Chapter 14
JAMIE
I’m parked two streets from the manor with the engine off.
The cold is seeping through the vinyl roof, and with these temperatures, it might’ve been a stupid idea to rent a convertible.
Midnight is still a few minutes off, but I was going stir-crazy up on the ridge.
Her instructions were very clear, so here I sit, exactly how she instructed.
I almost feel like I’m in my twenties again, sneaking around.
The last bottle of Little Black Cat wine sits in the passenger seat. Blaire insisted I take the last bottle at the grocery store and told me to report back with my opinion. I’d rather share it with her since it’s her favorite. I brought one of mine too. I had it shipped in just for tonight.
My phone vibrates in the cupholder, and I see the preview of an email.
The nonprofit’s board assistant sent me another meeting request for the day I’m flying back to New York.
I’m sure the attachment is an itinerary of all the things the board wants to discuss with me.
I’d open it, but they forced me out of the city and stressed that I needed a vacation.
So, I’m going to take one. Whatever is going on outside of Pine Haven, I’ll deal with it in five weeks. For once, New York can wait.
That’s a new sensation completely.
When the dash clock shows five till midnight, I grab the wine and get out of the car.
It’s brisk as fuck. The cold nips at my ankles as my breath turns to smoke in front of me.
Ahead of me, warm light fills the manor’s kitchen window.
I take the back sidewalk, like she said, and the door swings open before I can knock.
Blaire grabs my jacket with both hands and pulls me into her.
Our lips desperately crash together, like we are each other’s air.
“Hi,” she says against my lips, almost worried.
I wonder if she was concerned I wouldn’t show.
“Hi, yourself.”
The house smells like cinnamon and butter. Her hair is still damp, curling where it’s drying. She showered for tonight, and I shaved for the same reason.
I hold up both bottles of wine. “Thought we could drink these together. Both of our favorites.”
She takes the second one from my hand and tilts the label toward the lamp. It’s the Bordeaux I’ve been drinking since before I was legally old enough to have it. My parents are fans. Maybe it’s an inherited taste.
“This looks very expensive.”
“Well”—I shrug—“it did ship from a specific cellar in France.”
“Jamie.”
“You gave me your fave. It’s only fair that I do the same so we experience both together.”
She looks at me for a beat too long. “Before we get comfortable, you should know my cousin now believes she heard a ghost last night.”
I stop midway. “Excuse me?”
“She heard you.”
“Not us?” I ask with a brow popped. “You were so much louder than me.”
“She didn’t say she heard a woman too. Because of you, she wanted to hold a séance.”
I can’t stop grinning. This woman isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. Our conversations are ones I could never have with anyone else. It’s one of the reasons why she interests me so much.
“A séance,” I repeat, almost laughing.
“Shh. We have to be more careful,” she says, pressing one finger into my chest.
I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingers that smell like a forest in the summer.
“You’re addictive,” I whisper. “The way you smell.” I kiss inside her wrist. “The way you taste.”
Her breath hitches as I press her into the counter.
“Not here,” she says against my mouth.
She slides two glasses from the cabinet, and then I follow her down another dark hallway. She stops at a set of tall double doors that swing open before her hand touches them.
Blaire thinks nothing of it as she waltzes inside, pulling my hand with her. I try to make sense of what I witnessed, blaming a draft or old hinges. Or maybe it’s magic.
This room is huge, with shelves that go from the floor to the ceiling. There are two rolling ladders to reach the books in the top rows. Several stained-glass windows glow from the streetlight. It smells like old paper and wax.
Blaire lights a kerosene lantern and pulls me with her past the big oak desk. With the tug of a book, a secret door unclicks and slides open. Behind it, narrow stone steps drop down into complete darkness.
“Am I allowed to be in here?” I whisper.
“You’re invited to be my personal guest.” She brings the lantern up higher and starts down.
“Is this where you’ll harvest my kidneys?”
“Why don’t you come find out?” She waggles her brows.
I have to duck to follow her.
We go lower, and the air changes. It’s much cooler. Eight more steps, and then we’re entering another room through another door.
The lantern’s light spreads across an area that’s built right into the manor’s foundation.
Stone walls are as thick as my forearm, and we’re surrounded by them.
A rug is laid over the concrete floor. Against the far wall is a blue velvet couch.
In the corner is a worn armchair and a little table with a candle stub and a deck of tarot cards.
Dried herbs hang in bundles from the beams overhead.
“What is this place?”
“One hundred years ago, it was used as a cellar. My aunt turned it into her hideaway, where she performed her serious magic.” She sets the lantern on the table and takes the wines from me one at a time.
“It’s soundproof. We’re under the house.
It’s not discussed in any of the history of the house.
No one knows it exists.” She meets my eyes and smiles. “Except you and me.”
“Okay, I’m feeling pretty fucking special right now,” I say as she opens the wine and pours us each a glass.
“You should.” She hands one to me and watches me take a sip over the rim of her glass. “Well?” she asks. “Go on. Rate it. Be fair. Consider the area.”
Like a sommelier taught me, I swirl it, sniff it, and make a performance of it. Mostly because she’s watching me with soft brown eyes, like she’s mesmerized. I take another drink, and it’s sweeter than I thought it would be.
“This tastes like a dessert wine.”
“It kinda is,” she says. “Well?”
“I’ll give it a … five.”
She fights a smile. “I forgot you’re Jameson Cross. Is your palate as refined as Zane’s? Because, holy fuck, he is high maintenance.”
This makes me laugh. “He was raised with a golden spoon in his mouth and snowboarded. I grew up playing hockey. I’m the least high-maintenance dude you’ll ever meet.”
We finish the glass, and then I open my bottle.
“I searched your name online today,” she admits, tilting her head at me.
“Oh, yeah? And?”
“You’re very popular.”
I lick my lips, clinking the edge of my glass with hers. “Cheers, Blaire.”
“But I have a feeling most people get it wrong,” she adds. “I don’t believe half of what’s written about you. But there is one thing I’m curious about.”
I take a gulp of wine.
“The thirty-day thing. Do you really only date women for thirty days, and then you end it?”
“Yes, it’s true.” There’s no use hiding it. “You know that feeling people get when they fall in love?”
“The rush of excitement. The adrenaline. The tingly feelings inside when your hands brush. Daydreaming. Future planning.”
“I’ve rarely experienced it,” I admit. “And when I do, it fades faster than it came. No one survives thirty days because once the chase is over, I don’t care anymore.”
The smile on her face falters. “That’s sad.”
“I used to blame it on the curse. I’m convinced it’s me who’s the problem.”
“They call you the Fling King.”
“I know. That’s why when you said my reading talked about a fling, well, I believed you.”
She closes her eyes and drinks her wine. When they open, she takes a few seconds before speaking, like she’s trying to find the proper words. She doesn’t.
“How is it?” I finally ask. “You can’t leave me hanging.”
“It’s delicious. Like, ten out of ten, no notes.” She takes another sip. “It tastes like a fireplace in an expensive ski resort. Smoky. Luxury. Expensive.”
This makes me chuckle.
We give up on refilling glasses and pass the bottles between us. She takes swigs of the Bordeaux like it’s a liquor bottle at a bonfire. Watching her so carefree does something to me. I catch myself staring and have to look away. We eventually trade bottles.
She rolls the bottle between her palms.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask.
“The woman in the orchard. She asked for your number, and I walked away before I heard the answer. I’ve thought about it thirteen different times today.”
That knocks the smirk off my face. She holds my gaze with her cheeks burning.
“I didn’t give her my number,” I say. “I told her no thanks.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I have to stay under the radar, Blaire. You looked me up online. You’ve seen the amount of scandals I’ve been in.”
She bites the inside of her cheek.
“You were jealous.”
“I was not jealous.”
“Yeah? Do you remember the rules we made? The truth. Come on. Confess.”
“Right,” she lets out a sigh. “Fuck.”
I shove my hand in my pocket. “Tell me.”
“It pissed me off,” she admits, the words spilling from her lips, like all she needed was my permission to be honest. “I don’t get jealous, Jamie. That’s not who I am. But”—she swallows—“I do think we should date other people if the opportunity arises.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“That’s my answer. It has to be. You have to keep your options open.”
I lift a brow. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then.” I breathe out of my nose, staring directly into her eyes. “Do you want to play games with me this season, Blaire?”
She slowly licks her lips, gazing into my eyes. “Actually, I do.”
I run my fingers through her clean hair. “Tomorrow night, I want you to go into High Spirits and try to pick up someone. As I watch.”
“You’re serious.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I reach forward, slipping my hand inside her silk robe. She’s wearing nothing underneath. I press my fingers against her pussy, and she’s drenched.
“Mmm. You want to play this game, don’t you? Imagining me with someone else makes you want me even more. Makes you want to claim me. I need to see what jealousy feels like, Blaire. It’s made you absolutely insatiable for me.”
“Yes,” she confesses against my lips. “You’re creating a monster.”
“Nah, babe. The monster has always lived inside you.”
I work her slow with two fingers, barely moving, until her hips chase more friction.
I keep my mouth at her ear. “Tomorrow night, you’ll smile at some lucky bastard across that bar. You’ll touch his arm. You’ll laugh at whatever he says, knowing I’m watching your every move.”
She makes a small, desperate sound and grinds down against my palm with a whimper.
“And the whole time, you’ll be dripping like this, thinking about this.”
“Jamie,” she whispers.
“And when I can’t watch another second of it, I’ll drag you out of that bar and fuck you senseless.”
“More,” she demands, and I give her two fingers.
My thumb continues to work slow circles exactly where she needs it. Blaire isn’t quiet as she rides my hand. Her nails dig into my forearms, creating half-moon shapes. She shatters, screaming my name, shaking against me as she comes.
“That’s one,” I say into her hair.
“One?”
“Oh, sweetheart. We’re just getting started. Let your wild side out. Be greedy, Blaire. Take whatever you want when we’re together. Okay?”
“You sure about that?”
“Fuck yes.”
She tugs my shirt over my head and tosses it on the stone floor, kissing up and down my abs. She shoves me back onto the velvet couch, and then she stands over me with the black silk robe hanging off her shoulders. Her lips are swollen, and her hair is wild.
“Gorgeous,” I say, reaching for her. “You’re a fantasy, Blaire.”
The silk falls onto the floor.
I memorize every curve and shadow of her body. And she lets me. A few steps later, she moves closer, dropping to her knees as she undoes my belt.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “Look at you.”
She holds me in place as she takes what she wants.
The first touch of her mouth pulls a sound out of me I don’t recognize. It’s deep and guttural.
My fingers thread through her hair, and she hums around me. I’m sure she’s pleased with herself, as the vibration nearly undoes me. Blaire takes her time worshipping me, reading me like she did my fortune. Every time my breathing changes, she does more of whatever caused it.
“Blaire.” Her name comes out wrecked. I’m supposed to be the one in charge here.
She pulls back to speak. “So hard for me.”
Then she takes me deep, and I let her give me her best. My head drops back against the couch, and the sounds coming out of me are unrecognizable. I want her to hear what she does to me.
“Touch yourself for me,” I say, and she reaches between her legs.
“It’s so sensitive,” she says through a moan, like she’s losing control.
My hand fists in her hair, but I’m just holding on, not steering her.
“I know, sweetheart. Just keep going with me. We’ll come at the same time.”
The encouragement is all she needs. She doubles down, greedy, playing with her clit while taking me into her mouth. Her body starts to tremble, and I stop holding back. We break at the same time, my groan and her cry tangling in the stone room, exactly like I promised.