Read Online Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs by Sharon Hamilton - Free Book Online

staircase, gripping the metal handrail. When they all had gathered at the upper floor landing, he unhooked a deep maroon velvet line guide rope and walked to a locked glass case next to a player piano identified as used in a saloon shootout in one of his westerns. He brought keys from his pocket and unlocked the case, taking out a silver-colored round medal attached to a red, white and green ribbon. He handed it to Jameson, laying it in his palm.
    “My great-great-grandfather fought with Garibaldi and was given this medal along with a written proclamation.” He motioned to a document sealed between two pieces of glass. He handed the slate to Zak.
    “A great general. We studied him,” answered Zak.
    Zapparelli smiled. “I used to tell my grandmother I didn’t have to attend mass, because grandfather didn’t believe in the papacy since he fought alongside Garibaldi who was vehemently opposed to the church. She found it hard to argue with history, you see, so I was spared a young life of catechism and confessing my sins.”
    When Jameson and Zak chuckled, Zapparelli beamed, blowing a big blue billow of smoke into the room. Lizzie watched as part of it swirled up into the stained glass dome at the top of the room, while the rest of it settled amongst the oblivious guests standing at the tasting bar. The man could do just about anything he wanted, she thought. And if he didn’t like fact, he could always make a movie. He stood like a general in the kingdom of his own creation.
    He could make a considerable adversary if he wanted to be one. She wondered if the little group could gain his support somehow.

Chapter 8
    ‡
    L izzie and Jameson said their goodbyes after a long, lingering early supper at the winery. She’d had a little too much Merlot and felt her lips and tongue thick while her brain was in a satisfying buzz. It had started as a perfect day. She knew it would end that way too.
    The road back to the Kenwood took nearly an hour since they mixed with local commuter traffic. Her pulse had quickened when they actually got on the freeway, when Jameson took advantage of a stoppage in traffic to palm her thigh and let his fingers dive between her legs. He hadn’t forgotten her promise, or his.
    She saw the gleam of lust in his blue eyes.
    “You have a memory like an elephant, Jameson.” Though she tried to look straight ahead, his probing fingers signaled his focus and attention. She kept her legs together, teasing him. Her nipples were sore, hardened and in desperate need of biting. She needed to feel the glory of being beneath his powerful body.
    “I have needs that strong too. I intend to show you, sweetheart. Go ahead, play hard to get. It won’t get you anywhere.” He removed his fingers and returned his hand to the steering wheel.
    It was a perfect match to her mood. She needed to spar with him, in that sexy, loving way they did so well. She felt her panties flood with juices signaling what she felt deep inside her bones. Jameson was the kind of good medicine she needed, would always need in her life.
    As they got closer to the Inn, her ragged breathing was not something she could cover up. Her upper lip was moist, her underarms were dripping. The back of her neck ached. Every hair on her body stood out and demanded attention. Electric jolts of muscular spasms were triggering in her belly. She wanted to touch herself, rub her nipples until they became soft and pliable again. Let him see her building arousal.
    As he turned into the granite drive, his elbow grazed her left breast and she involuntarily moaned at the touch. He turned, eyes wide. “Oh my, Mrs. Daniels. What in the world are we going to do with you?”
    She traced down his cheek with her forefinger and then leaned over to whisper, “Fuck me, Jameson. You’re gonna fuck me.” She arched, resisting the urge to touch herself, but rubbing her palms down her thighs, undulating her hips. “I can’t get comfortable,” she said dreamily to the