Stark International: Under My Skin Part 23

twenty-two.

I wake to suns.h.i.+ne and the wonderful sight of Jackson's blue eyes looking down at me.

"Hey," I say, blinking a bit as I try to wake up. I'm still on the deck, but I'm under a blanket, and I realize with surprise that I've slept here all night, and apparently alone. "Did you stay up all night?"

He doesn't answer my question. Instead he sits on the edge of the chaise, his expression so serious that it scares me. "We need to talk."

I shake my head, because whatever he has to say, I don't want to hear it.

"I have been up all night," he admits. He leans forward, then presses his head into his hands.

I sit up, too, my fear now taking on the color of panic. I force it down. With everything else that has been going on, the last thing Jackson needs is to see me losing it, too.

With some effort, I pull myself together, then press my hand to his thigh. "Hey," I say. "I know you're scared, but Harriet's right. This is why you hired her. It's not over, Jackson, and we both have to believe that."

His nod is perfunctory, as if I'm talking about some irrelevant topic at a c.o.c.ktail party. "I've done a lot of thinking," he finally says. "I think it makes more sense if I ask Damien and Nikki to take guardians.h.i.+p of Ronnie."

"Ioh." This is not what I was expecting, and I'm scrambling a bit to mentally s.h.i.+ft gears. "Okay." I swallow. I should be turning cartwheels. After all, the thought of being the parent figure in Ronnie's life has had me terrified. But instead of joy, I feel an overwhelming disappointment. "I guess that makes more sense," I add. "After all, Damien's her uncle."

"That's part of it," Jackson says. "It's not all of it."

A strange sort of p.r.i.c.kling builds at the back of my neck, then starts to trickle down my spine. "You're scaring me, Jackson."

"I know," he says, and there is pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry. But there's something I need you to do for me. No arguments, Syl. No questions."

I don't answer. These words are too much like the words I said to him in Atlanta. And those words just about destroyed us both.

He takes my hand. His is cold. Even a little sweaty. And I feel suddenly ill.

"Don't," I whisper. "Don't say it."

"I have to." The words sound like nails sealing a coffin. He draws in a breath, and his voice when he speaks is heavy with pain. "I need you to walk away."

"No." I'm shaking my head, but I don't even realize it until I have to stop because the world is moving back and forth, and I am getting dizzy. "No," I repeat. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but you don't need it. You don't want it. And I'm sure as h.e.l.l not doing it."

"I'm not playing a game." The pain is gone, replaced by a firm intensity. "I should have done this at the airport. I should have sent you back to LA the moment those detectives showed up in Santa Fe."

"That is such bulls.h.i.+t." I'm searching for words, for arguments, for understanding. But I'm finding none of those things. "Why are you doing this to me? To us?" Tears are streaming down my face, and I don't even care.

Jackson's fingers twitch, as if he wants to wipe them away, but he doesn't reach for me. On the contrary, it looks as though he's fighting hard to not touch me.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Jackson. You said you'd never do anything if the price was breaking me." My voice is cracking and it sounds far away, as if I'm standing at the end of a very long tunnel. "What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing now?"

"I am protecting you, baby. And I'm doing it the only way I know how."

"The h.e.l.l you are."

"I once told you that where you are concerned I'm neither brave nor strong because the thought of losing you destroys me. And that's true. But, dammit, Syl, I've found that strength. And it's not you but the world that has destroyed me."

"Jackson" My voice is full of pain. And, yes, of understanding. But he doesn't let me continue. Just shakes his head and pushes on.

"I'm strong enough for the both of us, baby. And this is over. It has to be. So as of this moment, we're done. Because I won't live like this, knowing that you are tied to a man who can't even touch you. You deserve a life, Syl. I won't have you thrown into a cage of our making just because I'm being tossed into one."

"That's not a decision you can make for me," I say.

"The h.e.l.l it's not. You've handed me control, baby."

My brows rise. "Control? In bed, sure. But about this? No f.u.c.king way."

"Do you remember the photo I took of you?"

I know what he's talking about, of course. I'd asked him to take it after Reed had sent me the blackmail photos. I'd needed to grab back some of what Reed had stolen, and so I'd had Jackson take a photo of me, bound and naked.

So, yeah. Of course I remember the photo.

I say nothing, but he knows that I do. How could I not? "That photo was the ultimate submission," Jackson says.

"Bulls.h.i.+t. I asked you to take it."

"You did," he agrees. "But now it's mine. I hold it. I control it. That wasn't just about s.e.x, Sylvia. The minute you asked me to take that photo you handed me control in your life, too. Because I could destroy you in a heartbeat."

"You wouldn't." Despite everything he's said tonight, I know that much is true.

His smile is a little sad. "No. Never. But that doesn't change the basic factyou gave yourself to me. Trusted me fully with your reputation. Your privacy. And now, baby, you have to trust me on this."

"But I don't," I say.

He sighs. "Fair enough. But I know I'm right. And if you won't walk away, Syl," he says in a voice that breaks my heart, "then I will."

"Are you sure about this?" Damien asked Jackson. They were on the Malibu property, meandering down pathways that led from the house to the beach. Now, they paused beside the tennis courts, and Damien opened the gate.

Jackson followed him onto the green surface, and took a seat at a courtside table across from his brother. "Believe me," he said, "I've been thinking about little else."

For hours now, he'd felt lost. Hollow. He'd really left her.

He was really going to move forward without Sylvia at his side. He'd fought so d.a.m.n hard for her, and now he was throwing it away.

No.

No, he couldn't look at it like that. He was f.u.c.king saving her. She deserved more than some sad life as a prison widow. And while he believed her when she said she would take care of Ronnie, how the h.e.l.l could he put that on her? Only by being a selfish p.r.i.c.k, that's how.

Yes, he wanted his daughter with the woman he loved.

But even more than that, he wanted Sylvia happy and free. Not trapped.

So, yeah. As much as he hated it, he was sure about this. Sure enough that he'd walked away from her. Sure enough that he'd cut her to the core.

"I'm sure," he said once more to his brother.

Damien didn't nod, didn't argue. He just looked at him, those dual-colored eyes seeing more than Jackson wanted to reveal.

"She loves you," Damien finally said. "Do you really think that walking away will make her love you any less?"

Jackson ran his fingers through his hair, the words hurting him more than he wanted them to. "I think it will make her live her life."

Damien lifted a brow, the expression almost smug. "Like you did after she left you in Atlanta?"

Jackson's gut twisted as he fought against the truth of Damien's words. This was different, dammit. He was going to f.u.c.king prison. "I just need to know if you'll stand as Ronnie's guardian, Damien. The rest isn't up for discussion."

For a moment, he thought his brother would argue. But then Damien nodded. "Of course I will. I need to talk it over with Nikki, but I'm certain she won't have a problem. Ronnie's my niece, after all."

Jackson nodded slowly, relieved. "Thank you," he said simply.

Everything around him was going to s.h.i.+t. But Ronnie, at least, was going to be okay.

"Damien told me what happened," Nikki says. She's arrived at my apartment with a bottle of wine. "It may only be lunchtime, but I figured you could use this."

"Thanks." I step back to let her in. I'm not entirely sure I want company, but I can't deny that I appreciate the thought. And I know that Nikki understands what I'm feeling. Damien walked away from her once, too. I'd been working his desk, and even I hadn't known where he was. And like Jackson, he'd done it supposedly to protect her.

So if I'm going to commiserate with someone, it makes sense that it's Nikki.

"How are you doing?" she asks as I open the wine and pour two gla.s.ses.

We've moved to the patio, me on the chaise and Nikki in the chair. But right now, I don't feel like sitting, so I stand up and walk to the rail, then look out at the neighboring building and the ocean beyond.

"Like the world is falling down around my ears," I admit. "The resort is a mess. Just this morning, we lost two more investors because the word is out that Jackson is surrendering himself on Monday. And of course the press is all over that, calling Santa Cortez 'troubled.' How f.u.c.king annoying is that?"

"Very," she says gently. "But I meant about Jackson."

"I know you did." I sigh deeply and return to the chaise. "Honestly, I don't know if I'm angry or hurt or something else all together."

"All of the above, I'd imagine."

I nod. "The thing is, I know that I can be alone." And it's trueit's true because Jackson taught me how to let go of my security blanket. How to find the strength inside myself. "But I don't want to be alone. I want Jackson beside me."

"Even though he might not be beside you?" she asks. "He's right, you know. Damien talked with Charles and Harriet. With all the evidence against Jacksonespecially the prior a.s.sault, his temper, the argument that witness overheardHarriet's pretty certain the DA is going to play hardball. And she's even more certain that they'll be able to get in evidence of the underground fighting he does."

My eyes go to hers. "You know about that?"

"I do now. The court will soon."

"f.u.c.k." She's right; a history of violent behavior is only going to make Jackson look like a hot-head who lost his temper and killed the man who refused to back off the movie.

"Maybe he's right." Her voice is soft. "Maybe you should walk away."

My answer, when it comes, is fierce. "h.e.l.l, no. I want Jackson. I want Ronnie. I want the man I love and everything that comes with him."

Something sparks in her eyes, and when she says, "I know you do," I sag a little with relief at this proof that she really does get it.

"So how do I get him back? How do I make this G.o.dd.a.m.n stubborn man change his mind?"

"I don't know," she admits.

"What did you do?" I ask, knowing that she will understand I'm talking about Damien.

She lifts a shoulder. "I cried a lot. And then I fought." She looks at me, then actually smiles. "Actually, with Jackson, fighting's probably a d.a.m.n good way to go."

twenty-three.

I wake to the sound of Jackson's voice.

A wave of relief washes over me, followed quickly by disappointment when I realize he's not in my condo. Instead, I'm hearing his voice on the television, and I realize I must have fallen asleep in bed with the television on.

Now, a morning news show is playing, and the image on screen is Jackson on the deck of his boat with Harriet beside him.

"You're surrendering yourself tomorrow?" a reporter asks.

"I am," he says.

"What about the Cortez Resort? Are you resigning?"

"I'm not. a.s.suming I get out on bail, I'll continue the work. If I'm incarcerated, then we'll either figure out a way for me to work while in custody or I'll support the project's efforts to find another architect."

"The project's efforts?" another reporter repeats. "You mean Sylvia Brooks? She's the project manager, right?"

"Correct."

"So where is she today? You two have a personal relations.h.i.+p as well. How does she feel about your arrest?"

His face tightens. "Ms. Brooks and I have only a professional relations.h.i.+p. We're not together anymore."

That sets off a new buzz from the crowd of reporters, but all it does for me is make my stomach hurt. G.o.dd.a.m.n Jackson. I know what he's doing. He's making sure that our break-up is coming at me from all sides.