fact 🙁 )
• Sterling was once married to Monroe Dove, the heroine from book one in the Billionaire Bedmates Series, Bound to You.
• The setting for this story was inspired by my visit to New York in 2019.

The First Kiss…

I slide onto his leather couch and accept the glass, which is half-full of amber liquid and ice cubes. I take a sip as he joins me on the sofa. The bourbon is delicious—smoky and smooth with hints of caramel.
‘So this is how you spend your Friday evenings? Working late while the rest of Manhattan parties?’ I wince at the hypocrisy of my question. I’m practically a hermit. I usually spend my downtime relaxing in the kitchen, cooking from my mother’s dog-eared handwritten recipes and freezing healthy meals for the working week ahead.
‘Yes, I’m afraid you’ve saved me from myself tonight. And perhaps I’ve saved you, too.’ He smiles and touches his glass to mine with a clink of expensive crystal. A delicious spasm jolts through me. ‘To you, Ava. And to chance meetings that make Friday evenings a million times more interesting.’
I take a sip, my stare held captive by his, then lick the bourbon from my lips. What am I doing? I’m supposed to be convincing him to sell me back his shares in my business, not thinking about how long it’s been since I had sex and how I’ve never physically reacted so strongly to a man I’ve just met.
But Sterling Lombard isn’t just any man. I always thought the rumours about him couldn’t possibly be true—wealthy, intelligent, with a reputation for dating glamorous ladies—but, now I’ve met him in the flesh, his sexual magnetism speaks for itself. Directly to my aching nipples, which are peaking through the thin fabric of my dress.
‘That’s what I love about New York,’ I say. ‘In a city of eight million people, you just never know who you’ll meet and where it will lead.’ The alcohol moves through my blood, warming and relaxing as it travels.
‘Where do you want it to lead?’ he asks directly. His voice turns gravelly. ‘Because you should know that I’m definitely going to want your number before you leave.’
His confident, forthright manner is a major turn-on. His eyes seem to see right through me. It’s not unpleasant, kicking up my heart rate and flooding me with thrilling heat.
I should present my case for Hamilton’s, but now that I’ve experienced our fierce chemistry, my heart is no longer in it. I’ll have another chance. I could give him my number—he’s exactly the type of man I’d date if we met under different circumstances.
I eye him over the rim of my glass, my pulse flying. Why does he make me feel so reckless? Is it his power and success, a serious aphrodisiac? Is it because I didn’t expect to share anything in common with him? Or is it just pure, unadulterated and uncontrollable lust that’s made me desperate to kiss him since we left the elevator?
‘I don’t want to interrupt your work.’ I glance at the desk and his lonely laptop.
He holds my stare, his thick-lashed eyes intense. ‘It can wait. Can you?’
My breath is trapped in my lungs. This wasn’t the evening I had planned, but why not? Who knows—perhaps it will smooth the eventual business negotiations?
I shudder out a sigh and clank my glass down on the low coffee table. ‘No. I can’t.’
I lean in close. He leans too.
My hands find his strong biceps as he slides one hand to my thigh. I’m not sure who kisses who first, but it doesn’t matter. Our lips collide, a sublime yielding, give and take. Power and life pulse to the tips of my fingers and toes. It’s been way too long since I’ve felt this degree of attraction, and I fall into it headfirst.
I slide my fingers around his neck, urging him closer. He presses one hand between my shoulder blades, crushing my chest to his so I’m encircled in his strong arms. My lips part to welcome the surge of his tongue, and my nipples tingle against his rock-hard muscles.
I was right about the excellent kissing.
He pulls away and I actually moan in protest.
‘Well, that was a surprise…’ He cups my cheek and glides his thumb over my skin, his aroused stare searching mine and a hint of amusement twitching his beautiful mouth.
I can’t help my own smile. My business plan is completely sidelined by this fierce and unforeseen want. Of all the things I’d hoped to achieve tonight with Sterling Lombard, pleasure wasn’t one of them, but when opportunity knocks…
‘I’m full of those,’ I say, tugging his mouth back to mine.

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would you use for the audition of the main characters and why?

This scene between Ava and Sterling brings all of their distrust, animosity and opposing goals to the fore.

‘So you slept with me to get an appointment? I have to say, that’s pretty cold—not the impression I had of the sensual woman I met on Friday.’ His eyes glitter, a glacial smile on his lips as if he expected the appalling behaviour he’s accusing me of.
‘I did no such thing. We seduced each other.’ Heat rushes up my neck at the memories of the way I behaved. One look at his hotness is the only excuse I can muster. ‘I’ve been fobbed off with your associates for months. I wanted to go straight to the top. I planned to approach you at the party—’
He paces closer, an air of danger pulsing around him. I should heed it. He’s dangerous to my good sense, to my instincts, to my self-preservation—even now I want him still. ‘So you stalked me and seduced me? This keeps getting better and better…’
‘No. Yes… I mean, I didn’t stalk you. I was leaving because I thought you wouldn’t show up.’ I grip my hands together in turmoil.
How can he affect me so much? It was just sex.
Amazing, unforgettable sex. Admit it, he’s the hottest man you’ve ever met. For a moment in his arms, with his kiss on your lips, you didn’t feel so…alone.
He tilts his head, his stare moving over my face leaving me even more flustered. I recall that look. He used it on Friday night when I was naked and panting and watching him go down on me.
Only now, with his bad attitude, it’s tainted. He’s like a different person today, not the charming, considerate lover of Friday.
‘So,’ he shrugs, ‘make it right. I’m here. This is the shot you say you’ve been waiting for.’ He crosses his arms over his chest and grips his muscular upper arms.
I should be relieved—this is my chance to appeal to him professionally. Instead, warning buzzes over my skin like static electricity. It feels like he’s toying with me. Like I’m a mouse and he’s sharpening his lethal claws.
‘Okay.’ I hold his challenging eye contact. Hamilton’s is important enough for me to swallow a slice of humble pie. ‘I want you to sell me your Hamilton’s equity.’
He has the temerity to laugh.
Shards of contempt pierce me in that moment. I at least expected integrity, manners and professionalism from him.
Yet you weren’t professional on Friday…
That was ill-judged lust.
‘Fine.’ He paces closer. ‘I’ll take the bait and ask—why would I do that?’ His stare narrows but to my consternation it’s still there, the connection we shared in the elevator. Like fingers of temptation licking at my skin. No matter how much we both wish our one-night stand had never happened, it seems we can’t avoid the thing that brought us together.
‘Well, as you know, the company has been struggling for a while.’ I lift my chin, hating to admit any weakness. ‘I’m sure you have many other investments that outperform us. What’s one little third-party logistics company to you—the great Sterling Lombard?’
‘If that’s the case, if Hamilton’s is floundering, surely you need more of my investment and expertise, not less. You’re not even in a position to buy back the stock.’
My stomach pinches. I didn’t want to go into this much detail. I hoped he’d be relieved to offload a company that must be a pretty low priority for a big hitter like Bold.
I suck in a breath, veering perilously close to a bottomless emotional chasm. Hamilton’s is more than a company to me. It’s inexorably linked to my sense of belonging. The only way I can connect to my parents so I don’t feel the sheer panic of being utterly abandoned.
I close my eyes for a second, sucking in a bolstering breath. As I often do, I hear my parents’ voices.
Food is more than nutrition—it’s a part of our rich history. Always remember your roots, Ava. Without them we can’t grow.
The words force a lump to the back of my throat. They often used our time together cooking—the ritual of making fresh pasta or kneading bread—to impart parental wisdom, or just connect. We spent hours talking in the kitchen. I usually play music while I cook now to counter the overwhelming silence.
I swallow, seeking my composure as I answer his question on my finances. ‘I have some savings my parents left me. With a small loan it will be enough for what the shares are worth.’
His eyes are trained on mine as he faces me across my embarrassingly cluttered desk. ‘How do you know what the shares are worth?’
I stand too. He already has the height advantage and the surprise factor to his credit. This is my office, warts and all.
‘Well…I’m a company director. I—’
‘I’m not talking about dollar value,’ he interrupts. ‘I’m talking about the value to me, personally. Why do you want to own all of the sinking ship anyway? Wouldn’t it be better for us to drown together in the hopes that I’ll cast you another financial lifeline?’ His smile borders on cruel even as his stare swoops over me.
I huff in outrage, any lingering feelings for the time we shared destroyed by his obstinacy. ‘Why would my company mean anything to you?’ I say, appalled. ‘I want the sinking ship, as you put it, because it’s everything to me. It’s my inheritance. My heritage.’
All I have left of my loved ones…
He shrugs, completely unfazed by my pleading tone and my private admission. ‘I would’ve thought you’d be relieved to unburden yourself of such a crippling liability. This company was struggling when your grandparents came to me three years ago, and it’s in even worse shape now. Which is why I’m here to tell you that your cunning little plan to get close to me has worked in your favour. Congratulations.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ice slithers through my veins at the look of hostility in his eyes. I recall them sparking with arousal and I wonder where that warm, considerate man has gone. The one with the winning charm, good manners and sexual magnetism.
A cruel smile that makes me shiver twists his gorgeous mouth. ‘I mean, Ava, that I intend to amalgamate Hamilton’s into a bigger company, which I’ll then sell to the highest bidder. And there’s not a damned thing—including seducing me again—that you can do about it.’

What are you currently working on? What are your up-coming releases?*

I am currently working on a book for the Harlequin Medical line, which I can’t say too much about except in will be released in 2022. I’m also working on a sexy, modern-day fairytale , which I hope will be out later in 2021.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

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Excerpt from Tempting the Enemy:

I take a shaky sip of my cocktail and try not to glance at my phone for the time. I shouldn’t have arrived so early. I’ve asked Sterling to meet me at the Brooklyn Heights Hotel, not far from my apartment, to show him my grandmother’s grand piano, the instrument that started the Hamilton’s journey. It’s my favourite place to come and remember happier times—sufficiently impersonal that I can forget when I want to, but close and public enough that I can pop in any time I feel lonely.
Sterling arrives just then, striding into the bar with his trademark confidence and purpose. Nerves make my breathing erratic as he scans the bar in search of me. It hurts between my ribs to see him so composed and handsome and vital when I feel as if I’m falling apart. Broken. Incomplete.
Except for when you’re in his arms, when you’re driving him wild.
No—I can only rely on myself for strength and create my own safety net. People I care about have a horrible habit of disappearing.
And our last conversation left me wondering if I knew him at all. Can’t he see that selling everything his stepfather touched won’t bring him the peace he craves? Can’t he see how important Hamilton’s is to me?
He spies me, his piercing eyes landing on mine. For a second his expression shifts from searching to relieved. The same emotion pulses in my veins, a part of me renewed, blossoming at the fact he showed up, when we left things so tense and resentful between us three days ago.
I stand, flutters attacking my stomach at the gorgeous sight he makes. He strides my way, determination in his green eyes as if he’s a predator and I’m prey. My body softens, heat building the way it does when we’re naked and connected on an intimate level.
‘Thanks for meeting me,’ I say, breathing in the spicy male scent of his cologne and trying not to succumb to the unexplainable sting behind my eyes as he presses his lips to my cheek.
‘I’m glad you called. We left things unnecessarily hostile between us.’ He takes a seat next to me in the booth facing the view and signals to a waiter, ordering his favourite bourbon.
My tongue feels clumsy in my mouth. ‘I hoped meeting here would diffuse some of that. Did you see the report I emailed you on Brent’s?’ It’s easier to talk business than to dissect why I’m so comforted by seeing him.
I watch for the vulnerability that mentioning his bully’s name might cause. All I’ve come to expect from Sterling is ruthlessness and orgasms, but he’s a complex and haunted man. His motivations for selling his stepfather’s company are completely justified. I might even support his plan if it didn’t involve Hamilton’s.
Yet it gives you a chance not many people get—to change direction and chase your dreams…
No, I’m not ready to give up yet. That’s why I’ve brought him here, to this particular piano bar. To show him exactly what my legacy means to me.
‘I did, thank you. You very professionally produced what I asked for and I…’ He scrubs a hand through his dishevelled hair, making my fingers itch to do the same, to feel its silkiness as I draw his mouth to mine and become lost in his kiss. ‘On reflection, I should have given you all of the information up front,’ he says.
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference to my recommendations. I’m afraid I tried to be objective about the merger, but, as you saw from the report, I also presented a case for keeping Hamilton’s out of the sale. Brent’s Express and SeaFreight together make an attractive proposition. But Hamilton’s is different. We’re specialist. I hope to persuade you to keep it separate.’
‘I see.’ His mouth tightens and I drag in a bolstering breath. I don’t want to fight. I just want to appeal to his humanity.
The server returns with Sterling’s drink, gifting me a moment to catch my breath and regroup my defences.
‘What you said in Chicago…’—to give my restless hands an occupation, I twirl my glass on the table—‘you had a point. I am emotionally invested in Hamilton’s, but I wanted you to understand why. That’s the reason I suggested this bar.’
His stare shifts over my features intently. ‘Without conceding that it will change anything, I’d like to understand.’
I nod, respecting him more than if he’d offered false promises. ‘I want to tell you a story about Hamilton’s.’
Curiosity is intense in his eyes. ‘Okay. I’m listening.’
‘Do you see the piano?’ I point to the far corner of the bar where a man dressed in a tux plays soft, mellow piano music on a Bösendorfer grand.
A smile plays on his lips. ‘It’s a stunning instrument—I have a grand piano at my apartment.’
‘You play?’
He nods. ‘Do you?’
I shrug, my stomach turning hollow at the memory of another part of my life that fell by the wayside after I lost my parents. ‘A little—I’m not very good.’
I continue my tale, battling the lust and confusion that seems to be my constant state around him. ‘That piano dates back to 1899. It belonged to my great-grandmother, who passed it on to her daughter, my grandmother, Nonna Hamilton.’
He raises his brows, impressed.
‘Nonna emigrated to the US in the fifties, but she had to leave her beloved piano behind in Italy because she couldn’t afford to ship it. She met my Pops shortly after arriving in New York. They were married four months later. As a wedding gift, he had her precious instrument shipped here. That was how Hamilton Logistics began.’
I pause, glancing at the piano while nostalgia hijacks my breaths. I tinkled with those keys as a toddler. My mother played a halting rendition of the happy birthday song to me every year while my dad, Nonna and Pops sang along. I’ve kept a lot of my family’s personal items but had to part with the piano for practical reasons.
‘I see.’ His lips compress but there’s only understanding and regret in his eyes.
‘There’s no room for such an impressive instrument at my apartment, so I loaned it to the hotel indefinitely. It should be played and cared for and enjoyed.’
‘As a player myself, I’d have to agree with you.’ Out of nowhere he leans close and cups my cheek in his warm palm. ‘I’m sorry that you can’t have the piano at home.’
My heart lurches as if it’s trying to close the distance between us.
I shrug. ‘Maybe one day. You wanted to understand what Hamilton’s means to me.’ My voice shrinks, small and hesitant, because a part of me, the part too scared to trust feelings, wasn’t expecting his compassion and sensitivity after our fight in Chicago. Now it feels as if I’ve committed an underhand tactic—emotional blackmail. My sentiment and nostalgia shouldn’t influence his decision.
‘It’s always been more than a business. It’s about love and family and…’
My voice cracks and I look down, away from the empathy and threads of desire in his eyes.
‘And belonging?’ His fingers squeeze mine.
I want to sob that he’s so perceptive. That he gets me.
‘I do understand, Ava. Hamilton’s is your life. Your family’s heritage, just like the piano.’ He sighs, as if momentarily defeated.
I nod, overwhelming sadness filling me up. ‘Yes, it is.’ I laugh, a humourless sound. ‘That seems pathetic all of a sudden. At least you’ve been married. You tried to build your own family and create a legacy you can pass on.’
What am I without this final tie to my loved ones? Can I really do anything else? Can I let go of the past and find myself somewhere new to belong? Somewhere that’s more…me?
‘No more pathetic than trying to outmanoeuvre a dead man.’ Sterling winces, his expression slashed with uncertainty. But he recovers quickly. ‘And I’ve been around a few more years. Plus, my marriage turned into a failure, so I don’t boast about it.’
We share a sad little smile.
‘Thank you for sharing that story,’ he says. ‘You had a point, too…in Chicago, I do struggle to be objective when it comes to certain aspects of my past. I’m very protective of my mother. Dissolving Brent’s will help us both move on, I hope.’
‘I don’t blame you for wanting that.’ I say as something unexpected, tender and promising buds inside me. ‘We all struggle with objectivity when our emotions and loved ones are involved. I can even see how you must have felt manipulated when you discovered my identity and our shared business interest. I never planned to use you. The minute I looked into your eyes in that elevator I became distracted and a more pressing urge to seduce the sexiest man I’ve ever met took hold. You do believe that, right?’
It’s suddenly imperative that his impression of me improves, and I can’t say why.
He reaches for my hand. ‘I do.’
Two simple words. But they’re enough.
‘The feeling was very much reciprocated.’ He raises my hand to his lips. The way he looks at me from under his long lashes all but melts my bones. I’m not certain where we are professionally, but right now I’m struggling to recall that it matters. ‘Have you eaten dinner?’ he asks.
I shake my head. I was strung too tight with nerves, although I spent the afternoon cooking—my proven calming technique.
‘Clearing the air has made me ravenous,’ he says. ‘Would you like to grab some? I’ve had a rough couple of days, and seeing you has lifted my spirits.’
My pulse pounds in my throat at his admission. Raw emotion loiters in the depths of his stare, and I want to decipher it. Perhaps when this is over we might stay friends.
Warning bells sound in my head. My feelings are at risk with him. I need trust like oxygen. I need the security that trust brings. I’m careful who I date—I’m careful about everything. Life has taught me to be that way. Whatever happens businesswise, one of us will lose. One of us will feel betrayed. And yet that obstacle isn’t enough to deter me; I don’t want tonight to end yet, either.
I take a bolstering breath that feels as if I’m finally putting myself out there, emotionally after years of hiding in my shell. Years of being the dutiful granddaughter, but not knowing who I am. Years of having no idea where I belong.
But I do know what makes me happy, and for now, that includes being in his company. ‘I have a better idea, if you’re up for a short walk.’
He quirks a brow. ‘Back to yours?’
I laugh and nod. ‘Yes. I was thinking I could experiment on you …’
‘A sexual experiment?’ His eyes light up. Sterling in this flirtatious mood is dazzlingly hot.
I roll my eyes. ‘For some classic recipes I’m trying out.’
He jerks to his feet with amusing eagerness. ‘Lead the way. I’m starving and happily submit myself as a subject. You have excellent taste in food and sexual partners.’
His wink sends shivers through me, but I’m grateful for the shift in atmosphere. As we leave the bar, he takes my hand and that’s where it stays for the four-block walk to my brownstone apartment. It feels good there. It reminds me of his display of old-school, gentlemanlike manners the night we met.
We hang up our coats and head for the kitchen, the only room—the only part of my life, in fact—that’s organised and clutter-free. I’m conscious of his every move, anticipation fluttering in my veins that he’s in my home, the place where I can be myself.
‘Whatever you’re making already smells delicious.’ He lounges against my kitchen bench, watching me over the glass of wine I’ve just poured him.
‘Wash your hands,’ I say with mock seriousness, to hide the fact that I’m jittery with trepidation. ‘There are no observers in my kitchen. You’ll have to earn your dinner.’ I don my apron, take a sip of my own wine and try to ignore his intense observation. It’s as if he, too, feels every second of the three days since we last touched. As if the hand-holding on the way here was an appetiser—delicious but merely whetting the appetite.
He grins and follows my orders with surprising enthusiasm.
When he joins me at the stove, I reach up on my tiptoes to loop a spare apron over his head. ‘To protect your shirt,’ I say, boiling up at my proximity to him. Sparks zap between us, lighting his eyes, which are full of heat and laughter and promise.
Oh yes, he’s missed me too. The sexual undercurrents sizzle hotter than the flame of my beloved professional range.
I hand him the wooden spoon. ‘You have a very important job.’ I indicate the pan under which I’ve switched on the gas. ‘Just keep stirring.’
He laughs, tying the apron strings around his trim waist. ‘Sounds simple enough. I must warn you, though—I burn water.’ The pan spits as he stirs the minced onion and beef marrow through the butter that forms the base of the risotto.
‘You’ll be fine. I’m an excellent teacher, if a little bossy.’ I step close to inhale the delicious steam wafting from the pan, our arms brushing. ‘This recipe—Risotto alla Milanese—is from northern Italy. Some people omit the marrow, but trust me when I say it adds so much flavour and richness. You’re going to love it.’
‘I can’t wait. What’s in the oven?’ His stomach growls in that moment and we share a look and a laugh.
‘Ossobuco—slow-roasted beef shin.’ I cut a couple of slices of ciabatta and place them on a wooden platter with a dish of olives in oil, homemade sundried tomatoes and slivers of prosciutto. ‘Something for the chefs,’ I say, dipping some bread into the olive oil and raising it to his mouth.
He holds my wrist and wraps his lips around my offering, licking the oil from my fingers.
To cover the trembling of my body, I take an olive and pop it into my mouth. At this rate, dinner might become breakfast. With one eye on Sterling’s pan, I return to chopping the herbs for the gremolata that will finish the dish.
‘Tell me about your rough few days.’ I need a distraction from wanting to rip off his clothes. I tip the risotto rice into his pan and motion for him to keep stirring.
He swallows his second mouthful of bread—he even eats sexily—and washes it down with red wine. ‘I was supposed to meet with my business partners, Monroe and Hudson, in Tokyo this week, but I had a family thing. A cousin of mine, Dale, died of lymphoma. I took my mother upstate for the funeral.’
I pause what I’m doing, my heart lurching, and touch his arm. ‘I’m sorry. Were you and Dale close?’
He shrugs, looking conflicted. ‘I’d sometimes spend the summers with him at my uncle’s place. Dale and I would show off to impress girls by diving from the dock at the lake nearby.’ He flashes a small smile at the memory.
‘Now, why can I imagine that so vividly…?’ I laugh, sloshing a ladleful of beef broth into the risotto pan he’s manning.
‘I wanted to come back to New York after the service, but Mom wanted to stay the night.’ He falls quiet and pensive.
Knowing he takes care of his mother does something to me. I look at him anew. He’s kind and dedicated. Profound and honourable. ‘I’m glad you and your mom have each other.’ A familiar, almost envious ache burrows between my ribs.
Another shrug, this one concealed with a glug of wine. ‘She’s lonely after my stepfather died.’ His eyes turn dark and turbulent and tension radiates from his body. ‘She’s not happy about me selling Brent’s.’
I hold my breath, wary of jeopardising our renewed closeness. ‘Perhaps that’s because she doesn’t know how you truly feel about him.’
He stills, the wooden spoon coming to a halt.
I rush on. ‘It might help if she understood why you’re rebranding and selling the company. I’m sure she’d be supportive.’
He begins stirring more vigorously, and the poor risotto takes a beating. ‘I don’t know, but I’m tired of his influence. I’m trying to make something positive out of the past. She’s never discussed it with me,’ his voice drops, telling me he’s opening up, ‘but I know Marcus emotionally abused her too.’
My throat burns for him, the boy he was then and the man he is now. He’s caring and protective. He’d have hated not being able to protect his mom. ‘I’m sorry that happened to you both. But she’d likely be sad to know you’re struggling with the past because you didn’t want to disappoint her. Because you were protecting her.’ My heart aches. He loves this woman. He’s spent his life shielding her from an unpalatable truth.
I ladle some more broth into the risotto, my voice tight with empathy. ‘Stir, please.’
He sighs half-heartedly, a small smile breaking out at my command.
‘I’m not struggling with the past—I’m trying to lay it to rest.’
‘By proving you’re a better businessman than he was?’ I ask without judgement.
‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing. I think that goes without saying. You’re so much more than a world-class businessman. You have nothing to prove. For example, you’re pretty good at stirring the risotto, a job I was only trusted with when I’d graduated through fresh pasta making and kneading bread dough.’
I smile wider, trying not to think of all the other things he’s good at.
That we’re standing in my kitchen—a place of happiness and contentment for me—about to share a meal he’s helped me prepare, terrifies me. I never expected to find any common ground with this man outside of the bedroom. He still has the capacity to ruin my business, but seeing him in an apron doing something as ordinary as cooking, hearing how he loves and cares for his mother… I see him in a new light.
Do I already have feelings for him?
No—it’s just compassion. If I’d experienced his degree of bullying growing up, who knows what I’d be prepared to do to avenge a loved one…?
‘So, you and Monroe are amicable enough to still work together?’
Why am I asking about his ex-wife? We’ve prepared dinner in the kind of relative harmony that makes me homesick for my parents. They must have done this a thousand times—cooked a meal with love, side by side.
‘Monroe and I are friends now. That doesn’t mean we didn’t have to work hard to keep Bold intact after the divorce. But if something is important enough to you, you do what needs to be done.’
I nod as danger buzzes through my head like a swarm of angry hornets. That’s exactly how I feel about Hamilton’s. Except now there’s the possibility of something more, both professionally and personally, that meeting Sterling has brought into my life… It’s confronting. Uncomfortable and liberating all at once.

Excerpts. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

These enemies don’t just turn up the heat—they’re about to set everything ablaze! Sterling Lombard’s plans for business rival Ava Hamilton are positively sinful in the sexy final installment of the Billionaire Bedmates duet from bestselling author JC Harroway.

Billionaire Sterling Lombard is about to make the biggest mistake he’s ever made—underestimating me. He’s beyond rich. He’s beyond powerful. And he’s the hottest man in Manhattan. But buying out my family’s company, my last remaining link to the loved ones I’ve lost? I’ll fight him with everything in me…despite having already botched our first meeting.

Instead of convincing him with my savvy business acumen, my libido took charge and seduced Mr. Lombard out of his ten-thousand-dollar suit. Now that he knows who I really am—and what I want from him—he isn’t about to let me off the hook.

It turns out he has a serious taste for revenge. He’s not shy about using it to make my blood boil—and my body sing with pleasure. So now I’m working for a ruthless businessman whom I crave with reckless defiance. But the only thing more dangerous than hating a man who’s hell-bent on getting vengeance…is falling in love with him.
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Meet the Author:

Writing is a far cry from the medical career she once had, but it’s a perfect fit for lifelong romance addict, J C Harroway. From her home in New Zealand, and inspired by her love of travel and happy endings, she creates sensual love stories featuring smart, sassy heroines you’d want as a best friend and the compelling, intense heroes worthy of them.You can follow her at www.jcharroway.com www.facebook.com/jcharroway, www.instagram.com/jcharroway and https://twitter.com/jcharroway
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