Bound for Nirvana

by Kendra Leigh

  Clearing the final few things from the closet in the bedroom, I took down the shoebox bound in the bright red ribbon and laid my hand across the top. The extent of my childhood mementoes. I knew every detail of every item in the box—there wasn’t much to memorize.

  The thought took me to the gut-wrenching sight of my mom’s pendant hanging around the scrawny neck of a woman, whose name I didn’t even know until last night. It had looked so… so wrong. The mere knowledge that it now belonged to someone else filled me with hatred for my father. I’d wanted to reach out and snatch it from her neck the way my father had to me on the day of Claudia’s wedding. At the time, I assumed it was because he couldn’t bear to look at it—such a stark reminder of my mom after all those years. But that was what I’d chosen to think—the alternative being too painful to consider. Now I knew better.

  “Hey! Hope you’re not slacking.” Jackson was a welcome distraction from my pensive thoughts.

  A light sheen of sweat had formed on his brow and clear evidence that my apartment wasn’t quite as clean as it should be was smeared on his usually brilliant white shirt.

  “No,” I answered, catching the bottle of water he threw to me. “I’m nearly done, actually. You?”

  “Last box.” He nodded, twisting the top off his own bottle of water and glugging it down. “Last item for the last box, actually.” He reached behind him and pulled something from his waistband.

  A copy of The Jungle Book.

  I rolled my eyes and flushed as he shook the DVD at me. Suddenly, he started to sing—a damningly accurate version of “Bare Necessities,” and despite my low mood, I began to laugh.

  “A favorite of yours, Jackson?”

  “Hell yes! My absolute, all-time favorite. And you look under the rocks and plants, and take a glance at the fancy ants,” he continued to sing as he settled himself on the floor, his back against the wall, legs outstretched in front and crossed at the ankle. Hooking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the lounge, he cocked a brow. “That’s quite a collection you got there, kiddo.”

  “My guilty pleasure,” I confessed shyly, moving to sit on the bed and pulling my feet up to sit crossed-legged. “Wouldn’t it be totally fantastic to step out of life and into a cartoon? Something really colorful, full of life and vigor and fun. Finding Nemo,” I added with enthusiasm.

  He frowned thoughtfully then tapped his finger on the DVD case lying next to him on the floor. “Jungle Book, every time.”

  I laughed at his sudden boyishness, a side of him I’d never seen before. “How old are you, Jackson?”

  “Forty-two.” He watched my eyes widen in surprise. “What? You think I’m too old for Disney?”

  “You’re never too old for Disney.” I paused. “You’re just older than I thought you were.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was meant as one. You could do with a good woman behind you,” I added, wondering why such an attractive man was still single.

  Letting his head fall back against the wall, he moaned as if in pain. “I could do with a good woman beneath me. Oh, sorry—inappropriate. Sometimes I forget you’re not just my buddy.”

  I laughed at the welcome endearment, but then something hit me. “Are you lonely, Jackson?”

  “Lonely? No.” He made an awkward face. “Just in the physical sense, maybe. Everyone needs a bit of… attention sometimes.”

  I nodded, wondering whether he’d had any action since the dreaded Rebecca. In a way, pained me as it did to admit it, for Jackson she had at least served a purpose.

  “Have you ever heard anything from her?”

  He looked at me for a beat, allowing the question to sink in, but knowing instantly who I was talking about. “Not a dickey-bird.” He said it like he thought it was hard to believe.

  “What? Did you expect to?”

  He shrugged. “I sometimes just wonder if she went too quietly.”

  “You think there’ll be repercussions?” I asked quickly, the thought filling me with dread.

  “Probably not. You did a pretty nifty job on her, to be fair. In fact, I’m not sure which one of you I’d least like to mess with.”

  “God, don’t compare me to her. She’s a psycho; I’m not in the least bit tough.”

  “You’re a lot tougher than you know, kiddo.”

  Nodding toward the DVD lying next to him, I hitched a brow. “You think?”

  “Just because you enjoy Disney, it doesn’t make you weak. It’s your escapism.” He paused. “Just make sure you don’t hide behind it.” Picking up the DVD, he held it in front of his face, his eyes peeping over the top. “Not the DVD, obviously.” He lowered the case. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is, retreat into a world of fantasy, by all means, but don’t let it detract from real life. Don’t bury your head in the sand. Unpleasant realities are part of life and you can’t avoid them forever, no matter how much facing them might hurt. You won’t find your answers in Toontown. You’re all grown up now, kiddo. Time to start dealing with your shit.”

  Suddenly it dawned on me how much Ethan must confide in Jackson, and that he’d probably be aware of what had happened last night. I’d told him bits about my mom in the past, and the resultant complications with the toxic lot, but only dropped in conversation, not as a means to unburden myself.

  I found myself wondering if Ethan had asked him to talk to me. Afraid that if he’d pushed the same advice on me as Jackson just had, that I’d have bitten his head off. The possibility made me feel ashamed.

  “You’re right.” I stretched my long legs out in front of me before shuffling to the edge of the bed to stand. “Better shove that lot in the ‘to be stored’ corner then.”

  “Are you kidding? You’ll never know where to find them when you eventually need them. You’ll end up having to buy them all again. No, there’s bags of space in the home movie room; you can keep them in there.”

  “Why would I need them?” I asked confused.

  “When you and Mr. Wilde have a couple of tots of your own of course. Oh, I know there are new movies coming out all the time, but you can’t beat the classics.”

  “Children?” I stared at him in utter bewilderment. “I don’t know if I want children. Or if I’ve even taken a moment to consider the possibility, actually.”

  “That’s because you’re still stuck with the past. It’s preventing you from seeing the future clearly. Hopes and dreams, kiddo. You have to allow yourself time for those.” He pushed to his feet, pausing briefly. “Besides, I know Mr. Wilde wants kids.”

  The comment knocked me for six. “Really? Ethan wants children? With me?”

  Jackson started to laugh. “Of course with you. There’ll never be anyone else for him. So you’d better figure stuff out pretty damn quick, kiddo.” He turned to head back to the lounge.

  “I guess.” This sudden influx of information had left me feeling quite dazed. “Jackson?” He turned looking over his shoulder. “Thanks. You’re a good friend—to both of us.” He smiled. “Jackson?”

  “Angel?” he mocked, turning to face me fully.

  “Promise me something?”

  “Sure.” His eyes narrowed on me.

  “This… distorted future. The one that I can’t… see clearly yet. Wherever it takes me—will you promise to always be my friend?”

  His face folded into a pained smile. “I promise.” Then glancing at his watch, he spread his hands in front of him. “We leave in ten minutes.”

  Jackson’s sturdy swagger disappeared down the hall, his tough, indomitable exterior a stark contrast to the man who’d been singing “Bare Necessities” only moments ago. Smiling widely, I thanked God for my friend and the privilege it was to know a side of him I was certain few had ever seen.

  Ten minutes later, I found him at the kitchen sink, doing his best to rub at the marks on his shirt—the result a mass of wet smudges.

  “I’ve got to go back to the office.” He held up his hands helple
ssly.

  “Hold on one sec.” Dashing over to a box in the “taking with me” corner, I pulled out one of Ethan’s shirts. It was pale blue, not Jackson’s usual shade of choice. Holding it up, I announced, “Problem solved.”

  His face fell. “Is that one of Mr. Wilde’s?”

  “Well, it’s not mine.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good—”

  “Jackson, it’s just a shirt. You two have shared far more than tomorrow’s laundry. This one or the dirty one—your choice.”

  Glancing in exasperation at his watch, he began undoing his buttons. I watched, mesmerized by the unveiling of his toned chest and arms, the muscles flexing and rippling as his fingers moved nimbly down the front and then to the cuffs, finally shrugging the shirt from his shoulders and flinging it to the floor. A tattoo of a serpent made its way from his hipbone and wound up his side and over his rib cage to his shoulder blade, giving the impression that it had simply slithered from beneath the waistband of his pants. I wasn’t really a tatts kinda girl, but this was impressive. Jackson was a hottie.

  “What?” Jackson said, catching me copping an eyeful.

  I nodded once. “Nice tatt.”

  “Thanks.” He pulled the shirt on and swiftly fastened the buttons.

  “You sure you’re forty-two?”

  Scooping his shirt up off the floor, he tossed it in my direction. “Stick your eyes back in, kiddo, and let’s get out of here.”

  After locking up, we rode the elevator back down to the lobby. Jackson’s face crumpled with displeasure as he fussed with his tie and collar in the mirrored walls.

  “It looks fine,” I said, batting his hands away.

  “It’s the color.”

  “It’s fine. Why do you only wear white anyway?”

  He shrugged, continuing to fuss. “Sort of my uniform.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of your suit.”

  “Uh, I think you just did.”

  “Oh yes,” I laughed, shifting my eyebrows playfully. “How could I forget?”

  Jackson pulled up outside Ethan’s apartment—our apartment. My home that I now shared with the man I loved.

  “Thanks for today, Jackson. For all of it, I mean.”

  Knowing I was referring to the advice he’d offered earlier, he nodded. “Anytime, kiddo. I’ll arrange to get your stuff to you, soon as.”

  Shifting, I began to climb out of car, and then remembering something, thrust my hand into my purse. “Here, you have it.” I tossed The Jungle Book on to the passenger seat next to him, watching as his eyes crinkled in pleasant surprise. Placing my finger to my lips in a shushing gesture, I winked. “Our little secret.”

  A tentative smile ghosted his lips. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  After a long, hot shower, I dried off, styled my hair into soft flowing waves, and applied makeup. I picked out bra and panties from one of the ludicrously expensive lingerie sets Ethan had given me—a black lace bra which barely covered the buds of my nipples and a matching thong so skimpy it was almost pointless. I slid them on over my warm, glowing skin, the fabric so incredibly delicate, I still felt naked. I also felt sexy. Incredibly sexy. My eyes drifted down over my body as I gazed at my reflection in the closet mirror. I was as lithe and toned as I’d ever been, a result, no doubt, of my very busy and strenuous sex life—something else I had Ethan to thank for.

  My gaze journeyed down the length of my legs, a somewhat impressive distance from hip to ankle, and my favorite part of my body. Jia hated my legs—not in a vindictive way, but in the way you hate something you want but can’t have. A result, no doubt, of my once pointing out that the tops of my legs came level with her waist when we stood barefoot, side by side, and the reason you never see Jia without a pair of killer heels.

  The thought made my gaze shift to the box I’d shoved on the bottom shelf the day before, and I felt my pulse begin to elevate. Slowly, I bent to retrieve the box, countless images of red patent shoes from fragmented dreams suddenly materializing from the archives of mind. I shook my head, trying to oust the feeling of irrational disgust that had turned my previously warm, glowing skin to a fine blanket of goose bumps.

  “They’re just shoes.” I forced a laugh in an attempt to trivialize my reaction, and with clammy hands suddenly ripped off the lid. Without further thought, I removed a shoe, my fingertips gliding over the smooth, glossy surface as I tried to make sense of my feelings—an intense, almost childlike excitement muddled with the stupid, inscrutable notion that I should be afraid.

  Transferring all my weight to one foot, I reached out to a shelf, steadying myself as I raised the other and slid on the shoe. The skin on my foot became instantly prickly—an imaginary symptom, I was sure—but I ignored it and donned the other shoe. My heart beat rapidly as I turned again to face the mirror, not focusing on the shoes at first, but instead making the same focal journey from hips to ankles, until my now darkened eyes finally came to rest.

  I stared in absolute awe at the most perfect pair of shoes I’d ever had the privilege of owning.

  I absolutely loved them.

  The glossy, cherry-red hue appeared to warm my usually pale skin perfectly. And the deep sole and long heel only proved to accentuate the extent of my legs, now making them seem impossibly long. Instinctively, my lips curved into a smile and I turned to walk into the bedroom to get the feel of them. They were high, probably slightly higher than I was used to, but they didn’t pinch. As far as shoes go, they were actually quite comfortable.

  God bless Abby.

  After walking the length of the room, I turned to face the full-length mirror opposite the bed and began to sashay back toward it.

  That’s when I sensed, rather than saw, something off toward the edge of the room and froze, my gaze shifting to reveal the source. Ethan stood in the doorway watching me, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, nostrils flaring, his eyes ablaze. With what? Reverence? Desire? Anger? They locked onto mine before gliding penetrably and hungrily over my searing skin.

  “Are you trying to kill me, woman?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

  “That wasn’t my intention, no. You’re home early.”

  He cocked a single brow. “Oh? Do you often parade around practically naked for your own indulgence?”

  I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Busted.”

  “You’re kidding,” he spluttered, his second brow shooting up to mirror the other.

  My lips flickered playfully. “Yes, I’m kidding.” But there was no hint of amusement in his unblinking eyes as they stared back into mine. Shit, he was still angry. Suddenly feeling foolish and far too exposed, I turned to head toward the closet. “I’ll get dressed.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. We have unfinished business to attend to, if my memory serves me correctly.”

  The sudden pang of arousal at his words halted me immediately. The memory of our encounter in the boardroom at Wilde Industries hadn’t been far from my mind all day.

  “But first, you need to be taught a lesson.”

  Oh? Oh!

  “A lesson? You’re going to punish me?” I wasn’t sure whether my elevating pulse rate was due to panic or pure, unadulterated desire.

  He hesitated before answering, his eyes skimming provocatively over my hyper-sensitive skin. “No. I mean a lesson under the terms of which learning is intended to occur. Where, hopefully, you’ll gain insight into something you currently seem unfamiliar with.” He paused, his brows furrowing thoughtfully. “I suppose the learning objective is the same as that of a punishment. A means to ensure you don’t continue to make the same mistakes. To stop fucking up any chance you have of ever being happy.”

  As if that offered satisfactory clarification, I nodded. Although I was no more certain as to what he meant, the tone of his voice warned me not to inquire further.

  “I’d like to shower first.” Seeming to drag his gaze reluctantly from mine, he moved t
oward the bathroom. “Would you mind waiting for me?”

  “No.” I turned to head for the bed to make myself comfortable.

  “In the lounge.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Wait for me in the lounge.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Confused, I lifted a foot to remove a shoe.

  “Leave them on.”

  Still unsure as to his intentions or what to make of his tone, I said nothing, just nodded and headed for the door.

  “Angel?”

  “Yes.” I turned toward him.

  “You can put on your robe.”

  Chapter Two

  In the hope that the peaceful meanderings of my cold-blooded friends might help to soothe my nerves and fevered anticipation, I curled up in my chair in front of the tank to wait. I had no idea what Ethan had in store for me, but I was prepared to accept whatever lesson he felt I needed to learn. If it took away the hurt I saw his eyes and heard in his voice last night and this morning, I would do anything—anything to prove to him that I would never allow my toxic family to infest our happiness again.

  “Angel?” Ethan’s low, husky tones startled me.

  He stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung, faded jeans, the sight of him inciting my taste buds to drool desirously, like chocolate melting on my tongue.

  “Come here,” he instructed.

  Obeying instantly, I unfurled my legs and moved across the room toward him. He gazed at me, his expression still inscrutable, and then slowly he moved around to my back.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Again, I complied without hesitation. I felt something soft brush gently against my eyelids, a smooth, silky fabric blocking out all remaining light as it tightened against my skin. He was blindfolding me.

  My heart struck my chest wall with a sudden instinctive foretaste of what was to come. The blindfold, his insistence that I wear my red shoes, his near-naked form in the doorway, suggested only one thing. But his talk of my needing to learn a lesson, his tone, and impenetrable mood hinted at something different. Nonetheless, my skin prickled with eager expectation as I waited for my next instruction in the darkness behind my eyelids.