Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) (6 page)

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.