Jameson: The Men of Whiskey Mountain Book 2

by Love, Frankie

  Her lips twist. “You know, screw the backup singing. Maybe I’ll be a songwriter.”

  “Sounds good,” I say with a laugh. “And what will you be writing about?”

  Her hands press against my chest; her fingers splayed out. Heat rises from her palms to my skin, and I wish her robe were on the floor. I wish my clothes were off. I want this girl in my bed more than anything else. I want to wrap my arms around her and make her feel safe for eternity.

  “I guess I’d be writing about destiny,” she says with a smile that sets my heart on fire. “I’d be writing about fate.”

  “Have you ever heard of Manifest Destiny?” I ask her.

  “Remind me,” she says with an eyebrow raised. “I was never good at school.”

  “Manifest Destiny is all about carving it out for yourself, making your life what you want it.”

  Her eyelashes flutter as she lifts her chin, and her eyes meet mine. “What I want right now is you.”

  Chapter Four

  Jemma

  My words give Jameson the all-clear. I want this. Him. Me. Us. But he doesn’t pull me to him the way I expect.

  “You’ve had a long day, Jemma.”

  I pull back my hand. “Oh. Okay. I thought this was…”

  He takes hold of my wrist. “I wasn’t saying I don’t want it. I do. But I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow with regret.”

  “I regret so many things in my life, Jameson. But this?” I shake my head. “You? I won’t regret it.” He pulls me close, his hand around my waist. “Take control of the night,” I tell him as I close my eyes, letting this real man take over. “Let’s find our destiny.”

  He pulls my hair from the tie, letting the tendrils fall. He smooths the still wet strands down, runs a hand over my shoulder, up my neck, cupping my cheek. “Breathe, Jemma. Just breathe.”

  I exhale, not realizing how long I’ve been holding my breath. Years, probably. Always so sure that something terrible is going to happen, something irreversible. It did when I was on Maker’s boat. But now, somehow, I am here. With a very different sort of man. A man who touches me like I am a piece of art, who speaks to be like I am his equal, and who laughs with me as if I am a pleasure to be around.

  I’ve spent my life being a means to an end. But as Jameson takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom, I don’t feel like I’m performing or playing a part. I feel like I am me.

  “You’re smiling,” he says as he opens his bedroom door, revealing a large king-sized bed, massive logs creating the frame. Solid. Just like Jameson.

  “I’m happy,” I tell him. “I feel almost at peace.”

  “Let me help you get all the way there, then,” he tells me, reaching the belt of the bathrobe. “I want to give you a massage.” I let the robe fall to the floor, and he inhales as he sees all of me – all my bare skin. He chuckles. “Well, shit, I thought you’d have on some panties, at least.”

  I bite back a smile. “I hope you like what you see.”

  He whistles. “Jemma, you’re fucking gorgeous.” He steps toward me and begins to massage my breasts. I know they are nice — I’ve been told that enough times, big and full, my nipples responding quickly to being plucked. I’ve been touched before, but never like this. Jameson doesn’t touch me like I’m an object to be taken; he touches me like I am a treasure to be protected.

  “I want to see you,” I whisper. Wordlessly, Jameson pulls off his red and black flannel shirt and undoes his belt. My pussy gets wet and warm, watching him strip to his boxers. He is so handsome, so chiseled, so strong.

  My body certainly likes what it sees — but so does my heart. Because as he steps toward me, there is a gentleness to him that I crave. His eyes don’t look at me like he plans to devour me within an inch of my life. No, he looks fast me like he plans to savor every last bite.

  “You okay, Jemma?” Jameson asks his thick cock a steel rod, barely concealed.

  I nod, licking my lips. He takes my hand, setting it on his cock. “I’m so fucking hard for you,” he tells me.

  I whimper, reaching under his boxers and taking out his shaft. He’s so thick, so big, and all I want is for him to fill me up. The idea of it gets me wet, and I want him to understand just how much he turns me on.

  “Touch me,” I whisper. “I want you to know how wet I am for you.”

  He reaches down to my cunt, his fingers running over my slit, and his cock hardens in my hand as he caresses me. “Oh, god,” he murmurs, pulling me close, his breath hot on my ear. “Let me take care of you.”

  His words aren’t greedy, self-centered — he is focused solely on me. There is no way for He can’t possibly understand the depth of what that means to me — to be intimate with a man who cares for me as a person. For my well-being, for my happiness and pleasure.

  I swallow hard, and he lifts my chin, looking into my eyes. “Are you crying?”

  Biting my bottom lip, I nod.

  He doesn’t ask why, he simply leads me to his bed, laying me down on my belly and taking a bottle of lotion from his dresser. “Just relax, Jemma,” he says. “Close your eyes.”

  I do as he instructs. It’s crazy, letting myself be so vulnerable with a man I just met, all alone in a cabin with someone who could be considered a stranger. But that isn’t how I see him. Jameson isn’t a stranger in any sense of the word. He sees my barriers, the walls I’ve erected around my heart and doesn’t mind. He’s a man who likes a challenge. And I’m a girl who wants to let someone else fight for her. I’m so tired of keeping my guard up with no one having my back.

  And right now, Jameson literally does. He is on the bed with me, running his big, thick hands over my skin. I exhale as he gently kneads the knots in my shoulders. I sink into the plush mattress as he massages my neck, my shoulders, my lower back. It feels so good to be touched. It’s not until right now, I realize how alone I’ve felt ever since I fled to Arizona. I haven’t let my guard down once. I couldn’t. Because I never knew when someone would find me, hurt me. Try to break me all over again.

  But now I realize there is more to my story than a broken heart.

  Right now, as Jameson runs his big hands over my ass, squeezing my cheeks, and then massaging my thighs, I feel so at ease.

  “I want you,” I tell him, the side of my face resting on my arms.

  “First, I have to make sure you are totally relaxed. It’s my duty.”

  “I’m already so relax—” My words peter off as Jameson rolls me on my back, kneeling before me as he begins to massage my inner thighs.

  “Just wait, honey, let me take good care of you.”

  My thighs drop open, and he dips his mouth to my pussy, his hands running over my skin, his tongue on my folds, sucking my clit and making me writhe beneath him.

  “Oh, oh God, Jamie.”

  He doesn’t stop, I’m dripping for him, plenty wet for his steel rod to enter me, but he doesn’t consider what he might get from me right now. Instead, he keeps on giving. And God, does he deliver.

  I close my eyes, sinking into the sensation as he continues to work his mouth over me, breathing hot air against me, then he dips one finger, then another, inside me.

  “Oh, Jamie,” I moan, nearing climax as he fingers me into oblivion. My release soaks his blankets, and he lowers his mouth to my cunt, licking it all up. He runs a hand over my belly, holding me in place as he flicks his tongue over my folds, sending a current of electricity over my body, head to toe. And I can’t hold back. I won’t. My skin is on fire as he consumes me.

  I give in to the thing I’ve craved all my life, a real man like Jameson. His name on my lips as I come hard against his mouth. “Oh, Jameson, yes, yes, Jamie, yes,” I scream, my fingers in his hair, my back arched, and my cunt creaming against his face.

  He lifts his head, a smile on his lips, his beard a thing of wonder, tickling me into oblivion. “You okay, honey?”

  Covering my face with my hands, I laugh. “You are so good at that.”

  “T
hank you,” he says, kissing my pussy again, then my belly button, and each of my nipples. His rod is hard and thick against my body, but he doesn’t press it to me, doesn’t lead with his cock. Instead, I swear to god, this man leads with his heart. “I could do that all night,” he tells me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, making me feel small. But not in a demeaning way — in a safe way. I feel protected as if he truly is looking out for my best interests.

  My eyes close as I savor the moment. Jameson kisses me softly on the lips, and I try to put into words how he makes me feel — but the one word I think of isn’t one I can exactly say: When Jameson touches me, I feel loved.

  Chapter Five

  Jameson

  Her eyes close, and I wish I knew what she was thinking. Everything about her seems on edge — her heart has been broken. That much is clear. It’s the only reason I can figure out why there were tears welling in her eyes as I brought her to the edge. My name on her lips as she came, was the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. And God, she tastes like sunshine and the promise of a new day.

  But before anything more can happen, this sweet thing with a feisty edge has fallen asleep. That’s right. I licked her creamy pussy until she’s purring like a cat. I can’t help but chuckle at that.

  My cock is aching for relief, but my heart, it’s fucking pounding with a prayer. As I pull a blanket over Jemma’s body, I pray to the heavens, the universe, the stars, and the sky, that Jemma can truly find the rest she needs. Because this girl has been fighting all her life. She may not bear bruises I can see, but behind her eyes, I see wounds that need time to heal.

  “Jamie,” she whispers, her eyes closed. She is fast asleep. Dreaming. “I love you.”

  I swallow. It’s just a dream.

  Isn’t it?

  She rolls to her side, the blanket wrapped around her body, and her snores grow louder. I smile. She’s definitely dreaming.

  But God, what sweet fucking dreams.

  I pull on some sweats and a tee-shirt, and then I make a call I know I need to make.

  “Hey, Walker. You doing okay?”

  “Man, sorry I didn’t call,” he says, his voice sounding both worn out and ecstatic. “It’s been crazy.”

  “False alarm?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Not even close. We have two healthy baby girls. Delivered earlier this afternoon.”

  “Well, shit, man. That’s great.”

  “Sorry I didn’t call earlier,” he says. “Hope you weren’t worried.”

  “No, it’s fine, actually,” I say, looking down the hall toward my bedroom. “I’ve had my hands full myself.”

  “How so?”

  “Well…”

  “Well, what?”

  “It’s just someone showed up at your cabin. I was down there at your place, making sure it was all closed up — a rainstorm just hit us.”

  “Yeah?” I can imagine him thinking of Tiny and Beam showing up a year ago.

  “It’s not what you think,” I explain.

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?” he asks. “So then, who is there?”

  “It’s a woman.” I run a hand over my beard — the best fucking woman in the world.

  “At our cabin?”

  “Not just any woman, Walker,” I tell him. “It’s Jemma. Waverley’s sister.”

  The phone line goes so quiet that I wonder if the call dropped, but finally, Walker clears his throat. “You’re sure it’s her?”

  “She heard where Wavy was from that girl, Julia, who lives out with Father John’s people. Anyway, she must have arrived just after you and Wavy left.”

  “Is she coming to Anchorage now?”

  “No. She’s staying here,” I say, my voice is firm and tight.

  “Alone at our cabin? Shit.” He sighs. “I gotta talk to Wavy. But she’s had a hell of a day, Jameson. She’s exhausted. I don’t want to stress her out—"

  “No. At my cabin with me.”

  “You sure that’s not too inconvenient?”

  “It’s fine. Look. Talk to Wavy; I know you’re staying in Anchorage for a few months. In a few days, the women can decide what they want to do.”

  “That’s a good plan. Especially if the weather is bad.”

  “Exactly. Now, go hold your girls. Get some rest.”

  “I can’t believe her sister is alive. Fuck. That woman, she has plenty of reason to hate my brother. I sure as hell —"

  “One thing at a time,” I tell him. “I’ll make sure Jemma is safe here, and you make sure Wavy stays in bed, okay?”

  “When did you get so damn responsible?” Walker asks.

  Inside, I think that it was just about the moment I fell head over heels in love. But instead, I laugh.

  After I end the call, I make Jemma and myself some supper. Forget the canned chili — this girl needs a real meal. So, I dig out an old cookbook and set to making us a stew with some venison that’s in the freezer. There are some potatoes in the fridge and some frozen onions and carrots.

  I’m not exactly a cook, but I can read directions, and soon enough, the cabin actually smells like something worth eating. I add a few cups of red wine to the pot and let it simmer. Then I go outside to the deck and make sure my hot tub is working; finally, I make sure the bathroom is stocked with towels and shit — wishing I had some shampoo like Wavy’s got because all I have are regular old bars of soap.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I have this deep urge to make this place a home for Jemma. It’s insane — and when my phone buzzes in my pocket, I’m reminded just how fucking nuts I’m being.

  I’m not the safe place she thinks I am.

  “Haven’t heard from you. You were supposed to call to confirm hours ago. You still dropping the cargo tomorrow?” a rough voice asks. Barker McVoy.

  “I can’t,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I won’t be able to make it.”

  “Bullshit. You’re gotta contract with me. No one else. You moonlighted me out this arrangement?”

  “I’m not doing another run. Something came up. I can’t, Barker.”

  “You get one excuse. One.”

  “And then what?” I press.

  “Then, we’ll make sure you’re sorry.” He ends the call, and I know he’s pissed, with good reason.

  I signed an agreement with the Mountain Militia — I do one drop a month, no questions, no excuses — their protection guaranteed.

  Of course, Walker doesn’t know. He thinks I’m walking the straight and narrow. And I was. For a while. But I have this wild streak — this side of myself that wants to break the rules, break the law.

  It’s fucked up — I know that. But I’m not some reformed hero like Walker. I’m a problem child who hasn’t had a real reason to grow up.

  Until now.

  I hear footsteps in the hall, and I turn, seeing Jemma wrapped up in the blanket. Her hair is messy around her face, her eyes resting on mine. “That was the best nap of my life.”

  “You didn’t have to get up,” I say.

  “I was dreaming of you.”

  I step toward her. “I heard you.”

  Her eyes widen, cheeks reddening. “Oh, my God, what did I say?”

  I chuckle, knowing I’m not going to repeat what I actually heard her say. It isn’t my business to do that. “Something about being hungry.”

  She looks down at my groin, licks her lips. Her stomach growls as if on command.

  I laugh. “See, you are damn-near starved.” I take her hand and lead her to the kitchen island. “Sit. Let me feed you.”

  “You already made me a pretty good snack earlier today. And now, dinner? I’m gonna need to start pulling my weight around here.”

  I set a bowl of warm stew in front of her. Then I pour her a glass of red wine. “You said you were a waitress right before coming here? I’m guessing you’ve been on your feet way too many days. Let me serve you.”

  She smiles up at me. “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”r />
  I clink the rim of my wine glass against hers. “No, honey. I think we both just woke up.”

  Chapter Six

  Jemma

  After we eat and finish the bottle of wine, Jameson tells me he spoke with Walker. “I had to call them, let them know what was going on.”

  I nod. “That was only right.” I bite my bottom lip. “What did he say?”

  “Wavy had her babies. Two little girls. Everyone is healthy.”

  My heart squeezes tightly. I messed up my relationship with my sister. I know she must think I am too much of a mess to want to be close with anymore, but tears fill my eyes at the news. I’m an auntie now.

  “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “No.” I wipe the tears away. “They are happy tears. I’m glad everyone is okay.”

  “Walker is gonna talk to Wavy tomorrow about you; she’s had an exhausting day.”

  “I understand. The timing is so strange. If I’d arrived only a day earlier, I might be with them now. I might never have met you.”

  “Well, you’d have met me eventually.”

  I twist my lips. “How are you so confident?”

  “It’s destiny.”

  I laugh, my head falling back, and Jameson laughs too.

  “You think I’m joking?”

  I sit up straighter. “No. I don’t.”

  “So, you feel this too?”

  I swallow. “You mean the effect of the wine?”

  Jameson shakes his head. “No. The effect we have on one another.”

  He holds my gaze. I nod. “I feel it.”

  “Good,” he says. “Because I don’t want to fuck with fate.”

  The blanket has been tucked under my arms, but at his words, I let it fall aside. “Is there anything you do want to fuck?”

  He shakes his head slowly, his eyes on the curves of my body. “Damn, girl. You know I want to fuck you. Did you really have to ask?”