by Chanta Rand
“If it’s a matter of money, I can write you a check right now for Andy’s tuition. It’s obvious the boy has talent.”
“And what about me and my business?” Jewell demanded. “My reputation? Can you buy that back for me too?”
Mason blinked, stunned by her attitude. “Why are you angry with me?”
“Because this is all your fault. You had no right to come at me like that. Knowing you’re engaged. Knowing what’s at stake for both of us.”
He grimaced. “Funny, I didn’t hear you complaining last night. In fact, you begged me to make love to you.” He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice from the prying ears of the bartender hovering near them. “I know you remember it. Your moans echoing in the room. Your hips grinding against mine. Your body fit mine like a glove. Even now, you make me want to bury myself deep inside you. So, don’t tell me it was my fault, Jewell. You’re just as guilty.”
She stood abruptly and looked him in the eyes. “What you and I had was just sex. Great sex, but nothing more.”
Her declaration was like a slap in the face. “Jewell–”
“Nothing more,” she said it again, more forcefully this time. “And how dare you speak to me about your so-called feelings. Portia told me this wasn’t your first dalliance.”
He shook his head. “That’s not true, Jewell. Portia is playing mind games with you. If she’s really been following me, she knows you’re the only woman I’ve been with. You’re the one I care about.”
“You are both crazy,” she seethed. “If you really care about me, leave me alone. Forget about me and go marry Portia so I can get on with my life.”
She walked off, leaving him sitting at the bar alone. She was angry with him, and he couldn’t blame her. He could only imagine what else Portia had said during that call. And he’d only made it worse by offering to write her a check.
I’m an asshole!
He watched Jewell’s retreating back as she headed toward the elevator. Her stilettoes clicked on a floor so highly polished, he could see her reflection. She’d blown into his life like a Texas-sized tornado. And now, she was storming out, leaving him alone again. He didn’t think he could stand it. Not after what they’d shared. She was one of the few women who’d been able to handle him – both in and out of bed. She was beautiful and classy, with an edge. Someone he could spend his life with.
The realization dawned on him. He loved Jewell. And he loved her too much to jeopardize her livelihood and her life. The only way he could protect her was to marry Portia. It was the right thing to do. It was what Jewell wanted.
But what do you want?
He wanted Jewell more badly than he’d ever wanted any woman. He jumped off the stool and ran across the lobby after her, catching her just as she entered the elevator. He shoved his boot inside the door, forcing the doors to open and allow him entrance. He stepped inside and pounded the red stop button with the bottom of his fist. Jewel’s mouth dropped in astonishment.
He grabbed her by the arms. “Do you love me?” he asked.
Her eyes were wide with shock. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Do you?” He growled. He deserved to know. He was putting all he had on the line for her. He had to know how she felt. There was no way she would be able to deny her feelings for him. He felt it in her lovemaking. A woman couldn’t fake that kind of reaction. Jewell wouldn’t fake it. Once again, he stared into her dark eyes waiting for her answer.
Jewell had nerves of steel, and she was apparently using them on him now. She gave him a determined look and stuck her chin in the air. “No,” she said. “I don’t love you.”
His heart plummeted like a cement block. Still, he refused to let go. “Liar,” he accused.
Jewell tried to wrench free, but Mason pulled her toward him. Before she could protest, he lowered his head and crushed his lips to hers. The force of his momentum pushed her into the elevator wall. He grinded against her, ravaging her mouth, not letting her come up for air until he heard her whimper of surrender.
Only then did he drag his mouth from hers. “Jewell, you’re a liar. Your lips are telling me one thing, but your body’s saying another.” His hands roamed under her dress, yanking her panties down and thrusting a finger deep inside her.
She gasped, digging her fingernails into the meat of his shoulders.
“See? Feel how wet you are? You want me too.”
He noticed she didn’t pull away, but instead, grinded her hips against his hand, erotically undulating to his rhythm.
He kissed her neck, sucking on her earlobe. “Don’t do this to me, Jewell,” he murmured. “Don’t lie to me again.” He captured her mouth again, continuing his assault her on her lips. He dipped deep inside, tasting her sweetness. He’d memorized every contour of her mouth. The folds of her lips. The ridges of her teeth. The tip of her tongue.
He couldn’t get enough of her. His hands were everywhere, roaming the soft plains of her thighs, stroking the tender slope of her backside, fondling the nub of her sweet center.
From there, everything happened so fast, it was a wonder no one caught them in the elevator. The next thing he knew, his trousers were unzipped, her panties were ripped, and he was thrusting the hard length of his erection inside her. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, opening up and granting him unlimited access. He cradled her buttocks with one hand, and held the small of her back with the other as he pushed forward, plunging into her wet, sweet depths, filling her with every inch of himself.
“God yes,” he croaked, as he buried his nose in the crook of her neck. He loved her smell. He loved the feel of her. He loved how she set his body on fire. “I love you, Jewell.” He said the words as he sank in and out of her, using the strength of his quads and hamstrings to simultaneously hold her up and thrust into her.
All too quickly, he felt the pressure build in him, and he knew there was no way to stop the impending explosion that threatened to come at any minute. Jewell was with him, riding the same wave of ecstasy. As she orgasmed, her scream pierced the air, echoing off the metal walls in stereo. His release followed a second later, his guttural moans adding emphasis to the intense pleasure he felt. His legs were stiff as cardboard, but the pain was nothing compared to the pleasure of being with Jewell.
He watched as Jewell straightened her dress. He tucked his shirt back in, then zipped his pants in silence. If he could put that experience in a jar and sell it, he’d be a trillionaire – three times over.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” Jewell breathlessly gasped. “No condom.”
Shit! What the hell was he thinking? That was just it: He wasn’t thinking when it came to her. And that was dangerous behavior. “I’m so sorry, Jewell.” He held her in his embrace. “I can’t keep my hands off you. And you think I could just let you walk out of my life?”
She gave him a wistful look. She opened her mouth to respond, but a loud baritone interrupted her.
“Hello!” the deep voice announced. “I’m with Facilities. I got an alert that this elevator was stuck. Are you folks okay?”
Jewell pushed Mason away. “No! I’m not okay!” she screamed. Get me out of here now!”
“I’ll engage the automatic override and have you out in a jiffy, ma’am.”
Mason didn’t think this was a good time to tell the man that women hated to be called ma’am. He was sure Jewell had a lot more on her mind right now.
Seconds later, the elevator doors parted, releasing them from their blissful sexcapade. Jewell bolted for the opening.
Mason reached for her. “Jewell, wait a minute…”
She nimbly moved away from his grasp and fixed him with a pleading look. “Let me go, Mason. You’re not in love. You’re in lust. Please, don’t mess things up for me.”
For the second time today, she turned her back on him and walked away, leaving him alone.
A lump of anger lodged painfully in his chest. He wandered into the hall and watched
her exit the building. For the first time in his life, he found himself in love, and the woman of his affections didn’t want to be with him. Maybe Jewell was right. Maybe sex was all they had. Come to think of it, she never did tell him she loved him. Maybe he’d pushed her too hard, too fast. He prided himself on being a good judge of character. But apparently, he’d misjudged Jewell Davenport. She didn’t feel the same for him. He was probably just a client in her eyes. Or maybe he was just a fling for her. She’d tried to tell him and he hadn’t listened. Now, he was on the eve of making one of the most important decisions of his life, and he was more confused than ever. He felt like a jackass.
What do I do now? Lord, please give me a sign.
Something.
Anything.
Abruptly, his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Portia’s number flashed on the display.
Not the sign I wanted!
Enraged, he flung the phone toward the shiny tile, where it crashed upon impact, smacking against the floor and cracking into jagged shards. Ignoring the curious looks of passersby, he left the offending debris on the floor and angrily stalked away toward the exit.
NINE
The first Saturday in June was the perfect day for a wedding. Flowers were blooming. The turquoise-blue sky was smooth and unblemished by clouds. The sun was easy in its mercy, subtly rationing its rays. The one-hundred and forty guests assembled at Holy Name Cathedral could breathe easy. It wouldn’t be too hot or too cool today. Every detail had been meticulously planned, even the weather. Vivienne Davenport had consulted a meteorologist, an astrologist, and a seismologist to pinpoint the perfect atmospheric conditions.
Of course, Portia knew everything would work out fine. Everything good always happened to her. It was the life of privilege she was accustomed to. It had never been any different for all of her twenty nine years, so why should it change now? Her life was the stuff dreams were made of, and everybody wanted a glimpse into it. Even now, news crews peppered the streets outside the church, hoping to catch a glance of any portion of the much-talked about wedding. Even reporters from that nosey ass TMZ show were there. But security was tight. With Chicago’s finest patrolling the perimeter and practically every exit, some industrious reporter would have to be damn lucky to score the coveted money shot – unless they were smart enough to open the side door that Portia “accidentally” left unlocked. After all, she wanted her $135,000 dress to be photographed. The organza and lace gown dripping with Swarovski crystals and pearls was a masterpiece worthy of a museum.
Upstairs in the church bridal room, she stared at herself in the three-way mirror as her sisters fussed over her. “This dress is so beautiful,” Paige murmured, fingering the lace-encrusted train. “Too bad you’ll never wear it again.”
“That’s the plan,” Portia answered. She didn’t want to be like another notable celebrity who’d only stayed married for seventy-two hours. How stupid would that look? Not to mention a total embarrassment. The good thing was Mason knew the part he had to play. She didn’t anticipate any more problems from him.
“Unless you get a divorce,” Peyton added slyly. “Then you could wear it again.”
“That won’t happen,” Portia snapped.
“Ugh.” Paige wrinkled her newly sculpted nose. “How creepy would that be to wear the same gown for two wedding ceremonies? It would be like going to two different proms but wearing the same dress. Remember Amber Weatherington did that for senior prom?”
“Yes!” Peyton exclaimed. “How utterly tacky.”
“Children,” their mother spoke up. She was elegantly perched on the edge of a blue, silk-striped pattern chair, careful not to wrinkle her pink, satin dress. “Today is Portia’s day. Let’s focus on her – and the groom.” She tapped her foot nervously. “Who doesn’t seem to have made an appearance today.”
“He’ll be here,” Portia assured her.
“Are you certain?”
Portia’s gaze met her mother’s dark, almond-shaped eyes, which perfectly matched the shade of her upswept bun. “I’ve never been more sure.”
Paige spoke up. “I just wish Mason wasn’t such a roughneck. If his family didn’t have oodles of money, he wouldn’t even be a contender.”
Peyton snickered. “You must admit that roughneck is gorgeous. He just needs some cleaning up.”
“Portia has already taken care of that,” her mother observed.
Portia gave her mother a grateful smile. It was Mother’s suggestion to hire a fourth image consultant after the others failed. It was a great idea, but Portia made it worse by hiring Jewell Davenport. Portia hadn’t the heart to tell Mother about Mason and Jewell. It was too shameful. Imagine, him having an affair before he even became her husband. All this time, she’d had no problems from him. Then Jewell came along.
Mason never seemed remotely interested in any other woman. For years, she’d had him watched carefully. She didn’t see anything wrong with keeping tabs on her man. Just like people kept an eye on their money or their precious collectibles, she monitored her investment – Mason Kincaid. The man’s sour disposition usually turned all females off anyway. But he hadn’t always been like that. Before his mother died, he was a fun-loving teenager. Then he changed; he became a brooding loner. Work and the ranch consumed his life. And it seemed he stopped putting his trust in people, including her. He became distant with everyone. Until now. Somehow, that bitch Jewell Davenport had wormed her way inside his apple.
Portia seethed. Jewell wasn’t even in her league. What was it Mason saw in her? She was too curvy and too dark. And she came from a family of felons. Mason was lucky Portia was there to save him from all that nonsense. If not for her intervention, Mason might actually think he had a chance with that succubus. And just to make sure Jewell didn’t go running back to Mason’s arms, Portia planted the seed of doubt in her mind. She had to make Jewell believe she was only one of many women Mason had been with. Truth be told, if Jewell was just another passing fancy for Mason, Portia could have lived with it. But the fact that he picked a month before their wedding to show interest in one particular woman was too much for her to handle. And the fact that she was the one who hired Jewell only added fuel to the raging inferno. It was the ultimate betrayal.
The double doors to the room opened, and her father walked smoothly through them. He looked incredibly handsome in his navy tuxedo. Deeply tanned skin, aged by summers spent in the South of France made him appear much younger than his sixty years. Having a wife eleven years his junior also kept him young at heart. Mother was so lucky to have found him. A pair of bright, deep-set green eyes shaded by auburn brows gazed at her. “Ready, Princess?”
“Yes, daddy.” She took the arm he offered. Her sisters fell into step behind her, holding the twelve-foot train of her long gown.
“We can’t start without Mason,” Mother advised.
Portia’s father answered. “He just arrived, dear. He’s waiting at the altar.”
Portia breathed a sigh of relief. Her fiancé was a little late, but he was here none-the-less. She made a joke to cover her uneasiness. “What’s the man trying to do? Steal my thunder?”
Her father smiled. “No one could steal your shining moment, Princess.”
Portia nodded. Yes, it would be her shining moment. What was she worried about? She always got what she wanted in life. Today would be no exception.
********
Mason stood at the red, granite marble-topped altar of Holy Name Cathedral looking out over the guests sitting in the polished wood pews. Portia’s family was seated on the left. His extended family on the right – all twenty-six members. His brother, Austin and his father sat front and center. Reed Kincaid looked like a stuffed penguin in his tuxedo. Probably felt like one too. Mason’s family wasn’t much on formalities.
Any other day, he would have marveled at the beauty of Holy Name Cathedral. Complete with Gothic revival architecture, it boasted two pipe organs and a bronze reli
ef depicting Old Testament scenes of sacrificial offerings. In truth, he felt like a sacrificial lamb today, so the history of this church was fitting. Given a different set of circumstances, he probably would have worshiped at this church. But now that he knew the depths of Portia’s evil, he planned on spending as little time in Chicago as possible. He doubted he would even see her. She hated Texas, and he had no use for the uppity neighbors in Chi-town. He would be her husband in name only. He had no plans to consummate the marriage. The thought of touching her body made his skin crawl. He’d drop the bomb on her today – she would be honeymooning alone. And there was nothing she could do about it. He’d met her demand. He’d married her to protect Jewell and Andy – even though Jewell had made it clear she didn’t want to be with him.
One part of him was angry that it had come to this. The other part of him was still pining over Jewell. So, here he was, trying to fulfill his so-called destiny. Like a mannequin in Macy’s store window, he was on display for on-lookers to gawk at. He stood motionless, hands clasped behind the tailored, black jacket of his Gucci suit. He’d refused to buy a tux, knowing he would never wear the damn thing again. The guys on the ranch had placed bets that this suit wouldn’t see the light of day again once it took up residence in his closet. Hell, the suit had a better chance of being resurrected than the black Bally shoes he wore. He missed the comfort of his boots. His toes barely had room to stretch in these prissy hard-leathered loafers.
He tugged at the stiff collar of his white, starched shirt. A month ago, he wouldn’ta been caught dead in this get-up. And he definitely wouldn’t be seen in public without his Stetson. But Jewell had made him see there was another side of living. He didn’t have to be a pompous ass (like Barron) to look tasteful. And he had to confess, he did like some of the wines she’d offered at the wine tasting. That was a huge accomplishment for a guy hooked on Budweiser. At home, he still wore his dusty jeans, but he wasn’t averse to a pair of chinos now and then.