Crave (His Second Chance with Heiress Bryn Christmas Duet #1) - Z.L. Arkadie

Chapter One

Bryn Christmas

I sat on a stool at the airport bar, eyes glued to my cell phone screen as I swiped through images of the interior of the next house I’d been paid to design. It was still hard to believe beautifying people’s homes was my profession. I, who had never truly believed I would amount to much beyond being good at spending the family fortune, had found myself a real career. My flight from Newport, Rhode Island, to Denver, Colorado, had been scheduled to take off three hours earlier. The last announcement said I would be boarding soon, though. It was the third of January, and travelers were flying home from wherever they’d spent the holidays, but overnight, torrential weather—the sort that disrupted life on the ground—had sailed in from the north.

All three of my brothers had tried to convince me to fly on an aircraft from the family fleet, but I preferred traveling commercial. Growing up a member of the Christmas family had been such a lonely existence that I took every opportunity I could to be around people I didn’t know. Plus, I wasn’t as well known as Jasper, Spencer, and Asher. Only on rare occasions was I recognized as “the Christmas heiress.” So far, even in my hometown, no one had requested to take a picture with me or asked if I was indeed Bronwyn Henrietta Christmas. I’d been able to sit at the bar in peace while sipping a martini and getting a lot of work done.

“I thought that was you,” a man said.

Keeping my eyes on my phone, I stiffened. I recognized the voice, even though I hadn’t heard it in a long time. Slowly, I turned until Jamison Cox and I were gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Wow, you.” I was having an out-of-body experience, and the words came out of my mouth by accident.

Jamison absentmindedly wiped at his mouth. “Well, hi.”

It was the moment for us to either shake hands or hug. We did neither because I was unable to move. “Hi,” I replied in a flat tone.

My head felt light as we continued to stare at each other. Soon, I would have to say something. But what? I was looking at someone I thought I’d never see again.

“What are you doing here?” I unthinkingly asked.

“How are you?” he asked at the same time.

We both looked away from each other to chuckle bashfully. I didn’t want to behave like a schoolgirl with a crush on the wrong boy. But that was exactly how I felt. Frankly, I’d never understood my attraction to Jamison Cox. His face was always clean-shaven, and all the hairs on his head were perfectly combed into place. His shirt was still crisp and white, and his slacks were dark and had a crease. As with the last time we’d been together, he carried the scent of fresh laundry and cologne that gave me the same feeling as biting into the sweetest fruit and pausing to let the flavors swell in my mouth. He looked conservative. Randolph, my father, hid behind a conservative appearance. Therefore, I was prone to distrust him and would have never pursued a relationship with him. Until one night, I did.

My memory flashed me back to the first time I laid eyes on Jamison Cox and how he’d had no effect on me at all. It was roughly eight years earlier at Becca Smith’s wedding. The ceremony took place at a castle nestled against Lake Como in Italy. I was certain that Becca’s parents were in charge of the guest list and I’d been invited because of my last name. Having a Christmas seated on the bride’s side at their daughter’s wedding made for good optics. At first, I declined their invitation by simply tossing it into the trash bin. However, Randolph insisted I go and gave Jasper the job of making sure I followed his orders.

I shook my head adamantly. “No way.”

“Bryn, a destination wedding at Lake Como? This is not a battle you want to fight,” Jasper said.

As usual, his point got through my thick skull, and I flew to Italy to attend Harper Rebecca Callahan Smith’s impending nuptials. On the day of her beautiful and high-priced sunset wedding, she was a no-show. Jamison Cox, the groom, was literally left standing at the altar. I observed him as he waited, and I wondered what was going through his mind. He seemed so relaxed, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Then Dorothy—Becca’s mother—and