Jamison (Beautiful Mine #3) (15 page)

“This is a far cry from the Hamburger Helper I grew up on,” she said, closing her eyes as she devoured bite after bite.

The bells on the front door chimed, jerking my attention in that direction where a tall blonde in knee-high calf-skin boots and a long, white coat walked in and headed toward the pastry counter. Even from across the room, I’d recognize that expensive shade of ash blonde anywhere.

Daphne
.

I scooted my chair to the side a little, turning my back toward her and praying she wouldn’t see me.

“Jamison,” her phony voice said a few minutes later. I cringed, glancing up to look at Sophie’s face, which was suddenly white as a sheet.

“Daphne,” I said, turning to face the music. “What brings you here?”

She held up a paper sack containing a long French baguette. Apparently, she was back on carbs again, which she only ever did when she was stressed and feeling powerless.

“Grabbing some bread for dinner tonight,” she said. “I’m entertaining company. You on a date?”

Her eyes honed in on Sophie, who wouldn’t look at her, and I began to piece everything together. Daphne must have been Sophie’s therapist, which made sense since that’s whom Bledsoe funneled most of his patients through when they needed counseling. Sophie must have said something in one of her sessions that set Daphne on a witch-hunt.

“We’re not on a date,” Sophie interjected, her voice noticeably shaky as if she were afraid of what Daphne might do.

“How do you two know each other?” Daphne asked.

I shrugged. Sophie shrugged.

“I knew it,” Daphne huffed. “God. Was I right, or was I right?”

She readjusted her bags and gave us a look, one mixed with equal parts disgust and jealousy, and headed out of the café, heels clicking loudly with each step.

“You know her from work?” Sophie asked innocently.

I nodded. “Amongst other ways.”

“You dated.”

I nodded again.

“I should’ve known,” she huffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mentioned I was seeing someone in one of our therapy sessions a while back,” she said. “She’d been trying to get me to say your name, but I never would. I may have let it slip that you worked at the hospital.”

Sophie cringed, obviously sorry, but I could never be mad at her. I paid our ticket and we bolted out of the café, heading back to our street.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “I never should’ve brought you up in therapy.”

“You didn’t know,” I assured her, taking her hand and squeezing it.

“What if she reports you?” she worried out loud. “What’s going to happen?”

“Bad things,” I muttered. “They’ll suspend my license and conduct an investigation.”

“But you didn’t treat me.”

“I examined you. And then there was the consult. The hospital rules are pretty cut and dry. There’s no gray area.”

“Do you think she’ll turn us in?” Sophie’s voice broke, weighed down by the tremendous guilt she obviously felt for spilling the beans.

“Probably,” I seethed, though my frustration was 100% directed toward Daphne. “She’s still in love with me.”

“Can’t I just say you’re not my doctor? You’re not treating me?” Sophie rambled. “Can’t I just lie?”

“All they have to do is look up your medical records,” I said. “They’ll see I’ve met with you twice. Then they can look up your therapy session notes and put two and two together. Believe me, Daphne takes impeccable notes. She doesn’t miss a thing.”

“Oh, God, Jamison. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

We stood outside her apartment door. I wanted to forget about the impending shit storm beginning to brew. I wanted to forget about running into Daphne. I wanted to forget about the world for a while and lose myself in the sheets of Sophie’s messy bed for a few hours, in the shelter of her long, dark hair, with each kiss bringing us deeper and deeper into our own little world.

She peered up at me through her long lashes, her dark eyes glassy and her lip trembling. “Maybe we should play it cool for a little bit.”

“What are you saying?” There went any hope of an invitation upstairs.

“I don’t want to jeopardize your career,” she said. “Believe me. I’m not worth it.”

“Don’t talk like that.” A million pins pricked my stomach as my brain tried to process what she was saying.

Her eyes fell, landing on our feet. “I think we should take a break.”

My brows furrowed, and the ground beneath me began to sway. “That’s not necessary.”

“I always have a way of screwing things up,” she said, her voice faltering. “I don’t want to screw anything up for you. Not when you’ve been so good to me.”

“Sophie.”

“I care about you way too much, Jamison,” she said, taking a step away from me and moving closer to her door. Her mind was already made up.

“Do you want space? Is that what this is really about?” I pried. “Are we moving too fast?”

We’d been moving quickly, that much I knew, and it was only a matter of time before we’d lose momentum. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

“I don’t want space,” she said, shaking her head. “God, I could spend every waking minute of every waking hour with you, Jamison. I crave you. I’m addicted to everything about you. The way you kiss me. The way you look at me. The way you wrinkle your forehead when you’re lost in thought. The way you pick your words so carefully when you’re around me. The way you make me feel like I’m the only girl in the whole world. The way you make me feel safe.”

She took a step back again, staring at me longingly as she professed her feelings. Like a child being forced to put their breakable China doll back on the shelf, she gazed at me with regretful eyes.

“You’re too good to me,” she said. “I don’t know what’s so great about me, but I’m not worth it. I’m not worth destroying your whole career over.”

“That’s for me to decide.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, silently listing all the things I loved about her in my head. Her free spirit. Her innocence. Her openness. Her unassuming beauty. The way I lost myself in her eyes. The way she gave herself to me. Her kindness. People like her didn’t run in my circles. She wasn’t a user, a social climber. She didn’t have an ulterior motive, and she didn’t see me as Dr. Jamison Garner. To her, I was only ever Jamison—the guy who lived across the street.

Sophie’s hand reached for the door to her lobby. “I’m tired. I have to work tomorrow.”

I stood in the bitter cold that was beginning to fill the mild evening air, watching until she disappeared up the steps toward her floor. And I waited outside, still as a statue until the light to her apartment switched on, illuminating her loft. For the first time in forever, the blinds were pulled.

SOPHIE

I locked the front door to the shop, my fingers tingling with the sensation I knew too well. I’d been on my feet all day, helping customers and selling pieces and answering phones. But all I wanted to do was paint.

I could see the picture in the back of my mind and all its blue glory. It was my first blue painting since meeting him. I just thanked my lucky stars that Mia was gone for the day, or else I knew she’d give me a hard time about it.

My chest burned with longing as I switched off the lights to the front shop, and I paused to stare out the windows as the passersby, wondering what Jamison was up to that night or if he’d be going on his ten o’clock walk soon.

Eight text messages and five missed calls waited in my phone since the night before when I’d left him outside my building.

I’d ruined my sisters’ lives. I couldn’t ruin his too.

I crept back to my studio, slipping a smock over my clothes and running my finger along my elaborate paint collection, plucking the perfect shades and squirting them onto a clean palette.

I lost myself in my art the way I always did, and by the time I was finished with the first stages of my chaotic blue masterpiece, it was damn near midnight. I hated walking home alone that late, but at least it was only a block.

I grabbed my things, slipped on my coat, and locked the door again on my way out. As I passed Jamison’s building, I stared up into his windows; every single one was pitch black.

I climbed the stairs to my floor, shivering at the thought of spending a night alone in my cold bed and wishing more than anything I could run over to his place, knock on the door, and act like nothing happened.

I rounded the corner to my floor, only to find a man sitting on the ground and leaning against my door, his head down in his hands as if he were half-asleep.

“How long you been sitting there like that?” I asked.

Jamison looked up, his eyes bloodshot and bagged. He lifted his wrist and pulled back his sleeve. “Couple hours, maybe.”

He rose up and moved aside as I slid my key into the lock. I couldn’t turn him away, and even if I could have, I didn’t want to.

“Come in.” I kicked the door wide open, greeted by the warmth of the space heater I always seemed to leave on.

Jamison shut the door behind him. “You didn’t return my calls, so…”

“Just can’t stay away from me, can you?” I hid my face in my hair, not wanting him to see my secret excitement.

“No. I can’t.”

I slipped my jacket off and tossed it across the arm of the couch before combing my hair into place, my back toward him. His strong hands slipped around my waist, turning me to face him. I lifted my chin, our lips mere inches apart. The ground may have given out below me, but Jamison would never let me fall.

“You’re taking a risk by being with me. You know that, right?” I said.

“Mmhm.” His voice vibrated right through me.

“If Dr. Strong sees us together again…” I didn’t want to finish the sentence. We both knew where it was headed.

“I know you think you’re doing me a favor,” he said. “But you need to trust me. We can make this work. I’ll never stop fighting to be with you. You’re worth it, Sophie. You’re worth the risk.”

I didn’t have time to tell him how foolish he was being. His lips pressed against mine, hungry and insatiable, and his hands slid up my sides, landing in the tangled mess of my hair. We stumbled backwards across the loft and into my messed up bed, my hair spilling over a downy soft pillow.

Within minutes our clothes were scattered on the floor around the bed, and Jamison’s cock was sheathed and hitting the deepest parts of me. My fingers wrapped around his flexing biceps as his lower body pressed against mine. My hips met his thrust for thrust as we gazed into one another’s eyes, unwilling to look at anything but each other’s souls.

I tugged the covers over our sweaty bodies; my leg hooked under his, and snuggled into the crook of his shoulder.

“Don’t make any plans for Friday,” he said seconds before his eyes closed for the night.

***

My hair was washed and dried. My makeup was in place. At the foot of my bed, wearing nothing but a strapless bra and panties, I stared at the Barneys box lying on my mattress, tied with ribbon.

Jamison was taking me out that night, and in true Jamison fashion, he’d taken care of everything, including making sure I had something pretty to wear.

I untied the ribbon and pulled the top of the box, lifting out a gorgeous satin evening gown the color of pale smoke. Classy. Sophisticated.

Are we going to the opera?

I stepped into the dress, zipping up the back, and slid my feet into the sexiest Swarovski crystal-encrusted heels I’d ever laid eyes on, also a gift from Jamison.

A knock on the door served to remind me I was running late.

“Coming!” I yelled, rushing across the room and flinging the door open. My heart dropped five stories when I saw him standing there. Silky black suit. Skinny black tie. Shiny black shoes. Cleanly shaven and smelling like a million bucks. “You look… different.”

I wanted to rip off every piece of his suit and throw him on the bed and have my way with him.

He raked his hands across his smooth face and smiled. “You don’t like it?”

“I do,” I said, drinking him in and struggling to restrain myself in his presence. “I like it a lot.”