The wind picked up, drawing a curtain of clouds over the full moon. Dark memories crouched in the shadows, trying to drag him back into the past, but Jamison held on tight to Rory’s hand, her touch, her presence keeping him present.
He thought of the first time he saw her, how her smile, her beauty had warmed him like a summer day... She was his sunshine, his ray of light.
“I tried calling while I was gone, and when she didn’t call me back, I started to get this bad feeling. She’d been so calm when I left, acting so out of character... I tried her parents to see if they could get ahold of her, but they couldn’t reach her, either. Finally, I left in the middle of a meeting and took the first flight I could get home. I didn’t know what I would find.”
“Oh, Jamison.”
Even though he had moved out, he’d convinced Monica to allow him to keep a key in case of emergencies. “When I got there, everything was the same as when I left, and I felt foolish for overreacting. It’s not like it was the first time Monica had avoided my calls. But then I found her phone on the counter. She never went anywhere without that phone.”
He’d torn through the house after that, the missing items as telling as the phone she’d left behind. Suitcases, clothes, Hannah’s favorite toys... “Monica was gone, and she’d taken Hannah with her.”
“Jamison... I am so sorry. How awful for you to have to go through that!”
There was more. There was what happened the day of the accident, but Jamison couldn’t bring himself to tell Rory about that. Couldn’t watch the sympathy and understanding in her beautiful face fade into the condemnation he saw whenever he looked in the mirror.
“How long were they gone?”
“Almost four months. One hundred and seventeen days.”
* * *
Gazing at his granite profile, Rory could still see the toll that time had taken on Jamison written in his tense jaw, the brackets around his mouth and the hand fisted at his side. Her heart ached for all he—and Hannah—had been through, emotion building inside her as she wished for something to say to wipe those bad memories away. Instead, she scooted closer to him on the step and rested her head on his shoulder.
“I know it doesn’t sound like a long time—” he started.
“It sounds like an eternity,” she protested and felt a small sense of victory when Jamison sighed and some of that tension eased out of him. And when he leaned his head against hers, Rory wished this was a moment she could make last.
“Between the separation and the time she was gone, I only saw Hannah a handful of times in almost eight months. She’d grown so much, when I first saw her in—when I first saw her again, I hardly recognized her.”
“But all of that happened to you and Monica. It didn’t happen to—”
Us.
Monica had let him down, betraying him in the worst way possible, but Rory wanted him to know he could count on her. That he could trust her with his heart, and even more important, he could trust her with his daughter. She would never let either of them down.
“To Lindsay and Ryder.”
“I don’t know how he can forgive her.”
But it wasn’t Lindsay Jamison needed to forgive. He needed to find a way to forgive himself.
“It’s not your fault.”
But instead of soothing his pain, her words caused Jamison to jerk away. He vaulted off the steps only to turn back and point an accusing finger at her—as if condemning her for trusting him, for loving him. “You don’t know, Rory—”
“I know you.” She stood slowly before she deliberately made her way down the steps. “I might not know the man you were, but I know the man you are. A good father, a good friend, a man who—”
“A man who killed his wife!”
“What?” Rory stumbled on the final step, but this time Jamison wasn’t there to catch her. She regained her balance at the last second, her legs, her entire body trembling at the force of his words. Words that couldn’t be true. “I don’t understand. Monica died in a car accident. Were you—were you the one driving?”
His arm fell to his side, and his chin dropped to his chest. “I was a thousand miles away.”
“Then how—”
“Monica called me. When she figured out I had a detective looking for her, she called me. We were yelling at each other, ugly, hateful things—and then I heard her scream.”
“Oh, my God. You heard the accident?”
“Heard it? I caused it.”
“Oh, Jamison, you can’t believe that! You know it isn’t true. Monica called you. You didn’t know she was behind the wheel.”
“I should have. I should have realized she’d take Hannah and run again—”
“Maybe, maybe you could have guessed she’d do that. But you couldn’t know that she would crash.”
He closed his eyes as if that could block a truth guilt wouldn’t allow him to believe. He might not listen and he didn’t want to see, but Rory could still make him feel. She lifted her hands to his face, and the scrape of his late-night stubble sent chills up her arms. The sensation was as powerful as if he’d run his jaw over her sensitive skin from her wrist all the way to her shoulder.
And she knew in the split second before she raised her mouth to his, that this kiss wouldn’t be the caring, consoling kiss she intended. But then their lips met, and she stopped worrying about what the kiss was supposed to be and focused on what it was.
Raw. Intense. So close to perfection, she could have been dreaming. But the tension in Jamison’s body, the lingering anguish, was all too real. The need to take that pain away had Rory parting her lips beneath his, as if she could somehow draw out the darkness trapped inside him.
Touching and tasting, the kiss grew more and more heated, and the air seemed to sizzle around them. It burned in her lungs until she had to break the kiss and gasp for breath.
“Rory.” He groaned her name in what might have been a protest, but the plea in his rough voice and a tiny thread of hope let her know how much he wanted to believe.
“There are a million things you could have done differently then, but there’s not a single one you can do now to change what happened.”
“So I’m just supposed to forget?”
“No, you’re supposed to remember. To remember how lucky you are that Hannah survived and that she’s okay.”
“I am. You have no idea how damn grateful I am that she wasn’t badly hurt.”
“I know. I know.” Rory swallowed hard, knowing the words she needed to speak and knowing how hard they would be for Jamison to hear. “And you have Monica to thank...because no matter how angry she was, how determined to run, she still took the time to buckle Hannah into her car seat. To make sure your daughter was as safe as possible in case of an accident no one could see coming.”
His fingers flexed at her hips, and Rory tensed, waiting for him to push her away. To reject her and the forgiveness she wanted for him. Instead, he pulled her body to his. Close, then closer until she could hear his ragged breathing and feel his heart thundering. Until she resented every article of clothing, every millimeter of distance separating them.
“I can’t. I know you want me to forgive Monica, but I can’t.”
“It isn’t about what I want, Jamison. It’s about what you need.”
“I need you, Rory. All I need is you.”
He swept her up in his arms, but instead of carrying her away from the gazebo, he climbed the stairs to the shadowed platform. It was dark, and the secluded gazebo seemed a million miles away from the hotel and its slumbering guests. As he sank down onto the top step—the one with their hidden initials carved in the wood—and drew her into his lap, no one else existed outside the world they created for each other.
He murmured her name against her mouth, her cheek, her throat. Each husky whisper sent shivers running up and down
her spine. The seductive, potent promises set off tiny explosions along her nerve endings—fizzy and sparkling and all building to a grand finale. She tugged his shirt from his jeans and shoved her hands beneath the soft material. The tight muscles and smooth skin of his back made her greedy for more.
His eyes blazed at the proof of her impatience, and he reached behind his back with one hand to pull the shirt over his head. She smothered her startled laughter at the unexpected move against his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin and the anticipation of what was to come.
With his shirt gone, she had the freedom to explore his broad shoulders, muscled chest and stomach, first with her eyes and then with her hands. His hair-roughened skin tickled her palms, but it was Jamison who flinched as she worked the button on his jeans.
“Rory.” He caught her hand, his grip a little rough as he held her fingers against his rock-hard abdomen. He didn’t ask the question, but the words were written in his glittering gaze.
I’m leaving...
Leaning forward, she gave her answer as her lips found his. You’re still here...
Their affair might not last, but Jamison seemed determined to make it one she would never forget as his hands slid beneath her skirt and he set out to brand every inch of her body. He stripped away her panties and found her wet and waiting for him. Heat flooded her bloodstream, a tidal wave of desire that washed away the worries of what tomorrow might bring and left her bathed in his kiss, his touch...
Until the tide turned, and Rory was the one painting kisses over his chest, shoulders and stomach. She’d studied dozens of swatches over the years—paints, fabrics, ribbons—but she’d never before realized that kisses came in colors. The innocence of pink, the glorious revelry of gold, the rich decadence of red...
She’d nearly completed a rainbow when Jamison stopped her. She muttered a protest that was silenced when he reached for protection and then lifted her above him. Her body sank onto his, and Rory welcomed him just as she’d welcomed his kiss, his touch, his heartache. Her arms and legs wrapped tight, never wanting to let him go...
With his hands at her hips, he slowly began to move, increasing a pace destined to drive her wild. Her body rose and fell with every thrust, and a kaleidoscope of colors burst behind her eyelids as the pleasure broke, showering down over them in a burst of fireworks.
His breathing was still rough in her ear, his heart pounding against hers, when Rory pressed her lips to his shoulder, fighting a smile he evidently felt against his skin. “What’s so funny?”
“I was thinking we should do something to celebrate the gazebo’s reopening, but this is so much better than anything I had in mind!”
Chapter Thirteen
Jamison woke slowly, blinking against the early-morning light. The sun streamed through the curtains, and he suffered a moment’s disorientation. He never slept this late. Hannah never let him sleep this late. At the thought of his daughter, his eyes flew open and took in the unfamiliar, feminine surroundings. Lace curtains. White wicker furniture. Pale pink walls and sheets embellished with tiny pink roses. At the sound of a soft sigh, the memories from the night before came rushing back.
Rory. In his arms at the gazebo last night. Rory. In bed with him this morning.
Wide-awake now, he rolled his head on the pillow. They’d made their way back to her cottage after leaving the gazebo, stumbling through the darkened rooms before falling into her bed and making love a second time. She slept on her side facing him, one hand cradled against her cheek. Her dark hair spilled in disarray across the pillowcase, her eyelashes forming soft shadows against her cheeks. Sheer amazement filled him. He’d never seen a lovelier or more amazing sight.
He felt the ridiculous urge to wake her, as if that might somehow prove last night hadn’t been a dream.
As if she could read his thoughts, her eyelids fluttered, then drifted open. Unlike his momentary confusion, her eyes were clear. “Morning,” she whispered.
“Hi,” he murmured, almost afraid to break the silence.
“What time is it?”
“Early,” he insisted, ignoring his previous admission.
She smiled at his white lie. “Not that early. When are you supposed to pick up Hannah?”
“We didn’t have a set time, since no one knew how late we’d stay out.”
Reaching out, she cupped his face in her hand. “You know you have to make things right with Ryder.”
Jamison didn’t want to lose his oldest and best friend, but Ryder wasn’t first on his mind as he pressed a kiss into Rory’s palm. “I didn’t plan for this, you know.”
“Uh-oh.” Her smile trembled a little as she tucked the sheet beneath her arms. “Do I hear another ‘do the right thing’ speech coming?”
“Too late for that,” he sighed.
“But not too late for this.” Leaning forward, her dark hair framing her face, she brushed her lips against his. The gentle, giving kiss still had the power to kick his pulse into overdrive and send desire crashing through his veins.
“Rory...”
“I know you’re leaving, Jamison.” Was it his imagination or was the shine in her blue eyes the glitter of tears? Before he could know for sure, she ducked her head again, punctuating her words with kisses on his face, his throat, his chest. “But not today...and not tomorrow...”
And before long, leaving Clearville—leaving Rory—was the last thing on his mind.
* * *
An hour later, Jamison pulled up in front of the Kincaid residence. Ryder’s parents lived outside town in a ranch-style house with a wraparound porch and lush green front yard. The sounds of laughter and a dog barking filled the air as he headed for the front door.
“Kids are all out back.” Ryder stepped through a side gate, coffee mug in hand, and let the door slam shut behind him. “Hannah has the boys playing some kind of game where she’s a princess and they’re trying to rescue her from a dragon. Who in this case is my brother’s Border collie.”
“Sounds like they’re being pretty good sports about the whole thing.”
Ryder shrugged as he climbed the steps to the porch. “Robbie’s been begging for a dog, so any game that includes Cowboy is one he’s up for.”
Jamison opened his mouth, the apology stalling in his throat. “Seems like you survived last night.”
“Yeah, it was a real blast.” Ryder’s poker face folded slightly as a wry smile kicked up one corner of his mouth. “Especially once the bridal party showed up.”
“So that’s what happened.” He’d been too caught up in the moment last night to wonder how Rory had found out about the argument at the bachelor party.
“Huh?”
“It’s—nothing. I was an ass last night.”
Ryder took his time, lifting the mug, blowing on the steaming dark roast, taking a swallow before saying, “Got that right.”
Jamison sighed. He was going to make him say the words. “I’m sorry. I know you love Lindsay and she loves you, and I...hope everything works out.”
His friend tipped his mug in Jamison’s direction. “But you don’t think it will.”
“Dammit, Ryder, I’m trying really hard not to get into another fight with you.”
“Good thing, since I’d kick your ass.”
“And I’d sue yours until you didn’t have a penny to your name.”
Ryder smirked, and Jamison figured they could call their insult battle a draw. His friend lifted the mug for another drink, and Jamison noticed the gold trophy and the words World’s Greatest Father on the side.
“You want to know how I can forgive Lindsay? The truth is, that’s the only way I could expect her to forgive me. The only way I could forgive myself.”
It’s not your fault. Rory’s words whispered through his mind. And you have Monica to thank...
He couldn’t. Maybe if
he had Rory’s capacity for love, for hope, for forgiveness, he could forgive Monica. But he was a man who lived the law—right and wrong, black or white.
Jamison shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong! You didn’t know Lindsay was pregnant.”
“I didn’t want to know,” Ryder stressed. “I slept with her. I knew the baby could be mine—forget what the Clearville grapevine had to say. But I had plans, big plans, and you better believe being a teenage dad wasn’t part of them.” He rubbed his thumb over the trophy emblem on the mug. “That’s not an easy thing to admit, even now, but it was something I had to face when Lindsay told me about Robbie. Something we both had to get over in order to move on.”
And he was moving on. To a life with the woman he loved with a confidence and faith Jamison...envied. “I really was trying to look out for you.”
“I get it. I do. Your head was in the right place.”
“Isn’t the expression your heart was in the right place?”
“Oh, hell, no. Your heart’s all messed up, dude.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that half the stuff you were saying was way more about what’s going on with you than anything to do with me.”
Bits and pieces of his argument echoed across the lush green lawn.
You have to protect yourself.
You made a mistake before.
Don’t leave yourself open to getting hurt again.
Jamison swore under his breath. “When did you end up being the smart one in this friendship?”
“I was always the smart one. Playing the dumb jock was how I got all the girls.”
“You are so full of it.”
Jogging down the porch steps, Ryder spoke over his shoulder. “Yep. But I’m right.”
He’d always had a bit of showman in him back in his college football days, and Jamison couldn’t help thinking his friend hadn’t lost his touch as he followed him around to the side of the house. Ryder pushed the gate open wide, and Jamison saw what was behind door number one.
The Best Man Takes a Bride Page 15