Part 8 (1/2)

”I suggest you don't say that again.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Jeremiah was going to argue, and Jackson felt the tension build in him. h.e.l.l, he almost hoped the b.a.s.t.a.r.d tried to stay, put up a fight. Any excuse. Any excuse at all.

So Jackson was disappointedbut reluctantly had to admit it was probably for the bestwhen Jeremiah turned and headed off the boat. He paused after a few steps though, then looked back to where Jackson stood with Sylvia at his side. ”You shouldn't have told Damien you're his brother, but I guess it's good you did before it came out. Less pain for both of you.”

”Do you really think I believe that you give a f.u.c.k about what's best for either of us? Your focus has always been on Jeremiah Stark, and no one else.”

”That's not true.”

”I don't know what your angle is, old man, but I know you came here with one. And whatever game you expect me to play, I'm not biting.”

”No games. I'm your father. I'm concerned.” He drew a breath, then shoved his hands in his coat pockets, and for a moment he just looked tired, and a lot older than his sixty-plus years. ”We've had a rocky relations.h.i.+p. But I care about you. I'm your father, after all.”

”That's just a word,” Jackson said. ”And right now it feels pretty d.a.m.n hollow.”

eight.

I watch Jackson as he watches his father disappear into the night.

My whole body aches, and I realize that I haven't relaxed since we arrived and found the paparazzi camped out.

For that matter, I haven't really relaxed since we left Charles's office. Since we left Santa Fe. Since the detectives arrived with the news of Reed's murder.

Now we're just hours away from Jackson walking through the doors of the Beverly Hills Police Department. And I'm so d.a.m.ned afraid that he's not going to walk back out again.

h.e.l.l, maybe I should thank Jeremiah and the d.a.m.n story vultures. Because for a few minutes at least, I wasn't afraid. Instead, I was just angry. At the paparazzi. At Jeremiah. At my own father.

I take a deep breath. I don't want either of those men in my head right now. I just want Jackson, but his back is still to me, his eyes on the now-empty dock.

”Jackson?” I say his name tentatively.

He turns and although the anger on his face fades when he looks at me, I can see that it still lingers behind his eyes. ”I knew we'd have to deal with the press at some point, but he had no right coming here. He had no business interrupting us, coming unannounced, bothering us at all.”

”No, he didn't. But he's gone now.” My voice is soft. Right now, I want only to soothe.

He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He looks so tired, and I just want to pull him close and hold him. I reach for him and gently take his hand.

”You're exhausted, and you have to be at the police station in the morning.” I give his hand a tug as I start to turn away. ”Come on, you need to sleep.”

I lead him below deck to the area that serves as his office, then start toward the door that leads down to the stateroom.

Jackson pulls me back. ”No.” The word is rough, and I turn back to see his face and the wild hunger that I should have expected. Because it is not sleep that Jackson needs now. Not when the world is cras.h.i.+ng down around us.

He pulls me to him, giving me no choice but to stumble toward him. I crash against him, breathing hard, my body trembling with answering desire.

”How could I sleep when tonight might be our last night? When the G.o.dd.a.m.n guillotine is poised to cut off my head?”

”Don't,” I beg. I know the truth too d.a.m.n well, and I don't want to hear it out loud.

”Don't what? Don't touch you? Don't need you?” His lips brush my ear as he speaks, deliberately misunderstanding me. ”Don't take everything I need from you so that I can hold it close to me tomorrow, and the next day, and the next?”

”Please, Jackson. I don't want”

”The truth?” He pulls his head back so that he is looking straight into my eyes, and I look away, ashamed because that is exactly what I want to avoid. ”I'm not hiding from reality, baby, and neither are you.” He trails his fingertip over the curve of my ear, then slowly down my neck. ”I need you, Sylvia. I always need you. But tonightif you pushed me away tonight”

”What?” Already, I am limp with desire. Already, I am his to do with what he will.

His mouth curves into a slow smile, and I see a dangerous kind of heat flare in his eyes. ”I'd just take what I want, however I want.” With a violent tug he slams my pelvis against his. He's rock hard, his hand on my a.s.s giving me no place to go, nowhere to s.h.i.+ft, while his other hand cups my breast roughly even as his mouth crashes hard over mine.

It's a full-on a.s.sault, startling in its swiftness, its heat, its power. ”Yes.” The word is a groan, my body molding to his as electricity rips through me, filling me with spark and sizzle and making my body hum.

”Tell me you want it,” he whispers when he breaks the kiss. ”To bend to my will. To hand me the key to your pleasure. To be the instrument of mine.”

With each word I am getting wetter, and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are painfully tight inside my bra. I want to s.h.i.+ft my hips and move in slow rhythmic motions until I find some satisfaction. I don't. I force myself to remain still.

”Tell me, Sylvia,” he repeats. ”Tell me I can take you. Whenever and however I want.”

I tilt my head up. I look him in the eyes. ”No,” I whisper, as a wild, forbidden heat washes through me, soaking my panties and making my nipples so sensitive that even the slight motion from breathing is like a sensual a.s.sault.

He holds my gaze for a moment, and this time his eyes are flat. The twitch of a muscle in his cheek is the only evidence of any emotion that I see.

Then he roughly cups his hands over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He squeezes, his thumbs and forefingers finding my nipples and teasing them through the thin material of my blouse and the lace of my bra. ”I'm going to f.u.c.k you so hard,” he says, as his fingers send wild currents of heat ripping through me.

Swiftly, he claims my mouth in a kiss that leaves me gasping once he's moved on, brus.h.i.+ng his lips over my neck, then over my blouse to tease my already sensitive b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

I try desperately to stay upright despite the fact that I'm feeling just a little dizzy. He drops to his knees and tilts his head back to look up at me. And though it is Jackson who is on his knees, there is no doubt that he is the one in charge. ”Take off your clothes.”

I shake my head.

His brow quirks just slightly. ”Take off your clothes.” This time, each word is stressed.

I lick my lips. ”No.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he stands up slowly. ”No?”

I meet his eyes defiantly. ”I thought you were taking what you wanted.”

”I am,” he says. ”What I want is your submission.”

”Oh.”

I see a flash of victory in his eyes before he starts to walk away. ”Decide how you want to play the game, sweetheart. But know that I'm only willing to play by my rules.”

He is almost to the steps that lead back to the deck when I call out to him. He turns, his brow raised in silent query.

I slip off my ballet flats. And then, as he slowly walks back toward me, I peel myself out of my jeans, taking my underwear with them. He reaches down, then uses the tip of his finger to lift them off the deck of the boat. ”Lace. Very nice.”