Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) (10 page)

“Welcome home,” he growls, bringing his lips to mine.

Our mouths move urgently together as Jamison pins me against
the door with his powerful, tapered hips. I wrap my arms around his broad
shoulders, hooking my ankles at the small of his back as he hoists me up into the
air. I let out a long, low moan as I feel his hard cock press against my
throbbing sex, the fine material of his suit fit to burst with trying to
contain it.

“You mind if I hold off giving you the grand tour until…?”
Jay murmurs, grinding his hips to let me feel the staggering enormity of his
need.

“Fuck no,” I gasp, reaching down to whip open his belt
buckle.

Jay groans ecstatically as I slip my hand down the front of
his pants, wrapping my fingers around the pulsating thickness of his cock. He
pushes up my pencil skirt, grabs the collar of my white button up with his
teeth, and rips open the front of my shirt. Buttons fly everywhere as he kisses
along my chest, reaching around my back to unhook my bra. Our clothes fall away
as we tear at each other, unable to contain ourselves for another moment.

Finally, I feel the full length of him spring free from his
clothes. The tip of Jay’s massive rod brushes all along the length of my sex as
I cling to his shoulders, quivering with anticipation. His swollen head comes
to a rest against my slick pussy, poised and ready. I bring my eyes to his as I
struggle to speak.

“Jay,” I rasp, “I’m gonna need you to nail me to the fucking
door right this minute.”

“Christ, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, his eyes blazing as
he draws back his hips.

I scream out in pleasure as Jay’s cock drives into me. The
sheer enormity of him is nearly enough to knock the wind out of me. I thought
he was big the first time I had him, but my god…he wasn’t kidding about being
“all grown up” now. I let my body melt against his as he thrusts into me,
taking him deeper and deeper with every stroke. I’ve never had a cock this big
in my life—but that doesn’t mean I’m not up to the challenge.

Little by little, my body learns the feel of him, opens up ever
further to his pounding, perfect presence. My mind goes blank as Jay looses a
hand to my clit, kneading that tender nub as he works his cock into me with
faster, deeper thrusts. I brace myself against the ancient oaken doorframe,
crying out as the bliss inside me fills up to the brim.

“I’m gonna—” I gasp, my back arching against the door.

But before I can get out the last word, Jay levels one last
searing stroke straight into my core. I wrap my arms around him as I topple
into bliss, feeling him release deep inside me as we come hard as one. He
pounds into me as the waves of pleasure crash over us, easing me out of my
sexed-up daze little by little. The sensation finally passes through us as Jay
holds me suspended against his front door, both of us panting and spent.

“Well,” he breathes, kissing along my neck with an easy
grin, “I guess now’s a good time to say ‘welcome home’…”

A scuttling sound catches my attention, pulling me out of my
sexed-up reverie. I look up to see a flurry of movement across the foyer. An
elated laugh escapes my throat as I spot Gigi scampering across the floor,
chasing one of the buttons that popped off my shirt just moments ago. She skids
on the polished floor, having the time of her life.

Well, you know what they say. Home is where your mischievous
cat is.

Chapter Eight

My dreams that night transport be back to the gazebo in
Little Silver where Jay and I first made love. Only we aren’t eighteen again in
my slumbering fantasy. We’re thirty years old, just as we are today. We’re
curled up in a nest of blankets, our naked bodies pressed close for warmth. We
know ourselves so much better than we did back when we were young. The collision
of past and present is bittersweet. I’m thrilled to be back in Jamison’s arms,
but ache to think of all the years we missed out on sharing together.

“We had to wander away from each other,” he whispers in
my dream, his lips brushing against my cheek, “So we could find ourselves
before coming back together.”

Just as I part my lips to respond, I feel myself swimming
back to wakefulness. The dream world goes hazy as I rise out of sleep, coming
back to the present. But when I finally blink my eyes open, it’s with a sense
of deja vu…

Blinking in the early morning light, I find myself in a
tangle of blankets and sheets. For a moment, I do feel eighteen years old
again. So much so that I’m suddenly afraid to find myself alone—just like I did
the morning after Jay and I first slept together. I glance quickly over my
shoulder, warm relief flooding my body as my eyes fall on Jay’s sleeping face.
He’s here beside me. This is all really happening.

And it’s better than any dream my mind could cook up.

Somehow, we actually made it upstairs to Jay’s bedroom last
night. I halfway expected to pass out right in the foyer, I was so deliciously
wrecked by our homecoming fuck. But here we are, side by side in his sprawling
king bed. I glance over at the bedside clock and see that it’s just past six in
the morning. I go to lay a hand on Jay’s shoulder, shake him awake so we can
start the day…but looking at his serene, sleeping face, I just can’t bring
myself to do it.

Even though we spent all of last night exploring each other’s
bodies, seeing him in this moment feels more intimate than anything we’ve yet
to share. His face in sleep is so peaceful, his features softened with slumber.
His standard cocky grin is nowhere to be seen. For once. I decide to let him
sleep a little longer… but that doesn’t mean
I
have to stay in bed. I’ve
always been a morning person. And besides, I have a whole brownstone to
explore.

I lift off the covers and swing my feet over the side of
Jamison’s bed. The morning air is soft against my naked skin as I tiptoe across
the hardwood floor, searching for some clothes. I manage to locate my panties
and pair them with a white tee shirt of Jamison’s. Not exactly office attire,
but it’ll do for now. Taking one last look at Jay’s long, sculpted form tangled
in the bedsheets, I slip out of the bedroom and set off through the house.

Stepping out onto the landing, I’m struck dumb by the beauty
of Jamison’s home. The warm morning light plays against the wooden floors and
eggshell walls, gleams in the stained glass windows that adorn the front of the
house. I linger at the wide second story bay windows, perching on the window
seat as I gaze down at West 10th Street. The city is just starting to wake up
all around us, but I don’t feel harried or anxious like I do so often in my
Riverside Drive studio apartment. Instead, I feel protected by these stately
walls. Safe, even.

But maybe that has less to do with the house than the man
who resides in it?

“Don’t be silly,” I whisper to myself, padding down the
steps into the foyer, “You’re just a little punch drunk. No need to get all
starry-eyed.”

But it’s hard to keep my head as I roam through Jamison’s
beautiful home. From the cozy sitting room with working fireplace and luscious
leather sofas, to the serene and secluded back patio, to the fully stocked
kitchen with its copper pans and antique touches, this place is like a dream
come true. It strikes the perfect balance between homey and luxurious. The
brownstone itself, with its finely wrought touches and excellent bones, has
only been improved by its tasteful and timeless decor.

Some part of me was expecting Jay’s home to be a glorified
bachelor pad—all big boy toys and flashy displays of wealth. Maybe that’s how
eighteen-year-old Jay would have lived, newly out on his own and successful.
But thirty-year-old Jay is more refined in his tastes. Still arrogant and
difficult as hell, but more sure of himself. More sure of what he wants. And it
occurs to me, as I take in this gorgeous home, that what he currently wants
more than anything is for me to agree to marry him.

I sink down at the rustic kitchen table, overwhelmed with
the promise of this new life. Until I set foot in this house, Loudon’s proposed
arrangement for me and Jamison felt so clinical, so impersonal. I couldn’t
imagine a marriage that was all about business. But now that I see this place,
the full life that Jay is offering me… well, I can’t say that I’m not at all
interested. We may not have a typical love story, but we certainly like each
other. And god knows we know what we’re doing in the bedroom. Or the foyer, as
the case may be.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy to accept his proposal after
all?

“Morning, beautiful,” says a gruff, sexy voice behind me.

I turn to see Jamison standing in the kitchen doorway. His
Sandy blonde hair is sleep tousled, his cut torso entirely bare. He’s stepped
into his favorite pair of jeans, which hang just right on his tapered hips. The
neat rows of abs, sculpted pecs, and muscular v of his waist are downright
hypnotizing as I take in the sight of him standing before me. And the most
miraculous part? He looks just as mesmerized by me.

“Hey,” I say softly, tucking a lock of red hair behind my
ear.

“Christ. I like the look of you at my breakfast table,” he
smiles, striding across the room toward me, “Nice shirt, by the way.”

“Why thanks,” I laugh, feeling unaccountably comfortable
with him. No morning-after awkwardness, no small talk. Being around him is just
so… easy.

Jay catches my chin with two fingers and tilts my face up
toward his, kissing me deeply in the morning light. All at once, my body is
wide awake, charged and ready for him.

“Coffee?” Jay asks, pulling away.

“Absolutely,” I reply, amazed at how quickly my body
responds to his touch. “I’m gonna need a boost to make it into the office
today.”

“Then why make it to the office at all?” he asks casually,
pulling a french press down from the shelf, “We can just stay here and work
from home.”

“Oh, can we now?” I laugh.

“Why not?” he shrugs, “Who’s gonna stop us?”

“No one’s gonna
stop
us,” I tell him, “But we can’t
just play hooky because we feel like it. We’re trying to be the leaders of this
company, Jamison.”

“And leaders go their own way,” he replies authoritatively,
“I’m not suggesting that we sit around binge-watching Netflix all day. We’ll
work, but why not from the comfort of our own home, huh?”

Our home
… The phrase catches me off guard. But I have
to admit, I don’t hate the sound of it.

“Aren’t we just going to spend this whole week preparing for
the meeting with Elsie Walker on Friday?” Jay presses, walking back to the
table with press and two mugs in hand.

“Yes…” I allow.

“Well, we can do that just as easily here,” he says, setting
down the coffee things, “I wouldn’t mind skipping the midtown commute, myself.”

“I guess we can try it,” I say slowly, as Jamison lowers the
plunger into the french press, filling the room with the rich aroma of good
coffee, “But only if you promise me that you’ll work just as hard here as at the
office.”

“Scouts honor,” he winks, pouring us each a cup of joe.

“I mean it,” I warn him, “This meeting on Friday is really
important to me, Jay.”

“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” he says,
meeting my gaze. He’s not kidding, or trying to be charming in this moment.
He’s being sincere.

“You really have grown up, haven’t you?” I muse, brushing a
lock of blonde hair away from his forehead.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he laughs, catching my hand and
planting a kiss on my palm. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

Jamison takes me by the hand and leads me back up the front
staircase. Our coffees steam enticingly as we make our way along the second
story landing, stopping before a door I didn’t notice before. It stands open
just a hair, blending in with the rest of the wall. Jay opens it up all the
way, revealing a second set of stairs—much narrower than the first.

“Watch your step,” he says, leading the way.

I follow him up the dimly lit passage, amazed to discover a
third floor in this already expansive home. Then again, anything would feel
expansive after living in a tiny studio for six years of your life. A rectangle
of light rises up before us—the threshold of the third floor. Jay climbs up the
last step, stepping aside to let me through. I move past him, not knowing what
to expect…but whatever my expectations may have been, what I find truly
surpasses them.

I’m standing in the middle of a high-ceilinged room, lit
only by golden natural light. The antique writing desk from my apartment stands
before the tall, narrow window looking out over the New York streets. The wing
backed armchair and brass reading lamp I found at a Brooklyn flea market sit to
my right, and I smile to see Gigi curled up on the comfy chair. She’s always
known how to pick the best spot in the house. But most breathtaking of all are
the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, lining each of the four walls and reaching up
toward the sky. The shelves are absolutely brimming with books, each a more
exquisite classic edition than the next. And when I take a step closer, I
realize that many of the books look strikingly familiar.

“Dad let me take most of the library when I finally got my
own place,” Jay says, looking around at his collection of books, “All of our
old favorites are here.”

“I can see that,” I reply softly, overwhelmed by his
gesture.

“I thought I’d put your things up here for now,” he goes on,
“You should have the best room for yourself.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” I tell him, running my
fingertips along the books arrayed before me. “This is some
Beauty and the
Beast
level shit…”

“Just say you like it,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around
my waist from behind.

I turn around to face him, resting my hands on his chest as
he encloses me in his arms.

“I love it,” I say softly, resting my cheek on his firm
chest.

But I have to wonder, as we stand together in the sunlit
library, my own personal slice of heaven, whether I don’t mean really
I love
you
. 

***

Pippa is thrilled when I let her know I’ll be working from
home.

“You deserve it,” she tells me over speakerphone as I step
into some actual clothes, “Everyone here has their marching orders. You just do
you.”

“Thanks Pips,” I reply, shrugging into an airy shift dress,
“Just call me if any fires break out at the office. Figurative or otherwise.”

“Will do,” she assures me, and hangs up the call.

I gather my red hair into a low, loose bun, luxuriating in
the comfort of the stay-at-home life. I’m used to working in punishing stiletto
heels and corporate attire. But today, after a night of great sex and a nice
hot shower, my body feels supple and energized. I’m excited to get to work,
eager to keep hammering out a marketing strategy for
Huntress of Tomorrow
with Jamison’s help. Maybe my first action as president of King Enterprises
should be to institute perpetual casual Friday, because this feels fantastic.

“Ready to dive in?” Jay says, appearing in the bedroom door.
He’s slipped into a simple black tee to go with his jeans, a look he rocks just
as well as an expensive suit.

“Let’s do it,” I tell him, grabbing my laptop and heading up
to our library to get started.

I’ve gotten plenty accomplished in my six years at King
Enterprises, but never have I been as productive as I am holed up in Jamison’s
brownstone. The hours fly by as we spitball ideas, transforming the third floor
library into a two-person think tank. Jay is totally on board with my vision
for the
Huntress of Tomorrow
trilogy, and lets me do the heavy lifting,
creatively speaking. But his years of being a famous athlete, marketing his own
brand all the while, are crucial for discussing the way in which we’ll pitch
the trilogy to the rest of the world. We have to stand out from the pack, after
all. And if there’s one thing Jamison King is good at, it’s taking out the
competition.

I guess I should be more alarmed by his fiercely competitive
nature, given that we’re more or less in competition with each other for the
role of president of King Enterprises. If I don’t agree to marry him, it’ll be
a battle of the wills to see who comes away with the coveted job. But then
again, I’m used to being in competition with Jay. We’ve been duking it out all
our lives. I guess it’s amazing that we can put aside our rivalry to focus on
the task at hand, but if anything that just proves what good partners we’d
make—a fact that is becoming harder and harder to ignore.

“Let’s talk casting,” I say to Jamison, sitting cross-legged
on the library floor with Gigi curled up beside me.

“Do let’s,” he says, sitting at the writing desk with his
laptop opened.

“Obviously, the most crucial thing is to find the right
actress to play the heroine,” I go on, “Elsie wrote an awesome lead character
in Gemma Moore. We have to find just the right woman to portray her.”

“Sure,” Jay agrees, “Do you have anyone in mind?”

“I do,” I tell him excitedly, “Look up Svea Andersson, would
you?”