by Geneva Lee
"Don't say that." I move toward him but he looks away.
"I’m no good for you."
The sincerity in his words makes my heart sink. I grab his chin and force him to face me. "You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me."
"How can you say that? Your dad hates me. I spend most of my time worrying so much about your safety that I hired someone to follow you, and you’ve been dragged into a murder investigation. I’ve done nothing to deserve you."
"You set me free," I whisper. "I didn’t have a life before you. I refused to have one. I’d just accepted that nothing was ever going to change and had half-buried myself in other people’s trinkets at the store. Then you changed everything."
"Out here"—he glances around before returning his gaze to mine—"I can see for miles in any direction, but right now, all I see is you. I think you’re the only thing I’ve ever seen clearly."
I don’t need him to explain, because it’s exactly how I feel.
He takes a single step forward, closing the short space between us. "I love you, Emma Southerly."
It takes a moment for his words to soak into me. I’ve known I loved him for a while now, but hearing him say it, I can’t find the words to respond.
Jameson doesn’t wait for me to respond, he continues, "I think I fell in love with you when you walked into my kitchen and made me that macaroni and cheese."
"And you’ve made me work for it all this time?" I tease, sniffing as the first tears break loose and stream down my cheeks.
He brushes them away. "I can’t be held accountable for acting crazy; you’ve driven me to it."
"Okay," I croak. For now, I’ll concede on that point. It’s not as if I’ve been the picture of mental health since we met. I guess that’s why they say crazy in love. "I love you, too."
He heaves a sigh. "I don’t know if I deserve that."
"Shut up and accept it," I order him. Grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt, I pop onto my toes and offer him my lips. His face slants over mine and he captures them like he’s captured my heart.
We stumble toward the car. Jameson feels around behind me, refusing to break off the kiss until he finds the door handle. He lays me across the back seat of the Mercedes before he creeps over me. My hand snakes around his neck, drawing our lips together again, as our bodies mold to one another.
Reaching down, I fumble as I try to unfasten his jeans. He groans and the sound of it vibrates through me. "Not in the car, Duchess."
"Jameson," I pull back and address him seriously, "I don’t think I can wait any longer."
He laughs at my earnestness. "Which one of us is the guy again?"
"Let’s take off our pants and find out." I wiggle my hips, hoping that he won’t be able to resist my suggestion.
"I swear to god that the minute you turn eighteen, I’m going to find the nearest bed and take my sweet time claiming you."
"Claiming me?" I repeat.
He rocks his hips against me, sending a thrill pulsating between my legs. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"Claiming sounds good," I murmur, "but I don’t want to wait."
"It will be worth it," he promises me.
Of that, I have no doubt. It’s more of a patience thing. The trouble is that I don’t have any left.
"I need you, Jamie." The nickname appears on my tongue and it’s like it’s been there my whole life—like he’s been here my whole life.
"We don’t have to wait for everything," he reassures me, pushing a renegade strand of hair from my face.
I arch my body against his, wondering if he can really hold out. His arm circles my waist and he holds me like that. Blood rushes to my head as he leans forward and catches the top of my strapless romper in his teeth. I’m beginning to see spots in my vision when he tugs it down, freeing my breasts. I strain to change position, so I can see what’s happening, but when the heat of his mouth closes over my nipple, I go limp. He sucks it past his teeth, swirling the tip of his tongue around the swiftly hardening peak.
"I’ve waited my whole life for you, Duchess," he tells me as he releases it. "When this is over, I’m going to take you away from here."
"Where?" I murmur dreamily, ready to imagine what our life together will be like then.
"It doesn’t matter," he teases, "because you won’t see anything other than the bed."
I moan loudly as he follows that promise by taking my other nipple in his mouth. He lingers there, not trying to stop me as I begin to buck my hips against his to seek relief.
"That’s it," he coaxes and I feel his free hand press between my legs. He pushes aside the scrap of lace that passes for shorts and runs his fingers down me. I feel one gently push inside and a throaty cry escapes me as he moves it in and out. "God, you are so tight. I’m going to have to do this as often as possible before your birthday."
"Promise?" I breathe. It’s the only word that I can force out as he continues.
"Of course, Duchess. Now let go."
I feel another finger stretching me and that’s all it takes. Jameson holds me as I release, his forehead pressed in the valley between my breasts as I ride out the gift he’s just given me.
When I’ve regained control of my body, I smile shyly at him. "Your turn."
This time he doesn’t argue. Instead, he licks his lips and unbuttons his pants. I scramble onto my knees but before I can return the favor the chime of an incoming text message interrupts.
"Ignore it," I command him just as his phone chimes again. When the third message chimes before I have his pants down, I sit back and wait for him to check his texts.
"Levi and his goddam timing," Jameson grumbles when he sees his phone. "Apparently, I have a house guest."
Now seems like a good time to mention that he’s going to have another one. It’s probably also the right time to tell him that he needs to kick Levi Rowe to the curb. Even through my oxygen-drenched brain, I know I have to do something before Levi finds out something he shouldn’t.
Jameson pockets his phone and lounges back. "He can wait."
"I don’t think that’s a good idea," I say hurriedly. "Plus, there are beds at your house."
He raises an eyebrow. "I thought I was clear about that."
He was crystal clear about it. I’m beginning to think his checklist is even more rigid than mine. "I was thinking we could practice. Clothes on or maybe clothes off and everything but."
"It’s going to be really hard to drive across town with blue balls."
I bite my lip and pout, remembering what he told me the other day. "Why are we in two separate cars?"
"Because someone wanted to race," he reminds me.
"We can leave mine here," I suggest, tracing the bulging outline in his pants, "and come back for it later."
"Seems like a lot of trouble." His breathing speeds up as I shake my head.
"I promise it will be worth it."
He doesn’t argue with me any further. Jameson pulls my car off the road. "If anything happens to it, I’ll buy you a new one."
I’m not in the least bit worried about what happens to that car, even though I have to admit that I like having my own set of wheels. I get into the passenger seat of the BMW.
"Buckle up," he demands as he shifts the car into drive and heads toward the city.
"I can’t," I inform him. "Drive carefully. Oh, and Jameson, see if you can hold out."
Then I wiggle under the arm controlling the gear shift and give him no choice but to lose that challenge.
Chapter 17
This time when we arrive at Jameson’s Belle Mère estate, I take a longer look. This home is modeled after a Mediterranean villa complete with tiled roof and a large fountain out front. I’d noticed that the last time I was here, but I hadn’t been able to appreciate the details like I do now. If he told me that it had been dug up from an ancient village in Tuscany, I would believe it.
I let out a low whistle. “Impressive. So let’s see, you have the penthouse
at the top of the casino, a chalet up on Mt. Charleston, and a villa in town. Any other properties you want to tell me about?”
“There’s the flat in London,” he teases me. “Amongst others.”
“Do you have a book I can peruse or...”
“I’d rather surprise you by taking you to each one.”
I have to admit that I like the sound of that. He parks his BMW in the drive. I’ve learned to stay put until he opens my door. Everyone’s always bitching that chivalry is dead. If he’s its last dying breath, I’m not going to be the one to extinguish it. He takes my hand as soon as I’m out and we head inside the house.
We’ve just stepped into the foyer when my phone rings. “That’s my mom,” I tell him, recognizing the ring tone. “I can only avoid her for so long before she sicks the police department on me. I’ve spent enough quality time with the Belle Mère PD to last me a couple of years.”
“Take the call, I’ll find Levi.” He gives me a swift kiss before he heads off in the direction of the kitchen. One simple gesture and he’s left me breathless. I’m in so much trouble with him.
“Hi mom,” I greet her.
“Where are you?”
“Nice to talk to you, too.” I turn toward an empty room that serves as some type of parlor, hoping no one else will hear my conversation with her. “I’m in Belle Mère.”
“I’ve been trying to reach your father but—”
“I’m not staying with him,” I stop her. There’s no point in trying to keep the facts from her. I hear a sharp inhale on the other line.
“Where are you staying?”
“With Josie.” It’s not exactly a lie. I haven’t brought up my fight with her to Jameson yet, so I don’t know for sure that he’ll let me stay here. If he doesn’t, I guess I’ll be begging her forgiveness after dark.
“Emma,” she says in a warning tone.
“Call Marion if you don’t believe me,” I snap.
“Fine. Did you get your car at least?” Trust my mother to segue into a topic that makes her look good. She’s doing damage control without knowing what caused the destruction in the first place.
“I did. It’s nice.”
“Maybe you could drive back down here and pick up your stuff,” she suggests.
“Mom,” I say it slowly, wanting to catch her attention. “I won’t be coming back to Palm Springs unless Hans is out of town.” I add the qualifier because as angry as I am with her, I know it’s not her fault.
“Emma, what happened between you and Hans?” she asks in a soft voice.
And here it is. My chance to tell her the truth. But before I can, I remember Josie’s face this afternoon after she saw Anton with her mother. She’d stepped over a line and she couldn’t turn back. If I tell my mother, I know she’ll side with me. I also know there’s a prenup, that there will be a nasty divorce and that she’ll have her heart broken all over again. She has to suspect what kind of man she’s married to. She can’t possibly know the depths of his depravity, though, and I’m not ready to be the one to tell her. Not yet. “I saw the script for Hans’s movie.” It’s as good of a reason as any. “There’s a sex scene in there between me and Jameson.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Did you have sex with him that night?” she asks.
I had no idea she was capable of such directness. “No, I didn’t. I told Hans that, but he refuses to take it out.”
“Honey, you can’t make business decisions—”
Here come the apologetics. I’ve given her enough slack for the evening. “Mom, sorry, I need to go. Something’s come up.”
I hang up before she can stop me and turn the ringer off on my phone. Tonight I only want to be with Jameson. But as I round the corridor that leads to the kitchen, I realize that might be harder than I thought.
The gang’s all here.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I didn’t get an invitation,” I say to Monroe. She doesn’t even bother to answer me. I suppose the brief moment we had the other day was a fluke.
Unlike the others, Jonas has the decency to come over to me.
“Good to see you,” he says, hugging me awkwardly. It’s hard to admit there was a time when I would have bottled up that momentary contact and clung to it for months. Finally being over Jonas, I’m having a hard time not judging how pitifully I’d acted.
I break away as soon as it’s polite. “I saw you at the hospital.”
“I’m sorry?”
“A few days ago.” I attempt to jog his memory, but he still stares at me blankly. Then again, he’s always been a bit of a beautiful nothing. Seeing him now, I can’t help but wonder what Leighton felt the need to protect him from. “Did you go to visit Leighton?”
“No.” He grabs a beer out of a six pack on the counter. “I just got back in town.”
“You know what? Hugo mentioned that.” He’s not going to budge, so either he forgot or he’s protecting himself as well. What does Jonas have to hide? “I guess I thought it was you.”
I’m absolutely positive that I’d spotted Jonas at Belle Pointe, but why is he covering it up? Sure, his story is that he was out of town, but I know better. I might not always be great with names or facts, but faces I’m pretty good at—especially one I’ve nearly sucked the lips off.
“Trying to steal my girl?” Levi swaggers over and drops an arm around my shoulder with the confidence of a man who knows what’s going to greet him when he looks in the mirror. Any other time, I might be flattered by his attention, but I saw that headshot in my stepfather’s office, and I suspect Levi isn’t at Casa de West to catch up with the family.
I shrug away from him and force a small smile. “Good to see you.”
Judging from the scathing glare that Sabine, Monroe’s less nice best friend gives me, he won’t have a hard time finding another girl to feed his ego. She saunters over and wedges herself in the space between us. If she knew I was grateful that she’s acting as a buffer, she’d probably lock me in a room with him. Sabine’s bizarre need to look out for her own interests is only trumped by her uncompromising policy that the rest of humanity remain below her.
I take my chances anyway, knowing how much it will irk her, and lean to whisper in her ear. “Thanks. I couldn’t get away from him to find my boyfriend.”
The only thing that might annoy Sabine more than knowing that she’s helped me is a reminder that I’ve landed Jameson West. Now that I’ve put that pot on to boil, I hurry away.
Jameson is nowhere to be seen, which sucks considering I’m stuck in the high school reunion from hell: ex-boyfriend, guy I slept with to get back at ex-boyfriend, ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend, the first female anti-christ, and the hot guy planning to screw over one of his best friends for fame. I guess Friday nights are alright for fighting.
I duck out onto the back patio. Leave it to the Wests to eschew the traditional barbecue grill and picnic table and replace it with a full grotto, a gourmet outdoor kitchen, and not one, not two, but three guest houses on the far side of the pool’s stone waterfall.
“Subtle,” I mutter to myself.
A door opens behind me, but when I glance over my shoulder, my heart sinks. It isn’t Jameson.
“Care to go for a swim?” Levi flashes me his signature smile.
“I don’t have a suit.”
He leans against a stone column and chuckles. “I’ve never found that to be a problem.”
“I’m guessing you don’t find many things to be a problem,” I say to him. Like your conscience, for instance.
He blinks, looking a bit confused, then shrugs. “Do you mind if I swim?”
“Go right ahead, but I’m not jumping in if you start to drown.”
Levi clutches his chest. “You wound me. What did I do to offend you so terribly, Emma...?” He pauses, trying to remember my last name.
“Southerly,” I offer it to him, for reasons I can’t even fathom. It’s that goddamn charismati
c grin of his.
He strips his t-shirt over his head, but before he can take off his pants, I think better of the situation. “Actually, I do care if you swim.”
His fingers freeze on the button of his shorts. “I didn’t take you for being a shy one.”
“I’m not,” I reassure him. “But I do have a shred of decency.”
“I can keep my shorts on,” he says, but I shake my head.
“That’s not what this is about, Levi. When are you going to tell Jameson the truth?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” So that’s how he’s going to play it.
“You’re going to have to lie better than that if you’re going to land an award for playing him in ‘Wild West.’” I make sure to put the title in air quotes.
“How do you know about that?” he demands.
“I’m guessing Jameson didn’t fill you in on who my stepfather is.”
When he continues his impression of total vacancy, I sigh and continue. “Hans Von Essen. Ring a bell?”
“Holy shit. I had no clue.”
“Yeah.” I put a hand up to stop him. “I guessed that from the fact you were stupid enough to come here.”
“Why would it be stupid to visit an old friend?” There’s definitely no Academy Award in his future. Maybe he finds it easier to act on screen than he does to lie to someone’s face. Either way, he’s charismatic, but he’s not convincing.
“I find being lied to pretty insulting,” I inform him.
“I’m not lying to you. I just came to catch up, and study his mannerisms, and find out how his family is doing,” he continues and I see now that he’s lying to himself. I suppose you’d have to, to betray a friend so deeply. “So what if I want to get him just right? Whoever plays Jameson should be emotionally true.”
“Save it,” I cut him off. “Have you told Jameson that you plan on playing him in this movie?”
“I’m going to,” he hedges, but it’s a safe bet that he’s not. “You haven’t told him, have you?”
“No. I’ve been trying to think of a way to break his heart even further. You know, his father was recently murdered, and the police are investigating him for the crime,” I rattle off the facts in a flat voice.
