Chapter 1-2
748 Words
Blake Sinclaire met him as he stepped out from where he’d parked the car behind the Grace’s barn. “Good to see you again, Jarrod. You here for long?”
He shook his head as he clasped Blake’s hand. “Just for the baptism tomorrow.”
“I know Jamey’s thrilled you’re here. She said to meet her in the kitchen for uncle duty.” Blake waved up at the old farm-house. “If the ladies kick you out, we’ll be on the porch with Scotch and cigars.”
“You know I only drink the Irish stuff.”
“Brodie brought Jamey’s bottle of 12-year Redbreast, we’ve got you covered,” Blake called after him as he made his way to the gracious porch that wrapped around the perimeter of the Grace house.
Nobody paid him any attention as he slipped inside and followed the sounds of ladies’ voices to the kitchen. “There you are,” Jamey said, cheeks pink. “I just changed her diaper, you can sit over there.” She waved to a chair in the corner, and lowered her voice. “Dottie’s… stressed,” she said, saying far more with her eyebrows than her words. “I need to take the lead or she’s gonna have a heart attack.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll hang in the corner and recite the Constitution to Fiona.”
But Jamey had already sailed across to the far side of the kitchen to instruct a group of women on how to place finger sandwiches.
Fiona’s eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him. Jarrod’s heart leaped to his throat. It was like she knew him. He drew a finger across her satin cheek. He’d never felt skin so smooth. “Well, hi there, sweet pea. I’m your Uncle J. Are you lookin’ for your mama? She’s over there doing what she does best — bossing people around.” He lowered his voice. “But don’t tell her I said that. She’s also the best chef I’ve ever met, and you’re lucky to—”
“Jarrod?”
He knew that voice, and the flashing hazel eyes and plump red mouth that went with it. And the lovely dark hair he fantasized about yanking from the confines of its low bun, and running his fingers through. The long legs made even more shapely by nude stilettos, and perfectly tailored suits in a rainbow of neutrals and power colors. Alexis Grace stood before him in the flesh.
His eyes jerked up, gaze tangling with hers, but he was utterly unprepared for the stampede of wildebeests that seeing her like this would unleash. She was, in a word, captivating. Soft. Sensuous. Hair hanging past her shoulders in long, loose waves, and held out of her face with a flower tucked behind an ear. He’d never seen her in anything but a suit. She always dressed for success, even at legal mixers, and it had served her well, landing her a place at a competing law firm in D.C.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, looking over her shoulder as if being seen talking with him would get her in trouble.
He took his time perusing her figure. The dress she wore was the color of the first kiss of dawn, a pale, peachy pink that brought out the rose in her cheeks and highlighted her porcelain skin. But it was the way the dress clung to her curves that made his blood heat and a shock of awareness sizzle through him. This was a dress that begged to be slowly peeled away, exposing a creamy expanse of luscious curves that were meant to be caressed, worshipped. Jarrod’s mouth went dry as vision upon vision flashed through his brain.
For a long moment, he forgot his sole purpose in crashing the wedding was the hope that he could mess with Alexis. A slow smile crooked the corner of his mouth up as her cheeks darkened. “Hello, Kansas.”
His use of her nickname achieved the desired effect. She scowled, cheeks flaming brighter. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered harshly, eyes growing wide.
Jarrod bit back a chuckle. “Nice to see you, too, counselor.”
“Don’t call me that either.”
“I knew it.” He snapped his fingers pointing upward. “You prefer babe.” He swore she growled as her face screwed up and she directed a scathing glare his way. He f*****g loved that glare.
“You. Are. Impossible,” she grumbled, spinning on a heel and hurrying out of the kitchen, dress swishing behind her.
He looked down at the baby gurgling in his arms. “Round one to Uncle Jarrod,” he said with a grin. Yep, this wedding would be just the kind of diversion he needed before heading back to D.C.
- Writer
