Willows, Jennifer - A Harem of One [The Moreland Brothers 3] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Jennifer Willows

  “You have always hated that room since the renovations. But what the devil was I to do with all of the Japanese textiles and art you sent? Hence the red room was born…So you met Jamison this morning, I presume?”

  “That was Jamison?” He never thought the girl had it in her. Nine times out of ten, she was hidden behind a curtain of hair. He could barely pick her out of a lineup, and if he was right when he did, it would be due to luck, not knowledge. Marq would have never thought she had that much grace in her soul, that verve for life. His surprise at the development showed him that people could sometimes surprise him, even after he pigeonholed them into stereotype and a neat little mental box.

  “Yes, it was. She is capable of more depth than you could imagine. Very sensual and lithe, but she hides it well.”

  “That couldn’t be truer. She seems rather…quaint.”

  “Marques, you always turn a pretty phrase. But when I tell you she is a beautiful woman, believe me.”

  His mother called a spade a spade. If she saw something of beauty in the woman, there was. But he wasn’t sure what. She had no self-confidence, and the lack of the simple ingredient made her into a wallflower. By the time Marq made his excuses with his mother, there was much fodder for his thoughts. All of them centered around the graceful yogi he watched give her sensuous shadow show behind a screen of rice paper and bamboo. All to serenade the dawn and him, even if she didn’t realize the latter was witness to her brazen glory.

  Chapter Two:

  Show Me Yours, and I’ll Show You Mine

  Jamison finished her morning routine, and after taking a shower, she decided some breakfast was in order. Not any of the diet crap she’d subjected herself to either. It seemed that she had been having too many crappy shakes. Half the time she felt near starvation, and the rest of the time she felt high. Like she was short on oxygen. But she was tired of being “thick.” On a good day she was a twelve on the bottom and a ten up top. On a bad day, such as the PMS bloat? She didn’t even want to think about the embarrassment she felt the time she popped the button off her khaki slacks and had to wear her shirt untucked the rest of the work day.

  But as today was going to be spent on the go, Jamie could reason to herself that the calories would get burned off. She wandered through the family estate, still agog at some of the art she passed. Most of the work she found was priceless. Others were unknowns. Despite the riches ensconced in the home, there was a lived in look. Like a small village could camp out and dance a genteel cotillion all night through the halls. In fact, she passed a framed collage created by Marques in grade school. Hanging amid notable artists, the child’s picture was framed with a blue ribbon, as if just as priceless as the Monet it hung next to. Seeing the stark hues of the picture made her think of winter in the north. Wild trees and void.

  Turning away from the wall gallery, Jamie walked through the foyer to the kitchen. Usually Marta, the mansion’s head chef and housekeeper, would make breakfast buffet style. But today, she was working on the menu for the wedding with the catered help. Jamie decided to take a bagel with cream cheese and yogurt. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it would have to do. There was a ton of things to do today, and she still hadn’t packed back up. Or done her hair. As she placed the freshly sliced bagel in the toaster, her nipples drew taut and her skin prickled. Jamie felt eyes on her skin, eating the flesh from her bones.

  Unable to resist the urge to look, she turned around, and Marques was behind her. He was so self-assured and damned sexy, Jamie felt her heart beat faster. His demeanor was wild and slightly untamed. His T-shirt clung to his frame, his hair dark and tousled. The haircut was a multipurpose one, right now a Mohawk of sorts, but would make a sleek preppy cut when combed right. His hair was the color of midnight. His eyes were similar to hot cocoa, dark and warm when she usually saw him. He was tall just like his brothers, maybe six three or so.

  Marq was at least six inches taller than her five foot eight, she knew that for sure. Even his feet were handsome. The main difference between him and his brothers was his looks. Marques had a lithe and lean build, more swimmer, toned and roped with lithe muscle, than the large linebacker stature of his brothers. Jamie knew she was out of her depth here. He was more man than a woman like her could tame. He was too handsome for words, even in his overly rumpled clothes. She assumed he drove most of the night, and that was the reason he looked out of sorts. His hair was skewed slightly, but the quality of the haircut shone through anyway. There was a hint of shadow around his lips and jaw. Jamison wondered to herself how it would feel against her face and between her thighs. Her history with the opposite sex showed her that she was wasting her time, even if she thought to try again. She knew she was being rude, as is she hadn’t greeted him yet. He must have read her mind and decided to speak first.

  “Good morning, Jamison.” Even his voice was seductive, left her thinking of tangled sheets and early morning sex. Her body agreed, and the beaded nipples turned into hard points that begged for a thorough handling. Marq noticed them pouting at him, Jamie knew it. His eyes darkened even further and became deep brown, mossy and earth rich in color.

  “G–good morning, Marques.” Damn, couldn’t she have even spoken without a stammer? She spent too many thousands of dollars of her hard-earned money at speech therapy and elocution to do this now. Jamison could only drop her head, and the pop of the toaster behind her back saved her from meeting his gaze full on. She felt confused, her body begging her to arch forward and present her charms to him. Her mind begged her to run as fast as she could, damn the need to eat. One deep breath and Jamie turned her back to him, planning to eat on the run. But Marq apparently had other plans. She felt rather than heard him approach her. The hairs scattered along her body stood at attention, and if she relaxed her posture any, their bodies would meld together.

  “You’re having a bagel for breakfast?”

  “Th–that was the p–plan.” Jamie gritted her teeth. She really didn’t have time in her schedule to make a fool of herself.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a Belgian waffle? Maybe some bacon and eggs?” Ugh. Jamie didn’t like the sound of that at all. Not the bacon at least.

  “I’m a vegetarian.” Good, now she could speak normally.

  Marq smiled. “Do you eat eggs?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, let me make you a real breakfast.”

  “I don’t want to impose.” Each word Jamie spoke was with care and enunciated clearly.

  “It’s no problem. Have some juice and sit at the counter.”

  Jamie did as requested, sitting down on the small stool in front of the island. She watched Marq pull down different things, flour, sugar, and eggs. When he reached to the top of a cabinet, his shirt rode up his back. Jamison’s eyes widened as she gasped. He was covered with ink. She didn’t see any on his arms or legs, but the entire visible expanse of back and sides of his torso was a patchwork of skin art. He didn’t seem the type, just a smidge too preppy. But none of the family seemed to be the type of people they were. Then again, she didn’t appear to be the type to wear ink either.

  By the time Marques turned back to face her, Jamie had her gaze tucked down to her phone. She needed to update her blog today. As it was, she was nearly at her self-imposed deadline. Usually her blog, NCindieseen, was posted by ten a.m. It was nearly nine now, and she still didn’t know what to think of the filming she watched. The movie was a short film about two gay lovers and the morning after the pair’s initial one-night stand. She had her notes, but she may just need to eye it once more before sending a review out. She decided to feature the film after the Pink Sheep Festival during Wilmington’s unofficial GLBT weekend.

  “It will take fifteen minutes or so if you don’t mind waiting.” Marq’s tones seemed as if he tried to keep his tone gentle, like she was a wild forest creature he didn’t want to send fluttering away. The tone was generated to soothe her, but instead she felt inflamed and off balance. His sheer magnetism ma
de her feel the urge to bolt, as if she were hunted prey and the hunter had scented her on the wind. Her senses told her that he wouldn’t hurt her, but she felt as if any pain this man could deal her would be all mental anyway.

  * * * *

  She reminded him of a butterfly, lovely and demure. Jamie was really beautiful, just as his mother told him. Her hair was longer than he imagined, and the hasty ponytail she made earlier skimmed and bobbed at her shoulders. The color seemed sandy, an almost brown with hints of a tawny gold scattered throughout the locks. Today she was sans glasses, and with her hair pulled back, the classic features shone. She had an exotic cast to her honey-brown eyes, just a hint of slant at the corners and framed with incredible lashes that seemed long enough to comb. Her lips seemed to carry a hint of natural brightness, and as she nibbled her lower lip, he watched the color deepen to a raspberry red. He could tell she was tired though. Her eyes were a bit weak and puffy, and her color seemed to carry an ashen cast. She reminded him of someone. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember who. Maybe it was because he had seen her before, but never paid her much attention until today.

  “That’s fine. I need to grab something anyway.” Marq watched as Jamie stood and walked away.

  It only took him ten minutes to whip together a batter and begin making a stack of waffles. While the waffles cooked, he dished up omelets and a few slices of bacon for himself. By the time he finished the last slices of salty meat, Jamison was back with a tablet PC. She was watching something, and her earbuds were in, so Marq couldn’t hear what was playing. She was making notes, tapping on the screen every few minutes. The huge tortoiseshell frames that she normally wore were back, perched on the tip of her nose. When he waved the spatula under her nose to grab her attention, Marq smiled as Jamie complied with his unspoken request with wide eyes and a nervous shiver. He pulled the headphone from the ear nearest him.

  “You ready for a plate of breakfast deliciousness?” Marq had to get her to smile more. He wondered what the expression would look like on her face.

  “Sure, thank you. It smells nice.”

  “Hope it tastes better than that.” Marq grinned and began dishing up two plates, one with bacon and one without. When she answered his smile with one of her own, he hoped that she would grant him another when he gave her an orgasm. The small lift of lips made her eyes crinkle intriguingly in the corners, and Marq saw that she was more than beautiful. She was a stunner.

  During the meal, he attempted to draw her into a conversation. But none of his tactics worked, and Marq found himself disgruntled with her one word answers. In a childish antic to grab her attention, Marq stood and cleared his plate.

  “Are you finished?”

  “Yes, I better not stuff myself.” With her consent, he took her plate as well.

  “Do you have any ink, Jamison?” He had to ask her something, get her to talk to him. The only thing that came to mind was his tats. He’d seen her reflection in the window when his massive tattoo must have shown partially beneath his worn shirt. He saw her in the window, unbeknownst to her. Her body language said more than any words she could have spoken. He saw her duck her head and slickly insert her earbuds again as if she were going to tune him out. He used one soapy hand at the shoulder and tugged at his T-shirt and gave himself an unsatisfactory scratch of the skin there. The newest addition of inked birds on his shoulders itched a bit, and the niggling reminder of his body portrait reared in the form of his dumb question. Since he decided to hold the naked yoga exercises as ammo for later, better he’d asked her what he did. Marq slowly washed the dishes they used earlier, waiting for his answer.

  Marq saw how she ignored the question. Although he wasn’t facing her, the window in front of the sink was an excellent reflective surface. So he saw most of her reaction, how she shifted in her seat and looked up at him warily. He took the cues from her posture to mean that she did have a tat. At least one, but there could be more. Now he needed to figure out what the ink was of and where she’d chosen to place it. A few minutes of silence left Marq with more questions than answers, and he planned on finding a way to get the burning queries acknowledged.

  “Thanks for the meal.” Jamison stood up and took her leave.

  “Welcome.” His answer was quiet but audible. The single word was a dismissal, and Marq was sure that he would find the answers he sought. She was attracted to him, he knew it. But apparently she was willing to ignore the chemistry between them. Lucky for her he was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

  * * * *

  After Jamie left his presence, she did the only thing available to her. She ran. She ducked up the stairs and headed for the spare room she was lodging in, planning to pack and take care of the missing installment of her blog. Things didn’t quite work out that way, as when she got back to the red room it was already occupied. Charlotte was in the room, folding clothes neatly into Jamie’s suitcase. Why in the world would the matriarch of a huge home like this pack clothes for one of her guests?

  “You didn’t have to do that. I was getting ready to pack up now.”

  “I know, but I’m finished. Plus, I wanted to give you the opportunity to eat. Did you enjoy your morning workout?”

  “I sure did. You should join me next time.”

  “Nah, that’s too early for me. The only thing I am capable of is a ride at six in the morning.”

  “It’s easy, and you know it.”

  “Pish posh, Jamie. Did you know that this was Marq’s old room? He sent me some artifacts from Japan, and I had to do something with them.”

  “Oh…okay.” Jamie had no idea what she was supposed to say, if even she should say anything.

  “Did you have a good breakfast? I know you usually have fruit or oatmeal, but Marq can really cook. He just doesn’t very often. All my sons can, well, except for Charyn. He can make the basics, but an authentic meal still eludes him.”

  “Breakfast was wonderful, thanks for asking.”

  “I’m glad that you enjoyed your meal, Jamie. What do you think of your bridesmaid dress?”

  “It’s all right, but a bit revealing for my taste.”

  “Really? I thought it a bit demure in front and sensually risqué in back.”

  “That’s true, but the back is cut terribly low and requires time to drape properly.” Not to mention the half hour it would take to cover her back in airbrush makeup. But otherwise the low swag of the gown’s back was wedding appropriate, although its style would show best at evening rather than daylight. But Jamie had kept her extensive inked pattern to herself and had kept the secret at all costs. The only person who had ever seen the art aside from herself was the man who carefully etched the pattern over a span of several months. Even with the aftercare, Jamie used a paddle sponge to bathe the scarred skin and used a cotton cloth on a stick to apply the needed unguent to keep the skin moist during the healing phases. But she was going to have to have help to cover the tat, as there was no way she could spray her own back. The question was who? Charli was too busy with the last-minute finalization of wedding plans, and Makenzie wasn’t here yet. Even when they did board the yacht, Makenzie would be lucky to have thirty spare minutes to dress. Charlotte was too ladylike, and Jamie didn’t want to offend her with the personal request.

  Jamison looked back at her hostess, who was watching her carefully. As if she was seeing something else, someone else perhaps.

  “Are you afraid to have someone see your tattoo?”

  Jamie’s breath caught. How did she know? It was, until now, a closely held secret.

  “H–how?”

  “I’m not blind, Jamie. As a matter of fact, I have twenty-fifteen vision in both eyes. The day you arrived, I saw a peek of the tattoo through your white shirt where you had sweated through it at the shoulder. You hide it well, and most people wouldn’t believe you had one.”

  “I didn’t want to have a full shot of my back out with ink on my friend’s wedding photos.”

  �
��Makes perfect sense. Did you bring something to cover it up? I’d offer some of my makeup, but it’s not quite your coloring.”

  Jamie laughed. Charlotte was hilarious. One minute she thought her a prim and proper woman, and the next moment she was a hoyden. Charlotte’s laughter joined hers, pealing through the high ceilings and around the room.

  “Yes, I have an airbrush for the cover-up, but because of the location, I can’t quite manage it alone.”

  “That’s fine. I can help with that. Just call my cabin about an hour before you need to get dressed. Is there anything else I could help with?”

  “No that seems like plenty.”

  “Good, you are packed and ready to go.”

  “Thanks for the help again, Mrs. Moreland.”

  “It’s Charlotte, Jamison. I’ve never been one to stand on ceremony, and Mrs. Moreland was my mother-in-law. Even though she is long gone, I can’t see myself being her, and she was the dowager of this castle. I just lived in it.”

  * * * *

  With a small smile, Charlotte leaned in and hugged Jamie, who awkwardly accepted the affection. The return hug felt as if she was unused to loving embraces from another person. When Charlotte left the room, she found herself thinking that the shy beauty was the one for her youngest son. He would nurture the needs inside the girl until she blossomed as a woman, and Jamison would show him what he was missing. The girl walked around innocent of her own allure, and Charlotte knew just how to throw the pair together. Poor Jamison wasn’t going to know what hit her. Hell, even her son was about to be thrown for a loop. Marq didn’t completely realize it yet, but he was already intrigued with the oxymoron Jamison posed. The girl was a true lady, with the potential to be sensual behind closed doors, and even as now she was a shy maiden out of them.

  As any smart woman knew, intriguing a man was half the battle to begin with. All men desired the unattainable, needed a mystery to maintain interest. It was how she kept Jackson ready for her all those years, even when she was aging and fast becoming yesterday’s news.