Stark International: Under My Skin Part 18

seventeen.

When I finally get down to twenty-six, I see Jackson's a.s.sistant, Lauren, huddled with the two guys from Jackson's New York staff, Chester and Doug, who have flown here ahead of the others. I nod as I pa.s.s, but otherwise don't divert from my path.

I enter his gla.s.s-enclosed office and pause in the doorway to take in the sight of Jackson. He is standing at an elevated drafting table, his s.h.i.+rt sleeves rolled up and his posture relaxedcompletely in his element. He's wearing headphones, and from the way that his hand is moving with controlled fluidity, I imagine that he is listening to cla.s.sical music. Something bold. Something sweeping.

I step further inside, my attention drawn next to the corkboard that Jackson has installed on the one solid wall of the office. It is covered now with sketches of the work in progress, as well as photographs of the island from every possible angle and location.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," I whisper. "f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

Frustrated, I run my fingers through my short hair. I'm not sure if I came down here because I wanted to walk off the lingering irritation from my dad's call, or if I came because I wanted to tell Jackson that I survived it. That it was horrible talking to him, but I got through it, and I didn't melt down, and I didn't even shed a tear.

I'm not certain, but it doesn't matter. Because seeing those pictures has reminded me that my priority today is the resort, not my dad. I need to get it back on track, cleaned up and ready. Because Jackson is doing amazing work, and there is no way that I'm letting some invisible a.s.shole beat us.

I'm almost out the door when a single word from Jackson stops me. "Hey."

I turn to see him looking at me, his expression filled with a combination of heat and tenderness that warms me all the way to my toes.

"Hey yourself," I reply, grinning.

"You come, you leave, you don't say hi?"

I c.o.c.k my head, amused. "You're in a good mood."

"And why wouldn't I be? The design is coming along well. My girlfriend came down to see me. My office is finally finished. And so far, n.o.body has come to arrest me."

I laugh. "I guess you're right. You do have reason to be chipper."

He hits a b.u.t.ton on a box mounted above the table, and blinds descend from the ceiling along the interior of each of the gla.s.s walls, turning the room from fishbowl to private in the time it takes for him to reach me.

"They finished the installation while we were on the island," he says, though I hadn't asked the question. "I thought a little privacy could be a good thing."

I see the heat in his eyes as he says the latter, and I understand what he means by "good."

He walks past me to close the door, and I hear the firm snick of the bolt turning.

I cross my arms as he returns to me, then lift an eyebrow. "What exactly are you doing, Mr. Steele?"

"Exploring the functionality of my new office s.p.a.ce."

"Oh, really?" I'm amused. I'm also turned on. "Should I remind you that it's working hours? That you owe me a design? That there are people right outside these doors?"

"Are there?" he asks as he inches the front of my skirt up until I am completely exposed and actually whimpering. He slides his hands between my legs and thrusts two fingers inside me. I cry out, both startled and excited by his touch. "Careful, Ms. Brooks. You wouldn't want to attract attention, would you?"

I close my eyes, losing myself in the wild swirl of sensation that is cutting through me. "Jackson, please."

"Please what?"

I have no idea. Please stop? Please touch me? Please f.u.c.k me?

I know I should protest. I should back away. But how can I when every nerve in my body is firing for him? How can I think when I'm drunk on l.u.s.t and desire? When the temptation to simply let goto submitis so close I have no choice but to go with it. To give in. To fly.

And because this is Jacksonbecause we both need and want thisthat is exactly what I do.

He teases me with one finger, playing with my c.l.i.t and generally keeping me on edge. "Christ, you're beautiful when you're aroused. You're lit from the inside, as bright as a candle. I want to make you burn, Sylvia," he whispers as he raises my skirt all the way, and then reaches around and slips his hand between my legs from behind, then teases the rim of my a.n.u.s. "I want to reduce you to ashes, to discover all your secrets."

"I don't have any," I say. "Not from you. Not anymore." My body is thrumming with desire, and I am craving the sweet intensity of release.

He brushes his lips over my ear and the soft touch of his tongue and breath drive me just a little crazy. And when he speaks, his words almost melt me. "I'm so tempted to f.u.c.k you in the a.s.s right now. To take you in the most intimate way possible right here in the middle of the day, twenty-six stories above this city. Tell me, baby. Does that excite you?"

I can hardly deny it. "Yes."

"I've never taken you like that. Tell me you want it."

"I do."

"Why?"

Why? Because I think it will feel good. Because I want to surrender to his every whim, every pleasure. Anything he could want to do to or with me. I have no shame where Jackson is concerned. Only pleasure and need.

I don't say that, though. I say only, "Because I want you. Because I trust you and need you."

He makes a soft sound of approval, then carefully slides my skirt back into place.

I turn in his arms, fl.u.s.tered. "But"

I cut myself off, confused. Not only has he not done what he promised, he hasn't even made me come. All he's done is arouse me. Very, very thoroughly.

His smile holds a hint of mischief. "Soon," he says.

I raise a brow. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d," I counter, making him laugh.

"I believe it's a workday, Ms. Brooks." He looks me up and down. "I certainly hope you're able to concentrate."

I'm trying to think of an appropriate insult to fling at him when his intercom buzzes. It's Lauren, letting him know that both Evelyn Dodge and Arthur Pratt are outside waiting to see him.

I glance at Jackson, who's grinning. "Perfect timing," he says.

I roll my eyes and adjust my clothes, and hope that I don't look as flushed and h.o.r.n.y as I feel. "Let's go see what they need."

"Wait," he says, then pulls me back and kisses methe kind of kiss that is a subst.i.tute for s.e.x, and fills me all the way to my core. "A promise of things to come."

I sigh with pleasure. "I'll hold you to it, mister."

"I hope that you do."

We find Evelyn and Arthur next to a table that has an in-progress model of the resort. Jackson uses it to work through s.p.a.cial issues, and while he swears that it is neither final nor to scale, I think it looks amazing, showing the private bungalows, the hotel-style buildings, the recreation areas, and more.

I want to tell him how incredible it looks. How every stone and angle complements the earth. How every brick and line seems to burst forth from the backdrop of the bright blue sky.

Architecture has always been a pa.s.sion of mine, and I am a bit awed that this man I love can so spectacularly mesh form and function.

But I am looking at him. At the line of his jaw and hard angles of his face. He stands erect and proud, and right now it is so easy to see the strength and force of will that had the power to create such magnificence. Watching him, my fear dims a little. Because a man who can accomplish what Jackson can is not a man to be restrained.

Maybe we really will get through this.

Evelyn nods in greeting as she turns, then hooks her thumb back to indicate the model. "Nice work. Can't wait to kick back there for a long weekend."

"You'll be comped, of course," I say.

"In that case, make it a long week." She turns to Pratt. "Look who I found in the elevator. And since I'm as curious as you are to find out what our intrepid investigator knows, I'm going to ignore the ladies first rule and let him talk."

"So you've learned something?" Jackson asks.

"Learning," he corrects. "It's a process. But the pieces are coming together."

Jackson leads us all to the newly built-out conference room, and Pratt remains standing while the rest of us take a seat around the table.

"So a couple of things. We got some security footage from a neighbor a few doors down. Range of vision isn't stellar, but at least five people approached Reed's door the night of the murder."

"I was one of them," Jackson says. His mouth curves down into a frown. "Apparently a witness says so."

"I know, honey," Evelyn says, then reaches over to pat his hand. "Charles told me. But we'll get you through this."

"And now we know you weren't the only one," Pratt says. "So that'll give Harriet some ammunition."

"That's good," I say.

"h.e.l.l, yeah, it's good," Pratt says. "But it was also Halloween, and Reed had his porch and sidewalk lights off to discourage the kids. The images are terrible. We're trying to get some work done, but there's only so much you can do to video footage if the information isn't there to work with. With luck, someone else in the neighborhood will have a cam with a higher definition that also picks up Reed's sidewalk. My guys are on it. But the really interesting thing is that I confirmed that your dad had some one-on-one time with Reed recently."

"Halloween?" I ask.

Pratt shakes his head. "No. About a week before. But I thought that was just odd enough to mention. Apparently, so did the cops. They talked to him, I talked to my buddy at the PD. Stark says he was shooting the s.h.i.+t with Reed about architecture. Trying to get him to pump money into some foundation he's part of."

I nod, remembering that Evelyn told me once that Jeremiah is on the board of the National Historic and Architectural Conservation Project, which was one of the major backers of Stone and Steele, the recently released doc.u.mentary that featured Jackson.

Jackson frowns. "Why exactly does that matter?"

"It may turn out to be nothing," Pratt admits. "But it has potential. Because I don't believe a word of it."

Jackson kicks back in his chair and extends his legs. "I'm listening."

Pratt cracks his knuckles as he paces. "The thing is, Reed was a player. Had an a.s.sistant and his a.s.sistant had an a.s.sistant. You know the type. Full entourage. Needs them to take a dump, because he's just that important and wants the world to know, right?"

I say nothing, but that sure as h.e.l.l doesn't surprise me.

"Go on," Jackson says.

"He's not the type to take a meeting alone. I talked to three former a.s.sistants and they all say the same thing. So either he made an exception for Stark"

"Or Stark is lying," I conclude.

"You got it. The question is why. And was that reason a motive for murder?"

"It's good work," Jackson says. "Thank you."

"Hey, you're writing the checks. And since you are, I'll get out of your hair. No sense paying me to hear Evelyn talk, as fascinating as that might be." He shakes Jackson's hand, promises to check in again soon, then heads out.

"I want to revisit the idea of putting out press about Ronnie," Evelyn says.

"Absolutely not," Jackson says.

Evelyn is unperturbed. "It's a good angle. A father trying to do right by his daughter amidst controversy. The public will eat it up, and we need to get ahead of this thing."

"I've already said no, Evelyn."

She holds up her hands. "And it's my job to keep trying to convince you. Moving on," she says when he starts to interrupt. "I've had some attention from magazines. All of them want to talk about the murder, not about your buildings."

"I presume you told them all no."

She looks at me. "The boy doesn't know me that well yet."

"You told them to f.u.c.k off," I say.

"You see? Sylvia knows me."

Jackson laughs. "So that's handled."

"Yes, but I don't like that mainstream media's looking at you that way. That's another thing we need to get ahead of. And a possibility to do that may have dropped in our lap. Architecture in View. This reporter wants to do a profile, but wants the focus to be the resort, not the murder. I think you should do that interview."

"You really think it's worth my time?"

Evelyn's mouth turns down into a small frown. "I think we can be a.s.sured they'll treat you favorably. It's a small magazine, just starting out. So far, the architects they've been able to line up for profiles are more along the lines of Nathan Dean. So you'll be a coup for them."

"He's been profiled in it?" He never did tell me about his other projects, and now I'm more curious than ever.

"That's what my contact said," Evelyn tells us. "At any rate, the magazine's doing a series on dueling resorts. This month it's mountain resorts, your month it'll be island resorts."

"Dueling?" I say. "In that case, they should be focusing on Cortez and Lost Tides, because" I cut myself off, because everything is kicking into place.

"What?" Jackson asks.