30. Jamison #2
My grip tightened around her waist. God help me. I turned my head slightly, mouth near her hair. “You’re welcome, baby.”
I nearly kissed her there in front of everyone.
I did not.
Fucking saint.
Instead, I drew back enough to look at her face. “Running with a gun was foolish.”
Her smile faded into embarrassment. “I forgot.”
“I noticed.”
Her blush deepened. “I’m never doing it again.”
I kept my arm around her waist because once Sienna Bellemere ran into my arms after a staged victory, I lost interest in pretending I had hands for anything else.
Her father approached slowly, still studying the field as if the shattered disc might reassemble and confess.
“That was excellent, Sienna.”
She turned in my arm, but I did not release her. Her back stayed against my chest.
“Thank you, Father.”
Her father’s eyes dropped to my hand at her waist, then lifted to my face. He was clever enough to suspect and old enough to survive by keeping his mouth shut.
“She improves under pressure,” I said.
Sienna elbowed me lightly.
Playfully.
The entire field seemed to notice that too. Sienna Bellemere had elbowed Jamison Crow and remained alive, upright, and held closer for it.
Her father gave a cautious smile. “Perhaps so.”
Uncle Theo cleared his throat. “Lucky shot, perhaps.”
I looked at him.
He remembered breakfast and decided the word perhaps had completed his sentence.
Adrian came closer. “You finally got one.”
“I finally got one.” She beamed.
“Suspicious timing.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Adrian looked at my arm around her waist, then back at me. His expression said plenty and almost none of it was respectful. “Nice work.”
“To your sister,” I replied.
“To whoever helped her.”
Sienna glanced between us. “What does that mean?”
“Means Adrian has trust issues,” I said.
Adrian looked at her. “I’m proud of you.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you.”
Clay shooting continued around us.
Not for Sienna.
I removed her from participation without asking permission. She stood with me beneath the shade near the pavilion, still flushed with triumph, while the rest of the Bellemere women proceeded to shoot very well and annoy me with their competence.
Celeste was excellent.
She hit disc after disc with smooth precision. The family applauded. She lowered the gun after each shot with perfect grace and looked over once.
At me.
Then at Sienna.
I pulled Sienna closer.
Her back pressed into my chest. My palm settled over her stomach, fingers splayed at her waist, claiming enough to ruin subtlety.
Celeste looked away.
Sienna’s hand covered mine. “What are you doing now?”
“Standing again.”
Her thumb moved over my knuckles.
Reward.
I could become addicted to that.
Actually, I already had. Terrible development. No treatment desirable. I behaved by keeping my hands on her. That counted.
After she thanked me, I made no further attempt at distance.
My hand stayed at her waist while people shot.
When she stepped forward for water, I went with her.
When she leaned toward Adrian to hear him say something low, I stayed behind her with my palm at her hip.
When her mother’s gaze lingered too long on the contact, I looked at the woman until she found the far field fascinating.
Sienna noticed eventually.
Adrian appeared with two glasses of lemonade and handed one to Sienna. He handed me the other without comment.
I accepted it.
Bonding remained disgusting.
Adrian leaned against the pavilion post beside us, gaze on the shooting line. “Celeste has been practicing.”
Sienna’s expression shifted. “She’s always been good.”
“She practiced more this year.”
The sentence held something under it.
I looked at him.
Adrian did not look back. He watched Celeste fire, watched the clay break.
Sienna sipped her lemonade. “She likes winning.”
“No,” Adrian said. “She likes being chosen.”
Sienna lowered the glass. I felt the movement through her body.
“What does that mean?” Sienna asked.
Adrian glanced at me.
I gave him a look that said: choose survival.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just family.”
Sienna frowned.
I slid my hand from her waist to her hip, grounding her against me before the thought could dig deeper.
Adrian saw. His eyes moved to my hand, then to my face. The next shot cracked across the field. Another disc shattered. Applause followed.
Sienna flinched very slightly.
My arm tightened. Her back relaxed into me at once.
Better.
No, I fucking loved that.
There was no delicate way around it. I loved that she leaned into me when the sound startled her. I loved that her body, still wary of my hands in some moments, had begun making exceptions.
Her father called for a break after another rotation, likely because Uncle Theo had started arguing with Victor about wind and Celeste had won enough attention to make the whole field boring. Staff moved through with trays.
Celeste approached with two cousins.
I felt Sienna notice before I looked. Her spine straightened.
Celeste smiled at her first. “Congratulations on your shot.”
Sienna smiled back. “Thank you.”
Then Celeste looked at me.
“Mr. Crow.”
“No.”
Her smile faltered. “Pardon?”
“No.”
Sienna made a tiny sound near my arm. Adrian, drinking lemonade beside us, lowered his glass very slowly. Amusement ghosted across his face and vanished.
Celeste recovered faster than most. “I didn’t realize greetings required approval.”
“Now you do.”
Sienna touched my wrist. “Jamison.”
Soft warning.
Fine.
I looked at Celeste. “Congratulations on your shooting.”
Her eyes flicked with surprise.
Sienna’s fingers stroked once over my wrist.
Reward.
I was going to ruin entire markets for this touch.
“Thank you,” Celeste said carefully.
“Very skilled.”
Another stroke.
Beautiful.
“Your stance is excellent.”
Sienna’s hand paused.
Ah.
Too much praise.
I felt the pause more sharply than I should have. One little break in the movement of her fingers and my entire body adjusted around it. If anyone ever wanted proof I had become trainable, they could look at the way I corrected myself because Sienna Bellemere had stopped petting my wrist.
“Sienna’s was prettier,” I added.
Her fingers resumed at once, smoothing over the bones of my wrist with soft approval.
Excellent. Balance restored.
Celeste’s smile did something small and brittle at the edges. Not enough for the cousins to notice. Enough for me. Her eyes moved from my face to Sienna’s hand on my arm, then to the way Sienna stood in front of me with my body at her back and no gap between us.
“Sienna’s shot was lucky,” Celeste said lightly.
Sienna’s hand stopped again.
I looked at Celeste.
The two cousins with her seemed to sense a shift in weather. One lifted her lemonade. The other suddenly developed deep interest in the shooting line.
“No,” I said.
Celeste’s gaze came back to mine. “No?”
“No.” I leaned a fraction closer, still holding Sienna against me. “Luck implies distance between the person and the result. Sienna made the shot. Everyone here saw it.”
Celeste’s cheeks colored. “I only meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
Sienna twisted slightly in my arms, her shoulder brushing my chest. “Jamison.”
I looked down at her.
Her eyes were warm, startled, and a little embarrassed by being defended so bluntly.
Celeste’s smile returned, tighter now. “Then congratulations again, Sienna. It was a very pretty shot.”
Sienna’s mouth curved. “Thank you.”