The Will (Magdalene #1)(49)
Author: Kristen Ashley

“As you can see, Jean-Michel sketched your face and also different features so he could focus on them,” I told her quietly, flipping the page over to show her the next image. “On each sketch, he’s written instructions and suggested products and shades.”

I flipped the next page, looking at her to see she was looking down with rapt attention at the images.

“Once your grounding is over, if your father will allow it, we’ll journey to the mall and I’ll purchase some of these products for you,” I offered.

When I did, she tore her gaze from Jean-Michel’s sketch of her eye, shaded beautifully in a matte palette of browns and greens, and she looked at me in wonder.

And I wished I’d had a camera so I could show her how much more attractive she looked with marvel lighting her features rather than petulance.

“Seriously?” she asked (this word, I thought, but did not share at that juncture, being overused by the Spear family).

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“But,” she looked down at the sketch then back to me, “I know those products and they don’t come cheap.”

“A birthday present,” I stated.

“But my birthday was months ago,” she replied.

“A belated one,” I amended.

“I would so love that,” she whispered and her pretty face said this was very true.

“Excellent,” I returned. “However, I’ll tell you now that offer has a caveat and that is that you continue to speak distinctly, no muttering, and you utilize these products as Jean-Michel suggests, not fall back to your flair for the dramatic.”

I had considered getting into her attire with this offer and that was to say requesting that she cease dressing like a budding rather inexpensive escort but I didn’t want to push too hard too soon.

Alas, at my words, her face turned guarded and she asked, “Are you bribing me with makeup?”

“Absolutely,” I confirmed.

She stared at me and did this for some time.

I waited patiently, holding her stare.

Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

I relaxed but did so noting that laughing, she was even prettier.

Her eyes moved to her father and she declared, “You know, Dad, I’d probably be less of a pain in your ass if you bribed me with expensive kickass makeup.”

I looked to Jake, who had a warm expression on his face and his eyes on his daughter.

His lips were turned up when he said, “Noted.”

Although I very much liked the warm look on Jake’s face, I still took that moment to lament that I hadn’t included curtailing the use of swear words in my bribe.

“So, can I go shopping with Josie?” Amber asked her father.

Jake moved our way. “After you’re done being grounded, knock yourselves out.”

I smiled delightedly.

Jake turned his warm look to me.

I kept my smile pinned to my face even as I fought another shiver.

Jake moved and stopped close to me, very close, a familiar, intimate close I liked very much, before he stated, “Need the keys to the Buick, Slick.”

“On the counter by the phone,” I told him.

He didn’t move there. He stayed close, held my gaze and at the look in his eyes, the look I’d seen the first time I had dinner with his family, I fought yet another shiver.

“Got ‘em, Dad,” Conner called.

“Right,” Jake murmured, not tearing his eyes from me.

I began to struggle with my breathing.

This struggle intensified when he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You’re the shit, Slick.”

These words meant nothing to me except for the way he said them, which I found in that moment meant everything.

“I’m assuming that’s good?” I asked and he pulled back but in a way that his face stayed close.

“You’d assume right.”

At his closeness and what it was doing to my breathing pattern, I had to force my smile, but I managed it.

He smiled back but, alas, he turned and moved away.

“Let’s go,” he said to Conner.

“Can we make the sauce now, Josie?” Ethan asked me. “I’m freaking starved.”

“Of course,” I replied, looked to Amber to see her attention back to the sketches, turning the pages (there were many, Jean-Michel had been very generous with his time and talent), studying them intently. “As you can see,” I started quietly and she turned her eyes to me. “You are very pretty, Amber. Very.” I stressed and that marvel again suffused her face as I carried on in a whisper. “Don’t hide that, lovely girl. Give us a treat and show it to the world.”

Her lips parted and I reached out a hand to touch the back of hers before I decided to leave her be and move to Ethan.

* * * * *

“Stop right there!” I demanded.

It was after dinner and we’d retired to the family room to watch TV.

At dinner, Conner had attempted to eat his asparagus but it was evident by the look on his face whenever he took a bite that he did this to be polite (which I thought was quite nice and said good things about him). However, as he wasn’t enjoying it, I informed him he didn’t have to force it down at the same time making a mental note to try broccoli on him when they were again dining at Lavender House.

Now, Ethan was on the floor at the coffee table doing homework. Amber was sitting in an armchair, having told us (what I thought was suspiciously) that her homework was already done. And Conner was somewhere else in the house having taken a call from one of his “babes” (this, strangely, got him a pointed look from his father to which Conner mouthed, “I know,” before disappearing from the room).

I was sitting next to Jake on the couch, a place he had put me by seating himself and grabbing my h*ps when I got close in order to use them to plant me beside him.

Although I obviously preferred to select my own seat, there was something about his actions (not to mention my location) that I liked more.

A great deal more.

Amber was in control of the remote and she’d just happened upon a show I much liked.

At my command, she paused it at the same exact time Jake rumbled, “Babe, we are not watchin’ Project Runway.”

“No way!” Ethan put in his vote.

But I’d turned my head to Jake. “But we must. This show is excellent. I’ve seen it several times before and it’s marvelous.”

Jake held my eyes as he replied, “Josie, no reality show is marvelous.”

I felt my brows draw together as I informed him with authority, “It’s not reality. It’s fashion.”