It’s nearly two in the morning by the time my taxi pulls up to the modest groundskeeper’s cottage. I gingerly pick up Gigi’s carrier, trying my best not to jostle her, and step out into the warm June night. Dad’s left the porch light on for me, and as the cab drives away I stoop down to grab the spare key out from under the door mat. Balancing my hastily-gathered belongings, I ease open the front door and step inside. All at once, the familiar feeling of home brings tears prickling to my eyes.
All this week, I’ve been rushing around like a crazy person trying to keep things afloat in the wake of Loudon’s death. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a moment to pause and mourn the man himself. But being back in this cottage, right next door to the house where Loudon and Priscilla lived, where I mourned the loss of my own mother all those years ago, I finally feel safe enough to let the pain and loss wash over me.
Setting down my bags, I lift the latch on Gigi’s carrier and cradle her close as I sink heavily onto the living room couch. She curls up beside me as I bury my face in the well-worn throw pillow and let the tears come at last.
Chapter Four
“Those floral arrangements were just beautiful,” my dad says gruffly, as we drive back from the memorial ceremony in his beat-up old Chevy, “Pris always had great taste in flowers. They shoulda come to me about arranging things with the florist, though. I could have gotten them a great deal.”
I glance over at my dad from the passenger seat, smiling sadly at his reminiscence.
“It was a really nice service, Dad,” I agree, patting his hand where it rests on the gear shift. “I’m sure the Kings wouldn’t have wanted you to be worrying about haggling with the florist right now.”
“Woulda been no trouble for those two. No sir,” Dad insists, shaking his head firmly.
I keep my eyes on my father as he blinks back sudden tears. His sadness at the Kings’ passing makes him look years older, all at once. I try not to focus on his ever-graying red hair, the pronounced paunch settling around his belly, the lines rutted deeply in his forehead. Dad and I see each other plenty often, even since I’ve moved to the city, but I guess times like these always make you want to be better to the people you love.
“You’re being a real pillar of strength for me today, Lee,” Dad goes on, shooting me a grateful smile, “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”
“Hey, we support each other, right?” I say, smiling back at him, “God knows, we have enough practice by now.”
“Wish that weren’t so,” he sighs, pulling the truck up next to the cabin.
As I step down out of the truck, I can’t help remembering my mother Eva’s memorial service. The ceremony and reception had been held at a small Presbyterian church in town. By the time I got home, I was bone-tired and hollow with grief. The only bright spot in that entire day was finding a package waiting for me by the front door. It was a beautiful, antique copy of The Hobbit, wrapped in plain brown paper. There was no card attached to the gift, but I knew full well who it was from.
Now, as I glance up at the King’s expansive estate house, it pains me that I haven’t been able to do more for Jamison in the week since his parents’ death. Who am I kidding—I haven’t been able to do anything for him. I haven’t seen him since our tense dinner Friday night, and no one at King Enterprises has heard a word from him. I caught a glimpse of him sitting in the front row of the church just now, but was too far away to catch his eye. I know that I’m not entitled to his attention at a time like this. I just want him to know that I’m here.
In a moment of sentimental impulsivity, I dash inside the cottage and head upstairs to my girlhood room. The space remains more or less unchanged since I left. Everything is still in its place, including my vast book collection. I run my eyes along the titles arrayed on my book shelf, and finally locate the story I’m looking for. Tenderly, I lift my old copy of The Hobbit off the shelf and slip it into my purse. Someone else needs it a lot more than me right now.
“Come on, Lee. Let’s get moving,” my dad calls from downstairs, “I’m sure the reception’s almost over by now. That’s what we get for taking the scenic route home.”
I hurry back down to the ground floor, stopping to give Gigi a quick scratch behind the ears, and join my dad on the front porch.
“You gonna be able to make it across the lawn in those things?” my dad asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow at my expensive stilettos.
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” I reply, looping my arm through his, “Lead the way, Frank.”
A hundred hushed voices echo around the marbled interior of the King home as the memorial reception unfolds. I recognize plenty of faces from my years at King Enterprises—this somber party is a who’s-who of New York entertainment. As my dad peels away to avail himself of the lavish buffet, I peer through the crowd in search of the younger Mr. King. I want to try and steal Jamison away for a moment, offer him a reprieve from what I know to be the exhausting experience of presiding over a memorial as the next of kin. But before I can locate Jay in the crowd, another familiar face springs up in my periphery. It’s been years since I last set eyes on her, but I’m recognize those sandy blonde tresses and pouting lips anywhere.
“Oh, Leah!” cries Cordelia King, throwing her alarmingly thin arms around my shoulders, “It’s so good of you to be here.”
“Of course, Delia,” I say softly, returning her embrace. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Yes,” she sniffs, pulling away from me to catch a tear before it smudges her mascara, “It’s just terrible, what’s happened. No warning, nothing.”
I lay a sympathetic arm on Cordelia’s bony shoulder. Growing up, I only knew her as Jamison’s bratty older sister. Her main interests were lounging by the pool here on the estate and sneaking boys into the mansion when her parents were away. On the occasions she was left in charge of “babysitting” Jamison and I, we spent the entire time plotting out elaborate pranks for her to step into. If anyone united me and Jay by providing a common enemy, it was Cordelia.
But of course, that was a long time ago. Now, Cordelia’s all grown up and married to a young hedge fund manager in New York City. She and her husband live in TriBeCa, a far cry from my secluded corner of Morningside Heights. Delia’s husband makes enough money for three families, and she still receives a monthly sum of money from her parents’ estate. Even with all that financial security, Cordelia has a fleet of assistants and housekeepers at her beckon call. I realize now that it’s rather a mystery what she does all day… but this is no time for judgmental thoughts, is it?
“He really loved you know,” Cordelia sighs, regarding me wistfully, “Daddy, I mean.”
“I really loved him too,” I tell her, “He was a wonderful mentor.”
“Well. I’m glad he had someone to take under his wing,” she shrugs lightly, her eyes flashing with just a hint of resentment. “I was never going to be smart enough to take on the family business. Who knew the housekeeper’s daughter would end up being the bright one, huh? I mean, what are the chances?”
I do everything I can to tamp down my flare of anger at her words. Cordelia has always been a master of the subtly slicing remark—just painful enough to cut you, not blatant enough for you to call out. These quick attacks come out of nowhere, too. One minute she’s giving you a lingering hug, the next she’s tearing you down in the most effective way possible. It’s too bad she never had a mind for business—she could have been a formidable negotiator.
“I’m going to try and find Jamison,” I tell Cordelia, ignoring her barb, “Have you seen him around?”
“He’s probably holed up in Daddy’s study, emptying out the liquor cabinet,” Delia says disdainfully, while snatching a glass of wine from a passing tray. “What else is new?”
I thank her for the lead and hurry away, relieved to put some distance between us. Cordelia’s waif-like good looks and airy, girlish voice can be deceiving. She may play the delicate flower, luring those around
her into a false sense of security, but she can be one ruthless lady when wants to be. Maybe I should be thanking my lucky stars that she’s been content to leave the family business to those who are actually interested in working for a living.
Crap. There I go with the judgement again.
The chatter of voices dies out as I make my way deeper in the King mansion. I’ve come to know this house quite well in my life, as sprawling as it is. I can’t help but wonder, as I search for Jamison, what will become of this place now that Loudon and Priscilla are gone. And by extension, I suppose, what will happen to my dad. At fifty-six years old, he’s still working hard as the groundskeeper here. But if the estate falls into new hands, what will become of him then? I shake the thought out of my mind as best I can. No use worrying just yet. At least, not about that.
I pad up the richly carpeted grand staircase up to the second floor. Glancing down the long hallway, I spot a sliver of golden light splayed across the ground from the crack in a door. The door to Loudon’s study. What do you know? I think to myself, walking slowly toward the light, Cordelia got it right.
Feeling a bit like a spying little kid, I peer through the crack in the study door. My chest clenches painfully as I spot Jamison, backlit by the huge windows looking out toward the bay. His broad, strong shoulders look knotted with tension as he stands there, scotch glass in hand. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I push open the door take a step toward him.
“Mind pouring me one?” I ask softly.
Jay glances sharply over his shoulder, his jaw clenched tightly. But his expression softens when he spots me stepping into the room. Looks like my intrusion isn’t totally unwelcome.
“Yeah. Sure,” he replies, his voice horse.
I study my old rival as he goes to the midcentury bar cart and pours me a generous glass of scotch. He looks as though he’s been awake for days, and on quite the bender if I’m being honest. But even in his disheveled, exhausted state, he’s still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen up close. I step up beside him as he hands me my glass, noting his pronounced stubble, his tousled blonde hair, his jet black suit… just like the one he was wearing in my sexy dream the other night.
Christ Leah, I berate myself, Don’t you dare start fantasizing about this man at his parents’ memorial service. I mean it.
“Thanks,” I say, clinking my glass to his, “To Loudon and Priscilla.”
“Here, here,” he says gruffly, draining and promptly refilling his glass.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming to look for you,” I go on, wondering how many scotches he’s put away today.
“Someone was bound to,” he laughs roughly, walking back toward the window as I trail behind, “I guess I’m not great at playing the good son, even now.”
“Don’t say that,” I tell him, “Of course you’re a good son.”
“I was about to make a last ditch effort to be just that,” he says wryly, glancing down at me with those searing blues, “I really thought I could make it work, joining the family business and all. Getting a ‘real job’, as Dad would say.”
“I know he was hard on you,” I say softly, laying a hand on Jay’s arm, “But it’s only because he wanted so badly to understand you.”
“How could you possibly know that?” he replies, jaw pulsing.
“Please,” I smile softly, “I’ve known the two of you my whole life. I could see how much you loved each other, even if you couldn’t find enough common ground to show it much.”
“You were always better at finding that with each of us,” Jay observes, glancing down at my hand on his arm, “Common ground, I mean.”
“Maybe so,” I allow, edging closer to Jamison.
His presence is as intoxicating as the drink in my hand. This is the closest we’ve been since the night of our high school graduation. For a minute, I forget why I even sought him out in the first place. That is, until my purse swings heavily against my hip.
“Oh,” I murmur, getting a hold of myself, “I wanted to give you something.”
“That so?” Jay smiles, turning to face me head on. I can feel his eyes trailing down my body as I reach into my purse. But his arrogant, joking expression falls away as I lift the book out of my bag.
“Remember this?” I ask him softly, holding out the worn old copy of The Hobbit for him to see.
“I…” he mutters, taking this book in his hands, “Yeah. Of course I do.”
“I don’t think I ever said thank you,” I go on, touched by the reverent way he holds the volume, “I must have read it half a dozen times the year after my mom died. It brought me a lot of comfort. Maybe it’ll bring you some comfort, too.”
Jamison lifts his eyes from the novel, bringing his gaze to mine. My words fall away as I stand there, spellbound. In this one shared look, I feel a dozen years melt away. Of course, our love of faraway stories and heroic adventures is what always brought us together. Why should it be any different now, just because we’re grown up?
“Leah,” Jay says, his low voice and rich as he gently sets the book down on his father’s desk. I can feel a hot blush rising in my face as he takes a step forward, holding his hands out to me. “Come here.”
Scarcely knowing whether I’m awake or dreaming, I place my hands in his. My inhibitions are miles away as he draws me to him, wrapping me up in his powerful arms. I give in to his embrace, resting my cheek on his broad shoulder. My body lights up like a flare at his touch, glowing where his form touches mine. His hands rest at the small of my back, lingering just above the firm swell of my ass.
“I’m here for you, you know…” I whisper, daring to press my lips lightly to his cheek.
“I know,” he murmurs, turning his face to mine, “But maybe this time I won’t let you go so easily…”
I feel my face tilt up to his as he holds me flush against his body. My stomach flips excitedly as brings his mouth toward mine. This is not what I expected when I set off to find him just now… but I’d be lying if I said I was sorry it was happening. My breath catches in my throat as our lips meet—softly and simply at first, but certainly not for long. The taste of him goes straight to my head, and I let my mouth fall open to his as he kisses me hard and deep. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, his lips catching mine over and over again.
I bring my trembling hands to his face, as he grabs hold of my hips. All at once, he’s spinning my body around, backing me up against the stately desk behind us. Jay brings his lips to the smooth skin of my neck, kissing every inch of me he can reach. I gasp as his tongue flicks against my collarbone, run my fingers through his sandy hair as he brings his hands to my thighs. Our eyes meet in the soft light of the study, our locked gaze brimming with electric want. Shit—if I thought we had chemistry when we were teenagers, I don’t even have a word for what crackles between us now. It’s something far more intense, and mature, and—I have to say—fucking sexy. For a second, it seems impossible that we’ll be able to leave this room until we’ve had each other.
That is, until we hear the click of high heels swiftly approaching our hideaway.
Like a shot, Jay and I leap away from each other, straightening our clothes and smoothing down our hair as best we can. I lift my scotch glass from Loudon’s desk just as the door of the study flies open. Doing my best to look as calm and collected as Jamison does, I turn to face the open door, hoping the blush in my cheeks isn’t too obvious.
Cordelia stands on the threshold of the study, her rail-thin body backlit by the warm glow of the hall.
“I knew I’d find you here,” she says coolly, glaring across the room at her brother. “Were you planning on coming downstairs at all?”
“Not really,” Jay replies, looking back at his sister with disdain, “I figured I’d let you be the center of attention down there. That was always your preference, right?”
“Can we not do this in front of company?” Delia says primly, jerking her head my way.
“I’ll just head back to the cottage,”
I offer, heading for the door. I need to get away from Jay before I do something crazy, and the last thing I want is to be stuck in a King sibling squabble.
“No, no. I was sent to collect both of you,” Cordelia says, blocking my path.
“Sent by who?” Jay asks.
“The lawyers,” Delia says vaguely, shrugging her slender shoulders, “They want to go over the will or something.”
“Now?!” Jamison exclaims stormily, “Jesus Christ, Delia. We only just buried our parents. Can’t it wait?”
“The guests are all leaving now,” his sister replies, “I don’t see the sense in waiting.”
“No. Of course you don’t,” Jay says, disgusted.
“In case you’ve forgotten, there are quite a few decisions that need to be made about the estate,” Delia says primly, “Not to mention the small matter of King Enterprises.”
“I’m sure I don’t need to be present for that,” I say quickly, “It sounds like a family matter to me.”
“No,” Delia snaps at me, “Daddy’s legal team asked for the two of you specifically. So. Shall we get this over with?”
“Sure? Why not,” Jay replies, marching past his sister, “No time like the present, right?”
Chapter Five
The King house is eerily quiet as Cordelia, Jamison and I file into the first floor conference room. The reception guests have all gone, leaving only a picked-over buffet and depleted bar in their wake. Even my dad seems to have headed back to the cottage. I’m surprised Frank didn’t insist on sticking around to help clean up—that’s just the sort of thing he would do.
Loudon King’s legal team is the size of a regulation soccer squad. I look around at the lawyers assembled around the conference table as I step into the mahogany-paneled room, spotting plenty of familiar faces. King Enterprises was so exclusively Loudon’s company that he had the same team of lawyers handling his business and personal affairs, so it’s no surprise that I recognize so many of the somber faces around the conference table.
Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) Page 5