been working on the bridal table and now she wandered over to stare at the paintings and old sepia photographs hanging from the picture rail either side of the fireplace.
‘Boy, they sure have strong genes in this family.’
Zoe was counting out cutlery, but at Rachel’s comment, she dumped it all on the sideboard and joined Rachel in front of the paintings.
The portraits, even the more modern ones, were done in sepia tones and each had a small gold plaque fixed to the bottom of the polished frame. Zoe read off the first one. ‘ Jake Lord – 1866 – Age 33 . I guess this is where our Jake got his name from.’
‘ Our Jake?’
Ignoring the raised eyebrows and the grin on Rachel’s face, she went back to studying the portraits and the names and dates inscribed on the plaques. ‘Jake. Joshua. Josiah. George. Nathan. Andrew. And each one was painted when they were 33.’
The family resemblance was strong. In the shape of the face and the nose. In particular, the eyes. Dress modern-day Jake in period costume and he could have sat for the first Jake’s portrait. Two blank spots were left at the end of the row of portraits, obviously meant for Jake and his youngest brother.
‘Hey, I just realised something. Jake’s 35. Wonder how he missed out on joining the Rogues’ Gallery.’
Jake cleared his throat and stepped into the Garden Room, joining the women in front of the portraits. ‘Ah, I need to talk to you about that when you have some free time.’
With a shake of his head, he stared up at his ancestors. ‘I cannot believe she did this. The last time I saw these paintings, they were hanging in the hallway at home. Mum’s home .’
Zoe’s lips twitched as if she wanted to burst into laughter. ‘They look nice up there. Suits the décor. And just how did you manage to get away without having your portrait done at 33?’
He grinned. ‘By ignoring all the oblique references and outright demands from Mother Dear. But now that Simon’s home, you can bet your bottom dollar she’s going to be on my case again. She’s already started to chip at Simon and he has only just turned 33. My mother is a bulldog when she wants something.’
Now Zoe and Rachel did burst out laughing. Jake couldn’t help but join them. He loved his mum, but there was no doubt she liked to get her own way.
A smile still on his face, he turned towards Zoe to share the moment with her, then his mouth dropped open. When he’d walked into the Garden Room, his brain had registered she was wearing shorts and some type of skimpy top. But, freakin’ hell, now his brain engaged and really took notice…and the old grey matter wasn’t the only thing on high alert.
The skimpy little top Zoe had on turned out to be a halter top. Bright red, or more like scarlet, and the fabric looked so soft and slinky he could see the outline of her nipples. His hand itched to reach out and touch, just to confirm what his eyes were telling him.
Then there were the shorts she almost had on. Skin-tight. So brief he wasn’t certain the term ‘shorts’ was justified. They cupped and moulded her ass so tightly they looked like they were painted on. The lower half of her bottom was clearly visible, the cheeks of her ass outlined by the fabric.
No panty line that he could see. Hell, he wasn’t even certain she could fit undies on under those shorts.
She turned towards him and his temperature shot into the danger zone. The shorts were so damn tight they pulled up in front every time Zoe moved.
The blood left his head and roared through his lower body. For a moment he felt light-headed, numb, as if his heart had ceased to beat. Then his cock snapped to life and pressed against the front of his trousers. Oh yeah, he was well and truly alive.
Swallowing, he tried to lubricate a throat gone suddenly dry. When that didn’t work, he averted his gaze and struggled for a new topic of conversation to take his mind off his wayward body.
He turned away from the
‘Boy, they sure have strong genes in this family.’
Zoe was counting out cutlery, but at Rachel’s comment, she dumped it all on the sideboard and joined Rachel in front of the paintings.
The portraits, even the more modern ones, were done in sepia tones and each had a small gold plaque fixed to the bottom of the polished frame. Zoe read off the first one. ‘ Jake Lord – 1866 – Age 33 . I guess this is where our Jake got his name from.’
‘ Our Jake?’
Ignoring the raised eyebrows and the grin on Rachel’s face, she went back to studying the portraits and the names and dates inscribed on the plaques. ‘Jake. Joshua. Josiah. George. Nathan. Andrew. And each one was painted when they were 33.’
The family resemblance was strong. In the shape of the face and the nose. In particular, the eyes. Dress modern-day Jake in period costume and he could have sat for the first Jake’s portrait. Two blank spots were left at the end of the row of portraits, obviously meant for Jake and his youngest brother.
‘Hey, I just realised something. Jake’s 35. Wonder how he missed out on joining the Rogues’ Gallery.’
Jake cleared his throat and stepped into the Garden Room, joining the women in front of the portraits. ‘Ah, I need to talk to you about that when you have some free time.’
With a shake of his head, he stared up at his ancestors. ‘I cannot believe she did this. The last time I saw these paintings, they were hanging in the hallway at home. Mum’s home .’
Zoe’s lips twitched as if she wanted to burst into laughter. ‘They look nice up there. Suits the décor. And just how did you manage to get away without having your portrait done at 33?’
He grinned. ‘By ignoring all the oblique references and outright demands from Mother Dear. But now that Simon’s home, you can bet your bottom dollar she’s going to be on my case again. She’s already started to chip at Simon and he has only just turned 33. My mother is a bulldog when she wants something.’
Now Zoe and Rachel did burst out laughing. Jake couldn’t help but join them. He loved his mum, but there was no doubt she liked to get her own way.
A smile still on his face, he turned towards Zoe to share the moment with her, then his mouth dropped open. When he’d walked into the Garden Room, his brain had registered she was wearing shorts and some type of skimpy top. But, freakin’ hell, now his brain engaged and really took notice…and the old grey matter wasn’t the only thing on high alert.
The skimpy little top Zoe had on turned out to be a halter top. Bright red, or more like scarlet, and the fabric looked so soft and slinky he could see the outline of her nipples. His hand itched to reach out and touch, just to confirm what his eyes were telling him.
Then there were the shorts she almost had on. Skin-tight. So brief he wasn’t certain the term ‘shorts’ was justified. They cupped and moulded her ass so tightly they looked like they were painted on. The lower half of her bottom was clearly visible, the cheeks of her ass outlined by the fabric.
No panty line that he could see. Hell, he wasn’t even certain she could fit undies on under those shorts.
She turned towards him and his temperature shot into the danger zone. The shorts were so damn tight they pulled up in front every time Zoe moved.
The blood left his head and roared through his lower body. For a moment he felt light-headed, numb, as if his heart had ceased to beat. Then his cock snapped to life and pressed against the front of his trousers. Oh yeah, he was well and truly alive.
Swallowing, he tried to lubricate a throat gone suddenly dry. When that didn’t work, he averted his gaze and struggled for a new topic of conversation to take his mind off his wayward body.
He turned away from the
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