Crave (His Second Chance with Heiress Bryn Christmas Duet #1) - Z.L. Arkadie Page 0,28

used to have that in common.”

“My offer still stands,” Jamison said.

“You were serious about that?”

“Of course. Let me be your assistant today.”

I let out a laugh. “But you can’t be my assistant. You’re Jamison Cox, political strategist extraordinaire.”

He finished the act of guiding me under him. Our noses nearly touched as we gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. “Let me be with you today. I want to be wherever you are.”

His lips and tongue engaged softly with mine. My heartbeat raced as our kissing intensified. We could have made out all morning and into the night. I could have kissed Jamison forever. But time had put constraints on how long we could indulge in each other’s mouths, along with heavy petting and him skillfully finger fucking me.

“Okay,” I said when our lips separated so we could catch our breaths. “You can be my assistant. But we have to get out of bed now.”

The first thing we did was scarf down breakfast. Jamison and I showered separately. I was late, and there was not a minute available to be used for more hanky-panky. While showering, I placed a quick call to my mother, Beth, putting her on speakerphone. Since she was a victim of Randolph’s, my mom received enough restitution payment to never have to work again. Recently, she’d moved from Santa Monica to an olive grove in Paso Robles, California. She never realized how much she enjoyed growing and picking the olives and then processing fresh virgin olive oil. She’d made changes by leaps and bounds since I first laid eyes on her in that Nashville hotel.

But our conversation couldn’t last long, being that I had to get to work and the contractor who was building the quaint general store on her property had arrived. Beth wanted to attract more tourists. She loved having conversations with strangers, telling them the parts of her life story she was comfortable with sharing. Plus, she made some of the best olive oil I’d ever tasted.

As I put on a pair of comfortable jeans and a fitted long-sleeved T-shirt and no bra—for Jamison’s pleasure and because I wanted to be sexy for him, to my embarrassment—I called Kat.

“Ooh, who’s the guy answering your phone?” she asked while on her way into her next seminar.

“Jamison.”

“No way. The Jamison Cox?” she exclaimed. “The guy who shattered your heart?”

“The one and only.”

Someone on her end excitedly greeted her. Kat returned the greeting with equal enthusiasm. “Bryn, let’s talk later, okay?” she said.

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too. Oh, and be careful, okay?”

I frowned. “Okay.”

Our call ended. Her warning reminded me of how much I’d let my guard down when it came to Jamison Cox. What’s done is done. He and I had fun together. But it was more than just fun, and I felt awful trivializing what we were experiencing together that way.

I hadn’t much time to think about the next step for Jamison and me as I rushed to the mirror. It was just like Kat to bring sobriety into white-hot-passionate situations. I was two calls down. As I put serum on my face to give my skin that naturally dewy look and then pink-stain lipstick, I returned my twin brother Asher’s call. I was not surprised to get his voicemail. He was always in surgery. I followed that up with a call to Pen to see if she knew what he wanted and reached her voicemail too. She was more than likely in surgery as well.

My final call before heading out was to Holly. I wanted to make sure she knew I still planned to fly into New York on Saturday to babysit Jane and my brand-new nephew, Oliver, that weekend while she and Jasper took a minibreak and went to Toronto. Holly, who was going into a meeting, confirmed that we were still on. I smiled from ear to ear as I put on my lace-up ankle boots. I couldn’t wait to kiss Jane and Ollie.

Jamison was sitting on the sofa, arms extended across the top of the seat, when I dashed into the living room. He rose to his feet. “I love your style.” His eyes sparkled and danced approvingly.

Whereas I was super casual and laid-back, he had a pair of heather-gray chinos, a navy blue cable-knit sweater, and dress shoes. I would have advised him to wear something less dressy, but I knew that what he had on was Jamison’s version of casual.

“Same,” I said, beaming back at him. And I meant it.