Just one kiss (The Ashcrofts Book 1)

by Anderson, Poppy J.

  When Stuart had gone to the gigantic fridge to get something, the cook had swatted his fingers and called him “Master Stuart.” Amy hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with him, which might have been due to the fact that he had quickly disappeared upstairs again.

  Her first day in her new home could really have gone better.

  “What did you do today, love?”

  Amy raised her eyes and switched off the TV, watching Patrick take off his tie, shrug out of his coat, and unbutton his shirt. “Oh … I slept a lot and watched some TV. I was jetlagged.”

  “So was I.” He yawned freely. “I was close to taking a nap in my office this afternoon, but I didn’t want to provide Mrs. McDough with ammunition for teasing in the future.”

  “Mrs. McDough?” she asked with genuine curiosity. She was eager to hear about his day, as she really wasn’t the type to bear the boredom of spending all day in front of a TV.

  “My personal assistant,” he explained, letting his shirt drop into an armchair. “She’s worked for my dad since I was in kindergarten, and now me. I was actually worried it might be awkward when she began to work for me, but this past year couldn’t have gone better in that respect.”

  “That sounds so cute,” Amy murmured cheerfully, letting her eyes roam over his bare chest.

  He flashed a grin and opened his belt, then unbuttoned his pants. “How about you join me in the shower? I could use some company and TLC before we go downstairs for dinner.

  Before he dropped his pants, Amy pursed her lips. “I’d love to, but I should warn you about dinner. I’m afraid it’s going to be a … rather silent affair.” She blushed and smiled apologetically.

  His pants were hanging low around his hips, but now he crossed his arms and scowled. “What did Stuart do?”

  She hastened to explain. “Oh, Patrick, no, that’s not what I meant! I didn’t mean to snitch on your brother, or talk badly about him … We just crossed paths late this morning, and he didn’t leave the impression that he was very happy to see me.”

  The corners of Patrick’s mouth turned downward. “Come here,” he whispered and pulled her into a gentle embrace.

  Nestling against him, pressing her face into his bare shoulder as he stroked her back, Amy felt a lot better. When he was with her, she felt she could handle anything, even a morose brother-in-law who didn’t seem to have a high opinion of her.

  “I missed you today,” he murmured.

  “And I missed you,” she replied with a private smile. “If I’d had your number, I’d probably have annoyed you with constant calls, just to hear your voice.”

  He chuckled hoarsely. “Your calls could never annoy me, baby. Maybe I should take you to work with me tomorrow so the day won’t feel so unbearably long.”

  Though this wasn’t a serious suggestion, Amy felt herself melting at his words, and the load of her day was lifted. A warm, blissful feeling spread through her upon hearing that he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him.

  “If you need anything, or want to go anywhere, or want to buy anything whatsoever, you can always ask our housekeeper or the chauffeur. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here. It’s your home, too, now.”

  She exhaled a soft sigh. “I’m perfectly happy, Patrick.”

  “And you don’t have to stay up here the whole day either,” he murmured, as if he knew how she had hesitated to leave. “Do whatever you feel like. Once your easels and paintings arrive, we can furnish a studio for you. The sunroom would be perfect for that.”

  In the face of his concern and that last suggestion, she almost burst into tears. Her eyes were wide when she looked up into his face again, and her voice trembled. “You want to let me use your sunroom as a studio?”

  “Sure. It’s yours.” His large hand raked her hair and then cupped the back of her head. “Once my mom gets back from South Africa, you won’t have a quiet minute, though. She’s an art fiend, and she’ll drag you with her to each and every museum and gallery. And she won’t shut up until you’ve shown her your paintings, either.”

  Amy couldn’t express what his words meant to her, so instead she asked impishly, “The nudes, too?”

  He pulled a face. “Better not. She’d show them to her visitors later. I know her.”

  Amy chuckled, but then her tone turned fearful. “Do you really think she’s going to like me?”

  “Absolutely,” he said with great conviction. “She’s going to dote on you, baby. And don’t worry about Stuart either. The idiot is just a little slow sometimes.”

  Amy gave him a pained smile. “I hope that’s all it is.”

  “Sooner or later, he’ll be a wonderful brother-in-law. Trust me, love.” He kissed her quickly, drawing a tiny moan from her lips. “But before we waste any more time talking about my idiot brother, I’d like to hit the shower with you. We’re officially still on honeymoon, after all.”

  Amy leaned into his embrace with an amused expression, letting her fingers explore his naked chest. “Honeymoon? I think you’re mistaken there.”

  “Not at all!” His eyes narrowed as he pressed his body against hers. “I’m pretty sure we’re still on honeymoon. And that means sex, baby. Lots of sex.”

  She shivered with pleasure, but argued cheekily, “You’re working, darling. That means our honeymoon is over.”

  Patrick stared at her mouth. “As soon as the danger of some department head screwing up passes, we’ll go on a real honeymoon,” he said hoarsely. “That’s a promise!”

  “Whoa!” She giggled, because he had grabbed her butt.

  “How about Honolulu?” he suggested. “Or maybe Mexico?”

  Amy placed her hands against his chest. “An old hut on the beach, no air conditioning, just a rickety deck,” she whispered. “That would be more to my tastes, Patrick.”

  His expression softened. “You know what?” he admitted quietly. “Mine, too.”

  ***

  “Patrick told me you’re from North Carolina.”

  Amy raised her eyes from her plate and met the inquisitive gaze of her new sister-in-law, who was sitting across from her at the fastidiously decked-out dinner table. Barbara’s posture was immaculate, in stark contrast to that of her brother Stuart, who lolled in his chair. Amy had rarely seen such a beautiful woman, and in her current getup, Barbara could have been attending any lordly, formal function. Amy felt like a country bumpkin in comparison.

  Barbara was wearing a beautiful blouse with a grand bow at her throat and a skirt with no visible creases, and her dark-brown hair was arranged in an elaborate, neat coiffure. She also exhibited perfect table manners and had a reserved, thoughtful way of expressing herself.

  Amy, on the other hand, struggled to sit up straight, didn’t know which fork to use for which dish, had forced down the prized escargots with an internal shudder, willing herself not to retch, and was sitting at the table in a simple denim dress that she’d always thought of as really pretty.

  Now she had to admit neither her dress nor her entire being was a match for her classy sister-in-law. Amy felt as if she were playing a role that was very alien to her.

  Stuart was still very taciturn, though he didn’t strike her as someone who’d normally be this quiet. But Barbara had greeted her in a friendly, if slightly aloof manner, and now seemed to be trying to strike up a polite conversation.

  Amy forgot the beef tenderloin on her plate for a moment and tried to hide her nervousness by explaining, “I was actually born in Indiana, and lived there until I was six. Then we moved to North Carolina.”

  Barbara continued to look at her with polite curiosity. “And where exactly did you grow up? In Charlotte?”

  Amy shook her head. “No, it was a tiny town close to Raleigh. Rather rural, I’m afraid.”

  “I like rural.” Barbara smiled at her. “We grew up here, and I’ve learned to appreciate the quiet. I don’t need city life.”

  Stuart snorted loudly, gave his sister a sideways glance, and stuffed ha
lf a potato into his mouth. Still chewing, he repeated, “You don’t need city life? I’d say you spend a lot of time in Manhattan—up and down Fifth Avenue, making your credit card smolder.”

  “You’re speaking with your mouth full,” his sister pointed out with indignation. “Even Hamilton has better table manners than you, and the child is three.”

  “Well, he wasn’t the one who had to carry all your bags when you just had to buy a hundred different things at Bendel before hitting Bloomingdale’s,” Stuart snapping, smacking his lips and winking at Amy. “People who love country living don’t buy shoes with heels any cop would categorize as a weapon.”

  Amy returned his wink, suddenly finding both the chewing and the way he talked very endearing.

  “I was pregnant at the time, so I don’t think it was asking too much of you to carry my bags, Stuart,” his older sister chided him, smoothing the tablecloth and wrinkling her nose while she spoke.

  “What pregnant woman needs heels anyway?” the blond young man demanded.

  “Every woman needs heels,” Barbara explained grandly, before turning to Amy again and raising an apologetic hand. “Thankfully, Stuart is going back to college very soon, so you’ll be relieved of his company.”

  Before Amy was forced to reply to that, Patrick cleared his throat and placed a hand on her thigh. “Speaking of college, Stuart. When does it start again? Summer break is drawing to an end, right?”

  “Hey.” His younger brother frowned in theatrical outrage and pointed at Amy. “If I’m not mistaken, we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about your new wife. Wouldn’t it be unfair of me to hog all the attention with Amy here at the table for the very first time?”

  “How selfless you are,” Patrick muttered and pressed Amy’s thigh reassuringly.

  To be this close to him and feel the touch of his hand there made her remember with a jolt that they’d had sex under his gigantic shower only two hours ago. She felt a sudden heat invade her cheeks and worried that everyone present could see what she was thinking about.

  “You know what you promised Mom regarding college,” Patrick reminded his brother in a stern voice.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Stuart groaned in frustration, pushing the peas on his plate from one side to the other. “No skipping class, no binge-drinking, no childish pranks on any professors, and fewer dates.”

  “Fewer dates?” Barbara pursed her lips like the Queen herself. “I think what Mom meant was more along the lines of not taking any more dancers to your dorm and letting them stay the night.”

  Stuart rolled his eyes, glanced at Amy, and explained with a lopsided grin, “When Barbara says ‘dancers,’ what she means is strippers. But she’d never in her life use that particular word.”

  Amy understood him quite clearly. But Barbara turned pink with outrage. “You’re bent on embarrassing us tonight, aren’t you?”

  Amy smiled. “I’m not embarrassed,” she intervened. “To be honest, I think it’s really lovely to be spending dinner with your siblings like this.”

  “Just wait until Christmas,” Patrick warned her cheerfully. “Stuart always hogs the eggnog. Last year he almost set fire to the tree.”

  Amy felt a sudden yearning, hardly able to wait to spend Christmas with Patrick’s family. She possessed only the vaguest memory of Christmas as a small child with her parents, remembering only that the entire house had been decorated and that there was laughter and a tree filled with colorful ornaments and candles, which she could have spent hours staring at. She struggled to keep her composure, barely managing not to burst into tears at the table. After her mother’s death, the holidays with her great-aunt had been very different. There were no bright lights, no Christmas decorations, and very little laughter. Instead, they had gone to church. For Hazel, Christmas was less of a festive occasion and more of a serious religious holiday that didn’t call for trivial bells and whistles, or fancy presents.

  “There I was thinking Hamilton was the biggest threat to the Christmas tree, with his eager toddler hands,” Patrick said, breaking into her reverie with laughter rife in his voice. “But it seems I was wrong. Stuart was the real threat all along.”

  “Siblings can be such pests,” Stuart griped. “Makes me actually look forward to college again.”

  “We feel the same way, little brother,” Patrick assured him with a nod.

  Barbara merely heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes at Amy. “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Amy?”

  She shook her head with regret. “No, unfortunately, I don’t.”

  “You should be glad,” Stuart told her. “Siblings are a curse.”

  “Quiet, you brat,” Barbara cut him off. “Do your parents know about you marrying Patrick? He’ll want to meet them soon as well, won’t you, Patrick?”

  Amy swallowed hard. “My parents are both dead, unfortunately.”

  “Oh.” Barbara flinched and shook her head. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” Amy interrupted her, trying to sound unconcerned while she played mechanically with the hem of the tablecloth. Patrick took her free hand in an attempt to comfort her. “My mother has been dead for a long time. She died in a car accident when I was six. I grew up with my great-aunt after that.” She felt awkward but continued in a shaky voice, “My father couldn’t cope with my mother’s death and was unable to take care of me after it happened. He died several years later.”

  The table was utterly silent, and she hastened to add, “But I’m sure Patrick would like to meet my great-aunt. Which reminds me, I need to call her and tell her about everything.”

  “Absolutely,” Patrick agreed, raising her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back. “We can invite her to visit us here, if you like.”

  Great-aunt Hazel in this mansion? Amy could imagine quite clearly how her stern great-aunt would react to all this wealth. But she didn’t want to talk about her idiosyncratic relative, so she merely nodded, grateful when Patrick changed the subject to talk about some acquaintance of his.

  Amy followed the conversation half-heartedly. Despite her anxiety, the family dinner was turning out to be a comfortable enough affair, notwithstanding Stuart’s initial silence or the awkward lull in conversation after Amy’s announcement about her parents. Still, she slowly allowed herself to hope that Patrick’s family wouldn’t view her as a calculating gold digger who’d lured him into her net.

  As soon as she finished that thought, Barbara turned toward her again, her hands folded over the table. “I just had a fantastic idea, Amy,” she said cheerfully. “My women’s club hosts a charity golf tournament every year. It’s coming up soon. You should accompany me and meet a few of our friends and acquaintances.”

  “Oh,” Amy said quickly, demurring, “I’m not sure I’m the right person for that. I don’t even know how to play golf.”

  Barbara giggled with delight. “We’re not going to play, we’re just watching. It’s an annual thing, it’s always a lot of fun.”

  Amy tried hard to hide her horror as scenes from the movie Pretty Woman flashed through her mind. In it, the main character, played by Julia Roberts, had attended an elegant polo tournament and felt deplorably out of place.

  In real life, Stuart let out a tortured sigh.

  “If you consider charity golf ‘a lot of fun,’ dear sister, you’ve never had real fun in your life. A bunch of posh women in Chanel balancing perversely shaped hats on their heads and drinking champagne? Oh, and eating spinach pinwheels and showing off their jewelry to each other, all while has-been golf pros with terrible handicaps preen themselves on the green? None of that sounds even remotely like fun.”

  Amy couldn’t agree more.

  The idea of being stuck in the midst of such an event made her break out in a cold sweat. She wouldn’t know what to wear to such an occasion. She didn’t own anything that was even approximately in the league of Chanel, and the same went for any perversely shaped hats. Spinach pinwheels
didn’t sound half bad, but she’d never had them, nor had she ever tried real champagne before. She didn’t want to antagonize her sister-in-law, however, and was glad that Barbara seemed ready to become friends with her, so she resigned herself to attending the thing.

  Luckily, Patrick seemed to sense that she didn’t feel comfortable with the prospect. “Why don’t you let Amy get settled in fully first, Barbara?” he chimed in good-naturedly. “The rest of her things will arrive soon, and that’ll keep her busy for a while. Plus, we’ve been invited to Sarah’s housewarming party next week, so we’ll meet some people there anyway.”

  Amy registered with relief that Barbara didn’t seem miffed. She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Fine. But if you change your mind, Amy, I’d be delighted to take you.”

  Amy nodded at her sister-in-law and squeezed Patrick’s hand under the table to relay her gratitude.

  Chapter 13

  “Here, honey. I’ve got something for you.” Patrick leaned down toward Amy, who was sitting cross-legged in the sunroom, busy unpacking a box of paints and brushes. He placed an envelope in her lap. Yesterday, her boxes had arrived from Rome, and Patrick could tell her anxiety about losing them was over.

  “Hi,” she murmured happily and lifted her face so he could kiss her.

  It felt rather great, coming home after a long day at the office, awaited by his wife, who wanted a kiss from him first thing. It also felt great to see she was making herself at home in the sunroom. And it felt even better to witness her becoming more free and easy around the house instead of sulking around as if she were an unwanted visitor.

  Patrick wasn’t dense. He knew it must’ve been a rather immense change for her, leaving Italy from one day to the next and moving to Connecticut with him. Of course she would need a little time to get used to the house and his family, and her new life in general. Still, when he looked around and realized she had unpacked her paintings and leaned them against various walls, pieces of furniture, and windows, he took a strangely relieved breath. It made him happy to see she was building a nest for herself in his house. Nothing would have felt worse than finding that she didn’t feel comfortable with him.