Sweet Surrender (Love & Legacy #3)

Chapter 1

ASHTON

Some women want to be wined and dined on Valentine’s Day. They want roses and romance.

I’d rather be fajita-ed and margarita-ed with a side of chips and a big, fat bowl of salsa.

We are not the same.

—Ashton’s Secret Thoughts

The departure board flickers . . . again. Only this time, the damn thing flashes delayed.

Seriously . . . did someone forget to tell me it’s Groundhog Day?

I’ve lost count of how many updates my flight has already had.

But at least then it had times. Now . . .

This . . . There isn’t even a time listed now.

I suck a slow breath in through my nose .

. . Hold, one . . . two . . . three . . .

and exhale . . . two . . . three . . . It’s the same calming technique reserved for taming pre-performance jitters and whenever I have to deal with my utterly fucked up family, which luckily isn’t often.

Of course, at the moment, it’s not even remotely helping to calm my quickly spiking freak-out.

I’m not sure how much worse this day can get.

“Don’t glare at it,” a deep, sexy, incredibly annoying voice lectures, proving yet again I’ve underestimated just how much the universe hates me.

The voice is delicious. It’s also a voice I know all too well.

Or at least knew at one point in time. A voice I can’t stand.

Guess it can get worse. “It’s already doing its best to screw us without the lube. ”

Squaring my shoulders, I force a smile. “A complaint you hear often, Jameson?”

I don’t want to look up. I don’t have to, to know who’s stopped beside me.

I’d recognize that deep timbre and cocky confidence anywhere.

Not that I don’t look anyway. Jameson Murphy has spent a lifetime being a lot of things, including a gigantic pain in my ass most of the time, but he’s also incredibly easy on the eyes in an infuriatingly annoying way.

Yup . . . still gorgeous. Warm golden-brown hair streaked with flecks of sun-kissed red highlights.

The kind of color women would pay thousands to replicate but this jerk was born with.

Hazel eyes that can straddle the line between luck-of-the-Irish green when he’s smiling, to icy cold gray when he’s angry.

Not that I’ve seen him angry often, but I have seen it.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen this man often enough to have memorized those damn eyes.

And everything else too . . . A strong jaw chiseled from exquisite marble, broad, strong shoulders, and biceps bigger than my entire thigh.

He’s sporting a perfectly tailored hunter-green peacoat and a charming grin that no doubt has launched a thousand bad decisions—none of them mine, thankfully.

Jamie is gorgeous and funny and a complete asshole.

“I’m not glaring,” I snap. “I’m manifesting violence.”

Violence I might just direct his way since my mother isn’t standing in front of me yet.

He laughs—because why not? Like this is all one big joke instead of the universe actively testing the strength of my sanity. Newsflash—sanity left the building when I got the call this morning that Mom had been in another car accident and this time was looking at charges . . . again.

“What are the odds that every time I get stuck in an airport, you’re somehow involved?

” the ridiculously tall ginger giant asks, laughing, like this is all a joke.

I guess, technically, he’s not quite as ginger as he used to be.

Not nearly as much as when we were kids. Definitely still a giant though.

“High,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Chaos tends to follow me.”

No truer words have ever been spoken.

Really, it follows my mother, and apparently, even distance can’t save the rest of us from her fallout. Damn. I’m going to need something stronger than breathing techniques to get me through the rest of this day.

“Yeah,” he agrees, eyes dropping briefly to my mouth. “It always has.”

I shake my head and turn to face the board again, searching for an update on my flight to the one place I’d rather not go back to . . . Philadelphia.

Still delayed.

Still mocking me.

“You meeting some hot date for Valentine’s Day?

” Jamie asks, stepping closer until we’re shoulder to shoulder.

Or more accurately, my shoulder to his pec.

I’d love to say he’s freakishly tall, and maybe he is .

. . kind of, but I’m also unfortunately short.

Something that’s never helped me out, even in pointe shoes.

I almost laugh in his face. Almost. A hot date for Valentine’s Day would be nice. Not likely but nice. My original plans for today included Netflix, ice cream, and a horror movie where the hot guy dies.

Enough said.

“None of your business,” I snap eventually, refusing to give voice to my thoughts, even if my answer does make me sound like a petulant child.

I swear this man brings out the worst in me.

Always has. Always will. I’ll never understand how he and his brother are related. They couldn’t be more polar opposites.

“So that’s a yes.”

I count to ten . . . slowly. This man is exasperating. “I’ve got to deal with something in Philadelphia.”

“Ahh . . . The prodigal princess returns.” His lips and brow both arch, mocking me. “First time in what—five years, Ace?”

Oh my God. I’m going to kill him.

“It hasn’t been that long.” I grip my bag tighter, wishing I were anywhere but here. “And don’t call me Ace.”

“You also don’t miss opportunities to be dramatic.” His stupid smile spreads, and I fight the urge to kick him in the shins like I would when we were kids. Or the balls, like I wouldn’t mind doing, now that we’re grown.

“The same way you never miss an opportunity to irritate the hell out of me, Murphy.” Okay.

Not my best comeback, but in my defense, I’ve been at this freaking airport for six hours.

Six. Hours. And that was after getting a call from the public defender I now happen to be on a first-name basis with, informing me of my mother’s accident and subsequent arrest.

A heavy fog caused all flights to be grounded this morning, which, lucky me, meant the flight I was able to book for this afternoon has been delayed .

. . how many times now? I glance over to the windows lining the concourse and groan.

There was still daylight when I got here.

Something we don’t have now. And that was before it started snowing.

“Yet here I am,” Jamie taunts. “Thriving.”

“Why are you here, Murphy?” What are the odds?

His body tenses as his green eyes harden and a masks slips in place. “My cousin Hendrix’s wife died a few months ago. Football season’s over, so I flew in to catch a few of his games and hang with him and his kid.”

Oh . . . That.

“I was sorry to hear about that,” I murmur, my heart tightening before the intercom crackles, and every passenger within earshot collectively holds their breath.

Attention, travelers . . . Due to the mix of snow and ice—

A groan ripples collectively through the crowd, and I close my eyes and count . . . again.

Of course—

Of course it’s snowing.

Of course it’s delayed. Again.

Of course it’s today.

Of course he’s here.

Wait . . . I continue listening, this time catching the word canceled.

When the urge to hyperventilate finally passes, I force my eyes open to find Jamie watching me, his hardened gaze gone and a smile back in place. One directed at me.

“Seriously?” I groan. “Canceled . . .”

“Hey, look on the bright side—”

“There is no bright side,” I interrupt, my stomach flipping . . . again.

“You could be stuck alone,” he offers with a wink.

Oh. My. God. I hate this man.

I look from him to the fifty people practically standing on top of each other, waiting to get more details from the gate agent, and my stomach sinks. “That would be preferable.”

“Ouch.” The idiot presses both hands to his chest like he’s been hit. “That hurts, Ace. I thought we were friends.”

“Your brother is my friend, hot shot.” I motion between Jamie and myself. “We have never been friends.”

Not really.

“Frenemies?” One dimple pops deep in his left cheek, and I ignore the way my body heats.

Jamie Murphy has always pulled off boy-next-door charm in a way no one else ever could.

One minute, he wants the world to think he’s sweet and kind and helpful.

The next, he’s grinning at you like he’s starving and you’re his next meal.

And there’s not a doubt in my mind this man can eat.

I tilt my head back, cursing my lack of height in a way I only ever do when I’m around this asshole. He’s got to have a solid two to three inches on his younger brother, putting him easily at six feet four or five. Well over a foot taller than me. “No.”

“Come on . . . Strangers who know each other’s middle names and worst habits?”

“You don’t know my worst habits.” I grab my carry-on and look around, ignoring the fact that there was a time when he definitely did. “I’m going to find a seat.”

Jamie steps in front of me, effortless and exasperating, blocking my path.

“Careful,” he warns. “You heard the announcement. There’s a snowstorm coming. You might want to stick with me for a while.”

“Why would I do that?” I look back down the concourse at the wall of windows being pounded by the snow, pretty sure the storm is already here. “Not like I haven’t been snowed in before.”

He leans down just enough for me to smell his cologne—clean, crisp, familiar and dangerous. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But you’ve never been snowed in with me.”

My breath catches for a single heartbeat.

The board updates again.

CANCELED stares back at me this time, and my stomach plummets.

Guess it’s official.

“Well,” he grins, “this should be fun.”

I fight the urge to scream nothing about today is fun.

Every flight status updates to CANCELED.

No. No. No.