Under My Skin

Jackson, thank god, has other plans.

  Lightly, so that I almost do not even recognize the contact, he begins to stroke my thigh, making me squirm.

  A thread of sensual heat curls through me, and I shift, parting my legs slightly so that he has better access. As I’d hoped, he takes full advantage, his hand easing down along the juncture of my thigh and torso, then to my pelvis, and then finding the nub of my clit. I gasp, drawing in a stuttering breath as he makes his fingers into a V and slides along my now-slick labia but avoids the touch that I am desperately craving.

  “Jackson,” I murmur. My hips are moving in their own rhythm now, trying to direct his hand, his touch. But Jackson foils me, and the release that my now-primed body seeks is just out of reach.

  Frustrated, I press my rear back against his cock, then close my eyes in satisfaction at his low, masculine groan of pleasure. Then his mouth brushes my shoulder, and his low, sultry words are sending ripples through me. “I need to fuck you, baby. Like this. Right now. ” Page 54

  “Yes. ”

  “Touch yourself,” he demands even as he takes my thigh and pushes it forward. Now we are still spooning, but my legs are scissored as his fingers thrust inside me, making me wild with need. And only when I’m so damn wet that I’m sure the sheets must be damp, does he ease his cock into me and fill me with long, slow strokes that make me moan.

  Slowly at first, and then harder, so that with each thrust we scoot a bit up the mattress. But I want it harder, deeper, and instead of teasing my clit, I lift my hand over my head and press against the headboard to provide some resistance as he pounds into me, harder and harder, until he finally explodes inside me, and then falls limp against me, his body draped over mine.

  I sigh and stretch with pleasure. I’m close, and I know if I touch myself, I will go over, but I do not want that. Not now, when I have the pleasure of being so close that even the touch of the air is a sensual caress. And so when Jackson reaches lazily over me, then starts to ease his fingers down to play with my clit, I close my hand over his and shake my head, just a little.

  “I want to stay here,” I say. “I want to stay here on the edge. ”

  “Why?” he asks.

  How can I answer when I don’t really understand myself? All I know is that I want to stay here for a little while, balanced precariously before I fall.

  And so I give him the only answer I know. “Because you’re the one who took me there. ”

  Less than an hour has passed when I slide out of bed and start to get dressed. It feels like an eternity, though. Like I have slept and healed and come out fresh on the other side, renewed and brave.

  That fades, though, when I pull a long-sleeved T-shirt over my head, and see the way that Jackson is looking at me, propped up on the bed on one elbow.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I spoke with Amy this morning. ”

  I concentrate on stepping into my shorts—I’m dressing for the island, not the Tower—then look at him again. “Your attorney?” I ask, as if this is all news to me.

  “I’m tired of leaving my little girl in limbo. I’ve asked Amy to get a court date. I want to bring Ronnie home. ”

  I zip up the shorts, then go to sit on the bed. “Good,” I say. “You’re her dad. ”

  I see the relief on his face, and know that I’ve said the right thing. “There’s more. Do you remember what we talked about at the airport?”

  “Sure. ” I’m proud of how normal my voice sounds.

  “Did you mean what you said? Because I want to make it official. ”

  “Official?”

  He nods. “If something happens to me, I want guardianship of Ronnie to go to you. I want Amy to amend the guardianship papers. You, not Megan, if something happens to me. ”

  “I—” I swallow, wanting to kick myself for hesitating for even an instant.

  He notices, of course. “Yesterday, when I was being an ass about the paparazzi, what you said about believing I’d killed Reed. About staying with me no matter what. ”

  His words are choppy, and I take his hand.

  “That drove it home for me,” he continues, more smoothly, and the knowledge that I’ve given him strength swells inside me. “How much I want you to be the one protecting her. Sticking with her. But I know it’s selfish of me, too, and if you don’t want that—”

  “You were an ass about the paparazzi?” The question, voiced as a tease, slips out of me. I regret it immediately, but I’m latching on to anything but the real issue. Anything but the possibility that I will be raising a child alone.

  “I was,” he says. “I was pissed and acting stupid and you were right. I need to avoid them, not taunt them. And when we do encounter them, I need to play Evelyn’s game and be polite and friendly. I hate it, but I’ll do it because I know it increases the odds that I won’t end up behind bars. That I’ll stay here with you. With Ronnie. ”

  Relief flutters through me. That, at least, is one thing I can stop worrying about.

  “I’ll call Amy this morning and tell her not to change anything,” he says gently. “It’s too much to ask. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t—”

  “No,” I blurt, gripping his hand tighter. “No, I’m sure. Of course I’m sure. ”

  And I am.

  Despite my fears, I am absolutely certain.

  Because what other choice do I have?

  In Jackson’s world, there is him, there is his daughter, and there is me.

  He loves me, I know that he does.

  But if he ever has to make a choice, it is Ronnie that he will choose. Because unlike Jeremiah or my parents, Jackson is a good father. And for him, Ronnie’s welfare will always come first. Page 55

  And as for me?

  All I can do is make certain that is never a choice that he will have to make.

  All I can do is take a tentative step toward the role of Mommy, and hope that I never have to play that role alone.

  But am I taking that step because I love Jackson?

  Or am I doing it because I’m afraid of losing him if I don’t?

  fifteen

  The enticing aroma of yeast and cinnamon wafts through the boat, making my stomach growl. “That smells amazing,” I say, as Jackson opens the oven in the galley-style kitchen and pulls out a tray of cinnamon rolls.

  We’d come to the marina before dawn, and had been lucky not to meet many paparazzi hanging around the gate. Presumably they knew Jackson wasn’t on the boat and had gone home to sleep—or to the Tower to camp out.

  Now we’re getting close to the island, and making up for skipping breakfast in order to get under way quicker.

  Jackson picks up a plastic bag full of gooey white stuff that I assume is a sugary icing for the rolls. I ease up beside him and take it, figuring I ought to contribute at least a little something to our breakfast. He snags the first one I ice, holding it on a paper towel as he nods generally toward the front of the boat. “I’m going to go check our position. I’ll be right back. ”

  I nod, then focus on my culinary task until he returns.

  “Getting close,” he says. “Ten more minutes and I’ll take her off autopilot. But it’s a gorgeous day. Let’s take these up to the deck. ”

  Since that’s a brilliant idea, I don’t argue. He takes the rolls and I grab some orange juice, plates, and cups, then follow him up.

  He’s right. It is a gorgeous day, and I silently decree that today there will be no talk of murder or jail. There will be no worries about Ronnie. No fear that I will be raising that little girl alone.

  There will be only work and the island and Jackson and me.

  Today, I’m holding tight to normalcy, and these moments at sea are a damn fine start.

  The sky is a crystalline blue, and there isn’t a cloud to be seen. The ocean ahead is smooth, the surface only rippled by a soft wind. We’re close enough to both Catalina Island and Santa Cortez
for seagulls to be flying overhead, and I watch as a few dive-bomb the water for their breakfast. I toss out a piece of my cinnamon roll and watch the closest one rocket toward it.

  “Hey,” Jackson says. “I slaved over those. Took them out of a box and everything. ”

  “You picked a good box. They’re great. ”

  We’re sitting on the main deck on a bench on the port side just over from the captain’s chair. It’s cushioned and the back of the bench is also the side of the boat. I’ve poured us both juice and we have the cups tucked into built-in holders. The pitcher is jammed into the center of a life preserver to keep it steady.

  I’ve put the rolls between us, and Jackson makes a grab for his third. He takes a bite and grins at me, a tiny bit of white icing stuck to the corner of his mouth. I reach over and wipe it off with my thumb, then put my thumb in my mouth and suck it clean.

  And all the while my eyes never leave his.

  “Very naughty, Ms. Brooks. ”

  “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Steele. ”

  He stands, then pulls me up as well. “I’m talking about the fact that your island is right over there. ” He points to Santa Cortez, growing larger by the minute. “And the fact that I need to take the boat off autopilot. ” He traces his fingertip over my lips, and I draw him in, then suck and tease his finger with my tongue.

  He groans. “I’m talking,” he says as he tugs his finger free, “about the fact that we don’t have time for me to fuck you the way I want to fuck you right now. But soon,” he adds as he slides his hand down to cup my crotch through my shorts. He slides lower to my thigh, then back up the inside of the leg. And then his brow lifts as his fingers find me not only bare, but hot and slick and very, very wet.

  I bite my lower lip in response to his low groan of masculine satisfaction.

  “Good girl,” he says.

  I look up, innocently meeting his eyes. “What were you saying about fucking me?”

  He slips two fingers inside me, making me gasp. “Soon,” he promises. “Very soon. ”

  I sigh with disappointment when he steps away, leaving me longing and so sensitive that every brush of the canvas against my cunt is like a sensual torment.

  For just a moment, his gaze lingers on me, hot and heavy, and then he turns and heads for the captain’s chair to guide the boat in. And I’m left to my fantasies of what’s still to come.

  While he does his captain thing, I take our breakfast stuff back downstairs. I’m covering the leftover rolls with plastic wrap when Jackson calls me, his voice hard and sharp. “Syl. Get up here!” Page 56

  I abandon what I’m doing and hurry back on deck. I’m asking, “What’s going on?” as I move, but as soon as I’m outside, I can see for myself.

  And what I see is that my wonderful day has just gone straight to hell.

  The moorings on one side of the dock have been smashed in, so that it tilts at an odd angle and isn’t even close to being safe.

  “But how will we get on the island?” I say, and then realize that is the least of our problems. Because when I follow his finger, I see that this entire area has been vandalized. From this perspective, I should be able to see the fuel tanks. For that matter, there are portable toilets, and I can’t see the tops of them, and I really don’t want to think about what it means if those blue boxes have been toppled over.

  “Binoculars,” I say. “Do you have some?”

  “Dammit, yes. ” He hurries to the bench on which we’d just had breakfast and pulls off the cushion, then grabs a pair from the hidden storage area. He puts the bench back together, then steps up before raising the lenses to his eyes. “It’s bad,” he says, then passes the binocs to me.

  I look, too, and see that he’s right. Fuel tanks are spilled. The helipad is covered with debris. There are wires and cords everywhere, along with bits of broken machinery. About the only thing that hasn’t been knocked over is the pole upon which the security camera is mounted.

  A horrible greasy feeling swirls in my stomach, because this is bad—really bad. This isn’t leaked emails or embarrassing photos or foolish rumors about government weapons. This is vandalism. This is real, honest-to-goodness sabotage.

  And I’m taking it very, very personally.

  “We need to see the extent of the damage,” I say. “Can we still use the dock in that condition? Or can you get close enough to anchor and we can wade in?”

  “No. ” Jackson’s voice is firm. “We need to get Ryan and a team here. I don’t want to run the risk of contaminating the scene. And there’s fuel everywhere. I don’t want you out there until we know it’s safe. ”

  I start to argue that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but he’s right and so I say nothing. There’s no cell service on the island yet, but the boat has a complete satellite communication system, and the phone starts to ring even as I am running below deck to get it.

  I hurry to answer it, not surprised to find that the caller is Ryan.

  “You saw the security feed?” I demand. “Could you see who did it?”

  “Not exactly,” he says, which makes very little sense. Clearly he knows what I’m talking about, but how would he without seeing the feed?

  “I’ll explain when we get there,” he says, anticipating my question. “Damien and I will be there in forty-five minutes, tops. We’re coming by boat with a full team following about twenty minutes behind. And, Syl,” he adds, “stay off the island. ”

  I hurry back to the deck, mentally running through the to-do list that is now growing in my head. The clean-up, the investigation, and—oh, hell—the press.

  My mind is swimming with details as I relay Ryan’s call to Jackson, who doesn’t have any better idea than I do as to how Ryan could know about the island.

  From what I can tell, he’s been pacing the deck the entire time I was gone, but he’d stopped the moment I returned. Now he reaches for me, holding me firmly by the shoulders as he studies my face. “Are you okay?”

  I understand what he’s asking, and I nod. “I’m fine. Pissed, but fine. ” I offer him a smile. “It’s work,” I say, and with Jackson I know I don’t have to say any more, because it’s the same for him, and always has been. Work is our escape. Our safe place. The thing that drives us and centers us. Trouble at work is an irritation, and it might piss the hell out of me, but it won’t cripple me.

  It’s the personal shit that can destroy me. Moments like last night that can conjure the nightmares and the fears and the need to just dig deep and hide inside myself somewhere.

  At least, it used to have the power to destroy me. Now, I have Jackson and the strength he’s helped me find.

  My lover, my friend, my protector.

  I slide into his arms, then tilt my head back for a kiss. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go make a list of everything we need to check once Ryan clears us to go on the island. ”

  In his office, he works at his computer and I pace behind him as I try to cover every contingency.

  I’m mentally calculating what the cost of overtime for a cleanup crew is going to do to my budget when the phone rings again. I grab it up. “What’s your ETA?” Page 57

  “Sylvia?” It’s not Ryan, it’s a woman. And it takes me a moment to realize it’s Harriet Frederick.

  “Ms. Frederick. ” My throat has closed up, and it’s hard for me to push her name out. “I . . . ”

  I give up. I have no idea what to say.

  “May I speak to Jackson?” Her words are soft, as if she understands that a normal tone might actually hurt me.

  He’s already at my side, having risen at the sound of her name. I hand him the phone, feeling a little numb, then immediately hug myself.

  Jackson stays at my side. “I’m here, Harriet. What’s going on?”

  I struggle to hear the conversation, wishing that Jackson would put it on speaker but knowing that he c
an’t because that could mess up the attorney-client privilege. So I try to interpret Jackson’s facial expressions.

  Considering he’s standing as still as a statue, I’m not having much luck.

  After a moment, he says, “I see. And worst case, when are we looking at?”

  Worst case.

  Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.

  I don’t bother with a chair. I just drop down and sit on the floor.

  “All right,” he says. “Thanks for calling. ” He laughs. “No, I won’t. It’s tempting. But no. ”

  Then he ends the call and bends toward me, his hand held out to help me up.

  I shake my head. “Until I know what that was about, I’d rather stay down here. ”

  His small smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Apparently the police know that I was at Reed’s house. ”

  “Oh. ” I suddenly wish I’d gone for the small couch. At least it has a blanket that could ward off my sudden chill. “How?”

  “A witness. Halloween night, remember? Reed’s porch light was off because he wasn’t doing candy, but a mother saw me under a streetlamp. She noticed a man walking alone. ”

  “You? She identified you?”

  “They showed her a photo line-up. She picked me out. ”

  I close my eyes, and when I open them again, Jackson is crouched in front of me. “Syl, there’s more. She heard Reed and me arguing. ”

  “Oh, god. ” I tremble, then grab hold of his hand. “You said worst case. You were talking about an arrest?”

  He nods.

  “So?” I demand. “When?”

  “She doesn’t know. This may be the pivotal piece of information and they arrest tomorrow. Or they may try for more. ”

  “You didn’t do it. ” My throat is thick. “They can’t take you away from me if you didn’t do it. ”

  “Hey. ” He takes my hands in his. “This isn’t the problem we need to deal with right now. That’s not why we’re on this boat. It’s not why we’re at the island. We work now, okay? We work now, and we worry later. ”

  I nod. Because he’s right. And because worrying won’t solve anything, and neither will fear.

  And because I meant what I said earlier—work is my solace, just as it is his. And right now, we both need it.

  “Okay,” I say, forcing myself to think again. “Okay. We need—” My breath hitches as I say the words. “We need to prepare for the worst. The resort, I mean. We need a plan. ” I push myself up to my feet. “If you do . . . ” I trail off, hating even having to say it out loud.

  “If I end up in cell block A?”

  “Don’t,” I snap. “I can function, okay? But I can’t joke about it. ”

  “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. ” He pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead. “Finish what you were saying. ”

  “I was just thinking that maybe we should hire someone who can step in and make sure your plans get executed the way you envisioned them. ”

  Jackson nods. “You’re right. I should have already thought of that. ” He drags his fingers through his hair. “I would suggest Chester,” he continues, referring to one of his interns who has joined him in Los Angeles from the New York office. “But he’s not licensed yet, and I don’t think that would go over well with the investors. ”