Stark International: Under My Skin Part 12

His expression softens. "You truly think I killed him."

"I" I close my mouth, suddenly unsure.

"And yet you're still right here."

"Where else would I be?" My voice is gentle. "Whatever you did, you did for me. For Ronnie. We've talked about this, Jackson. I know you'll always protect me. All I'm trying to do now is protect you, too."

He closes the distance between us, this time coming so close I am breathing in his scent. Musk and wood and just the hint of scotch. "Baby," he says, his voice filled with heat, "that's not what I need from you right now."

I gasp as he pushes me against the wall, then lifts my arms and holds them in place above my head, his right hand encircling my wrists. I open my mouth to speak, but his mouth closes hard over mine even as his left hand slips down into my yoga pants. His fingers roughly stroke me, then thrust inside. I moan, my body responding immediately as it always does to Jackson's touch.

But while there is no question about the desire that has flared between usthat heated connection, that primal needI don't know its source. Is this about control? Is he taking from me what he can't get from the world?

Or is this about anger? At the paparazzi. At me.

Or is it simply the ignition of the sparks that are ever-present between us?

I truly don't know, and I think this is the first time that I have been unable to read him.

I want to ask, and yet I say nothing. Part of me is afraid of the answer, but another part of me is simply melting under the long, firm strokes of his fingers and the pressure of his mouth against mine, his tongue taking and teasing.

And it is only when my phone rings sharplya series of chimes that indicate that the caller is my brotherthat my senses return, and Jackson backs away, breathing hard.

"You should answer it," he says.

"Right. Yeah. I should." I scramble away and grab my phone from where I'd left it on the kitchen counter. "Hey, what's up?"

"Any chance we can have drinks tonight instead of tomorrow? I talked with Ca.s.s, and she's good if you are."

"Oh." I glance over at Jackson. "I'm not sure tonight's the best idea. Why the change?"

"I had to get away from the house," he says. Considering he's living temporarily with our parents, that's a sentiment I completely understand. "I got in the car and ended up here. And I'd just really like to see you."

"And you don't want to drive up again tomorrow?" I tease.

"That, too."

I sigh. "Listen, I don't think I should. It's just not"

"Go." Jackson's voice is firm and clear.

I blink. "What?"

"It's Ethan, right? And he wants you to go tonight instead of tomorrow."

I nod, acknowledging that he got it right.

"You should go."

I want to protestto tell him I don't want to go, because now going feels like I'm being pushed away. But at the same time I don't want to argue or play games. And I really do want to see my brother.

With my eyes on Jackson, I speak into the phone. "Okay," I say. "When and where?"

As soon as the details are worked out, I end the call and look back at Jackson. "Do you want to meet us later?"

His mouth curves up. "I thought this was the no-significant-others gathering. Ca.s.s without Siobhan. You without me."

"Maybe I don't like you without me."

The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile. "Maybe that's good to know."

"Jackson," I blurt. "Are we okay?"

He steps forward so that he can press his hands to my shoulders, then kisses me tenderly. I close my eyes, relis.h.i.+ng the connection, the heat that inevitably comes merely from his proximity. I have come to depend on this sizzle. This spark of awareness. But today, when it all feels slightly off, I cannot help but fear what will happen if that flame is ever extinguished.

"Of course we are," he says, and I wait for relief to flood me.

It doesn't, though. Because the truth is, I'm not quite sure that I believe him.

twelve.

I hesitate on the sidewalk outside Gemini Rising, one of the trendy bars that are forever opening and then usually folding in and around Santa Monica. This one is owned by twins, one of whom Ca.s.s dated almost a decade ago, and she a.s.sures me that the atmosphere is greatas in you can actually have a conversationand that both the food and the drinks border on o.r.g.a.s.mic.

Which, of course, is why she chose this place.

The thing is, even though I've been looking forward to drinks with my best friend and my brother, now I'm not so sure I'm in the mood for conversation. I'm too busy pretending like my entire world isn't teetering on the brink of complete and total disaster.

In other words, I'm a mess. And while an evening out is probably a great idea, I really don't want to dump all my problems on Ethan and Ca.s.s. But I have a feeling that once I've gotten some wine into me, that's exactly what's going to happen.

With a sigh, I grab hold of the door handle and give it a tug, the motion fueled by a mental shrug. After all, that's what friends are for, right?

The lighting inside is dim, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. I finally find them at a table all the way in the back, and as I head over there, I have to agree with Ca.s.s's a.s.sessmentthe place is funky and fun, but not so loud you can't come to catch up with friends.

A circular bar is the centerpiece of the room, and as I walk past it, I hear the familiar sounds of flirting, pickups, and the hum of new relations.h.i.+ps. The sound is bittersweet, because a week ago, I would have walked smugly past the bar, secure in the knowledge that I was with the only man I ever truly wantedand certain that he wanted me right back.

Tonight, though, I'm weighed down by the fear that I am going to lose him.

I force the thought away, then school my features into a happy smile of greeting when I see them at a back booth.

Ca.s.s is dressed simply in jeans and a fitted white T-s.h.i.+rt with some graphic on it that I can't see from this angle. Even casual, she looks awesome. The s.h.i.+rt covers her shoulder, but there's no ignoring the vibrant colors of the tattooed tail feathers that trail down her arm. Her hair is raven black with streaks of blue, and she wears no jewelry that I can seewith the exception of the occasional glitter from the diamond stud in her nose.

My brother looks equally amazing. And if he wasn't my brother, I'd go so far as to say he looks hot. He's also in jeans and he's wearing a light cotton b.u.t.ton-down that he's left untucked. He has a casual I-don't-give-a-f.u.c.k air that goes with his slightly mussed hair. He almost looks like a beach b.u.m, but his bearing suggests otherwise. Yeah, sister or no, I'll say that he looks hot. And if the women in the bar shooting him interested glances are any indication, I'm not the only one who thinks so.

He and Ca.s.s sit opposite each other at a booth, and they're deep in conversation as I arrive.

"Hey," I call as I get closer. "Sorry I'm a little late."

Ca.s.s looks at me, then frowns. "Are you okay? Other than the obvious, I mean. I've seen all the social media bulls.h.i.+t." She must decide it's too intense a question to start out with, though, because before I have time to even think how to answer that, she looks at my brother. "The bloom must be fading. I don't think she got laid this morning."

Ethan actually chokes on his drink, and I laugh. A genuine laugh, which reminds me why I love Ca.s.s.

"Actually," I say, as I scoot into the booth beside Ca.s.s. "You're right." I grin wickedly. "But last night was exceptional."

"No, no, no, no, no," my brother says, his interruption so on cue that Ca.s.s and I look at each other and grin. "Do not even go there, or I will have to start running down the list of women I've met in Orange County. Laguna Beach is a happy hunting ground, I kid you not."

I debate silence for a moment, but I just can't deny the truth. "Sorry," I say to Ethan. Then I turn to Ca.s.s and say, "Honestly, Jackson is just so"

Across the table, Ethan groans as if in pain.

"Fine," I say, then turn my attention back to Ca.s.s. "How's your love life?"

"Oh, h.e.l.l," Ethan chimes in. "Why not skip the romance and jump straight to your s.e.x life?"

We both turn to him, and he grins and raises his hands. "Hey, girl on girl and no sister in the picture? I'm perfectly fine with that."

I smirk at Ca.s.s. "You'll have to forgive my brother. He's an a.s.s."

"But such a cute one, don't you think?"

"He is pretty adorable," I say, and though we're bantering to get a rise out of him, the fact is it's true.

I adore my brother, and I always have. He's the only good thing, in fact, that came out of the horror of my childhood, because when it was all said and done, he walked away healthy.

He's been living in London and only recently returned to the States. And between work and the soap opera that is now my life, I haven't gotten to see him nearly enough. He's got a few weeks off before he starts back up at his job, so he's been using our parents' house as a home base. That's not a situation that's conducive to visits as far as I'm concerned, because the only thing I want less than to shove bamboo under my fingernails is to visit my parents. So I was beyond thrilled when he called and suggested drinks with me and Ca.s.s. "No significant others," he'd said. "Jackson's awesome, but I want the dirt."

Apparently he meant it, because now he's all about the gossip. He kicks back, looks me square in the eye, and says, "I've read all the tabloid s.h.i.+t. What's the real story?"

The waitress arrives with the fried avocado, tuna tartare, and specialty martinis they'd ordered before I arrived, so I wait until she's gone to run down all the drama. At least, all the drama I'm willing to share.

"No way," my brother says. He grabs a slice of fried avocado and points it at me. "He didn't do it."

"Kill Reed?" Ca.s.s asks, as though we could be talking about anything else.

"I spent time with him. Jackson's not a killer."

"Thanks for the a.s.sessment." It's one I agree with, actually. Jackson isn't a killer. But he is a man who would kill when necessary. And if he ends up convicted, how the h.e.l.l will I live with the knowledge that he killed for me?

"Anytime." Ethan smiles, but it seems a little sad.

"What?" I demand. "What happened with Mom and Dad to send you racing up to Los Angeles?"

He waves the question away. "Nothing. Really. I just needed my s.p.a.ce. And I wasn't even thinking about that. It just sucks that you have to deal with this murder stuff and all the c.r.a.p that the tabloids are printing and posting all over the web." He lifts a shoulder. "It's just all a mess."

Since I can't argue with that, I don't.

"I think the hardest thing on Jackson is that he didn't get to bring his daughter home," I say.

"Well, yeah," Ca.s.s says. "You guys went all the way to Santa Fe and then got slammed with the news he's a prime suspect. It sucks," she adds, in what might be the understatement of the century.

Ethan's reaction is entirely different. He's staring at me as if I've lost my mind. "Jackson has a kid?"

I nod, realizing that although Ca.s.s has known this for almost as long as I have, I never told my brother this little family secret. "The media doesn't know. He wants to keep it quiet to protect her from, well, from all of this mess. So don't, you know . . ."

I trail off, and he swats my words away as if they are a nuisance. "Of course I won't say anything, but Jesus, Syl. You're dating a guy with a kid?"

"He's just a guy," Ca.s.s says. "Fatherhood isn't his defining characteristic."

Ethan cuts her a quick glance. "No. No, it's not. But if it's serious between you and Jackson, and if you're thinking that he's your guy and maybe there's marriage down the line"

He doesn't finish the thought. He doesn't have to. At least not to me. Because he and I have had more than our fair share of conversations about parenting. And in every single one of them we both acknowledged the fact that with parents like ours, we needed to stay far, far away from that particular vocation.

Ethan doesn't know the h.e.l.l I went through with my dad, but he does know how distant I am from both our parents. And even though they treated him like a prince when he was ill, the truth is that even his relations.h.i.+p with them is strained, because they never really saw him as a kid. More like a fragile commodity. And while he is willing to spend time with them and truly loves them, he's told me at least a dozen times that he's not sure he could be a dad, because what the h.e.l.l does he know about genuine closeness?

I don't know if he's right about his parenting skills, but I see that distance in the way he handles his relations.h.i.+ps with women. h.e.l.l, I saw it in my own, too. Or, rather, I saw it until Jackson.

"What's the matter with you?" Ca.s.s snaps the question at Ethan even as she takes my hand and squeezes. "You've told me she's a little angel, right?"

"She is," I say, glancing at my brother as if to underscore the point. But the moment I see his face, I regret looking that way.

I see all the years of my childhood. All of my painmost of which he doesn't even know about. I see the way my mother ignored me. I see my anger at my father and his distance toward me.

I see the fragility of children, and the knowledge that it is so easy to f.u.c.k up a life.

I see it, because that fragile child stares back at me every morning from the mirror, and the woman she is now has no idea how to be a mom. h.e.l.l, that girl isn't even certain how she survived childhood.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," I say.

"Oh, s.h.i.+t. Syl"

"Forget it, Ethan. It's okay. It's just been a long, weird couple of days. And the fact is, Ronnie's not really at the top of the problem pile, you know? Keeping Jackson out of jail is what's keeping me up at night. Not whether or not I'll be watching Sesame Street every morning."

I turn pointedly to Ca.s.s. "So. All well with Siobhan?"

Thankfully, Ca.s.s understands my need to change the subject. "Everything is perfect," she says. "I'm in that lovey-dovey floaty place." She releases an exaggerated sigh and then pats her hand rapidly over her heart. "I'm all pitty-pat and gooey and sweet. It's disgusting, really. On anyone else, I'd want to smack them for being a walking case of sugar shock. But I'm just giddily floating along."

I lean over to shoulder-b.u.t.t her, then raise my brows as I look at my brother. "Of course, she'd drop Siobhan in a heartbeat if Kirstie Ellen Todd was available and willing."

Ca.s.s tosses her hand up to her forehead like a Victorian-era woman with the vapors. "Alas, she's off the market again. She and Graham Elliott made up. Pregnant," she adds in a stage whisper.

Ethan looks at me, a little hesitant at first, but then his grin widens with Ca.s.s's antics.