“Go,” I say to Jackson, and the word seems to pull him back to himself. We push through the crowd, both Cass and I sandwiching him, and then we tumble into the limo through the door that Siobhan now holds open for us.
“Go!” Siobhan yells, her palm flat over the intercom button. As the limo starts to move, she looks back at us. “I figured we needed an escape route.”
“You’re brilliant,” I say, but she doesn’t answer. How can she when Cass has caught her in a wild lip-lock?
Outside, the cameras are still snapping, but I’m starting to breathe a little easier. Jackson is still wound up, though, and as I move to sit beside him, he pulls out his phone. He’s just about to dial when it rings. “Evelyn,” he says to me as he taps the button to answer.
“Goddammit, young man. What exactly does ‘mind your temper’ mean to you, anyway?” Her voice is tinny through the speaker, but her frustration is loud and clear.
Jackson ignores her question. “How the fuck did they find out?”
“You filed a paternity action, sugar. We knew this was a risk. You knew this was a risk. Now we have to handle it. The leak, and your lovely reaction to it just now. They got that whole fiasco on tape, children. And they’re already bombarding Damien. Wanting to know about his niece.”
Jackson slams his hand down hard against the polished wood paneling, making me, Cass, and Siobhan jump.
“Goddamn motherfucking son of a bitch.” He sucks in a breath, then another. I start to take his hand. But something holds me back. Not yet, I think. Not just yet.
“I blew it.” He grinds out the words as if each and every one cuts a slice out of his heart. “I lost my temper. I made it worse.”
“You may well have.” Evelyn’s voice is firm. “I can do the spin—you were looking out for your daughter, keeping her safe from scandal, the whole big push—but you just rammed your fist into a reporter’s face, Jackson. And our detectives may want to take that little media clip out for a ride.”
“You think they’ll arrest him?” My voice sounds like a squeak.
“I think Harriet will have a better sense. But they know he was in Reed’s house and that they argued. They know he assaulted Reed once before. They know he had motive. And now the whole world knows just how quick a temper he has. Honestly, kids, you need to be prepared.”
I look at Jackson, who is dragging his fingers through his hair. He looks both angry and exhausted. “I know,” he says, as the limo pulls to a stop in front of a house I don’t recognize. “I get it.”
“Try not to dwell on it. Let me worry about this for now. I’ll get in touch with Charles and Harriet. All you need to do is stay away from the press and calm yourself down. Get tonight out of your system. Your daughter is going to be fine. Do you understand me?”
“Yes. Fine. Sure.” He ends the call, cutting off whatever else Evelyn intended to say.
What I notice, though, is what she didn’t say. She didn’t say that Jackson would be fine.
I’m trying to ratchet back my fear when I realize that Siobhan is scooting toward the door. She opens it and steps out, and I look up curiously at Cass, who is crouched down to give me a hug. “Siobhan’s house,” she whispers. “She figured you two could use the time.”
And before I can reply or say thank you or anything at all, she’s following Siobhan’s path out of the limo.
She slams the door shut, the limo pulls back out onto the street, and I am left beside Jackson who sits perfectly, dangerously still.
I swallow, my skin prickling from the rising heat.
I’m breathing hard, my breasts rising and falling. My skin is warm, and beads of perspiration have gathered at the nape of my neck.
He turns his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine, wild and feral and hard. There’s a hungry glint to them, and for a moment I fear that he will tear me to pieces. That I will truly stand as proxy for the bastards who leaked the news about Ronnie. For the fear that I know must be consuming him, just as it is consuming me.
But haven’t I repeatedly told him that I can handle it, no matter how bad it gets? That I will be his release valve, his safety net?
That I’ll willingly take in his pain—and then we’ll turn it around into passion.
I am still holding his gaze, and I feel locked in place simply from the force of his will. He has not touched me, and though we haven’t spoken, I know that he will not until I acquiesce. Not tonight. Not when he needs to push. To go as far as he needs, and then some.
“Yes,” I say.
A muscle twitches in his cheek, but he doesn’t otherwise move, nor does he say a word to me. He simply watches me for one beat, then another. It is as if he is sizing me up, testing my resolve. I stay where I am, looking back at him. But slowly—very slowly—I part my thighs.
Jackson sucks in a breath through his nose. Then he twists at the waist so that he can reach the intercom button. He jams his finger down on it.
“Don’t go home, Edward.” His voice is hard. Tight with control. “Just drive. I don’t care where. Just drive until I tell you to stop.”
twenty
“More,” he says, in a voice so full of desire that it would melt my panties if I’d been wearing any. “I want to see you. I want to see how wet you are.”
I lick my lips, then raise my ass just enough so that I can get a grip on my skirt, then I shimmy it up over my hips before sitting down again, my legs spread even wider. The leather is warmer than I’d anticipated, and I know why—my entire body is hot, fired by my own desire.
“Oh, Christ, Syl.” There is heat in his voice, and his eyes swoop over me, his attention focused on my sex, now very, very exposed. And, yes, very, very wet.
“Do you want—”
“You.” Just one word, but it holds everything. Passion. Pain. Fear. Longing.
This is an escape. A release. A way to push past the terror of an impending arrest. A way for him to forget what he just did—that he may have actually made it worse for himself.
“You have me.” I meet his eyes, knowing he can see how completely I mean that. “Just tell me how you want me.”
He shakes his head, pressing a fingertip to his lips as he does. Then he is on his knees in front of me, his hands on my bare thighs. He grabs me, and in one motion lifts my legs so that they are on his shoulders even as he slams his mouth against my cunt, the ferocity of his assault forcing me back against the seat and making me cry out in both surprise and pleasure.
His tongue torments me, and when he sucks on my clit, I whimper, shifting my hips as I try to squirm away from this wild, relentless assault. He’s having none of it, though, and he holds me firm, refusing to let me escape even one iota of the pleasure that is battering me, raising me, taking me right to the brink.
And then—right as I am about to explode—he pulls away, leaving me gasping and frustrated and desperate for the heat of his mouth against my clit.
“Jackson,” I begin, but he cuts me off with a stern look and I remember his order of silence.
He eases backward, replacing my feet on the floor of the limo. I’m sprawled against the seat, my legs wide, my cunt bare and wet and throbbing with need, and though he doesn’t ask me to, I pull off my shirt and shimmy out of the skirt, leaving me clad only in a lacy black bra and the vibrator necklace that he told me to always wear. I start to reach behind me to unfasten my bra, but Jackson shakes his head, his mouth curved up in a hint of a smile, and I wonder what else he has in store for me.
He eases forward, then slowly pulls the necklace over my head. He presses the button to start the device vibrating, ramping it up to the maximum intensity. Then he hands it to me, his eyes dipping down to my spread legs.
I know what he wants, of course. He wants me to finish what he has started. He wants to watch as I use the vibe on myself. And even though I have no boundaries where Jackson is concerned, I cannot deny that this feels wild. Decadent.