Because Beards
Page 33
He made this.
For me.
Jameson Brock created a piece of jewelry for me. If he only knew what this meant to me, he may not have made it in the first place.
“You hate it,” he says from behind me.
I clutch the piece to my chest and close my eyes. “I love it.”
“No, it’s OK. I know it was stupid. You have diamonds and pearls. What would you want with a piece of junk like that?”
“Are you kidding me?” I turn on my heels so fast, I think I’ve startled him.
He steps forward, his eyes looking at me with curiosity as he tilts his head and says, “Why are you crying?”
Brushing my palm against my cheek to wipe the tears I didn’t want him to see, I say, “It’s beautiful. I will cherish it forever.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because now I have a piece of you to take with me.” My words are a whisper. A whisper that is shouted into his soul causing his body to fall at ease and take a step toward me with open arms and then abruptly stop, as if he caught himself doing something wrong. I want him near me but know the boundaries of our relationship. The ones we should never cross. Still, I need him close. Just for a moment. “Will you put it on me?”
I unclasp the necklace I’m wearing and place it on the table.
“Jules, that’s the necklace your father gave you for graduating prep school. Don’t take off your emeralds. Not for me.”
I hold up his necklace to him. “You made this for me, right?”
He nods his head. The blue-greens fixed on mine. “Only for you.”
I smile brightly. “Then I want to wear it.”
I turn around and lift my hair. Jameson steps closer, his chest flush against my back as he locks his arms around me and then weaves the necklace around my neck.
He fixes the clasp before tracing a finger along the edge of the chain against my neck and then lets that finger trail down my collarbone to my clavicle. My chest rises with the touch. Just the slightest brush of his finger sends a shock of pleasure through my body.
I drop my hair and turn to him, his hand still resting at the base of my neck. When we are face to face, he traces fingers along the gears of the necklace, looking proudly at his handy work, his vision on my skin.
“Why did you make this for me?” I ask, hoping my question doesn’t cause him to drop his hand. I’ve been dying for Jameson to touch me since he walked into The Manor seven years ago. I was just a child then, but I’m a woman now. And if I’m leaving tomorrow, it’s with the slightest hope that maybe—just maybe—he feels something, anything for me, too.
My eyes are trained on his, but he’s only staring at the necklace as if he’s too afraid to look at me and see what’s written all over my face.
“One gear is lonely. It can’t move on its own. It’s just stagnant.” He takes a moment and swallows, his Adam’s apple thick in his neck. “It probably doesn’t know how alone it is until it’s locked with another gear. You can’t move one without the other. It’s like they’re sole purpose in life is to help the other move forward.” He looks up, and I swear the whole world stops.
For the look he is giving me is that look.
From the slightly glazed-over shine in his eyes, to the way his brow is creasing lightly and the intense dilation of his pupils, he’s looking at me with a yearning and a want and a despair that I’ve been looking at him with for years.
“Jameson,” I whisper and place a hand over his heart. It’s racing, wildly beating out of his chest. I dip my fingers inside the top buttons of his shirt and feel the heated skin. His chest rises with the touch.
“Jules.” My name sounds like prayer on his lips. He moves a step closer, taking away any distance between us. His head falls to my forehead and our eyes close on instinct.
“Seven. There are seven gears,” I say.
“For each year you’ve been in my life.”
My body shoots up and I kiss him.
Without thinking, without considering consequences. No boundaries, or fear of being rejected, I rise up on my toes and kiss Jameson Brock. My lips firm on his, I hold onto him as I press my mouth so deeply into his I fear I may never surface.
His lips are warm and soft. The edge of his beard tickling my face as I part my lips slightly and interlock them with his.
But that’s all that’s happening.
My heart drops at the thought that I’m kissing him, but he’s not kissing me back.
I fall back to my heels and look down. His hands are now at his side, ridding themselves of touching me. I remove my hands from him and step back.
Feeling foolish, I look down at the floor, the tires of the cars, the lighting that illuminates the aisles. Looking anywhere but at Jameson and the look of pity he must have on his face.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me,” I say, wiping the skin around my lips. So much for a grand farewell. Now, when I leave tomorrow, I’ll know that I am leaving nothing behind.
“You don’t understand,” he says, taking a step toward me, but I retreat.
I hold a hand up. “This is embarrassing enough. You don’t have to explain anything.”
“No, Jules, I have everything to explain,” he shouts, causing me to jump a little. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he’s running his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends. “You’re leaving tomorrow. And not just for a vacation or to school, you’re leaving for a future. One that will be filled with business acquisitions and meetings, with fancy parties and men who will wine and dine you. You’ll be living the life of a Bradford. The life you deserve.”
“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with us? Would you prefer I wasn’t who I am?”
“No.” He moves closer yet still far enough away. “No, I love who you are.” Jameson reaches his hands out in explanation. “Jules, when I walked in here seven years ago, you were a fifteen-year-old kid who had more life in her than anyone I ever met. You would come in here after school and sit on my bench and tell me about your day while I worked. I never told you that I waited until three thirty just to see the smile on your face. And for as rich as you are, I couldn’t believe how funny and smart and generous you are. I watched you grow up into this beautiful woman. When you went off to Wharton, I missed our talks. But when you came home, it was like we picked up right where we left off. I never understood why you weren’t traveling off to Ibiza or St. Bart’s with your friends. You always hung around here. And I was happy. Happy because I got to see you. And now you’re leaving. No more coming back for winter break or staying home for the summer. You’re moving on and you should be. You deserve everything you’ve worked for. Everything your family has given you. And everything a man worthy of having you can give you.
“That’s why you can’t kiss me,” he continues. “And I sure as hell can’t kiss you back. I’ll never be a man worthy enough. It’s why I almost didn’t give you that ridiculous necklace. Looking at it now makes me feel like such a fool. What the hell can a guy like me give a girl like you?”
“Everything,” I say, practically running toward him. “Jameson, I stayed for you. I’d rather sit here and talk to you than sit on a beach being waited on hand and foot while I listen to my friends complain about how dull their lives are. Being with you is—” I raise a hand and grab his face, pulling his gaze into mine. With those blue-green eyes looking into mine, I tell him with everything I have, “It’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to be.”
His cheek falls into my palm. The soft bristles of his face rubbing against my skin. He closes his eyes and savors the feel of my thumb tracing slight circles on his skin. I just want him to open those eyes and tell me what he’s feeling. No, I don’t want him to speak, I want him to kiss me. Kiss me with everything in his being and claim me as his own because that’s exactly what I am.
I raise my other hand and run my fingers through his hair. He lets out a slight moan, which causes him to open his eyes.
The lo
ok he’s giving me is carnal, hot with want and need.
And just when I think he’s about to lean forward and kiss me, he speaks. “You should leave.”
This time, it’s not just my heart that falls to the ground but every single fiber of my being.
Lowering my hand, I sink backward. How many times does a man need to reject a woman before she finally gets the hint?
Apparently, for me, it’s twice in one night.
I head out the back door and run up the winding path toward the veranda. The sun has lowered; the moonlight is the only thing illuminating the stairs as I head back up to my party.
“There she is!” Father beams, a glass of champagne in his hand. His arm outstretched, ushering me over to him.
The crowd parts as I make my way to the front of the room where Father is standing next to Mother. I smooth out my dress and take a step beside them, taming the hurried breath in my lungs. Mother smoothens the side of my hair, putting every last piece in its perfect place.
A waiter hands me a glass of champagne as Father raises his again and speaks to our guests. “We’d like to thank everyone for coming to Jules’ sendoff. Third generation Wharton Grad, not to mention Summa Cum Laude just like her old man,” Father jokes and our guests clap. “Jules has always been an exemplary child. Captain of the swim and lacrosse teams in academy and spent her free time working at the Bradford Corporations. During her time at Wharton, she studied under the tutelage of Waxman and Bain who have been so impressed with her abilities that they have offered her a position.”
Aunt Ina lets out a small gasp, quite possibly because she’s excited about the possibility of me being close to home. What she doesn’t know is that I turned that job down. I thought being four hours away from home, in Pennsylvania, would give me the space I needed from my family. What I hadn’t planned on was Father’s comrades to be everywhere. They infiltrated my internship and even my extracurriculars. Their sons and daughters were at my school inviting me to every function their families were hosting meaning mine were often there as well. That’s why I turned down the position for something further away. Much further.
“But our Jules had other plans,” Father continues. He’s still talking when the French doors leading to the veranda open and with it a man that takes my breath away.
Father is speaking but I don’t hear a word he says. All I can focus on is the sight of Jameson in the back of the room in his plaid shirt and jeans, looking wildly out of place amongst the summer suits and crisp khakis of our party guests. His stature towering over every male in the room with dark hair glistening in the lighting of the room and those eyes as clear as the sky on a cloudless day as they look straight at me.
I don’t know why he’s here. He’s never been in our home unless summoned, and he certainly would never come to a party dressed as he is. Yet, he’s here. And with purpose.
Father doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he doesn’t care that Jameson has entered because he is uttering the words, “and that’s why tomorrow Jules is leaving for Paris to work with the prestigious Debois International.”
Our guests clap, many awkwardly, as they’re holding glasses. Father raises his glass and cheers to the crowd who in turn drink their champagne. There are cordial cheers and many people start talking at once. Father kisses the side of my head, and Mother squeezes my hand.
All I can do is look out at Jameson.
Those eyes that were looking at me with purpose are now painted with defeat. He opens his mouth and takes three collective breaths. He looks around the room, at the chandelier, the servers, the guests, the Picasso on the wall, the grand piano in the corner. He looks at my father and mother by my side and then at the young man that is standing beside my mother.
“Jules,” Mother says, “I want you to meet Kip Freghkerden. He is in Paris often on business and has offered to be an escort for you while you’re in town.”
I don’t even look to Kip because my eyes are trained on Jameson as he is backing out of the room and, with the blink of an eye, has dipped out the French doors onto the veranda.
My feet move forward.
“Jules, where are you going?” Mother asks, seeming concerned.
“I’ll be right back,” I say over my shoulder and head through the crowd. This time, I don’t stop for congratulations or cards. I head straight for the back doors.
Rushing up to the balcony, I look toward the carriage house but the lights are off. The breeze from the ocean pushes the hair off my face as I look out onto the beach.
And there he is, walking down the stairwell toward the sand.
I have no choice but to follow.
Because tonight is my last night, and if there’s one thing I learned as a Bradford, it’s to never take no for an answer.
“Why did you request the night off?” I shout as soon as my heels hit the sand.
Jameson turns around, the look of surprise to see me standing on the sandy beach, wind whipping through my hair, chasing him out into the dark of night.
He blinks at me, registering my question. “What did you say?”
I start to walk to him but my heels dig in the sand. I take them off and throw them toward the steps. The chiffon of my dress dragging in the sand. “I asked why you took the night off.”
“You don’t want to know the answer to that question.”
“Yes, I do. I’m leaving tomorrow and the one thing I want to know before I go is why you took the night off only to stick around inside the carriage house? You say you’re my friend. You said my smile is the highlight of your day. If that’s true, then I need to know why. Why would you choose to stay away from me on my last day here?”
“Because I couldn’t stand to see you leave.” His voice rises over the ocean waves. “I didn’t plan on being here, but for some reason I couldn’t stay away. I just thought I could sit in the garage and be close to you. Just close enough without seeing you. I never expected you to come in.”
“But I did.”
“Yes, Jules, God damn it you did. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to tell me why you took the night off. Why you couldn’t be here. And why, even though you tried to stay away, you still walked into that room and looked me straight in the eyes as if I were the only thing in it.”
“Because you are,” he yells, and the words hit me like an arrow in the chest. “God damn it. Is that what you want to hear? If so, then yes, yes, Jules. Yes, I took the night off because I’m in love with you. I have been for longer than is right. I have been gnawing away from the inside out wanting someone I can never have. For the last four years, the only thing that kept me sane was coming out here and staring at the moon, knowing that you were on the other side of it. I resigned myself to knowing that that is how I will live for the rest of my life. I wanted to stay away tonight, but I couldn’t because I need to be near you. And you have no idea what it took from me not to kiss you back. I have been dreaming about that kiss for years and there it was, right in front of me and I had to push you away.” He takes three large steps forward—his tall, strong body standing over me, commanding, powerful and full of raw, unadulterated male with carnal lust in his eyes and a little bit of anger. “I couldn’t kiss you before, but fuck it if I’m not going to kiss you now.”
His mouth crashes into mine. Strong, sensual lips part and sweep into me. Our tongues collide, and I fall so hard into his kiss, my head begins to spin.
This is the kiss of a man taking what he wants.
A man taking what he’s wanted for years.
Jameson wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in tight against his body. My hands find his beard and I pull gently. He lets out a low growl. The kiss becomes fierce. His hands are all over my body, circling my waist, running up and down my sides and trailing up my arms and neck, taking claim of me, holding me like he never wants to let go.
I unbutton his shirt and lay my hands against the hard plains of his chest. He’s so strong and thick. My fingers rub
over his nipples and the moan he growls into my mouth lets me know he likes it.
The ocean breeze whips through my hair, my dress cascading in the wind. I should move this party of two indoors but I can’t seem to do anything but kiss him. And feel him. And undress him.
Pushing away the fabric from his shoulders, I lean down and kiss his neck and chest, tasting every bit of Jameson Brock. When my tongue darts out just below his ear, he shivers, and it’s not from the cold.
“Jules,” he breathes, as I continue to run my tongue along the skin, my fingers still deftly playing with his pecs. “Baby, look at me.”
Looking up, I take in his perfect face silhouetted in the moonlight. He raises his arms and hugs my face in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eye and take in the severity of what he’s about to say.
“I am going to make love to you tonight,” he says, “but not here. Not where anyone can see us.”
“Yes, here,” I say, and he frowns, not understanding. “I want you to make love to me under the moon so every night when I look up, I can think of you and remember this night. Remember the way you feel and taste. I can stare at the stars and know that you’re on the other side, looking at the same sky. If there’s one place I want to be, it’s right here, under the moon, with you.”
I look up to the sky and take in the moon. The beautiful full crescent moon on a summer night in Long Island. Amid the darkness of the shore, it is the only light, the only witness to this moment between a man and woman coming together. Their souls crashing along the Eastern Seaboard.
Jameson leans forward and caresses my neck with soft kisses that make my toes curl. I lean my head back and allow him to devour me with his mouth; his beard is like a course cushion.
His hand finds the zipper of my dress. The chiffon falls to the ground. Jameson releases me for a moment to take the dress and smooth it against the sand like a blanket. When he’s done, he takes my hand and lowers me onto the aubergine. My back is cool against the dress but I’m instantly heated when two-hundred pounds of male lowers on top of me and claims me again with his fiery kisses. Our bodies rock together, his hard erection rubbing fiercely against my core.