by Anthology
I close my eyes and think of the first time I made love to him. It was rough, intense and forbidden. It was a tangle of naked limbs on top of my chiffon dress as he had me screaming in ecstasy into the darkened night.
A shiver runs up my spine at the reminder of his hands on my skin. His tongue in my mouth. His whispers in my ear.
He took my body, my heart…my soul.
I bite my lip and smile, savoring the memory that refuses to leave me. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t seem to let that one go. But I must. I can’t be one man’s wife while dreaming of another.
I take a deep breath in and exhale every thought in my head, cleansing myself of all things that are not my future husband.
Pulling my shawl tighter around my body, I push away from the wall and open my eyes.
When I do, I see the one man I just vowed never to dream of again.
Jameson Brock.
2
THE REUNION
“Jules,” he says my name like he can’t imagine I’m standing before him. Not in surprise, but as if his world just found the peacefulness it had been craving for years.
The virile deep hum of his voice makes my heart stop. I never thought I’d hear the sound again.
I open my mouth to speak, but momentarily, I cannot. The sight of him is too much for my senses to handle.
Jameson is standing on the cobblestone street. His dark hair is now long and curled at the ends, and the beard he had the last time I saw him is gone. In its place is a five o’clock shadow that looks so damn sexy, I want to run my hand along his jaw to see if it feels as hard as it looks. Those pouty lips I grew accustomed to kissing whenever I wanted are still as full as ever. And, oh, that body—he still has the body of a man who doesn’t need to work out, for the manual labor of outside work is enough to keep him fit and healthy. His broad chest, narrow waist, and strong thighs are hiding beneath a navy-blue button-down shirt and a pair of jeans.
His hands are clenched at his sides, the stance of a man on a mission. But, while his body looks tense, his eyes tell a different story. For those blue-green almond-shaped orbs I fell in love with when I was just a teenager are looking at me the way I always wanted them to.
Like I am his whole universe.
“What are you doing here?” I finally ask. My mouth is dry as I try to swallow down the excitement rushing through my chest.
“You’re getting married?” he says in disbelief as his chest rises and falls.
My head nods slightly. I’m afraid to say too many words, for fear this is just a dream and I’ll startle myself awake.
His chest constricts, and his eyes widen. His exhales come out in short puffs as he runs his hands through his hair and pulls on the ends. He spins around as he curses out an expletive.
I squeeze the metal necklace of gears in my hand, causing it to lightly pierce the skin. This isn’t a dream. He’s really here.
As much as my body still feels this incredible pull toward him, this intoxicating need to run up to him and throw my arms around his neck and kiss him until the sun rises, I can’t. Because, even though my mouth still craves his kiss, my mind is reeling from the pain from the hurt he caused by leaving me alone in Paris.
“You left me,” I state, my wits coming back. “After six months together, you disappeared.”
“I left a note.”
“Your note meant shit!”
His eyes go from mine to the front window of the restaurant and the party going on inside. His jaw clenches with the action. “Is that why you agreed to marry the first asshole who asked?”
“The first?” I start to speak and stop, unhinged and wildly unprepared to be confronting Jameson. “Did you think I’d remain chaste while you”—my chin juts up in the air, my voice shrill—“did whatever the hell you’d been doing all this time?”
“You have no idea what I’ve been through. But I’ll tell you one thing; it certainly wasn’t getting engaged.”
“You left me, Jameson.”
“You kicked me out.”
“Those were just words. Terrible words said in anger. It was our first fight. In fact, I don’t even remember what we were even fighting about.”
“I wasn’t good enough.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t give me a reason to stay, now did you?”
My jaw drops. “Are you blaming this on me?”
“You made your comments about needing a man who could provide. How you should have married one of your Ivy League boys you had lined up at Wharton.”
I flinch. “You heard that?”
He leans forward, a finger pointing to the ground in aggravation. His words are slow and steady as he says, “I heard everything.”
My mind races back to that night. Mother came to visit, her first in the months I had been living abroad. She tried to talk me out of my relationship with Jameson. She said I could do better. I agreed with her but only in jest.
“This little affair with the help has lasted long enough.” Mother walked about our Parisian apartment before stopping to look with pure disgust at a photo of Jameson and me kissing at the Eiffel Tower.
“It’s not some tryst you can disregard. We’re in love,” I defended, my chin raised in defiance. It was the first time I’d ever spoken up to her.
“Oh, Jules, of course he’s in love with you. You’re the daughter of a millionaire.”
“That is so cliché, Mother, even for you.”
“Well then, how about the fact that you’re an international businesswoman? You work for Dubois International while he’s…unemployed.”
My hands landed on my hips. “He has a job.”
“Fixing cars? Oh, honey, you could have your pick. All those fine young men from Wharton are lined up, waiting for you to give them a chance. What about Kip Freghkerden? He’s in Paris, as we speak, on business affairs. He’s taken quite a liking to you.” Her words were spoken in encouragement.
I shook my head and looked down. There was no way she would understand what Jameson meant to me. She didn’t know how I’d loved him through high school and college, coming home only to see him. It hadn’t been perfect at first, but we’d become friends over long talks in the carriage house. We had fallen in love with each other through the years but had been too scared to say anything.
As I looked back at Mother, I remembered exactly why Jameson and I’d stayed away from each other all those years. Because of status. Because of words like the ones she was spewing at that moment.
“You’re right,” I said. “He is just using me for our money. I will be happier with someone who also comes from wealth. I won’t have to worry if that person is only with me for the dollar signs attached to the Bradford name.”
Mother’s hands fell to the sides in relief. “Exactly. You should be with a man—”
“Like Kip Freghkerden,” I agreed. “We’ll be engaged by New Year’s, I’m sure.”
Mother’s face lit up in excitement but quickly fell as she saw the look on my face morph from mock acceptance to utter disregard.
“We’ll have three children and live in an estate on Long Island—close to you and Father, of course. We’ll sleep in separate bedrooms because, even though we’re married, the truth is, we don’t love each other. Hell, we don’t even like each other. Our marital bed will only be shared with servants and houseguests when the other is away.”
Her mouth was pinched tightly in dismay. She knew I was talking of her relationship with Father. I carried on with my tirade of the non-perfect life I wished to share with Kip or any man other than Jameson. It was all said to make a point.
I’d chosen Jameson because I loved him. And he loved me back.
“I didn’t mean any of it. I was just appeasing her.” I start to move toward him and then remember the events that followed my conversation with Mother. The words he said when he walked through the door. He pushed my buttons, getting me angry to the point that I would say hurtful things. “You picke
d a fight with me on purpose. You wanted us to end.”
He doesn’t confirm or deny my accusation. Instead, he just stares at me with more meaning and purpose than ever, telling me a story I am supposed to know but haven’t heard.
“Jameson Brock, please don’t tell me you left me because of some misguided chivalry.”
“You deserved better.”
“Well then, I’ve found it. Is that why you’re here? To make sure I am marrying the right man? Because I am. I’ve chosen a wonderful man to spend the rest of my life with. A man I love very much.”
My words cause him to cringe.
“How did you know anyway?” I ask, trying to keep the hurt deep inside me. “Don’t you think it’s selfish of you to be here? What would you have done if I weren’t outside? Barge in like some knight on his white horse, saving me from a loveless marriage?”
“I thought you said you loved him.”
“I do!” I cross my arms and lean back. “So, what exactly is your goal this evening?”
Jameson takes a step closer, his body hovering over mine, causing me to ignite and recoil at the same time. “I needed to see for myself.”
“See what?” I ask with defiance in my tone.
“That you were happy.”
His breath is on my skin, and the heat of his body is radiating off him. I want to curl up into his arms, as if he were a warm blanket.
His mouth catches my attention. That erotic, sinful mouth that could claim me in a single kiss and weaken me to my knees. Those lips that devoured me over and over again, being everything I’d dreamed of and more.
I look up into his eyes and fall into the fire inside that gaze. No man has ever looked at a woman with such power and possession as Jameson Brock is looking at me now. It’s the intensity of his need that has ruined me for any other man, including the one I’ve chosen as my future husband.
Kip.
I hold a hand up and back away. “You have to go.”
His eyes downcast, they land on my hand in the air. It’s still clutching the gears necklace.
“You still have it.” Those blue-greens look up in astonishment and then follow the path to my neck where the pendant of the sun now resides.
Jameson is the moon.
The lingering being that is there every moment of every day, hovering in the sky, etched on my heart. No matter how bright the sun shines, the moon stands stronger.
And I’ve traded the moon for the sun.
He reaches out a hand to take the necklace, but I pull my wrist back toward me before thinking better of it.
Then, I hold my hand out. “Here, I don’t want it anymore.”
His breath hitches. My words hurt more than they were meant to.
Hurting me more than I ever imagined.
When his hand brushes up against mine, my body awakens from a three-year-long sleep. It’s as if the blood is rushing through my veins for the first time since I last felt the heat of his flesh. Last inhaled the intoxicating scent of spice, soap, and hot-blooded male.
I look up at him. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, his eyes are speaking for him—from the way they are slightly glassy and the arch of his turned down brow. He takes the necklace from my hand and squeezes it. His eyelids close, and he holds on to the metal, clutching it to his heart.
When his eyes open, his pupils are dilated, fixed on me with purpose. “Good-bye, Jules.”
It’s the good-bye I didn’t get three years ago. The one I said I wanted, and it’s horrific.
He turns around, and for the second time in my life, I am left by the one man I ever truly loved.
Yes, I said it right.
3
THE BENTLEY
“You’re not getting cold feet on me, are you?” Kip asks as he drops me off at The Manor.
“Doesn’t every bride get the jitters the night before the wedding?” I say with a light laugh, mostly to cover my nerves. My reunion with Jameson left me anxious. I haven’t been able to eat or drink, and I’ve been pretending to listen to every conversation while all I can think about is him. “I just want everything to be perfect tomorrow.”
“Me, too, darling. And it will be. Your mother will make sure of it.”
He’s joking, but he’s right. This is more her day than it is ours.
I look down and fiddle with my hands on my lap. “Kip”—I bite my lip as I think of the best way to ask this—“do you think we’re rushing into this? I mean, we dated for only a few months before getting engaged.”
He leans over and plays with my golden hair, tucking it behind my ear in an affectionate way. “At this point, we’ve been together for a year. We’re adults, and we know what we want.” His thumb runs soft circles on my cheek. “Do I make you happy, Jules?”
I look over to him. His brown eyes are focused on me in concern.
“Yes,” I say honestly. “I am happy. You make me laugh, and you always encourage me to try new things. I know we’re going to have a beautiful life. I was just curious, was all. I guess I am having cold feet.”
He kisses my nose and then my lips. “It’s normal. I wouldn’t be a good fiancé if I didn’t admit that I was nervous, too. But I want to marry you. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure you were the woman for me.”
I smile at his words, my nerves easing a bit. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kip starts to exit the car, but I tap his arm, letting him know that he doesn’t have to open the door for me.
“Good night,” I say before stepping out of the car.
I wave to him from the front door. He would never leave without making sure I was safely inside.
In the foyer, I can hear Mother talking to the staff about the arrangements for tomorrow. The ceremony will be on the veranda overlooking the ocean, followed by the reception in a tent on the great lawn on the side of the property.
I quickly shuffle past so as not to be pulled into the conversation. When I reach Father’s study, I see he’s there, having a scotch with his business associates. The large home suddenly feels incredibly small.
I look up the stairwell and contemplate going to my room, the place I will sleep for the last time as a Bradford. I’m not ready to turn in, so I keep walking through the living room and the piano room, the dark night sky peeking through the windowpanes of the doors leading to the veranda.
I step outside and close the door behind me. The air is filled with the scent of sea and salt. The breeze moves through my hair as I look up at the full moon. It’s brilliant and hovering closer than it ever has, its light shining down like a spotlight aimed directly on the carriage house.
Like the gravitational pull of the moon to Earth, I feel myself being drawn to the building where Jameson once worked. The place where we spent years getting to know each other as friends.
I walk down the steps and to the side door of the carriage house. The building is dark, but as I approach, I see a dim light inside. As soon as I step into the room, I know why.
I startle back when I realize someone is in the room.
“Jameson.” My hand is on my chest, clutching my heart that’s beating a million beats per minute.
He’s seated in a chair by the desk on the sidewall, but he rises at the sight of me. His hand is clenched tightly around something. I can see the silver of my necklace hanging through his fingers. His powerful six-foot-two stature is commanding.
“I was waiting for the lights to go out,” he confesses, taking a step toward me. “I was going to climb the trellis and into your window.”
My stomach flutters at the notion.
He takes another painfully slow step in my direction. “I can’t move on from this moment without knowing…” His fist opens and reveals the seven gears, one for each year we knew each other as friends before slowly falling in love. “Why were you holding this?”
I’m confused by his question.
He must see it on my face because he asks, “Were you wearing it when he gave you t
hat?” He motions toward the sun.
I nod. He moves closer.
With each of his steps closer, my heart threatens to beat out of my chest in rushed excitement.
“You were at your rehearsal dinner, celebrating your soon-to-be marriage to another man, and you were wearing my necklace.”
I lick my lips. “I wore it every day since you gave it to me.”
His pupils dilate. “Why, Jules? Why, after all this time, did you continue to keep it on?”
I swallow hard. “It was the only piece of you I had left.”
His breath hitches, and I swear, those blue-green eyes moisten. “I want to know—no, goddamn it, I need to know, why?”
“Why?” I ask in a whisper. “Why did I need to carry a piece of you wherever I went even though I’d told you to leave? Even though you left without returning for a thousand days and nights?” I try to tame the tears as I point to his hand. “You want to know why is that piece of metal in your hands is worth more to me than any tangible thing on this earth?”
He nods slightly.
My hand is on my heart as I answer, “Because I’m still in love with you.”
I might be stalled in my tracks, but he is on the move. With a few long strides, he is standing before me. I look up into his eyes, which are filled with determination.
He drops the necklace to the floor. His strong hands find the sides of my head, and he pulls me in until his mouth is on mine.
Wet heat is all I feel. Peppermint is all I taste. And the rock-solid being of Jameson Brock flush against my body is all I feel.
My hands immediately cling to his shirt and clench tightly at the fabric, pulling him closer to me. I match his kisses with the yearning of a woman who was left in the desert without a drop of water and has just found her nirvana.
His hand lowers and falls under the gold lamé, palming my ass. I moan at the feel of his callous palm on my smooth skin.
