Precedent for Passion Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Precedent for Passion

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  “I’m going to kiss you, Abby.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He loved the way she didn’t hesitate with her response, though her face flushed and the pulse at the side of her neck started racing.

  It was a hard, dry kiss. Not satisfying by a long shot, but he didn’t want to presume any more than he already had. He could still remember the shock in her eyes fifteen years ago when his ex-wife made him sound like an animal. He didn’t want to scare her away.

  So his heart skipped a beat when she whispered, “More. Please.”

  Nothing turned him on quite like a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. Except maybe this woman. Everything about her excited him. Grasping her shoulders and pulling her close, he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips until they opened, then delved into the warm recesses of her mouth.

  She held nothing back. Meeting him with equal passion, she poured herself into the kiss, and when she slid her fingers beneath the brim of his hat, scraping the sides of his skull with her nails, a sizzle raced up his spine. He was a teenage boy again. On fire with lust for her like it was the first time he ever held a woman, he was ready to put the car seats back and fog up the windows.

  Precedent for Passion

  by

  Amber Cross

  Love in the Kingdom Series

  Book One

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Precedent for Passion

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Amber Cross

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2241-4

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2242-1

  Love in the Kingdom Series - Book One

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For my Bahamian classmate Camala

  Chapter One

  So much for getting dolled up. Clutching her jacket closed with two hands, one over her breasts and the other just above her knees, Abby shuffled backward against the cold toward the white, steepled church at the end of the common. The wind parted her hair right down the middle, tossing it every which way, exposing the nape of her neck to icy pellets of rain falling from the gunmetal-gray November sky.

  She had spent an inordinate amount of time on her appearance this morning because, well, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity for dressing up in her line of work. When she sat on the bench, she wore black robes that hid her body. In her law practice, seeing clients, she wore nondescript pant suits in masculine colors to hide her ample breasts and even curvier lower half. She needed people to take her seriously. For the same reason her hair was always slicked back into a tight bun and her makeup kept to a minimum. She even wore ugly glasses she didn’t need with thick, plastic frames to disguise any hint of sexuality.

  Not today. Today Judge Henry and her feminist mother would be shocked to see the silky, teal-blue dress she wore beneath her jacket. They would raise their eyebrows at the calf-enhancing heels on her feet, impractical shoes that skidded on the icy sidewalk and forced her to slow down even more, giving the blistering wind time to flay her thick mane of hair and twist it into a snarling mess. At least her makeup was still intact.

  She was already late, thanks to a last-minute phone call from Judge Henry, but she could hardly tell her mentor she didn’t have time to talk. He might think she was joining the throngs of people rushing to retail outlets for Black Friday sales. Something he would definitely view as shallow and nonjudicial. Telling him she was attending a wedding would be almost as bad; maybe worse. After decades spent presiding over family court, he had nothing but contempt for the state of matrimony in Vermont.

  Behind her the church bell began to toll.

  Oh, no. She was truly going to be late for this wedding. Forgivable if she was a close friend or relative, but unacceptable for an acquaintance. That’s all she was, a fellow planning board member and neighbor to the groom, a one-time real estate broker for the bride. She had been both surprised and flattered when they included her on their guest list.

  Turning into the wind to see how far she had to go and how long it would take her, she shuffled along faster. A sudden gust slapped her in the face, icy rain stinging her eyes and tearing the breath from her lungs. She blinked several times. Pulled her lips in and breathed through her nostrils. She could almost feel her waterproof mascara running and her guaranteed not to smudge lipstick smudging. Fairy lights winked at her where they danced from the nude maple trees lining the common like they knew the punch line to a joke she hadn’t yet heard. Shivering, she hurried even faster.

  “Hold up! Hold up!” a man in a wool overcoat shouted when she stepped through the gate onto the church walkway.

  The sudden stop caused her heels to skid across the uneven brick surface. To keep from falling, she reached for the picket fence and let go of her jacket. It was decorative outerwear with only a clasp at the collar, and the sides flapped like crow’s wings into the air. Cold wind molded her dress to her knees, thighs, and breasts, and her nipples reacted to the frigid assault, hard points pushing against the thin fabric.

  She didn’t know the man approaching her, but she was embarrassed just the same. He appeared not to notice. Predictably, his eyes were on her generous curves and not her face, more a reflexive action than a lascivious one, but still she grabbed for one side of her jacket and pulled it across her body.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, meeting her gaze now. “Hear that bell?”

  Of course she heard the bell. That’s why she was hurrying. She didn’t say that, though.

  “I think that means the bride is about to go down the aisle.”

  Abby looked closely at him. He was maybe, just maybe, old enough to buy alcohol; obviously too young to know a tolling bell was the last call for people to come to church before a ceremony begins.

  “Let her in, Bryce,” a voice near the door called out. She hadn’t realized anyone else was outside, but with the wind and rain, why would she have noticed?

  Clutching her coat together again, she picked her way across the bricks toward the entrance while the bell continued tolling above her.

  “Bride or groom?”

  “What?” She made sure her feet were solidly and safely planted before looking up at the man on the steps. Which was a good thing, because the sight of him made her knees go weak. A trim beard and mustache couldn’t hide his strong jaw but instead enhanced it. Above
them, light blue eyes looked at her from beneath a thatch of dark curls falling over his high forehead. In a form-fitting tuxedo with a blue aster poking out of the lapel—at least she thought it was an aster—he made her mouth water and her insides go warm. For fifteen years his was the face that fueled her late-night fantasies, his the body she wanted covering her own when the bed was too big and the world too lonely.

  He recognized her too. She could tell by the way his eyes flickered before his handsome features went blank, suppressing all emotion. “Are you a guest of the bride or the groom?”

  “Both, I suppose.”

  He opened the door with one hand and said to someone inside, “Put her in Sara’s section.”

  ****

  Glen Plankey couldn’t believe it. The one woman on the planet who could ruin his day more than his rotten ex-wife had just crossed the church threshold. How did she know Jason and Sara? She wasn’t close to them; he could tell by her answer when he asked her about seating. Was she crashing the party? He lived in New York City and saw all sorts of cons and swindles, but they could happen in the Northeast Kingdom just as easily. After all, his ex had pulled off one of the biggest scams right here in Essex County, and this woman had been privy to the whole thing.

  She had changed since that day fifteen years ago, but he would still know those gray-green eyes anywhere. He could still remember the shock in them when he was verbally castrated before the judge, his pride shattered, and his dreams in shreds. Even now he wanted to wrap his fist in her thick chestnut hair and force her to look up and see him for the man he was instead of the monster his ex made him out to be. He hated her for being there, hated her reaction. Most of all, he hated himself for noticing or caring what she thought.

  The last ring of the church bell echoed into the cold November air. Shaking off the ugly memories of that day in court, Glen motioned for Bryce to join him inside.

  Attendants waiting in the anterooms on either side of the vestibule moved to the sanctuary’s double doors, waiting for the organ to start, then marching slowly up the main aisle to the altar. A cornucopia spilling McIntosh apples, Indian corn, gourds, and pumpkins decorated the candlelit table. He smiled at the sight of it. Typical Sara, celebrating all things Vermont, all things country; she really was the perfect match for Jason, and he couldn’t be happier for his best friend. Despite his own miserable and miserably short marriage, he still believed in the institution. He just didn’t believe in it for himself.

  “I think it’s our turn,” Jimmy Lamos said.

  Nodding, Glen joined the Man of Honor, and the two of them strolled down the aisle. Jason Hunter was already waiting at the front of the church, but as soon as they drew close he lifted the violin at his side and began playing Mendelssohn’s wedding tune. The congregation rose.

  ****

  From her place in the tenth pew, Abby watched as two children preceded the bride. They were clean and polished and looked very nervous. Not Sara Tewksbury. Her smile rivaled the lighting in the church when she stepped through the double doors and saw her groom at the altar. A collective sigh passed through the guests. In a simple gown made of candleglow satin, carrying a wreath of white chrysanthemums and blue asters, she looked beautiful.

  Abby had a secret love of weddings; the pageantry, the excitement, the promise of the future, all of it. As a teenager she’d hidden bride magazines from her activist mother and nontraditional father, who never wed and abhorred all things traditional. She hadn’t mentioned it in law school for fear of classmates thinking she only wanted a degree in order to land a rich husband. In her working life there was no place for such conversations, but she never doubted her own day would come. Eventually it would be her turn to walk down the aisle and exchange vows with the man of her dreams.

  Without conscious thought, her eyes turned to the front of the church. All three of the male attendants were tall and good looking, but her gaze went right to the best man. In his black tuxedo with the satin lapel, he could have been a model for any of the glossy magazines she’d tucked beneath her mattress all those years ago.

  Had he remarried after that bitter divorce? Part of her hoped so. She wanted him to be happy, because any man who suffered the kind of humiliation he had been through deserved happiness, but another part of her hoped he was single. She would probably never even have a conversation with him, but if he were single she could fantasize about him without feeling guilty.

  Something she did throughout the wedding ceremony. She had never thought of a man’s back as particularly sexy; his was. Long and lean, it narrowed to a trim waist just before his tailored jacket flared to cover his backside, and what a backside! She could tell it was toned even before he reached into his pants pocket to retrieve the ring when Jason asked for it. What that movement did for his body and her imagination could be a crime. Maybe it was, but not in her jurisdiction.

  “I give you Mr. and Mrs. Jason Hunter!”

  Snapped out of her daydream by the minister’s announcement, Abby lifted her head only to have her gaze snared by a pair of blue eyes. Her face heated with embarrassment. His jaw firmed and he looked away.

  So maybe he wasn’t single after all.

  He thumped Jason on the back, then elbowed him aside so he could kiss Sara on the cheek. She was several inches taller than Abby yet managed to look diminutive between his six and a half feet and Jason’s equally tall son. When the younger man bent her over his arm and gave her a thorough kiss, the Man of Honor let out a loud hooligan’s call echoed by several guests in the pews.

  Abby was shocked. A quick look at Jason showed only an indulgent smile on his face. When Sara laughed and swatted at her stepson’s arm, she was immediately returned to her husband.

  “Boy’s got good taste,” Glen Plankey exclaimed.

  The whole congregation laughed.

  A pang of disappointment went through Abby. If his taste ran to women like Sara, his marital status was irrelevant because she would never measure up. She wasn’t lean and athletic. She didn’t have an easy, natural way about her. Her job was her life, and her only real talent was her intelligence, not exactly a turn-on for most men.

  “They’re going to take the photographs now,” the woman beside Abby said.

  “What?”

  “We have to leave now.” Waving her hands, she indicated Abby should vacate the pew ahead of her so the rest of the people in it could follow. “The wedding party is being photographed. We need to go to the reception hall.”

  “Oh.”

  Disappointed, because she wouldn’t get to see more of the best man, and relieved, because she wouldn’t see him and be tempted by her own wayward thoughts, Abby exited the pew and then the church.

  ****

  Glen watched her go out with the other guests and sighed. Now he could give all his attention to Jason and Sara, where before he had one eye on the wedding ceremony and one on the voluptuous little brunette in the tenth row. He knew exactly which row she was in. Pathetic, really, especially in light of the way she looked at him when Andrew kissed Sara, with shock in her eyes. What right did she have to look down on their lighthearted fun, to pass judgment on them? He wanted to shake her and stamp that look off her face.

  Instead he forced himself to engage in what was going on around him. He was here to celebrate his best friend’s nuptials. Strangling one of the guests was out of the question.

  Twenty minutes later the wedding party dispersed into the bitter November afternoon to find their cars behind the church covered with a thin layer of ice. While drivers started the engines, he and Jason began scraping windshields for them.

  The exertion felt good. Every time he shoved the blade of the scraper across the glass, he let go of some of the anger blossoming inside him even as he wondered why he let the woman get to him.

  He didn’t even know her name, yet his emotions were out of control and had been from the moment he saw her gray-green eyes at the church doors. Maybe even before that, when her lush body was expos
ed to the cold by the wind. He thought his poor nephew Bryce was going to have a stroke when that happened, which was why he came to the boy’s rescue and told him to let her in. But his reaction was just as bad. Normally he dated women who were within a few inches of his height, chic and lean. Since when did generous curves on an otherwise petite form hold such fascination for him? He didn’t understand any more than he understood why a fifteen-year memory should still provoke such a visceral response from him.

  “This is good luck, right?” Jason asked.

  “How’s that?” They were side by side, Jason scraping the windshield of his jeep while Glen scraped his own BMW.

  “Bad weather on a wedding day is supposed to mean a long and happy marriage.”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” If ever two people were made for one another, it was his best friend and his new bride. He had seen it last July when they were haying his parents’ field and Jason introduced him to Sara. The twelve-year age difference between them didn’t matter. They were two halves of one whole. “You deserve her, man. I don’t think the two of you need any luck.”

  “Why, thank you,” Sara said, approaching from the back door of the church. She had changed into casual clothes and carried a gym bag in her hand. Tossing it into the jeep, she came around to where he was scraping the back window. “Glen?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you.” She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  “What’s that for?”

  “For being such a good friend to both of us.”

  A sudden lump in his throat kept him from speaking. He and Jason had been inseparable from first grade. When his whole life fell apart, Jason stood by him without any doubt, without any questions or recriminations. Glen would like anyone who made his friend happy, but his affection for Sara was about more than that. She was one of the most likable people he knew.

  “You’ve left him speechless,” Jason teased, opening the passenger door for her to get in. Before closing it, he gave her a kiss, adding, “Nicely done.”