STICK: MC ROMANCE NOVELLA (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 8) (24 page)

Chapter 9

Jasmine heard her mother’s car long before she could see it drive through the wrought-iron, front gates.

“She’s here!” Jasmine turned away from the window to face Marvin who was sitting behind his desk, signing the papers that she had placed before him a few minutes ago. He grunted in response and then looked at her over the small rectangular glasses he sometimes remembered to wear. Jasmine had now bought three extra pairs which she placed around the house so that he always had a pair handy when he needed them.

“Best of luck,” he said and smiled. That smile never failed to reassure her.

“Darling!” Camilla threw her arms around Jasmine when she greeted her mother at the front door a few minutes later. “You look older.”

“It’s only been a year, Mom!” Jasmine shook her head, but she knew what her mother meant. She felt older herself, in a good and desirable way. She still hadn’t figured out what Marvin had seen in her a year ago, to give her the responsibility of starting a school from scratch.

“But look at you!” Her mother dramatically twirled her around and admired Jasmine’s knee length black skirt and the white blouse she had tucked into it.

“You look like a lady,” her mother said and walked over hurriedly to give Marvin a hug, who had only just emerged from his study.

“Percy will show you to your room, Mom,” Jasmine said as their newly appointed butler picked up the bags that Camilla had dropped to the floor, and she followed him. Marvin had insisted on hiring a butler and a cook after Jasmine moved in; she had no idea how he lived before that.

“The last thing I want is for my mother to think I’m well-dressed. I need to change my wardrobe entirely,” Jasmine whispered to Marvin as he joined her and placed a hand on the small of her back. He laughed at that.

“Don’t let her get to you my love,” he said and Jasmine couldn’t help but feel a shiver of delight run through her body. She was his
love
. She looked over at him admiringly, and he looked back with a smile.

Camilla’s voice from the upstairs guest room interrupted the moment they were having. “This is beautiful Marvin! What an absolutely gorgeous bedroom,” she said as she came down the stairs.

“It looked like a dump before Jasmine worked her magic on it,” Marvin said and kept his hand steady on Jasmine’s back. Camilla’s eyes flickered in disbelief.

“Who would have known,” she said and came to a halt before them. Jasmine tried her best to not roll her eyes.

“So when do I get a tour of this school I’ve been hearing so much about?” Camilla asked and turned her attention to admiring the layout of the vestibule.

“It’s still underway mom. At least six more months of construction, and then we’ll be good to go,” Jasmine said and exchanged happy looks with Marvin.

“Jasmine has been very helpful with marketing and getting the word out,” Marvin said just as Percy joined them to announce that he had served tea in the drawing room.

“I’m sure you didn’t need much marketing Marvin. Mornmouth House is enough marketing is it not?” Camilla said with a laugh and followed Percy. Jasmine could see her mother’s awe at the grandeur of the house. If she knew her mother at all, she was certain Camilla was wondering why Marvin’s mother would ever leave all of this and run away with a married man.

“It’s a very competitive world out there, Mrs. Kiberd. An old private school name isn’t good enough any longer. This one has to stand on its own merit,” Marvin said, a serious tone had entered his voice, and Jasmine immediately regretted inviting her mother. She didn’t want the next few days to be about Marvin defending Jasmine.

They drank their tea while making small talk. Marvin and Jasmine sat very close together, her bare legs grazing Marvin’s pants. She could see Camilla notice the times Marvin reached out to squeeze her hand.

“I’m happy to see you both so well settled,” Camilla said after Percy had cleared the teacups away. Jasmine felt relieved instantly. The fact that her mother was saying this was enough.

“We are, Mrs. Kiberd,” Marvin said and stood up from the sofa. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.” He bent down to kiss Jasmine on the top of her head and then walked out of the room, whistling a tune softly under his breath.

Camilla turned to look at her daughter. “How has all this happened? You’ve given me no explanation over the telephone, Jasmine. You seem practically married”.

Jasmine laughed and stood up herself, “Relax, Mom, just be happy for us, like you said you were. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted for me?” she started walking towards the door.

“You should unwind, Mom;, Percy will serve dinner in two hours, and we can talk more then.” Jasmine felt good telling her mother what to do for a change. The pieces seemed to all have fallen together.

***

She closed the door of his study softly behind her and found Marvin sitting on his shaggy, comfortable couch, sipping from a glass of whisky.

Jasmine giggled, “I’m glad you came up with the code, Marvin. You have business to attend to, seems natural enough,” she said and hopped on to his lap, straddling him. Marvin’s hands wound themselves around her waist as he pulled her closer to him. She could immediately feel his penis harden and begin to rise underneath her.

“Well, this is the business I have to attend to. So I wasn’t lying,” he said gruffly as she pulled his glasses off his face and placed them on the side table. She clutched his head between her hands and pressed it against her breasts. He started to nibble the fabric of her blouse and she bit down on her lip.

“Do you want to go outside, to that spot?” she asked him, and he stopped. He didn’t answer but when he picked her up and started walking towards the door, she knew they were going to scandalize her mother. 

THE END

Katie Maddox

Copyright ©2016 by Katie Maddox. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter One

Florida, 2016

“If I see one more piece of friggin’ lace, I am simply going to hurl. And hurl good.”

Standing at the center of a lavish Victorian style sitting room, Jasmin Lawrence did have to take a moment and admire her surroundings; her bespectacled gaze perusing the room’s shining wallpaper of scarlet brocade, plush ivory carpeting, and central tables doused in reams of pure white lace and topped by a lavish setting of floral print china. Overseen by the glow of brass chandeliers and the spectacle of a hand painted mural that depicted angels in flight across a gem blue sky, the room did boast a lovely, resplendent décor was meant to promote a certain air of serenity and grace.

At this moment, however, Jasmin felt about as graceful and serene as….

Well, something that’s not very graceful or serene at all,
she mused in silence with a sigh, rolling her eyes heavenward
. I am in no mood to be witty or clever. I just want to clear out of here and grab a Big Mac.

At this point, however, the only edibles in her future took the form of those Victorian era delicacies that she would not be eating herself, but instead, would be serving to patrons at Chez Victoria, the elegant Florida area tea room where she had sought gainful employment for the past year.

Each day, she pushed a silver cast food cart that came complete with piping hot scones topped by clotted cream and jam, finger sandwiches, decorative iced fancy cakes, and, of course, tea.

Lots and lots of tea.

Didn’t those pesky Victorians ever drink anything else?
she queried silently, continuing her tortured but nonetheless cathartic internal monologue before adding, as she winced in acute discomfort
, And didn’t they ever lower themselves to the wearing of clothes that were remotely—I don’t know—wearable? Or at least comfortable?

Again, she did have to admit that her work uniform—a true to life, cream colored reproduction of a classic Victorian gown—absolutely stunned with its fitted, lace-bordered floral print bodice with a matching flowing skirt and puffed, lace-lined sleeves. The soft cotton gown served to flatter and accentuate her rubenesque curves. And when she adorned her long mane of lustrous dark hair with a smooth floral print ribbon, she did indeed feel every inch a prim and proper Victorian lady.

Cha! Got them fooled!
She smirked now, rolling her eyes heavenward
. I full well realize that this gown is infinitely preferable to my last work uniform, worn during my college days while toiling away as a head bun dresser at Cal’s Coney Heaven. Sorry, but it seems rather odd to wear a polyester Coney dog costume while one actually serves Coney dogs to perplexed looking customers. It seems almost fatalistic, to a point.

Yet, no more fatalistic, she presumed, than the everyday wearing of hoop skirts, pantaloons, not to mention those ancient mummification devices known as corsets.

Sheesh, no wonder those ladies were always ‘swooning,’
she reasoned as she felt her rib cage protract. Again.
Who can breathe and function worth a darn while wearing a blasted corset?

As she continued to use her tortured inner thoughts as a surefire distraction from the painful—or, at the very least, irritable—truth of her everyday life, Jasmin struggled to remember the time when she loved and lost herself in Victorian lore; those blissful teen-aged years when she lost herself in the novels of Jane Austen, also in the numerous filmed adaptions of her timeless books.

I was bound and determined to marry Mr. Darcy, totally ignoring the three major obstacles standing in our way, she recalled now. Number one: Mr. Darcy is a total and complete fictional character, no joke. Number two: If he was not indeed a total and complete fictional character, he would be long dead by now. Number three: Mr. Darcy is already married. And Elizabeth Bennet is just tough enough to kick my heiny—though, I am certain that, with her velvet tongue, she would come up with a far more proper term for my defeated posterior than ‘heiny’.

It was, in fact, her great love for Victorian literature that had inspired her to pursue a degree in English literature at Clearview State University, the premiere—okay, so the only—collegiate institution located in her Florida hometown.

After working her way through school via a food service job, she graduated cum laude and immediately, scored a job—in food service.

So now I know the true and full meaning of the term ‘literary irony’
, she mused, heaving a deep sigh as she wheeled her cart, with sluggish slippered steps, between endless rows of lace afflicted tables.
Now instead of asking, ‘Would you like fries with that?’ I ask customers, ‘Would you like clotted cream and chutney with that?’

Her troubled meditation was disrupted by the sudden entrance of her supervisor; a tall, slender woman with distinguished silver hair and a flowing day dress of pure blue satin, adorned with lace and sleek ruffles.

Although Jessymyn O’Reilly generally had the tendency to float into a room, she, on this day, seemed to trudge a bit as she dragged a large and rather unwieldy portrait into the main dining room of Chez Victoria.

“Can I help you with that, Jessymyn?” Jasmin queried, rushing forward to grab up the right edge of the brass bordered frame that enclosed the mysterious portrait; righting the painting as she did to take a closer look at its surface.

She froze then, and gaped outright, as she beheld the image of the most beautiful man she ever had seen.

His tall muscular frame was dressed resplendent, in a long jacket of azure jacquard, a white satin shirt with a stately high collar, and tight fitting taupe pantaloons adorned with brass buttons. The subject of this portrait boasted a chiseled face featuring carved cheekbones, a cleft chin, and eyes that shone as bright and azure as the image of the bluest sky.

This face came framed with a shoulder length mane of thick ebony hair that fell free across muscled shoulders, and came adorned with a soft, subtle upturn of his full moist lips.

“Who’s the beb?” she asked Jessymyn, all the while never tearing her gaze from the captivating man captured in the frames of the ebullient oil painting.

Jessymyn let loose with an undignified snort, rolling her eyes heavenward as she considered her most unique turn of phrase.

“The beb, for your information, is Lord Nathaniel Barrett; the man who originally made his home in this very building—or, at the very least, a reasonable facsimile,” she informed her employee. Adding with a proud smile, “A local historian is writing a book about this area and he interviewed the lovely elderly couple that owns this fine establishment. And, as it turns out, the structure of this tea room is based on the floor plan of a manor house they visited while on a trip to London. They had seen the home of a stately nobleman named Nathaniel Barrett, a widower who lived the gist of his days alone and miserable in his big old house. They thought that it would be a fitting tribute to build a house, much like his, then fill it with laughter, good food, and lots of company for his lonely spirit.”

I’d be more than pleased to provide him tons of company for his lonely spirit,
Jasmin mused in silence, saying aloud, “Well that sounds like a really nice story, Jessymyn; one that we will have to share with our customers. In the meantime, let me help you hang that portrait—maybe right over the fireplace, where everyone can see it? Me, especially?”

Soon, Jasmin found herself back at work on the floor at Chez Victoria, rushing from table to table as an endless line of customers made demands on her services.

“Could we have more tea over here?”

“Could we have more scones over here?”

“Could we have more raspberry jam over here?”

Could I have a life over here?
Jasmin felt like barking in kind return—especially at the man who apparently considered it his mission in life to get just a little bit more of that blasted raspberry jam.

“Coming, Sir.” She smiled through gritted teeth at the balding old man who visited the tearoom at least once a week; and always on the days that she was on shift. Lucky her. And to make things worse, today, he seemed unwilling to await her apparently less than timely arrival at the side of his table.  

“I’m a goin’ to that front counter myself and get my own raspberry jam,” he told his rather depressed looking wife, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, with anyone else, at this point in time.

Swinging his feet out from under his table, he stuck his leg out in front of Jasmin’s food cart, tripping up the cart’s motion and sending several pieces of priceless floral print china flying forward off the crystalline tray that lined its top.

The server’s eyes flew wide as she lunged forward in an impulsive attempt to catch the flying flatware; her feet leaving the floor as her body soared like a rocket across the surface of the cart.

The rocket crashed unceremonious seconds later, as Jasmin’s form flattened atop the cart; her head falling forward to hit the hard brass handle that lined its northern border.

“Fab-ulous,” she muttered, feeling her eyes cross in her head as her entire world went black.