by J. Kenner
"Make sure the date change doesn't screw up any plans Grayson might have. If he's free, book a suite for him, too. He can have a few days of R&R in New York before we make the trip."
I grin. "He'll love it."
"He'll spend the entire time at the airport looking at other pilots' birds," Damien says.
"Like I said--he'll love it."
"Bring Rachel up to speed, and make sure she knows everything she needs to about arranging my travel. The more you move off my desk, the more on top of things she has to be."
"Of course, Mr. Stark."
"And, Sylvia?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're doing a great job off my desk, too."
The praise makes me glow. "Thank you. Anything else?"
"Just have a good time today."
"Already done." I start to return to the party, then pause. "Actually, can I ask you something?"
"Certainly."
I hesitate, not sure how to phrase it. Since there doesn't seem to be any good way, I just dive in. "I was wondering what happened in Atlanta. With the Brighton Consortium."
"Were you?"
He says nothing else, and I feel myself shrinking a little under his steady gaze.
"It's just that you said something on Saturday. Before Jackson agreed to the project, I mean."
"About a few of my successful land deals having the opposite impact on him."
"Yes."
"Did Jackson ask you about it?"
I think about our conversation in the car. We discussed it, true. But Jackson never asked. "No," I say, secure in my literal honesty.
He leans against the island, his hands in his pockets. "It's complicated," he says, "but the bottom line is that the consortium was badly run--and that provided me the chance to step in and acquire some prime real estate. A business deal, plain and simple, at least where I was concerned."
"Where you were concerned?"
"If the deal had gone through, you and a lot of other people would have been embroiled in a huge mess simply because you'd worked closely with one of the major players."
"Reggie."
Damien tilts his head in acknowledgment.
"Okay," I say slowly, thinking it through. "How was it badly run? What kind of mess? Would Jackson have been caught up in it?"
"Yes to the latter. As for how and what kind, I think those are questions for Reggie. Do you still keep in touch?"
"A bit," I say. "He moved to Houston, but he's been to LA twice in the last five years. We had lunch."
"If you're still curious the next time you have lunch, ask him. Otherwise, just let it go, Sylvia. Let it go, and consider yourself lucky."
"Lucky?"
"If Reggie hadn't decided to pull up stakes, you might still be working for him. You wouldn't have Cortez. And I would never have hired a truly great assistant."
"Oh. Right. Thanks."
"Sometimes crappy things happen for a reason."
"I guess they do," I say. "Thanks for telling me."
"There's more, but it's not my story to tell. Call Reggie if you're curious. But it was a long time ago. My advice is to just let it go."
"I will," I say, though I'm not sure if I mean that I will call Reggie, or that I'll drop the issue altogether.
We walk back into the party to find that everyone has gathered on the patio. It's a gorgeous afternoon, and the deep blue of the Pacific spreads out in the distance.
"There you are." Wyatt takes my hand to draw me into his conversation with Nikki and Jackson. "I was just telling Nikki we need to reschedule your lesson. How about Tuesday? We can do some sunset shots in Santa Monica. That is if you don't mind coming to us," he adds to Nikki.
"Fine by me," she says. "We can grab a drink after, okay, Syl?"
I glance at Damien, because I know that Nikki will be long gone by happy hour. But he nods almost imperceptibly, and I go with the flow. Her trip is a surprise, after all, and we can always reschedule later. "Sounds good to me."
"And I'd like to schedule a time for you to come to the island," Jackson says. "I can take a few shots on my own, but depending on the terrain I may want you to put together a more extensive portfolio for me to use for planning purposes."
"Just say the word. I love it out there. Can't wait to go back."
"Damien was there this morning," Nikki says.
"Not you?" I ask.
"I took an investor," Damien explains. "Dallas Sykes. I've been looking at acquiring a piece of his operation. And I wanted to smooth over his ruffled feathers after he heard the original gossip about Glau."
"Damien took Sykes and his latest fling," Nikki says, her tone making clear that we've crossed over into gossip.
The conversation continues along those lines--bouncing from gossip to work to families to friends--until Jackson announces that he and I have plans to scout the island, too, and should probably get going.
We say our goodbyes, and I watch as Jackson and Damien shake hands, looking for all the world like two men who don't have the slightest problem with each other.
I release a slow breath, realizing at that moment how much I'd been worrying, even after I watched the two interact.
But now it looks like things are really on track, and whatever animosity Jackson might feel for Damien has either been resolved or very deeply buried.
And that, if it's true, is a damn good thing.
eighteen
"A boat?"
I'm standing on a slip near Fisherman's Village in Marina del Rey looking at a totally awesome cream-colored boat and wondering what the hell we are doing.
"We'd already be on the island if we'd had Clark or Grayson fly us in the helicopter," I say, but Jackson only shrugs and continues doing whatever it is he's doing on his phone. "It took longer to drive back here from Malibu than it would have to fly."
I expect a reply, but he says nothing. "Are you even listening to me?"
He looks up. "Checklist," he says, holding up the phone. "And I'm messaging the security team that we're taking her out."
I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down, trying to decide if I'm irritated or amused. I settle on amused. "Why exactly are we taking someone's boat to the island?"
"Not someone's boat," he says. "My boat. And because I wanted to show her to you."
"You have a boat?"
"I do." He points to the boat we're standing beside. "There she is."
"And you're a comedian, too," I say, but the truth is, I'm kind of delighted. I haven't been out on a boat in ages, and this is turning into a bit of an adventure. "How fast is she? How long will it take to get to the island?"
"About two hours."
I glance at the sky. It's four, and the sun is already making its descent. "It's October. By the time we get there, we'll barely have an hour of light."
"Good thing my bedroom's on board. We can start fresh in the morning." He grins, and looks so much like a delighted boy that I can't help but laugh.
"Fine. You win. Tell me all about her." I pause. "Wait. Bedroom? You live here?"
"It seemed prudent. And more economical than continuing to bounce from hotel to hotel whenever I was in town. Of course I considered pitching a tent on my land, but the boat has plumbing."
"You made a good decision," I deadpan.
"I thought so."
"The truth is, I've had meetings with a few clients in Santa Barbara. This way, I can bring my office to them." He points to what appears to be the second level, an enclosed space with walls of windows. "She has a huge area just behind the top deck designed for entertaining. I converted it to a workspace. Lots of natural light. Ocean breezes. And I've always loved boats."
"I didn't know that."
"I told you my dad wasn't around much, but the one thing he did right was teach me how to sail."
I let my eyes drift over this monstrosity of a vessel. "This isn't a sailboat."
"Look at you. I didn't realize you were so up-to-date on all things nautical."
"Who is she?"
"The boat," he says.
"Funny man. I mean, who is she named after?"
"Who says she's named after anyone?" He holds out his hand. "Come on. Let me show you around and let's get moving. I really do want to see our island."
I take his hand and follow him on board. I don't push about the name, mostly because it's so obvious that he doesn't want me to. But I can't help my curiosity any more than I can help the unpleasant and unwelcome flush of jealousy.
That fades quickly enough once we are on deck. It's hard to stay jealous of a name when a man's hands are all over you and his mouth is hot and demanding against yours. "Do you have any idea how hard it was not to take you into the bathroom at Stark's place and fuck you blind?" he asks, sliding his hand up under my dress.
"Do you have any idea how much I wanted you to?" I haven't gone without underwear in forever, and certainly never because a man has demanded it of me. A man whose hands I've been craving for the last several hours. So even though I'd managed to put it aside and function as a responsible corporate employee, the reality that my panties have been tucked in his pocket has been making me a little bit crazy.
"Actually, I do," he says as he cups my sex, finding me very wet and very ready. He nips at my lower lip. "It's been my pleasure tormenting you."
"Bastard."
He chuckles as he thrusts his fingers inside me, making me gasp. "You'll forgive me when I make it up to you."
"Someone might see." My protest is feeble, because now he's slowly teasing me, thrusting deep and then stroking my clit when he withdraws, and I am sliding down into a sensual haze.
"No one is here."
"Jackson."
"No. Quiet. The only sound you get to make is when you come. Do you understand me?"
I say nothing, but nod in acquiescence just like I'm supposed to do. Then I tilt my head back to meet his eyes and find them dark with lust and need. I shift my stance, deliberately giving him better access, and watch as that evidence of my surrender reflects on his face, like a building storm ready to unleash.
He makes a low sound of pleasure, then hooks his other arm around my waist to hold me steady as he teases me with his fingers, and then slants his mouth over mine to get his tongue in on the action. I am completely at his mercy, uncaring that we might be seen, wanting only more of what he is giving. This wild sharing, this spiraling pleasure.
I've been on edge all day, and as much as I want to relish the sweet sensation of his touch, I cannot hold back, and before I am ready, the force of my orgasm surprises us both. He breaks the kiss, then pulls me close again. "Do you know what that does to me? Holding you? Feeling you respond like that to me?"
I manage an impish grin. "Believe me. It's my pleasure."
He laughs, then scoops me up and carries me across the deck as I laugh and order him to put me down.
"Sadly, I'm going to have to give in to your demands." He puts me on my feet and nods at the ladder. "Probably best not to risk maneuvering that together."
"Probably," I agree. I glance back at the dock, frowning slightly.
"Second thoughts?"
My smile is wide and very genuine. "Only about my wardrobe." I indicate the dress. "I can't go to the island like this."
"As much as I'd like to suggest that you frolic naked and barefoot there, you're probably right."
"Can you drive me back to my condo?" I think about the traffic between Marina del Rey and Santa Monica and wince. That's going to take forever.
"I have a better idea. Come with me."
He steps onto the ladder and I follow him down into the large area that is now his workspace. I have no time to look around, though, because he continues down another level to where two doors open off either side of a narrow corridor. The one on the right is open and I realize I'm looking into Jackson's bedroom. Considering it's a boat, it's a decent size, and exceptionally tidy. I start to glance around, just to get more of a feel for the space, but my eye is drawn to a photograph hanging on the wall near the door.
It's a red-haired woman holding a small, dark-haired girl. They're in a park and were caught in a candid moment smiling and laughing.
I recognize the woman--she's the redhead from the documentary screening.
I look at Jackson, feeling suddenly shaky. "You care about her," I say, unable to keep the accusation out of my voice.
He frowns. "What?"
"You said in the car that you didn't care about any of the women you've slept with. But you care about her." I hate the jealousy that laces my voice, and yet I cannot help myself.
He comes to stand beside me, then reaches out and takes the picture off the wall. "I never fucked Megan," he says. "Not like I did the others."
I turn to look at him, curious and, yes, jealous of the gentle tone in his voice.
"I slept with her, but it was a weak moment for both of us."
"Who is she?"
"A friend," he says, and though I expect him to elaborate, he doesn't. "It was a mistake. Can you understand that?"
I think of Louis and all the mistakes I've made. "It's not my business who you've slept with in the last five years."
"No, it's not," he says. "But it still matters to me that you know."
I nod, feeling a bit guilty for my own secrets. I'd told him in the car that I hadn't slept with any guy since him. And that's technically true. But I have slept with Cass. One stupid, drunken time after I got back, and we both knew it was a mistake right away. And though I feel like I should tell him, I don't want to put any sort of weird vibes between my best friend and my boyfriend, because no matter what else, right now, they are the two most important people in my life.
So I only nod. "It's okay," I say. "I understand mistakes."
"She's still a friend," he continues. "She and Ronnie mean the world to me."
"Ronnie?"
He strokes his finger over the little girl's image. "Her daughter."
"She's pretty darling."
"She's a great kid." He cocks his head and looks at me, just looks for so long that I start to feel a little bit antsy.
"What?"
"Nothing. I'm just glad you're here." He pulls me close and kisses me. "Someday I want you to meet both of them," he adds, as he hangs the photograph back on the wall. "At any rate, you're about Megan's size. I think there are some clothes in the other bedroom you can wear on the island."
He leads me back across the corridor into the closed bedroom. It's similar to his, only smaller. "This is her room?"
"This is a guest room," he says firmly. "She's often a guest."
"Right. Sorry. I'm still slightly green."
He laughs. "I think I like that you're jealous. Just not too much."
"Fair enough," I say as he pulls open a drawer and takes out a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt.
"There are some jeans, too, if you'd prefer."
I check the size on pants and hold them up to myself. "No, I think these are okay. What about shoes?"
That turns out not to be a problem, either, as Megan has left both flip-flops and canvas skids in the closet. They're a tiny bit too big, but not enough that it'll be a problem. "I guess I'm all set," I say.
"Good. Because all I want to do right now is get the boat out of the marina, put her on autopilot, and make love to you on the deck."
"Well," I say, delighted. "I really can't argue with that."
I follow him back onto the deck, then watch, feeling slightly useless, as he unties the ropes holding the boat in the slip, then carefully maneuvers her out of the marina.
When we're in the open water, he offers the captain's chair to me.
"Seriously?"
"It's just like driving a car," he says, and though that's not entirely accurate, it's close enough. For
that matter, it's a little bit easier, because I only have to go forward. Staying within the lines really isn't an issue.
He stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders, his lips brushing my hair as I maneuver the yacht and try to focus on what I'm doing. "You know you're distracting me, right?"
"And yet I'm unconcerned about collisions."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why was Megan mad? At the screening, I mean."
His hands halt. "Because I'd done a stupid thing."
I tilt my head so that I can see him. "And have you fixed it?"
"Yes," he says. "I think I have."
He doesn't elaborate, and I don't press. Instead, I let him put the boat on autopilot, then take me to the other side of the top deck with the huge mattress and low tables for snacks and drinks.
"Sunset's soon," he says. "I'll go get some wine."
I watch him descend, feeling the sun beat down on me. The air is cool, but the way the boat is constructed puts this deck in a small depression so that I'm not chilled by the rush of the wind as the boat moves across the water.
Still, Jackson's well prepared, because I find both blankets and pillows in a small wooden chest, and I pull them out and lay them over the mattress, making a small nest for us to snuggle down in.
And then, because I'm feeling just a bit wild and I want him to know it, I peel off the dress and slide under one of the blankets.
"Well, now. This is very interesting." He's returned with the wine, and is looking at me with the kind of heat that makes me very glad I've already abandoned my pesky clothes. His eyes flick up to where I've left the dress draped over a chair, and then back down to where I am propped up against some pillows, the blanket pulled just high enough to cover my breasts. "Very interesting indeed."
He leans over and flicks a switch on a trunk-sized gray box that sits a few feet away. "Deck heater," he says in response to my questioning glance. "I intend to pull that blanket down, and I'd hate for you to get a chill."
I grin. "How very thoughtful of you. And what do you intend to do once you've rid me of my blanket?"
"Many things."
I hesitate, then try to keep my voice casual as I say, "The kinds of things you talked about in the car?"
He slants a glance my way as he lowers himself on the mattress next to me. "Is that what you want?" He trails a finger over the top edge of the blanket. Just the lightest of touches, but the sparks from the contact ricochet through me, driving me a little bit crazy. "To go a little bit wild? A little bit kinky?"