Under My Skin Page 13

He was angry and he needed a release.

  I was angry and needed to be claimed.

  I smile a little thinking about it, but my smile fades soon enough. “It scares me a little,” I admit.

  “What does?”

  “This. With you. ” I tilt my head so that I can look at his eyes, and I see the confusion and the worry in them. “The way I let go completely. The way I want to be used. I get the root of it—I do. It’s about the pleasure that comes from giving up control. It’s fighting back against Reed, who stole that control from me over and over. And, honestly, the wilder it is the more I like it. The intensity—it keeps me grounded. It makes me feel alive. Page 50

  “So I understand,” I continue. “I do. But I want to be stronger, Jackson. And this need to surrender to you is so powerful, that sometimes I’m afraid that I won’t be able to cope without you beside me. ”

  “You think giving yourself to me makes you weak?” He brushes his hand over my cheek. “The hell it does. Weak is closing yourself off. Weak is being too afraid to ask for what you want. Do you think being strong means not needing anybody else? It doesn’t. It means knowing yourself. Knowing your desires. And not being scared to demand what you truly want. ”

  “I want you,” I whisper.

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t stand on your own. If you need to—when you need to—you will do just fine. ”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you. ” He kisses me gently. “And sweetheart, I need to tell you something. ”

  I nod, fighting back a fresh wave of fear.

  “I didn’t kill him. ”

  “What?” I’m not sure if my response is surprise at his statement, or bafflement that he’s brought the subject up now.

  “I didn’t kill Reed. You’ve stuck by me, believing you knew what happened. It’s only fair I tell you the real truth. ”

  “Oh. ” Relief overwhelms me, and yet there remains an undercurrent of some odd disappointment. Because the truth is that I liked the thought of Jackson being the one who erased the man who tormented me.

  “So you don’t need to worry. The truth will win out, and I won’t go to prison. I’ll always be beside you. ”

  I nod, because I know that he is saying it to soothe me. But at the same time, it’s cold comfort. Because innocent or not, that is one promise that it’s no longer in Jackson’s power to keep.

  fourteen

  I wake up naked and alone in my bed, and I immediately sit up, afraid that Jackson changed his mind and decided to go back to the boat after all.

  He’d taken me home because I had told him I needed my own bed, and in that moment, I’d been wrecked enough that he hadn’t argued. But the disagreement or fight or whatever-the-hell-it-was that we’d had about the paparazzi and the boat had still lingered between us.

  I know that we will have to deal with that, especially since we will need the boat to get to the island today. Granted, we could take one of the Stark International boats. Or even, god forbid, a helicopter. But Jackson’s office is on his boat, and if he wants to make the most of the trip, then he needs to have his computers, software, and other various gadgets and gizmos with him. But surely he didn’t already leave me to go there. Did he?

  My body is stiff as I toss the sheet aside and then sit up in bed. I hug my knees to my chest, my attention drawn to the tattooed star on my ankle. Idly, I trace its design, as if by doing so I’m claiming it all over again. I want to claim it, because this star represents strength. It marks an escape—my flight from the home I’d grown to hate to boarding school in my sophomore year of high school.

  I draw a breath, then get slowly out of bed, this time brushing my fingers over the ribbon inked at the juncture of my thigh, a ribbon covered with initials of men I cared nothing for, but needed in order to prove to myself that I was in control. Not Reed, who’d so greedily stolen control from me. Not those men whose initials now mark my legs.

  Just me.

  Me taking. Me holding. Me keeping so tight a grip on my world that there was no way it could spin out of control.

  Slowly, I ease my hand around to my back and the intricately inked “J” entwined with an “S. ” Cass had inked that tattoo five years ago, after I’d so brutally broken up with Jackson in Atlanta, shredding both our hearts in the process. At the time, I’d thought I could never have him back, and yet I couldn’t bear the thought of surviving without him. And so I’d kept a piece of him on me, a quiet reminder that he would always have my back—would always give me strength—even if he didn’t know it.

  I close my eyes and sigh as I continue to move my hands over my body, this time coming to rest on the newest tattoo—a flame on my breast. Cass inked this one less than a month ago, when I’d pulled Jackson back into my life despite my better judgment. Out of the frying pan, she’d said, because I was leaping headfirst into the fire.

  Hadn’t I learned the hard way that my nightmares were too close to the surface with Jackson? That the passion that pulsed between us wiped away all my control, leaving me soft and vulnerable—and too damn close to the nightmares and memories of Reed?

  But I was desperate to save my resort and so I’d taken a deep breath, clothed myself in battle armor, and walked through the door into my own personal hell. Page 51

  Jackson, of course, stripped all my defenses away. More than that, he’d turned everything around. And the man who had once conjured my demons now slays them. He keeps me sane. He keeps me safe.

  He makes me feel loved and cherished and beautiful.

  With Jackson, I can surrender control without opening the door to fear. To self-loathing.

  With Jackson, I can lose myself to submission. To passion. To love.

  We’ve come so far, he and I, but now I fear that we are about to hit a wall. That we’ve taunted the gods, and the gods are pissed.

  I’m scared to death that he’s going to be arrested for murder. That he’s going to be yanked from me forever, and I hate that it is not just him that I am scared for, but myself, too. Because while I used to rely on my tats to give me strength, now I rely on Jackson.

  I do not want to be a woman without the strength to stand on her own. But at the same time, I know that I am stronger with him than without him.

  And oh, dear god, what will I do if I lose him?

  I shiver, suddenly cold, and put on the T-shirt he’d left hanging over the back of a chair the last time we stayed here. It’s for Dominion Gate, a heavy metal band that he likes, and the hem hangs down almost to my knees and the whole shirt seems to swallow me.

  My phone is on a table beside the chair and when I glance down and see that it is past four in the morning, my self-analysis turns into worry.

  The door to my bedroom is shut, but now that my eyes have adjusted, I see that there is the faintest glow of light creeping in from the gap below the door. I open it, then step into the tiny area between my bedroom and my living room, moving quietly so that I don’t wake him if he’s fallen asleep out here.

  As soon as I pass the utility closet and can see into the living room, I see him. Not inside, but out on my patio. He is perched on the side of the chaise, bent forward so that he is using the fold-up chair that Cass usually sits in as a make-shift desk. He’s got his tablet propped up and he’s sketching furiously on a pad of paper in his lap. His dark hair is tousled, as if he has been running his fingers through it, and I can hear the gentle scrape of lead against paper.

  I want to go to him. I want to step behind him, put my arms around him, and hold him close.

  But that’s only my own selfish desire.

  What Jackson wants—no, what Jackson needs—is to get lost in his work. I can practically feel the concentration and pleasure rolling off him, and I don’t want to be the one to take him from that. Not now. Not tonight.

  I’m about to turn around and return below when a woman’s voice stops me. “I’m back
. Sorry. This early, coffee is a necessity. ”

  “Thanks for this, Amy,” Jackson says. “I didn’t actually expect you to answer my email until later. ”

  For a moment, I’m confused, then I see that he’s on a video call. I shift to the left so I can see the tablet screen, and realize that he’s talking to Amy Brantley, his estate and family law attorney in Santa Fe.

  “It’s almost six here, and I’ve started getting up before dawn to go to the gym. I figured I’d rather talk to you. Are you hanging in there? Ms. Frederick doing all right by you?”

  “She’s doing as good a job as she can, but we both know there are no guarantees. ”

  “No,” Amy says. “There aren’t. ”

  “I spoke with Stella yesterday. Betty won’t say a word, but her health is deteriorating fast. ”

  “I know,” Amy says. “I was actually going to give you a call later today. Right now, if anything happens to Betty while she’s caring for Ronnie, custody shifts to you pending establishment of your paternal rights. But if you’re incarcerated, then the next in line is still Megan, at least on paper. Are you okay with that?”

  He hesitates, and though I know that it pains him to admit it, he says very simply, “No. ”

  It’s the right choice, of course. Megan may be Ronnie’s biological aunt, but she’s checked herself into a clinic as she battles mental health issues, and though I know it breaks Jackson’s heart, she’s in no position to take care of his daughter.

  “I didn’t think so,” Amy says. “And frankly, with Megan having admitted herself to a clinic, the court might refuse to put Ronnie with her. She’d end up in foster care unless Arvin takes her,” she adds, referring to Megan’s father. He’s the man who hired Jackson to build the Santa Fe house that is now the focus of the movie that Reed was determined to make. And although Arvin Fletcher is Ronnie’s grandfather, he has distanced himself far, far away from the child.

  “That would be worse,” Jackson says dryly. “And we both know Arvin would never accept custody. But the truth is, I’ve been thinking about all of that; it’s one of the reasons I’m calling. That, and to make some financial arrangements. ” He drags his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been up all night thinking about it. I know Ronnie inherited money from Amelia,” he says, “but that’s in trust and it shouldn’t be used for her day-to-day care. ” Page 52

  Amelia is Ronnie’s birth mother. More than that, she’s the reason the movie is even on Hollywood’s radar. Though no script has been officially released, it’s no secret that the movie centers around tragedy at the Fletcher Residence, an amazing Santa Fe house designed and built by Jackson. The project, actually, that put Jackson Steele on the map and turned him from a simple architect into a starchitect—a celebrity architect with all the baggage that goes with the title.

  Back when Jackson was building the Fletcher Residence for Arvin—one of the country’s wealthiest men—Jackson began dating Amelia’s identical twin sister, Carolyn. Amelia wanted Jackson for her own, and was crazy enough to impersonate her sister in bed, a single night that left her pregnant with Jackson’s child—Ronnie. After the house was built and Jackson had moved on, the little girl was born—and that’s when Amelia went completely off the rails. She killed her sister and then she killed herself, leaving Ronnie to be raised by the twins’ older sister, Megan—and attracting the attention of Hollywood’s scandal hounds.

  Since Amelia had quite the lineup of men going through her bedroom, the Hollywood people don’t know that Ronnie is Jackson’s daughter, and they probably won’t make that connection until the court confirms paternity or Jackson’s petition finds its way to the press. They see only a murder-suicide that centers around the amazing house that made Jackson’s career and the love triangle that destroyed two young women, both of whom wanted the same man.

  When Jackson learned that Ronnie was truly his daughter, he considered petitioning for custody right away, but he also knew that the scandal surrounding the house and the buzz about a possible movie would thrust the little girl into a media feeding frenzy. She was safe and loved with her aunt Megan and her uncle Tony, with her great-grandmother Betty helping from the sidelines. Jackson took on the role of uncle, visiting her and supporting her financially.

  Now, though, things have changed. Tony passed away, and Megan’s mounting bipolar issues mean that she is no longer a good choice for guardian. Neither is Betty, in light of her failing health.

  More than that, though, Jackson simply wants his daughter back. And until this damn murder trial reached out and slapped us in the face, that was what he was in the process of handling.

  “So you want to designate a contingent guardian, and then set up a trust to use for Ronnie’s daily care?”

  “Exactly. ”

  They talk for a few more minutes, with Jackson explaining that the trust will be funded with his share of the Winn Building, a retail and residential high rise in Manhattan, and also the first project he both designed and developed—and kept a piece of the income stream. “I’ve got a forty percent interest and Isaac Winn has sixty. He’s been looking to acquire a bigger percentage since day one. If we need the cash for Ronnie, he’ll buy me out. ”

  “I’ll seed the trust with ten percent,” Amy says. “You can add more if you need to. ”

  “Fair enough. ”

  “And the guardian?” she asks, after reminding Jackson that until his parental rights are established by a court order, he is not the one who can force this issue. “But I’m sure that Betty and the court will take your opinion into account. ”

  “I want Sylvia,” he says, as I press my hand over my mouth to hide my gasp. “And I want you to go ahead and set the paternity hearing. ”

  “The hearing? Jackson, are you sure? What if—”

  “I want her to have a father. I’m tired of waiting. I want my daughter, Amy. And if the worst happens, then I want to know that the woman I love is taking care of her. ”

  “And Sylvia will accept the role?” she asks as my heart thuds painfully in my chest and I hug myself, not sure what I’m feeling, only certain that I am numb. “The court will only offer guardianship. They won’t force her to take it. If she says no, Ronnie could be looking at foster care. ”

  “We’ve talked a little. And we’ll talk more. But I think she will. I need this done, Amy. I’m living in limbo right now, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. I need this to be handled. I need my daughter. And I need you to make it happen sooner rather than later. ”

  “All right, Jackson,” she says, her voice gentle. “I should be able to get a court date in a couple of days. ”

  “Thank you,” he says, and there is such relief in his voice that my eyes sting with unshed tears.

  I don’t actually notice when he ends the call. I’m lost in a world of maybes. A world where Jackson is gone, and where I am raising his daughter. Page 53

  Oh, god.

  A tremor of fear runs through me, because I am suddenly struck with just how real that possibility is. And I can’t escape the overbearing reality that no matter how much I love Jackson—how much I adore his little girl—I have no idea how to raise a child. My mother has treated me as a zero ever since my brother became ill. And my father—oh, god, I can’t even think about my father.

  I shudder, then stumble back to bedroom, my stomach in knots. I lurch into the bathroom and kneel in front of the toilet, certain that I’m going to throw up. I don’t. But I clutch the porcelain until I feel steady enough to stand.

  I meant what I said at the airport—I do want to be there for Jackson, and I am humbled that he would trust me with his daughter.

  But this?

  Oh, god, this?

  I stand, then force myself to breathe deep and tell myself that it isn’t going to happen. Jackson didn’t kill Reed. He’s not going to be arrested. He’s not going to prison.

  Ronnie will be in our life, yes, and that�
�s great. I can do this with Jackson at my side. I can handle being a mom so long as he’s holding my hand.

  I tell myself that again and again, then realize that even as I have been lecturing myself, I have been inching my T-shirt up so that I can once again see my tattoos in the mirror. Only this time, I’m not thinking about the battles that each one represents. Instead, I’m thinking about a new battle. I’m thinking that, if I’m going to manage this, I need the ink that marks the child.

  I close my eyes, hating that I am so weak when Jackson needs me to be strong.

  When I open them again, I see Jackson’s reflection in the mirror; he is standing right behind me.

  “I thought you were asleep,” he says.

  “I just woke up. ” My voice sounds guilty to my ears, and I have to fight the urge to cringe.

  His brow furrows a bit, and I know that he is worried that the nightmares came for me, prompted by Ethan’s confession. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “No nightmares last night. You vanquished them all,” I say truthfully. What Reed did—what my father did—will always haunt me. And my father’s confession to Ethan about the whole sordid business only adds another layer of shadows to the nightmares I already fight. But Jackson has convinced me that I can fight them.

  I lift a shoulder then, the motion minuscule. “It’s just that I woke up without you. I didn’t like it. ”

  I don’t know what he sees when he looks at my face, but whatever it is, it’s enough. He reaches for my hips, then tugs me to him, then presses his lips to mine. The kiss is soft, yet powerful. Deep, yet tender. I melt against him, all of my fears, my doubts, my angst swept away in a sensual fog, no match for the power that is Jackson.

  The kiss is long and lingering, and with each passing second, my passion rises, my senses firing. My breasts rub against him, the sensation sending curls of pleasure swirling through me.

  “It’s morning,” he murmurs as he pulls away. “We need to get to the boat and head to the island. ”

  “Not just yet. Please,” I say, that one word holding all my fears and insecurities. “Please, at least for a little while, just hold me. ”

  He searches my face, then silently leads me to bed. He strips off his jeans and shirt, then slides under the covers beside me, tucking me in against him so that my ass is snug against his semi-erect cock.

  I want more—hell, I need more. I need his touch to soothe and center me. But as far as I know, Jackson has been up all night and I don’t want to demand when he’s tired. More than that, I want to be able to stand on my own, because I’m terribly afraid that there will come a time when Jackson won’t be beside me to battle away my fears.

  So I close my eyes, trying to be strong. Trying to simply enjoy the feel of his arms around me.