And there’s Jackson Steele right in the middle, sending me battering about as if he is a storm and I am nothing more than a cork bobbing in violent waters.
I get out of the car and walk to the edge, then look down at the lights of the world. The houses where happy people sleep through dreamless nights.
I am jealous, I realize. And I am alone.
I close my eyes against a sudden, powerful longing for Jackson. To let him hold and soothe me.
You’re a fool, I think. A goddamn, messed up fool.
The purr of an engine pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see a black sedan pull into the turnaround.
I frown. I’m not looking for company, and I’m not stupid. I’m a woman alone in the dark standing beside a pretty damn expensive car. All of which means that this is my cue to leave.
I get back into the Porsche, lock the doors, and back out.
The sedan is still there, its engine off, its interior dark.
But as I turn the wheel so that I can maneuver back onto the street, my headlights sweep over the sedan, and for a moment the interior is illuminated.
It’s Jackson.
Somehow, he followed me.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, expecting a wave of anger.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel a little less lost. A little bit safe.
And because of that, I feel a little bit scared.
I don’t go back to the hotel. Instead, I go home.
I feel like a sleepwalker as I stand in my front hallway and press the button to open the back patio door. It rolls up, and I move forward in time with the motion.
I have no idea what I want right now.
No, that’s not true. I’ve known since the moment my headlights revealed him.
I want Jackson.
I want him here beside me. I want him to hold and soothe me. But I can’t have what I want, not only because of this ridiculous game that we are locked in, but because there is no future there. In the end, he will have his revenge and leave. Or I will push him away, my only defense against my fears and insecurities, those horrible demons with which I cannot live, and that I do not know how to fight.
Either way, I will be alone.
And that’s why I am here on my patio, my blanket wrapped tight around me, and my eyes closed in the hope that sleep might find me.
Sylvia.
I smile, letting the sound of my name on his lips slide into my dreams. I feel the press of a hand on my shoulder, gentle but firm, and I take a long, deep breath. These are not the cold fingers of a nightmare, but the warm and soothing touch of that knight I so often imagine. I shift, pulling the blanket up under my chin, wanting to go deeper into this place of safety that I so rarely find in sleep.
Sylvia. Baby, wake up.
I stir, confused, then open my eyes to find Jackson’s blue ones looking back at me, full of concern.
“There you are,” he says gently.
“I—” Since I have no idea what I intended to say, I stop talking. But I force myself to sit up and peer at him and convince myself that he’s not a figment of my imagination. “You came after me,” I say. “In the car. On the road.”
“Of course I did.” His voice is as gentle as a breeze.
“How?”
A tiny smile plays across his lips. “Ever heard of OnStar?”
“You tracked your car.”
“I’ve got a Lexus, too,” he says. “You ran out on me in one car, I followed you in another.”
“To make sure your Porsche was safe?” I ask, unable to keep the challenge out of my voice.
“No.” He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “I wasn’t worried about my car.”
“But you didn’t get out. You just sat there.”
“I thought you wanted to be alone.”
“You’re here now,” I say.
“I thought you’d been alone long enough.”
I actually smile, which feels pretty good. Then I push myself up, so that I’m sitting instead of lounging. “How did you get in?”
“You left your front door wide open,” he says. “Good thing this is a security building and nobody can get through the gate.”
“You’re still not going to tell me how you managed that?”
“A magician never shares his secrets.” He’s been kneeling beside me, but now he stands up. “You’re better now?” he asks, and when I nod, he steps back into the apartment.
I fight a sharp pang of panic as I shift on the lounger so that I can look inside, then sag with relief when I see that he isn’t leaving but getting something out of my refrigerator.
“Corkscrew?” he asks, then immediately answers himself. “Got it. Never mind.”
A moment later, he returns with two glasses of white wine. He hands one to me, then uses his free hand to pull over the metal folding chair that Cass brought out here the last time she was over.
He sits, then puts his glass on the concrete next to him. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks completely casual and totally in control, and every ounce of his attention is focused on me.
“We’re done, Sylvia,” he says, and I jolt bolt upright.
“What? No! You told Damien, and I—I agreed to—you know. Dammit, Jackson, you can’t just quit. You can’t—” I am starting to rise, but he takes my arm and tugs me back down.
“Not the resort,” he says calmly. “I’ll design a magnificent resort for you. But this,” he says, gesturing between the two of us.
I shake my head, not understanding. Because surely after everything, he isn’t tossing away all of his demands and ultimatums.
Is he?
He reaches for his glass, then stands and walks to the railing. He stops there, so that he is silhouetted against the now-gray sky. “You fucked me up, Sylvia, it doesn’t get more basic than that. I said this was about revenge, and it is. It was. I wanted to punish you for leaving me. For leaving me for him—for Damien, I thought—and god, how I wanted to punish you.”
“But I didn’t. Not like that. I told you.”
“And I believe you. But that wasn’t all of it. Because I still wanted to make you pay for hurting me. Hell, for hurting both of us,” he says, and I can’t help but wince, because what he says is true.
“But it wasn’t all about punishment.” He takes a sip of wine, then sets the glass down. “Do you need to hear it plainly? I’ll say it. I want you, Sylvia. As intensely as I wanted you in Atlanta. And the moment I saw you in the theater, I knew that I was willing to make any deal I had to in order to get you close.”
His words are punctuated by each step he takes toward me. “Did I want your submission? Did I want you naked and willing beneath me? Hell, yes. I still do. But that’s not the whole of it. I want to make you feel. To make you laugh. I want to see that fire that burns in you. I want you to look at me the way you did five years ago. And, Sylvia? I want you to stay.”
My chest is tight, and I am having a hard time breathing.
“But I want none of that if the cost is hurting you.”
He reaches down and cups my chin in his hand, his expression so tender it makes my heart squeeze. “So there will be no deal. No game. No conditions put on my agreement to work on the resort. I will still do my best to seduce you,” he adds with a tender smile. “But I can’t be the one who brings you more pain.”