Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) Page 8

  “No, of course not,” I reply sarcastically, “It’s not like you encourage them at all.”

  “Leah Brody, do you get jealous when I flirt with other women?” Jay challenges me.

  “So you admit you were flirting with Pippa just then?” I try to catch him.

  “I flirt with everyone,” he shrugs, “It’s just how I move through the world.”

  “That’s a strange thing to admit to the woman you’re trying to put a ring on,” I point out, taking a much-needed sip of coffee.

  Jamison leans back in his chair, looking genuinely surprised. “Why is that strange?” he asks, “I’m trying to convince you to enter into a professional agreement with me that happens to involve marriage. It’s like not like I’m expecting this thing to be monogamous or anything.”

  Now it’s my turn to be surprised.

  “Right. Of course not,” I say quickly, trying to hide my misunderstanding, “That would be crazy.”

  “Oh,” Jay says, raising his eyebrows, “I guess we never talked about that, did we?”

  “It’s fine,” I press on, “Of course, any marriage we entered into would be open.”

  “That’s what I was assuming, yeah,” Jay replies, brows furrowing ever-so-slightly, “Would that be… a problem for you?”

  “I mean…I admit, it hadn’t occurred to me,” I stammer, staring very intently at my cup of coffee, “But no, of course that wouldn't be a problem for me. It’s not like we’re in a romantic relationship or anything.”

  “Right,” Jay agrees, “That was my feeling on the matter.”

  “Great. Glad we got that cleared up,” I say brightly, praying to god for a subject change.

  “I didn’t mean to spring that on you,” Jay goes on, reaching for my hand on the table, “I just figured it was a given.”

  “Seriously, Jay. I don’t care,” I tell him firmly, “I was just taken aback for a second, but of course, an open marriage would make the most sense for us. Hypothetically.”

  “Hypothetically…” he murmurs, lacing his fingers through mine, “That’s quickly becoming my least favorite word.”

  “Well, until you convince me otherwise, this whole getting-hitched thing is still firmly in the realm of the hypothetical,” I remind him.

  “I’ll just have to step up my game, then,” Jay smiles, leaning in closer across the conference table.

  I glance through the glass walls of the conference room, watching as a dozen sets of eyes dart suddenly away. So much for not feeding the gossip trolls.

  “Why don’t we just get back to work and save the wooing for after hours, OK?” I tell Jamison, plucking my hand away from his.

  “I can live with that,” he smiles coolly, leaning back in his chair, “Why don’t you tell me more about this Huntress of Tomorrow or whateverthefuck?”

  Once we actually get to work, I’m frankly amazed at how many good ideas Jamison is able to contribute to the discussion. As tentative as I am about giving him any kind of creative control over my pet project, I start to really enjoy bouncing ideas off of him. By the end of the work day, we’re geeking out about the Huntress of Tomorrow project like a couple of excited kids. Go figure, right? Fantastical stories were always our common ground.

  “Is it closing time already?” Jay asks, watching through the glass conference room walls as our coworkers shuffle off toward the elevators.

  “That it is,” I tell him, snapping out of our collaborative trance.

  The day absolutely flew by as we brainstormed together. I thought that having Jamison around would be incredibly distracting, but I made a ton of progress today in figuring out my what my exact pitch to the Huntress of Tomorrow author Elsie Walker will be. I want to present her with a clear, precise vision for the upcoming movie trilogy based on her novels, and after today I feel closer than ever to that vision.

  “So, what happens now?” I ask Jamison, gathering up my things, “Do we just head back to the West Village and putter around your brownstone, pretending this whole situation isn’t incredibly weird?”

  “Not exactly what I had in mind,” Jay laughs, wrinkling his nose.

  “Well, what then?” I ask, slinging my purse onto my shoulder.

  “Just relax, Brody,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist, “And let me show you what the life of a King is all about.”

  ***

  My first evening as an honorary King begins familiarly enough. Jamison escorts me from the King Enterprises building over to DeLeonardo’s for a nice Italian dinner. The second we walk through the doors together, it feels like the entire restaurant has turned around to stare at us. I’m getting a crash course in being the center of attention, that’s for sure. And who better to teach me than the world-famous Jamison King?

  “Leah! Jamison!” I hear a familiar voice gush, “I’m so happy to see you, after everything that’s happened…”

  The sympathetic face of Franco, our maître d’, appears at my shoulder as he ushers us away from the prying eyes of the main dining room.

  “Thanks, Franco,” Jamison says, laying a guiding hand on the small of my back as we make our way through the restaurant, “We appreciate it.”

  We’re a “we” now? I think to myself, as I slide into the King family’s usual cushioned booth. Despite the unconventional aspects of our relationship, Jamison and I are united in the loss of Loudon and Priscilla King. A loss I feel more acutely than ever, sitting at this table where I shared so many happy evenings with Jay’s father.

  “Could we have two scotches, neat?” Jay says to Franco, noting the sadness on my face.

  “Certainly,” Franco murmurs, pressing a hand to his heart, “Tonight, my friends, your drinks on the house. It’s the least we can do.”

  I look around the dining room as Franco hurries away, trying to distract myself from the sudden pang of grief twisting my heart.

  “What do you want to bet this little outing makes Page Six by the end of the week?” I say to Jamison.

  “Oh, there’s no way it’ll take an entire week,” he laughs, laying a hand on my knee.

  “Not if you keep trying to feel me up in public,” I murmur quietly, lifting my honey-brown eyes to his.

  A slow smile lifts the corner of his full lips as his gaze locks onto mine. We’re sitting side-by-side in a deep booth, tucked away in a quiet corner of the otherwise bustling restaurant. And though no one can see us from the waist down, thanks to the long tablecloth and dim lighting, I’m keenly aware of Jay’s hand as it starts traveling ever further up my thigh.

  “What are you doing?” I ask quickly, eyes widening as Jay’s fingertips brush against the hem of my skirt.

  “Just act natural,” Jay replies, his voice low and gravelly as he glances casually across the dining room.

  How the hell am I supposed to act natural as Jamison’s hand slides under my skirt, caressing my inner thigh as a room full of people go about their business all around us? My heart does a somersault as a waiter appears before us, setting down our drinks as Jamison’s hand rests firmly between my clenched thighs.

  “Can I get you anything else to start?” the waiter asks eagerly, looking back and forth between me and Jamison.

  “Give us a few minutes, would you?” Jay replies, cool as ever.

  “Of course,” the waiter says, moving away.

  “You’re crazy,” I whisper, as our server moves out of earshot.

  “You bet your ass I’m crazy,” Jay murmurs, edging closer so that our sides are pressed flush against each other in the booth, “I’ve had to keep my hands off you all day while we were together at the office. But now…”

  I plant my hands firmly on the table as Jay pushes my legs apart. As if of their own free will, my trembling knees part at this urgent touch. With my heart lodged firmly in my throat, I open myself to him right then and there. Jay lifts his drink to his lips as his fingers trace up along my thigh, brushing against the fabric of my underwear. A low, rumbling groan rises in Jay’s throat as he f
eels how wet I am for him.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s going a little crazy,” he murmurs, letting me feel his fingertips as they brush against my barely-clothed slit.

  “What can I say?” I breathe, raising my own drink to my lips, “You look damn good in a suit, Mr. King.”

  Just as the smoky taste of the scotch hits the back of my throat, I feel Jay’s fingers push aside my underwear and trace along the length of my pussy. I swallow hard as he strokes the warm, wet place between my legs, exploring the contours of my sex as I clutch onto my glass of scotch for dear life. I lean against Jay’s solid form as my body melts beneath his touch. Sparks of pleasure race along my spine as he slides two strong fingers into my aching sex, pulsing them against that delicious spot where I’ve so longed to feel him.

  “You gonna be OK if I keep going?” Jay asks, wrapping a steadying arm around my body as he works me into a frenzy with his expert fingers.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” I whisper, biting my lip as he lays his thumb against my clit.

  “You’re not allowed to scream,” he tells me, his voice a low growl, “Not until I get you home, anyway.”

  “Maybe we should just stay for one round, then…” I gasp, my back arching as he rubs firm circles around my clit.

  Just as I’m teetering on the edge of bliss, ready to come any second, Jamison lifts his hand away from my pussy. I nearly cry out in frustration as he smiles down at me, reaching for his glass. He knocks back the rest of his smooth, amber liquor in one gulp, and I hastily follow his lead. A warm, tipsy glow spreads through my body as I set my glass down, meeting Jay’s lustful gaze.

  “I’ll get the check,” he grins.

  I spend the entire twenty-minute car ride back to Jay’s home wishing we were in one of those self-driving cars. The only thing keeping me from throwing myself into his arms is our driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. By the time we pull up to Jay’s brownstone on West 10th Street, I can barely stand up for the pounding need pulsing through my body. Luckily, Jay is there to help me out of the car and all but carry me up the front steps of his gorgeous home. I’m so overcome by my urgent desire that the full beauty of his block doesn’t even sink in right away. Whatever—there’ll be time for admiring the real estate later. First things first.

  The second Jay slams his front door shut behind us, every thought beyond him flies straight out of my mind. I turn to face him in the mirrored foyer, positively lit up with want of him. Luckily, we seem to be on the same page. Jay’s towering form advances on me, his blue eyes fiery with need. I gasp as he grabs firm hold of my waist, spins me around, and presses me hard against the heavy wooden front door.

  “Welcome home,” he growls, bringing his lips to mine.

  Our mouths move urgently together as Jamison pins me against the door with his powerful, tapered hips. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, hooking my ankles at the small of his back as he hoists me up into the air. I let out a long, low moan as I feel his hard cock press against my throbbing sex, the fine material of his suit fit to burst with trying to contain it.

  “You mind if I hold off giving you the grand tour until…?” Jay murmurs, grinding his hips to let me feel the staggering enormity of his need.

  “Fuck no,” I gasp, reaching down to whip open his belt buckle.

  Jay groans ecstatically as I slip my hand down the front of his pants, wrapping my fingers around the pulsating thickness of his cock. He pushes up my pencil skirt, grabs the collar of my white button up with his teeth, and rips open the front of my shirt. Buttons fly everywhere as he kisses along my chest, reaching around my back to unhook my bra. Our clothes fall away as we tear at each other, unable to contain ourselves for another moment.

  Finally, I feel the full length of him spring free from his clothes. The tip of Jay’s massive rod brushes all along the length of my sex as I cling to his shoulders, quivering with anticipation. His swollen head comes to a rest against my slick pussy, poised and ready. I bring my eyes to his as I struggle to speak.

  “Jay,” I rasp, “I’m gonna need you to nail me to the fucking door right this minute.”

  “Christ, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, his eyes blazing as he draws back his hips.

  I scream out in pleasure as Jay’s cock drives into me. The sheer enormity of him is nearly enough to knock the wind out of me. I thought he was big the first time I had him, but my god…he wasn’t kidding about being “all grown up” now. I let my body melt against his as he thrusts into me, taking him deeper and deeper with every stroke. I’ve never had a cock this big in my life—but that doesn’t mean I’m not up to the challenge.

  Little by little, my body learns the feel of him, opens up ever further to his pounding, perfect presence. My mind goes blank as Jay looses a hand to my clit, kneading that tender nub as he works his cock into me with faster, deeper thrusts. I brace myself against the ancient oaken doorframe, crying out as the bliss inside me fills up to the brim.

  “I’m gonna—” I gasp, my back arching against the door.

  But before I can get out the last word, Jay levels one last searing stroke straight into my core. I wrap my arms around him as I topple into bliss, feeling him release deep inside me as we come hard as one. He pounds into me as the waves of pleasure crash over us, easing me out of my sexed-up daze little by little. The sensation finally passes through us as Jay holds me suspended against his front door, both of us panting and spent.

  “Well,” he breathes, kissing along my neck with an easy grin, “I guess now’s a good time to say ‘welcome home’…”

  A scuttling sound catches my attention, pulling me out of my sexed-up reverie. I look up to see a flurry of movement across the foyer. An elated laugh escapes my throat as I spot Gigi scampering across the floor, chasing one of the buttons that popped off my shirt just moments ago. She skids on the polished floor, having the time of her life.

  Well, you know what they say. Home is where your mischievous cat is.

  Chapter Eight

  My dreams that night transport be back to the gazebo in Little Silver where Jay and I first made love. Only we aren’t eighteen again in my slumbering fantasy. We’re thirty years old, just as we are today. We’re curled up in a nest of blankets, our naked bodies pressed close for warmth. We know ourselves so much better than we did back when we were young. The collision of past and present is bittersweet. I’m thrilled to be back in Jamison’s arms, but ache to think of all the years we missed out on sharing together.

  “We had to wander away from each other,” he whispers in my dream, his lips brushing against my cheek, “So we could find ourselves before coming back together.”

  Just as I part my lips to respond, I feel myself swimming back to wakefulness. The dream world goes hazy as I rise out of sleep, coming back to the present. But when I finally blink my eyes open, it’s with a sense of deja vu…

  Blinking in the early morning light, I find myself in a tangle of blankets and sheets. For a moment, I do feel eighteen years old again. So much so that I’m suddenly afraid to find myself alone—just like I did the morning after Jay and I first slept together. I glance quickly over my shoulder, warm relief flooding my body as my eyes fall on Jay’s sleeping face. He’s here beside me. This is all really happening.

  And it’s better than any dream my mind could cook up.

  Somehow, we actually made it upstairs to Jay’s bedroom last night. I halfway expected to pass out right in the foyer, I was so deliciously wrecked by our homecoming fuck. But here we are, side by side in his sprawling king bed. I glance over at the bedside clock and see that it’s just past six in the morning. I go to lay a hand on Jay’s shoulder, shake him awake so we can start the day…but looking at his serene, sleeping face, I just can’t bring myself to do it.

  Even though we spent all of last night exploring each other’s bodies, seeing him in this moment feels more intimate than anything we’ve yet to share. His face in sleep is so peaceful, his features softened
with slumber. His standard cocky grin is nowhere to be seen. For once. I decide to let him sleep a little longer… but that doesn’t mean I have to stay in bed. I’ve always been a morning person. And besides, I have a whole brownstone to explore.

  I lift off the covers and swing my feet over the side of Jamison’s bed. The morning air is soft against my naked skin as I tiptoe across the hardwood floor, searching for some clothes. I manage to locate my panties and pair them with a white tee shirt of Jamison’s. Not exactly office attire, but it’ll do for now. Taking one last look at Jay’s long, sculpted form tangled in the bedsheets, I slip out of the bedroom and set off through the house.

  Stepping out onto the landing, I’m struck dumb by the beauty of Jamison’s home. The warm morning light plays against the wooden floors and eggshell walls, gleams in the stained glass windows that adorn the front of the house. I linger at the wide second story bay windows, perching on the window seat as I gaze down at West 10th Street. The city is just starting to wake up all around us, but I don’t feel harried or anxious like I do so often in my Riverside Drive studio apartment. Instead, I feel protected by these stately walls. Safe, even.

  But maybe that has less to do with the house than the man who resides in it?

  “Don’t be silly,” I whisper to myself, padding down the steps into the foyer, “You’re just a little punch drunk. No need to get all starry-eyed.”

  But it’s hard to keep my head as I roam through Jamison’s beautiful home. From the cozy sitting room with working fireplace and luscious leather sofas, to the serene and secluded back patio, to the fully stocked kitchen with its copper pans and antique touches, this place is like a dream come true. It strikes the perfect balance between homey and luxurious. The brownstone itself, with its finely wrought touches and excellent bones, has only been improved by its tasteful and timeless decor.

  Some part of me was expecting Jay’s home to be a glorified bachelor pad—all big boy toys and flashy displays of wealth. Maybe that’s how eighteen-year-old Jay would have lived, newly out on his own and successful. But thirty-year-old Jay is more refined in his tastes. Still arrogant and difficult as hell, but more sure of himself. More sure of what he wants. And it occurs to me, as I take in this gorgeous home, that what he currently wants more than anything is for me to agree to marry him.