The Weekend Page 7

  Through the roar of my pulse in my ears and our ragged, panting breaths, I swear I hear a sound at the door, and then someone calls out Caroline’s name, and I wonder if that crazy bitch is out there in the hallway listening to us. I turn my head to break our kiss, thinking I need to say something about it, but Jase dips his head, nipping at one of my tight nipples through the bodice of my dress at the same time he pulses his hips again, grinding his rock-hard cock against that perfect spot, and I detonate. My sweet little old grandma from Georgia could be out there in the hallway listening, and I still wouldn’t be able to control the sharp, keening cry that breaks from my lips as I come for him. He growls as he feels me shatter, grinding against my clit even harder, his open mouth buried against the side of my neck, his hot breaths pelting across my sensitive skin while I writhe and moan, half-thrilled and half-terrified by what I know is going to come next.

  Me. Him. And his massive cock buried so deep inside me I’ll probably be able to feel him pounding against my heart. Only, my heart’s hammering so hard right now I think it might burst from my chest.

  I’m all harsh gasps and urgent hunger at the thought of how amazing it’s going to be – but I’m also shaking apart inside, because I have no idea how it’s going to affect me emotionally. Still, what’s happened up to this point has been more breathtaking than anything I could have ever imagined, and as Jase reaches down, twists the side of my panties around his fingers, and starts to slowly pull them over my hips, I know I’m not going to call a halt.

  But then he lifts his head, sees the look on my face, and stops.

  One second bleeds into two . . . three . . . four, and when he just keeps staring down at me with that heavy, smoldering gaze, I start to get the feeling that he isn’t ever going to start again, and all I can manage to force past my trembling lips is ‘W-why?’

  ‘You.’

  That’s all he says, and I’m so confused I feel like I’ve got another concussion. ‘Me? What about me?’

  ‘I want you so bad it’s killing me,’ he scrapes out, and I swear I feel those husky words all the way down in my soul. ‘But you’re not ready, Em. You’re not ready for this.’

  I open my mouth, prepared to argue, because what I definitely don’t need is him making decisions for me. Heck, at this point, I might even beg a little. But . . . damn it, he’s right. I’m not ready. Not completely. Not yet.

  His mouth curves with one of those sexy, crooked smiles that never fail to melt me down, only this one has an unmistakable edge of sadness to it that nearly tears me apart – and without another word, he pushes back to his feet, reaches down to rearrange the thick erection that’s trapped inside his jeans, and walks out the door.

  He leaves!

  Suddenly I’m alone in the room, sprawled in the middle of the bed with an expensive dress crushed around my midriff, in a lacy pair of panties that are drenched with my cum, listening to him locking the door behind him.

  I’m fucking alone, with nothing but need and regret for company.

  God, I’ve only known this man for a day, and already I’m a wreck. Is that why I had such a visceral reaction – of attraction as well as fear – when I saw him on the Tube? Did I know, on some instinctual level, that Jasper Beckett would get so deep under my skin it would throw my life into chaos? That he would hold so much power over me? Enthrall me?

  Rolling over, I look up and see my phone sitting on the bedside table, and I quickly reach for it, needing something to do. Anything to get my head in a different place than the one it’s in now, because I’m freaking out here.

  But instead of a distraction, I find myself texting Tyler the kind of message that I’ve never imagined I would send.

  I’ve met a guy, and he’s . . .

  I pause, thumbs poised over the keypad, trying to think of a fitting adjective. Gorgeous. Funny. Smart. Cocky. Or one of Tyler’s personal favorites: So fit you could bounce a quarter off his mouthwatering abs.

  But the one word I really want to be able to write, but can’t, because it will never, ever be true, is Mine.

  Chapter Five

  Saturday morning

  JASE

  I’m just coming in from my morning run when I see it: Oliver and one of Lottie’s bridesmaids sucking each other’s faces off in the doorway of what must be the girl’s room. It’s obvious that he’s spent the night with her, which makes her the second woman I’ve found him with this weekend, and neither one of them is the one he’s marrying tomorrow.

  When I went downstairs yesterday to touch base with the dickhead after Emmy and I arrived, I found him banging the eighteen-year-old daughter of one of Alistair’s business associates in the library, of all places. And just like yesterday, Olly smirks when he turns his head and spots me, not at all embarrassed to be caught out, and I lose it. Before he even knows it’s coming, I have my hand fisted in the front of his wrinkled shirt and I smack him against the hallway wall. The girl shrieks and quickly slams the door to her room, obviously not wanting to get involved. Or maybe the scowl I’m wearing has made her think twice about standing up for him.

  I get right in the prick’s face, which is a mistake since his breath smells like stale whiskey, cigarettes and God only knows what else. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I growl. ‘You’re meant to be getting married tomorrow.’

  He looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. ‘So? If Lottie thinks I’m not dipping my wick in hot pussy whenever I get the chance, then she’s dumber than she looks.’

  What the ever-loving fuck? I’m seething, and it takes every bit of self-control I have to release him and take a step back, my hands curling into heavy fists at my sides. ‘If that’s how it is, then why are you marrying her?’

  ‘Why?’ A bitter laugh jerks from his chest. ‘Because my mother’s a cunt.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I breathe, embarrassed that I’m related to this idiot.

  ‘She’s threatened to cut me off if I don’t tie the knot. So I needed a wife, and Lottie needed . . . Hell, who knows? I’ve got a prenup that keeps her from getting jack if she tries to divorce me, so I have no idea why she’s going through with it.’

  ‘Did you ever think that she’s in love with you?’

  His laugh is so obnoxious it makes me grit my teeth. ‘She’s stupid, but not that stupid,’ he says, and then a smarmy smile curves his lips. ‘Between you and me, I think she just likes my dick.’

  ‘She’s a sweet girl,’ I mutter with disgust. ‘She doesn’t deserve this.’

  ‘Christ, Jase. Since when did you become such a bloody boy scout?’

  I turn my back on him, any tension I’d managed to burn off during my twelve-mile run now back tenfold. Striding into the gym, where I left my kit bag before heading out, I jerk my chin at Callan, who’s bench-pressing what looks like nearly two hundred and fifty pounds. The guy’s a beast, and I wonder if he’s lifting to burn off his own mountain of tension. ‘Bad morning?’ he asks, reaching back and racking the weights.

  I work my jaw a few times before saying, ‘My cousin’s a knobhead.’

  Callan sits up and grabs his towel, wiping it over his sweaty face. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Both,’ I admit with a humorless laugh, thinking we Becketts are a real winning family. ‘But Oliver is the one I was just dealing with.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he snorts, looking as though he thinks about as highly of ol’ Olly as I do. ‘He’s a dickless little shit.’

  I grunt my agreement, dropping down on to a nearby bench that’s pressed against the wall. ‘How did you get roped into this gig anyway? Weddings don’t really seem your style.’

  ‘My mom. She can’t make the flight anymore, but was determined that the Hathaway family got represented. Don’t know why she cares about that kind of thing, but I couldn’t tell her no.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I murmur, though I really have no idea how to relate. Callan’s got six brothers and sisters, and they’re all not only tight with each other, but with their mother as well. It’s the kind of f
amily I was always jealous of as a kid, then grew up and doubted they even really existed. That is, until my father started doing business with Hathaway International, right around the time I met Callan at Oxford.

  ‘So the girl you’re with,’ he just drops out there, lifting his brows as if he’s waiting for me to answer some unspoken question.

  ‘What about her?’ I’m trying to play it cool, but I must ask the question a little too aggressively, because the shit starts grinning at me.

  ‘I’m just saying that she’s something else, man. Gorgeous, smart, funny. And real. Definitely not your usual type.’

  What the fuck? ‘I don’t have a type,’ I argue, sharply aware of the fact that I don’t like the way my friend is singing Emmy’s praises. I know she’s all of those things, damn it. I just don’t like other men noticing. And definitely not ones who look like Callan.

  ‘Sure you do. Every chick you dated at school, and since, was beautiful, but . . . cold. I’ve never known you to be with someone so warm and genuine.’

  I narrow my eyes at him. ‘What the hell do you know about how warm she is?’

  He looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh. ‘I’m talking about her personality, dickhead.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I mutter, getting more irritated – and more uneasy – by the second. ‘You sound like a daytime talk show.’

  He laughs as he moves to his feet, tossing the towel over his tattooed shoulder. ‘Just take some friendly advice and try to hold on to this one. She’s not the kind of girl guys like us usually get a shot with. So show some bloody gratitude, as you Brits say, and don’t screw it up.’

  With those unexpectedly philosophical words, Callan turns and heads for the showers. When he comes out minutes later, I’m still sitting there on my arse, stewing in my sweat, and he just shakes his head at me and laughs again. Fucking idiot. He knows damn well that he’s messed with my head, and with a rough sound of frustration crawling up the back of my throat, I force myself up and make my way into the showers.

  I’m so damn tempted to go back up to my room and shower there, but know that if I get within ten feet of Emmy, I’m going to be all over her. And since she’s not going to be any readier for that this morning than she was last night, I suck it up and make the water as cold as possible.

  After I’d spent a good hour last night just walking the grounds of the estate, focused on getting my control back, I’d finally gone back up to the room. She’d been sound asleep, all that golden hair spread out over her pillow, and I hadn’t been able to resist. Stripping down to my boxers, I’d climbed into bed beside her and pulled her into my arms, holding her close. She’d stirred, but didn’t wake up, snuggling even tighter against me, and I’d buried my nose in her silken hair, trying to quiet the chaos in my head while ignoring the need in my body, until I’d eventually drifted off to sleep.

  Surprisingly, it’d turned out to be one of the best nights of sleep that I’ve had in years. But I’d woken at six with my arms still holding her plastered against me . . . and a hard-on that could have hammered a nail through a wall, and knew I had to get out of there.

  Gritting my teeth against the icy blast of the shower, I try not to think about how sweet her mouth is, or how perfect her soft body felt beneath mine, even with our clothes still on. Hell, even the memory of goofing off with her in the garden yesterday has my pulse surging. Every time the wind had blown the thick waves of her hair to the side and I’d seen those beautiful birds in flight across her shoulders, I’d been a bit stunned by how hot I found it. I wanted the time to study them at my leisure. Wanted to explore the intricate design I’d seen inked into her right hip when she’d let her towel drop to the floor, damn near bringing me to my knees. Wanted to taste those swirling stars and moons with my tongue – and then get personally acquainted with every other sensual, mouthwatering inch of her.

  Emmy Reed could twist me around her little finger so fucking easily, and I’d probably have a smile on my face the entire time. Christ, she even makes being in this house, which I’ve hated since the day I found my mother’s body swinging from the ceiling fan in my playroom, tolerable. Even just knowing she’s here, cuddled up in that big bed in my room, looking like a wet dream, is enough to make me happier than I’ve been in a hell of a long time. But the feeling immediately slips when I walk out of the gym ten minutes later, dressed in the clean set of clothes I had in my bag, and see my father and Cameron talking at the end of the hallway. Their heads are close together, and God only knows what they’re discussing. Cameron works at my father’s investment firm, so it could be work related. But I’m more inclined to think they’re planning on how to tag team one or more of the bridesmaids.

  My old man’s been about as faithful to Caroline as she’s been to him, and I’ve heard rumors that he and Cameron like to hit the more popular gentlemen’s clubs in the city together. It probably makes Alistair feel younger to have Cameron by his side, and Cam no doubt enjoys the way people kiss his arse when he’s with someone whose pockets are as deep as my father’s. Even though my Aunt Simone, Oliver and Cameron’s mother, inherited a good portion of the Beckett fortune when Alistair’s younger brother died, it’s nowhere close to the wealth that my old man inherited as the oldest son. And there’s no one more motivated by money than my cousin.

  I might like to keep my emotions close to my chest, but there are times when I could swear Cam doesn’t even have any. He’s the coldest bastard I’ve ever known, and as I hoist my kitbag higher on to my shoulder, I can’t help but think about what Callan had said – because he was right. Despite her sometimes prickly attitude, I’ve honestly never known anyone as real and as warm as Emmy, and right now I just want to crawl back into bed with her, wrap myself around her, and hold on as tight as I can, until some of that heat melts into me.

  Damn it. I can’t stay away.

  Lengthening my strides, I jerk my chin at my father and Cam without uttering a word, and keep heading toward the front of the house. With my thoughts focused hard on Emmy, I’m not really paying attention to my surroundings as I turn into the front foyer, until I nearly run smack into the last person that I want to see: Fucking Stepmother Dearest. And from the sinister gleam in her eye, I can tell just how much she’s looking forward to playing the part.

  Shit, I think, realizing that I really am a stupid idiot. Because a smart man wouldn’t be in this situation.

  No, a smart man would’ve started the day off right . . . lying in bed with a bright-eyed, Southern-sounding, beautiful little American.

  And he’d have done whatever it took to stay there.

  Chapter Six

  EMMY

  I wake up alone in the luxurious bed, and I groan, still feeling the sting from last night’s . . . God, I don’t even know what to call it. My body is on edge, skin all tingly and warm. I feel like I’m vibing with energy, and my thoughts are flying a thousand miles a minute, wondering where Jase is and what he’s doing.

  Not to mention where he slept last night.

  I shower quickly, dry my hair, and then spend a good ten minutes staring into the wardrobe. From talking to Lottie, I know there are some formal activities today, like the ceremony rehearsal and a luncheon in the wedding marquee that’s being set up in the gardens, so I choose a white, sleeveless swing dress with a floral design at the neckline and hem, since it’s both classic and comfortable. I keep my make-up summery, with a slick of nude gloss, and pull my hair up in a high, hopefully stylish messy bun. Hair has never been my strongpoint, but Lola’s been trying to teach me some new styles, and given that it’s meant to be another warm day, it’ll feel good to have my hair off my shoulders.

  I can unlock the bedroom door from the inside, but I search both top drawers in the bedside tables and luckily find a spare key, enabling me to lock it behind me. Taking a deep breath, since there’s no telling what or whom I’m going to encounter when I head downstairs, I start off with a purposeful stride. But I’m not even to the bottom of the sweeping stai
rcase yet when I hear Caroline yelling Jase’s name, and I nearly stumble in shock. She sounds enraged, and given how much ass she was kissing yesterday among the guests, I’m surprised that she would create such an audible scene when so many people are here now.

  They’re in the front sitting room, but even with the door closed, I can clearly make out her words as she rants about everything from my embarrassing presence (yeah, this lady is definitely a bitch), to how she was mortified to learn just last night that Jase is personally funding the construction of several shelters for homeless teens across London. As I’m nearing the door, intent on getting him out of there, I hear Jase tell her that when it comes to class, I could ‘wipe the bloody floor with her’, and warmth unfurls in my chest like a sun, making me smile. Then it quickly freezes when she shouts, ‘You’re as unstable and selfish as your psycho mother was, throwing your time and money away on trash!’

  What. The. Hell? Snarling like a mama bear, I start to reach for the door, when someone comes up behind me, and I instantly recognize the voice as they say, ‘He’ll eat you up and spit out the pieces. You do know that, right?’

  ‘Cameron, I’m going to be as nice as possible here and simply say Get lost.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  I look at him over my shoulder. ‘I think you heard me pretty clearly. Go the fuck away.’

  He doesn’t move – just gives me this strange, chilling smile that makes me want to put some distance between us. And, yeah, I really want Jase out of that freaking room, so I reach for the door handle.

  ‘Ohmygod!’ Caroline gasps as I open the door and step inside. ‘Were you eavesdropping again?’