“No,” I tell her, refusing to listen. “That's insane. It's not too much to ask for the life you've always wanted. It's not too much to ask for the ending you deserve and goddammit, Jemma, you deserve it all. The sun, the moon, the goddamn stars, and I want to give it to you.”
I drop to one knee, and I pull the diamond ring from my pocket. The one my mother gave me before I left her home today before my life flashed before my eyes. “I asked you once and I will ask you again: marry me, Jemma, be my wife.”
“I don't think you know what you're getting into. I'm damaged goods.”
“Fuck that.” I take her hand, and I push the ring on her finger. “I know you want to marry me. I see it in your eyes, but you know what else I see? I see fear.”
“Of course, you do,” she sputters, her arms waving wildly. “Of course, you see fear. I am freaking terrified. I don't want to ruin this. This life you have.”
“This life I have?” I ask with a laugh. “Jemma, this life as lonely as fuck. Sure, I've got a big house, and I got rich ass parents and property. But what's the point of it all, if I don't have you? You're making me fight for you and I’m fine with that. Hell, I will fight for you every day of our life if that's what it takes.”
She groans as if annoyed. But then she says a single word that has me standing up and pulling her in my arms.
“Fine,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Fine, you'll marry me?”
A smile breaks out on her face, and she brushes her hands through her hair. “This is insanity. You realize that, right?” she asks. “This is absolutely insane.”
“You already got the ring on your finger, baby. Don't fret now, little one. I got you.”
“I love you, Jameson, but I'm scared I'm going to let you down. I'm not very reliable, and I'm not very responsible and I'm certainly not organized like my sister Wavy. She was always the grown-up. I was always the person she was taking care of — and I was the big sister. The roles were reversed since day one.”
“I thought you were done with the past?” I ask. “I thought you were ready for the future?”
“I am.”
“Then let’s just be happy,” I say, picking her up from the ground, her legs wrapping around my waist. God, she feels good in my arms. “Just be happy. The storm is passing. Look.” I point out the window. “The rain has stopped. The clouds parted.” A ray of sunshine filters through the sky, right on our cabin, on our little piece of paradise. “See, it's a new chapter.”
“I love you, Jameson.”
“Good,” I tell her, “because I love you too, Jemma.”
“Make love to me,” she asks, her eyes bright.
I chuckle. “Girl. You know that was my plan.”
“Food's going to burn,” she says with a laugh, and she turns the knobs on the oven with her free hand, clicking everything off there. “Now, have your way with me, fiancé.” Her eyes sparkle with pleasure.
I don't take her to bed, and I don't take her to the hot tub or the bearskin rug. I don't take her to the shower or the kitchen table. No. I have other plans for her. I carry her up the stairs to the loft.
“What are we doing up here?” she asks. “We’ve never spent time in this space.”
“It's where the extra bedrooms are.”
“Extra bedrooms for what?”
I shake my head. “No, extra bedrooms for who?”
She smiles. “You really want a family with me?”
“I want it so fucking bad.” I place her feet on the floor, and I push open the door to one room. “This can be where the boys sleep, and” —then I push open another door— “this can be where the girls sleep.”
“You're crazy,” she says.
“Maybe, but there are worse things to be than crazy. I'm crazy in love. I'm crazy for you. I'm crazy for whatever happens next.”
“Whatever happens?” she asks. “You sure you’ll be up for anything?”
I nod. “Yes.” I run my hands through her hair, and I kiss her again. “Does this scare you — the possibility of our future?”
She shakes her head. “No, I'm not scared of that part. I'm just scared of letting you down.”
I shush her. “Not now,” I say. “Let's not think about our worries or our fears. Let's think about our hope, the hope we have for what's to come.”
She giggles. “I’m hoping for something to come real soon.” She runs her hands down my chest, her hand moving over my thick cock, pulling at the fabric of my jeans.
“I’m so hard for you,” I tell her.
“I can tell,” she says with a smile. “God, you can't leave me like you did last night, Jamie.”
“Why is that?” I lift the hem of her shirt and toss it aside, and then I unhook her bra. With her tits now free, I drop my mouth to suck her sweet nipples. God, her tits are gorgeous full globes. My cock aches at the sight of them.
“I was alone all night in a bed. Thinking about you.”
“And what were you thinking about?” I ask her as I pushed down her leggings, cupping her bare ass, running my fingers over her slit.
“I was thinking about this. I was thinking about you and me. Us….” She loses her train of thought, laughing as I begin to touch her pussy the way she loves. “I can't concentrate when you do that.”
“Oh, did you want me to stop?” I say, stilling my hand, a grin on my face.
“Don't you dare,” she says, tossing her head back. She runs her hands up and down my back pulling her cheek to my chest. “God, I just want it all at once.”
“You want the babies now?” I tease.
She laughs. “I was thinking about you being inside of me. I was thinking about how I want you to lick my pussy and do all sorts of things. God, Jameson, you make me so damn horny.”
“It's cute when you get turned on.” I smack her ass. “Now come here, little one. Let me do all those naughty things you're dreaming about.”
We fall to the floor, the carpet under our knees, our backs. We roll as one. I run my hands over Jemma, and I part her wet folds to stroke her cunt the way she desires, the way that makes her squeal and squirm and laugh. God, I love her laugh.
“Are we really engaged?” she pants, with my fingers buried deep in her tight cunt. She's getting sweet and juicy, so damn ready for my thick cock.
“Yeah, we're really doing this,” I tell her. “The plan is simple. We fuck, sleep, and repeat for the rest of our goddamn life.”
“And the babies?” she asks, laughing. “I think you forgot about our babies. They will have to be taken care of too.”
I run my tongue over her pussy. God, how sweet she tastes. “Right. Taking care of the babies. We’ll do that too. I got distracted by your pussy.”
She runs her hand over my cock and lifts herself, pushing against my chest, forcing me to the ground. She climbs on top of me and leans down to my mouth, kissing me hard.
“You like tasting yourself on me?” I ask her.
She nods. “It's really hot.”
I squeeze her ass, lift her hips. She sinks down on me. We melt together in one fluid motion. We're meant to be.
She moans, “Oh, Jamie,” and the words on her lips are so desperate and demanding. “Fuck me. Fuck me now. Fuck me, please.” She moves faster and faster, like a greedy little vixen. I'd laugh if I wasn't so fucking hot and bothered. Her tits bounce so deliciously, and I squeeze them, loving the way they feel in my hands.
She looks so beautiful when she bounces on my big cock. She looks so good as I fuck her the way she needs, the way I need, the way I plan on fucking her forever. Her juicy cunt is tight around my cock, and I groan in need, wanting more, needing everything.
“Fuck me, Jamie,” she begs again, and I thrust deep inside her, wrapping my arms around her back and pulling her to me. I need her to be closer. I need her heart against my heart. I need her mouth against my mouth. I need our bodies forever joined as one.
“I love you, Jemma.”
“I l
ove you too,” she purrs as we fuck until we come, and then we fuck again, knowing there is plenty more where this came from. Afterward, we roll on our backs, laughing deliriously. Somehow, we found one another, and our life seems practically complete.
I take her hand in mine, the big rock gleaming on her finger. “That was my grandma's ring,” I tell her.
“A family heirloom?” she asks, then shakes her head in disbelief. We turn to face one another “I can't believe I'm wearing a family heirloom on my finger. It's one of those things that only happens in Hallmark Christmas movies.”
“Nah,” I tell her. “This is your life, girl. This is our life.”
“What did your parents say when you told them about me? When you apologized? I haven't heard any of it. Everything has been so dramatic since you landed. I want to know everything.”
I tell her how it went, about how my parents and I all asked for forgiveness. “We all ran in our own way and they seem to understand that we all needed space, time to heal.”
“And it wasn’t intense?” she asks.
“I think they were just happy I was back in their lives. My dad wants me to help with the family business. Apparently, he's ready to retire and needs his son to step up. I guess the timing is right.”
Jemma smiles. “That's amazing. Could you do that from here, though?” she asks.
“I don't know. I think it would be difficult.”
“Would you be interested in leaving Whiskey Mountain?”
“Well, it's so beautiful here. I’d hate to say goodbye. Plus, we have the kids’ rooms all sorted.”
She laughs. “You could always keep this place, and we could have another place closer to your family business.”
I nod. “Yeah, that's what I was thinking. My grandparents’ place is empty, and it's waterfront property.”
She snorts. “That's insane. There's just like a big empty house waiting for you?”
“Yeah, but I guess we could always have a vacation home on Whiskey Mountain.”
She has a faraway look in her eyes as if she is trying to figure something out. “So, what have you been doing for money, if you say you weren’t taking your family’s money?” She smiles, hooking her leg over mine. “I guess those are the kind of details we should've discussed; you know before we got engaged.”
I swallow. I've been hoping to avoid this conversation with her for many reasons. “I was flying a cargo plane, dropping off deliveries in remote areas.”
“Oh, okay. Kind of like Walker?” she asks.
“Yeah, like that,” I say, knowing it’s not the truth. “But I’m through with that. With that life. I need to do work that keeps me home, not flying off for days on end. I’d be too worried about you, little one.”
Jemma’s eyes fill with tears. “I feel so lucky. Like a princess.”
“I never want you to feel scared again, Jemma. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, for always.”
She wraps her arms around me tightly. I make a silent promise never to let her go.
Chapter Twelve
Jemma
In the morning, I pull on one of Jameson’s tee shirts over my leggings. I definitely could use a few more sets of clothes. I’ve been rotating the few outfits I brought in my backpack. Jameson is already up for the day, and I take my time making our bed, fluffing the pillows and smoothing the sheets, relishing in the fact that he proposed. That I said yes. It all seems like a fairy tale.
I don’t want the spell to break.
My feet are cold, so I dig around in his dresser drawer for a pair of comfy socks, and my hands wrap around a revolver. It’s cold metal, too familiar for my liking, and I grab the wool socks before slamming the drawer shut.
I know we are in Alaska, and Jameson has plenty of reasons for needing a gun up here, but I don’t like thinking about it. The whole thing makes my skin crawl, and the beginnings of a headache touch my temples.
When I head for the bathroom cabinet to find aspirin, I pause as I remember something. I got so caught up in so much: Maker, Jameson’s crash, the proposal —everything here in this incredible cocoon, good and bad — that I forgot something.
The pregnancy test.
Heart suddenly thudding, my hands slide down my shirt and find my stomach, and I stand in my cozy socks in Jameson’s beautiful bathroom and think, really think, about what our future could look like. And about when our future could really begin.
After a minute of fumbling with the packaging, angling myself awkwardly, and laughing as I shake my head at my reflection in the mirror, I finally dare to look down.
Nothing. No lines, double or single, blue or pink or whatever, and I scramble for the packaging to look for instructions. Two lines will signify positive. A single line is negative.
I feel suddenly hot, enclosed, and I open the bathroom door all the way and call out for Jameson, even though I am certain he still isn’t back. Since our groceries were lost in the lake, he suggested he would go out for a few hours, see if he couldn’t hunt anything and bring it back.
Hunt something for me. Then bring it back and cook it up for me in this beautiful, warm, cozy log cabin. Could this get any more fantastic? Any more unreal?
But he didn’t leave too long ago, and he still isn’t back.
I let out a breath, still staring out of the bathroom door and down the winding wooden staircase, and I try to come to terms with the fact that I’ve got to do this part myself: the finding out. The rest? Whatever it is, I have total confidence in the fact that we will do that together.
We’re a team. Already. That knowledge gives me the push I need to turn around and head back towards the test. Whatever it says, positive or negative, good, bad, or in-between, I know one thing: I’m not in this alone anymore.
As I look down at the results, I think maybe I never will be again.
Because it’s positive.
I stand there, for I don’t know how long, just picturing my future. Here. With Jameson, together, raising our children. With Wavy just next door raising hers. They can grow up together. My eyes are welling up with tears and at first, I swipe them away, but then I sit on the edge of the tub and I let them fall. I’m happy. Overwhelmed; surprised, yes, but happy.
I’m jerked from my daydreaming, turning the test over and over in my hands, when a now all-too-familiar sound rattles at the door downstairs. At first, it’s a furious pounding, but then I hear glass shatter and rain down and I gasp and hurry to peek. Is it Jameson? Just in case it’s Maker again, I don’t say a word — but why on Earth would he be angry enough to smash our windows? What did I do to deserve this? What did Jameson do to deserve it?
It isn’t Jameson. I’m not sure who it is, because it’s two enormous men dressed in black are stepping through the bay window with the kind of cold efficiency that makes my blood run cold. One of them spots me, signals with one arm, and the second darts up the stairs.
I scream, reacting just a second too late in my confusion, and trip backward into the bathroom, hurrying to slam the door shut. Just as I’m trying to turn the lock with quivering hands, the man bursts through and the wood door edge connects with my forehead. My vision bursts into a thousand bright colors and I stumble. Whoever this man is, his face turns upwards into an ugly grin as he catches me.
“Look,” I hear him say as I squirm and fight to stay conscious in his arms. “We got us a pretty little thing.”
The other one stomps up the stairs, and though I’m still fighting I don’t even stand a chance against just the one guy. The man is chuckling as he appraises me. “Jameson ain’t never gonna cross us again.”
I pull in a breath as they lift me as if I’m nothing and carry me out of the house, and head to the seaplane I didn’t even hear come in. With everything I have, I scream. And scream. A big, calloused hand claps over my mouth, and somehow, we’re speeding away above the trees. Away from everything I have, everything I love.
Everything I’d ever wanted.
Chapter T
hirteen
Jameson
I have the most beautiful deer in my sights and have been considering taking it down for a while. I’ve been doing this shit long enough, out here on my own, to understand precisely how to utilize every single scrap of meat, preserve it properly, even use the hide and bones, but still, every time I’m actually here, I just never feel good about it.
As I’m lining up the shot and making plans for the whole animal so that I don’t feel guilty, a plane engine sputters overhead and as I glance up the deer bolts. Dammit. For a short second, I wonder if rabbit is a better idea anyway, but then I freeze like a deer.
What the hell is a seaplane doing taking off? What the hell is it doing coming from my house?
A thousand thoughts rush through my head. There are a thousand dangerous situations that could happen to my Jemma. Why did I think hunting was a good idea? We could have eaten goddamn crackers and been happy and I would never have had to leave her all alone.
I’m running. Sprinting. Full-on pelting through the trees until I get back to the house. The bay window near the front door is totally shattered, and the house stands before me with some lights on, some off, and I know before I get inside and start yelling her name that she’s gone. She was on that plane.
Still, I rush into every room. “Jemma?” I call, pausing outside the bathroom door upstairs. There is a dent in the wood that surely wasn’t there before, and I get a sudden and chilling vision of my girl trying to hide in here.
At first, I’m overcome with sadness when I imagine what could have happened to her. Then I spot a strange object discarded, on the bathroom floor. I bend over to pick it up.
It’s a pregnancy test. And I am certain, completely confident, that the two lines mean it’s positive. They mean more than that: they say that my fiancée is carrying my child, that we were going to begin our perfect, amazing family sooner than I’d been dreaming. The test falls from my hands again as my worry, fear, and confusion all are replaced by something else. Something clarifying. Whoever did this to my beautiful, sweet, pregnant woman, a woman who deserves nothing but the best after the shit she’s been through already -- They’re going to pay.
Jameson: The Men of Whiskey Mountain Book 2 Page 6
