Part 12 (1/2)

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.”