Текст книги "Under My Skin"

Автор книги: J. Kenner

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

twenty-three

I wake to the sound of Jackson’s voice.

A wave of relief washes over me, followed quickly by disappointment when I realize he’s not in my condo. Instead, I’m hearing his voice on the television, and I realize I must have fallen asleep in bed with the television on.

Now, a morning news show is playing, and the image on screen is Jackson on the deck of his boat with Harriet beside him.

“You’re surrendering yourself tomorrow?” a reporter asks.

“I am,” he says.

“What about the Cortez Resort? Are you resigning?”

“I’m not. Assuming I get out on bail, I’ll continue the work. If I’m incarcerated, then we’ll either figure out a way for me to work while in custody or I’ll support the project’s efforts to find another architect.”

“The project’s efforts?” another reporter repeats. “You mean Sylvia Brooks? She’s the project manager, right?”

“Correct.”

“So where is she today? You two have a personal relationship as well. How does she feel about your arrest?”

His face tightens. “Ms. Brooks and I have only a professional relationship. We’re not together anymore.”

That sets off a new buzz from the crowd of reporters, but all it does for me is make my stomach hurt. Goddamn Jackson. I know what he’s doing. He’s making sure that our break-up is coming at me from all sides.

He’s making sure that I understand it’s real.

Well, fuck that.

Nikki’s right. If I want him back, I have to fight.

And I think it’s appropriate that Jackson is a fan of bare knuckles fighting. Because right now, the gloves are coming off.

It takes me no time to get dressed, but my problem is that I don’t know where I’m going. I try the boat first, but he’s not there. Then I try the office, because maybe he’s trying to get as much done on the resort as possible before he surrenders himself.

But there’s no Jackson there, either.

I drive by the lot in the Palisades, thinking that perhaps he’s simply melancholy. Again, nothing.

I’m still baffled and stymied when I swing by Cass’s house. She, at least, is at home.

“He’s probably beating the shit out of someone,” Cass says.

I make a face, because I’m afraid that Cass is right. “I hope not,” I say. “If the press gets a picture of that, it’s not exactly going to help his case.”

“Have you called Harriet?”

I haven’t, and it’s a good idea. I call, but get only voice mail. I’m about to bitch to Cass some more, when the phone rings, and I can’t help but be impressed by Harriet’s promptness.

“Are you okay?” she says, and I’m touched that she’s asking. I’m not the one who is her client, after all.

“Not really. I want to find him, Harriet. Do you know where he is?”

I’m afraid that she’s going to tell me that she’s not allowed to say. Or worse, that she’s certain he’s made the right decision and she thinks it would be better not to tell me.

But she surprises me by saying, “He’s got a room at the Biltmore.”

“Thank you.” The words are thick with relief. My next, however, are tentative. “Is he—I mean, how is he doing?”

“Let’s just say that I wouldn’t have told you where he is if I didn’t think that seeing you would do him good.”

I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Thank you,” I say again, then end the call.

I look at Cass.

“Don’t waste time talking to me,” she says. “Go.”

I do. And I’m pretty sure I break every speed record known to man getting from Venice Beach to downtown LA. I leave my car with the valet then burst into the hotel, only to lose steam when the front desk clerk absolutely refuses to tell me Jackson’s number. Some bullshit song and dance about privacy. And he digs his heels in even more when I decline his suggestion that I call up to Jackson’s room.

Damn.

It’s not even three in the afternoon yet, but I figure I can stake out the lobby if I have to, and for as long as I have to. But before I do that, I step into the Gallery Bar, just because it’s Jackson’s favorite place and being in there will make me feel closer to him.

And the moment I do, I see him.

I wasn’t expecting it, not this early. But he’s at the bar, and Phil is in front of him, chatting as he refills Jackson’s glass.

I straighten my shoulders, strengthen my resolve, and march in that direction.

He knows I am there before I say anything. I can tell from the tightening of his posture. The way his drink stills on the way to his mouth. “Sylvia,” he says, then turns in his stool to face me.

I take the seat next to him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He looks at me, and the flicker of pleasure I see in his eyes gives me hope. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Free country,” I counter.

“Dammit, Syl.” Frustration spikes his voice, and Phil slips quietly away, letting us talk.

“Don’t. I saw it in your eyes. You were happy to see me.”

“Always,” he says. “That’s why it was so hard to let you go.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

He doesn’t argue. “How did you find me?”

“I looked for you at the boat. At the office. I ended up calling Harriet. Don’t be mad at her.”

“I’m not,” he says, and that flutter of hope inside me blooms wider.

I take the scotch that Jackson still holds, then drink deeply, my eyes never leaving his. Then I put the glass down defiantly on the bar. “I need you to hear me out. If nothing else, you owe me that much, okay?”

He’s silent for a moment, then he nods, his acquiescence surprising me. “All right.”

“You’re an idiot,” I begin. “An idiot if you think you can push me away so easily. You can’t, and you and I both know it.”

He doesn’t say anything, and once again, I take that as encouragement.

“Do you remember when Damien made me fire you and I felt guilty for not quitting my job, too?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember what you told me?” I don’t wait for his answer. Instead, I hurry on. “You said you’d never ask me to walk away from something I love. But dammit, Jackson, there’s nothing in this world I love more than you.”

“Syl—”

“No. This is my time to talk. You told me once I need to trust this thing between us. I did. And Jackson, you were right. I trust it now, too. And you need to as well. Jail or not, daughter or not, this is real. It’s right. Dammit, Jackson, you have to believe in us.”

He closes his eyes. “I do.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “Do you? Because I’m not walking out of here without you. Without Ronnie. I don’t give a fuck if Damien is her uncle. I want to be her guardian, Jackson. More than that, I want to be her mom.”

He cocks his head, his expression wary. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want to marry you, Jackson.” The words spill out of me, feeling so right, so perfect. “I’m saying that I don’t want to go another day without knowing that I will be your wife.”

Marriage.

Jackson’s heart felt like it was going to burst.

He’d thought he’d lost her. That he’d pushed her away. And now here she was, back and determined to be his wife.

What the hell had he ever done to deserve her? He didn’t know, but he was damn sure he wasn’t going to deny her. He’d been brooding about how to get her back for too long now, ever since he talked to Damien. Ever since he realized that pushing her away was only a Band-Aid.

Now he knew that the only way to make things right between him and Sylvia was to be together. Because being apart wrecked them both.

“Jackson?” Her voice was soft, her expression tentative.

He turned to her, knowing that his smile said it all. “Damn right you’re going to be my wife.”

He watched as she closed her eyes, her face going soft with relief, and he wanted to kick himself all over again for the way he’d hurt her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though those words could hardly convey all of his emotions.

“I get it. I do.” She lifted a shoulder. “You’re scared.”

“I’m fucking petrified,” he admitted. “Of leaving you. Of prison. Of the way everything is about to shift.”

“Me, too.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “But we’re in it together now, right?”

Instead of answering, he slid off his stool, then held out a hand to help her down. “I need you, Syl. I need you right now.” He could feel the need growing in him. A hole that had to be filled. A demand that had to be satisfied.

“I need to burn the feel of you into me. I want the heat of you to singe me. To mark me. Because even in prison, I don’t ever want to be without you. And Syl,” he adds roughly, “I need to have all of you. My wife? You’re so much more than that. You’re my life, Syl. You’re my blood. You’re the only person who can break me, and the only one who can save me. And right now, I need you more than I need to breathe.”

His mouth is on mine the moment the door to his room closes behind us, and the kiss is wild and passion-filled, as if we are both making up for lost time and marking our future.

“Off,” he says, plucking at my shirt, and we are both naked in a heartbeat, stripping off our clothes so fast it’s a wonder that we don’t topple over in our hurry.

I move to press against him, wanting the feel of his skin against mine, but he surprises me by lifting me up, then carrying me to the bed. The maid’s been in, and it’s neatly made, and we tumble onto it together.

Jackson rolls onto his back and looks up at me. “Kiss me,” he demands, and I don’t hesitate. I straddle him, positioning myself so that the tip of his cock is at my core. And as I lean forward to crush my mouth hard against his, I lower myself. I’m already wet, my body fired with arousal, and I take him hard and deep.

He moans against my mouth, his fingers dipping low to tease my cunt before he withdraws and slides his hand around, then slips his fingertip in my ass, making me gasp, because the sensation of being filled like this is both incredible and undeniably erotic.

“Yes,” I whisper. “God, yes.” I meet his eyes. “You can have me like that.”

“I’ll have you however I want you,” he says, and the potent heat combined with these words of possession—of power—make my mouth go dry and my cunt throb all over again. “But I need you to go get my wallet.”

I raise a brow, but don’t argue. Instead, I get off him carefully, then return with the wallet I fished from his back pocket. As I kneel on the bed, he removes a small packet that looks like a condom.

I raise my brows, because we are way past that, but he just grins. “Lube,” he says. “I thought it might come in handy.”

I swallow and nod, wanting this, and yet uncertain. We’ve never done this before, and though the sensation of his finger inside me was undeniable enticing, I can’t help but be just a little nervous. But Jackson erases my worries, or at least buries them. Because he’s pulling me close to take my breast in his mouth. He’s teasing me, his teeth scraping my nipple, then biting. There is pain, but the kind that spreads out into heated threads of pleasure, and I straddle him again, then arch back and moan. And as I do, I feel the cool brush of the lube against my rear, teasing my entrance where his finger was just moments before as he readies me for an even deeper invasion.

With his other hand, he teases my clit, so that I am being sensually assaulted in all directions, my body opening to him, craving him.

“That’s it, baby. Relax. Let me take you there. Let me show you how good you can feel.”

“Yes,” I say, because tonight I will give him whatever he wants, however he wants it. And, yes, I want it, too. My breath is coming in gasps and my cunt is throbbing. I need so desperately to be fucked, and as if he is bending to my will, he slips fingers into both my vagina and my ass. I rise up, then lower myself back down, wanting even more than he is giving me.

I keep my eyes on Jackson and I see the answering heat in his eyes—the pleasure my response gives him. I feel it, too, in the way his cock twitches against my thigh, as if waiting not-so-patiently for its turn.

“Now,” I beg. “Please, Jackson, now.”

Even as I speak, I’m moving to get off him so that I can bend over facedown on the bed, but he holds me still. “No,” he says. “Like this. I want to look at you.”

“But—but I mean, I’ve never—”

“I want to look at you,” he repeats. “And,” he adds as he brushes a kiss over my lips, “you have more control.” He grins a bit, as if telling me that he’s giving something up. But that’s not true. I am completely under his spell, fallen to mercy, and he knows it.

“I want you now. Like this.” There is heat and demand in his voice, and the sound just makes me wetter. “Come here.”

I lean forward and let him capture me in a kiss, then moan when his tongue thrusts hard into my mouth even as his lubed fingers tease my rear, entering me, spreading me.

I hear Jackson’s soft chuckle of understanding, and feel him add another finger, widening me, playing me.

“Now, baby. Because I really will just turn you over and take you if I can’t have you right now.”

I rise up and let him guide me over his cock, and he’s right, I do have more control. I feel the press of his shaft against my rear, and I pivot my hips, rising and falling as he teases my clit, relaxing me, making me bolder. Making me needier.

Jackson closes his eyes and groans, the sound one of both pleasure and frustration, and that turns me on even more. I thrust down, taking the tip in, biting my lower lip against a burn that feels remarkably, wonderfully good. And when my throaty sound of pleasure merges with his whisper of my name, I know that I can’t take it any longer, and I thrust down hard, swallowing the pain and welcoming the incredible, awesome pleasure of being filled by this man.

The burn fades, and I rise up, then lower myself, letting the sensations grow. Letting the pleasure fill me as my body adjusts to accommodate him.

“That’s it,” he says as he slips two fingers into my vagina, but keeps the pressure of his thumb against my clit. “Come on, baby. Fuck me hard.”

“This isn’t how I expected we’d do this,” I admit, and when he laughs in response, I feel even closer to him.

“But you like it.”

“Yes,” I say earnestly. “I do.”

As we speak, I’m doing what he’d said and riding him, and I’m already so close that the pressure against my clit combined with the new, incredibly erotic sensation of being penetrated both ways sends me over the top far too quickly.

It doesn’t matter, though, because Jackson is not ready to stop, and he takes control of my body. He grabs my hips and pistons me, thrusting deep inside, and I’m tight around him, my body clenching hard, wanting him deeper, wanting more.

And though he is no longer teasing my clit, the building pressure is enough that it leaves that first orgasm behind as a wilder, more powerful release rips through me even as Jackson explodes inside me.

I go limp against his chest, our bodies still entwined as he gently strokes my back while we both let the universe shift back to normal.

When we both have recovered, he presses his lips to my head. I know we should clean up, but I’m not ready to move yet. I like the sensation of my ass pressed up against his now-soft cock. We form a circle, I think, and there is something about the thought that soothes me. As if no matter where I am—no matter how far we might push away from each other—in the end we are connected. And I only have to go a little bit further in order to come around to Jackson again.

I’m awakened from a deep sleep by a hard rap at the hotel door. “What the—”

“It’s okay,” Jackson says. “I’ve got it.”

I nod and am just drifting off again when he returns. I start to speak, but he presses a finger to my lips, then holds out a hand to help me up. “I know it’s late, but we need to go somewhere. Will you come?”

“Of course.” He already knows I wouldn’t deny him anything tonight.

The valet pulls his car around, and once we are traveling north on the Pacific Coast Highway, I’m pretty sure I know where we are going, and my suspicions are confirmed when he makes a right turn and heads up into the Pacific Palisades. A few minutes later, he’s parking the car in front of a stunning double lot with an ocean view. It’s a lot that he owns. That he bought years ago, and has yet to build on. But I know that he has been thinking about the house he wants to put here for almost as long as he has owned the property.

He hasn’t said why he wanted to come here tonight, but I can guess. He’d wanted to build a house here. For himself. For his little girl.

And now he’s come to say goodbye.

And that’s not something that I want to hear even though I’m desperately afraid that it is true.

I grab his hand before he can step out of the car. “Don’t,” I say.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start believing you won’t ever get it done.”

His smile is so tender it almost hurts. “Come on.”

He gets out of the car, and I do, too. He grabs a small bag from the trunk, then he starts walking across the property toward the darkness that lies in front of us. It is the ocean, I know, but on this night, it seems to be nothing more than a void in space into which we are about to disappear.

The property descends after a while, almost as if terraced, adding an extra level of privacy.

“Right there,” he says, pointing to an indentation in the tree line that forms a natural semicircle. “That’s where I want to put her playscape.”

I glance at him, surprised. He said want. Not wanted. And a little thread of hope unfurls within me.

I don’t comment on his word choice. All I say is, “That’s the perfect spot.”

He turns to look at the ocean that is spread out below us, flowing to the horizon just past the snake-like length of the coast highway that separates us on this hill from the pounding waves.

“I hesitated to start on the plans,” he says, as much to the world as to me. “Because I was afraid it would all go to hell.”

I say nothing; he is echoing my earlier thoughts and I want to hear where this is going.

“I hesitated bringing Ronnie here, too. Hesitated making it official that she is my daughter when I should have done it so long ago. I put my life on hold because somebody else killed a man. Me, Sylvia. Who has never once changed the direction of my life because of someone else’s whim. But I did in this. I stopped moving forward in my life because I’ve been afraid that life will be taken from me.”

“And you’re not afraid anymore?”

“I’m scared to death,” he says. “But that’s a goddamn lousy reason.”

I swallow, so many questions and emotions churning through me that I can’t identify any of them. “What is this about, Jackson?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes my hand and raises it to his lips. He presses a kiss to my fingers, and although the gesture is sweet, it is also sad. And I’m not sure if I should be scared or hopeful, and the not knowing is weighing on me so hard it is like a physical burden.

“Tell me about the photographs.” His voice is gentle, and I have no clue where he’s going with this. “The pictures of houses you take.”

“I have told you.” My hobby is photography, and for most of my life I have preferred to take pictures of buildings. And not just majestic skyscrapers and brilliantly designed commercial buildings. But homes. Some plain. Some incredible. Some in suburbia. Some tucked away on acres of their own land.

“Tell me again,” he insists.

I frown, feeling a little unsteady. I’m not at all sure where this is coming from, but I’m not going to ask. Not tonight. “I’ve done it all my life. I guess I wanted to imagine what went on in those houses. All the different buildings. Small and large, fancy and ramshackle. I couldn’t help but wonder if they had a better life. A father who watched out for them. A mother who knew they were alive.” I shrug. “So I collected them. Little bits of lives that I thought maybe someday I’d want.”

“And if you were to look at this lot with a house, what would you see?”

“Well, a ranch style. The lot’s big enough to support it. But with raised sections on either side. One side would be a media room. The other would be the master suite. And there’s a balcony that connects both and looks out over the ocean.”

“I like it. And where’s the kitchen?”

“In the back with a wall of windows. So you can have breakfast outside if you want.”

“And it opens to the pool,” he says.

“Of course. For easy entertaining. And there are three—no four—bedrooms in addition to the master.”

He nods. “Not bad. Pretty close to what I have in mind, actually. I’ll have to make a few tweaks to incorporate your ideas.”

He takes my hand and leads me toward the north edge of the property. “This is where the master will be—upstairs, now. That frees up the space below, which would be perfect for your home office.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Would it? And where’s yours?”

“Right next to yours, of course. With a connecting door.”

“I like this game,” I say. But when I look at his eyes, I’m confused. “Jackson? Is this a game?”

His eyes are warm, with a spark of humor. “I guess that depends. If at the end of a game someone wins, then maybe it is. I’m building this house for you, baby. Your house with a view of the ocean. Even if I have to design it in prison and farm out the construction, I will have a home for my wife and daughter.”

“Oh.” The word is soft. A breath. But despite everything, I feel the stirrings of joy inside me, and I can only nod my head. Because this is right—how could Ronnie and I live anywhere other than a house that Jackson built.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Of course.” My voice is thick with emotion. So many I can’t identify them. All I know is that I’m full up. So much so that my fear is almost—almost—overshadowed.

“I have something for you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small ring box.

I open it almost tentatively and reveal a diamond solitaire, its fire so magnificent that it sparkles even in the dim light of the moon. The setting is clearly antique, with a pattern of vines etched into the white gold setting.

“It was my grandmother’s. I called Lauren after you fell asleep,” he says, referring to his assistant. “I had her go to the boat and get it out of my desk.”

I nod, realizing that it was Lauren at the hotel door earlier.

He takes the ring from the box and slips it on my finger. Remarkably, it fits. “My mother never got married,” Jackson continues, “so she never wore it. I’d like you to.”

I swallow, my throat almost too full of emotion to speak. Because while we’d worked everything out between us, this symbol truly seals it. I’m Jackson’s. He’s mine. And it really is forever.

I look up, meeting his eyes again. “It’s lovely.”

“If it’s not your style, my feelings won’t be hurt.”

I’ve been staring at the ring, lost in its fire. Now I look up at Jackson, my eyes filled with tears. “No,” I say. “This is perfect.”