by Everly, Liz
“Now you’re going to get it,” he was mumbling.
He pushed at her thighs—tense, trembling—she felt the cool metal of the gun, then heard a pounding, a blast. Mark turned around to face whomever was in the room and laughed maniacally as he pointed his gun.
“It really couldn’t get any better than this,” he said.
“Where’s your British accent, dude?” the voice said. Jackson! It was Jackson.
“Right here,” he said, before he pulled the trigger on Jackson, then turned around, faced Maeve, and turned his gun on himself.
Chapter 64
The house at Cape Cod was the most perfect, storybook, stone house with a lovely red roof and shutters. It sat right on a bluff overlooking the ocean. A perfect place for healing. Sanj, Jennifer, and Maeve sat together drinking their morning coffee and looking out over the sea, a lighthouse in the distance.
If Jackson ever remembered anything in his puny life, it would be Maeve, now, here, healthy, glowing with sea light and shadow. She smiled at him, her hair blowing a little in the breeze, as he opened the door and walked out onto the deck.
“Your cocky swagger is gone, my friend,” Sanj said, smiling.
“I think his limp is cute,” Maeve said.
Jennifer shrugged and rolled her eyes. Sanj waved Maeve off. “You know what I always say,” Jackson said. “A limp is better than being dead. Like Mark.”
“Good riddance,” Jennifer said. “I hated the man. I won’t pretend otherwise because he killed himself. I thank God every night he turned the gun on himself after he shot you. Good riddance to bad trash.”
“So scary to know you almost died,” Sanj said, suddenly serious. He took a sip of his coffee.
“Scary as shit, dude,”
“Did you see anything? Have any experiences? You know, weird dreams …”
“Oh yeah, man, later … we’ll talk later,” he said and smiled. “I probably would have died if the cops weren’t on my ass. The first time I’ve ever been grateful for that.”
They all laughed.
Maeve suddenly started to cry. She still wasn’t herself. Two weeks since the incident with Mark. She was suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. She was a little easier to get along with—but Jackson missed the feisty Maeve. The doctors sentenced her to time off from work—but the plan was to work a bit at the house. At a leisurely pace. The book was almost done, and they still had deadlines to meet.
“Oh man,” Jackson said. “Don’t start crying. I am fine, a little weaker, but I am getting stronger every day.”
“Thank you,” she said with her eyes meeting his, which pulled to him like a magnet. He reached over and kissed her. Did the air suddenly become charged with light and heat?
Sanj yawned loudly. “Well, my friend, I’m going for a walk. Care to join me, Jennifer?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said.
Jackson looked at Maeve, who was smiling and winked at him.
“Sanj and Jennifer? Really?”
She nodded. “We’ve all been together a lot in hospital lounges, here. They’ve gotten to know each other pretty well.”
After they left, Jackson pulled Maeve close to him, embracing her, kissing her, and wild heat shot through him.
Things were in perfect working order.
Then he held her face in her hands. “I’m fine, you know? The worst part of all this for me is I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Here I am,” she breathed, glassy eyed.
“Here I am,” he said, reaching in to pull her closer, remembering their time in India all too clearly. All of his travels, and the women, all seemed to melt away as he looked closely at Maeve.
What did she see when she looked back at him? He was still pale, thinner, dark circles under his dulled eyes. But it had been a couple of weeks since he’d been shot and only his second day home from the hospital.
She pulled away from him. “We have some catching up to do,” she said and smiled. “And a lot of work.”
“The work will be here. It’s always here,” he said. “I am not sure how much I can do today. The pain medicine is keeping me, um, groggy.”
“It’s okay. We have plenty of time,” she said, leaning back into her chair. “But you know Sherri from the agency is stopping by today. Steel yourself for that.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he smiled. “I can handle Sherri.”
“You need to rest,” she said.
“Let me be the judge of that. And right now, I’m thinking of bed, but not rest,” he grinned at her.
Chapter 65
Jackson grew dizzy on the way to his room. He swayed and leaned on Maeve. “I just need to sit for a few minutes. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Maeve said. “This can all wait. I’m in no hurry.” That was the truth of it—at least in her heart and mind. But her body was already responding to him wrapping his arms around her. A mellow wave overcame her. She rubbed his chest, his shoulders, his neck, after she pushed him gently to his bed.
“Take off your shirt,” she told him. Skin on skin. She rubbed him, seeing for the first time exactly how much weight he had lost. His ribs rippled too clearly beneath his skin. Still, his arms were muscled—especially his forearms. “Oh, Jackson, we need to fatten you up,” she whispered, gently biting the crevice between his shoulder blades, licking there. His familiar flavor delighted her tongue.
He sighed a gentle, heaving noise. She felt the taut tendons in his neck and upper back relax. He reached up for her, tugging at her shirt, which slipped off easily. His hands unhooked her bra, and he gasped when he saw the jewels in her nipples, with henna designs blazing around them. “Maeve, what did you do?”
“Just a little henna. Jen and I both got it done the other day,” she said.
Jackson lay her on his bed, slipped off her pants, with a smoothness she marveled at. Two weeks ago, he lay in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, yet here he was, and still so strong.
He sucked in air between his teeth. “God, you … are so beautiful…” The red jewels glittered on her nipples and circular patterns of henna decorated her body. Flowers? Spirals? She loved watching his eyes trail all the way down her stomach, following its path—and the way his gaze made her feel. Just a gaze of utter appreciation. He rubbed his hands across her smooth skin, she felt something in her give way, melt and erupt at once. He traced the patterns with his fingers, down her thighs, saw she was shaved. “Smooth,” he said, barely touching her.
Saw the red dots on her sex. “It’s everywhere …”
Oh, he still had not touched her. A harsh need rose in her.
“Jackson …” she breathed, her mouth barely able to form his name, her body barely able to find its breath. Where had her mind gone? It was sinking into nothing more than the biology of the rest of her. She wanted to submit to him completely. Profoundly. No. She wanted him to submit to her. Damn him.
“What do you want?”
“I …”
“Tell me,” he said, finally with his fingers on her, spreading her apart, seeing the pattern inside her lips, as she writhed under him. “Oh God …” he whispered. “What you do to me …”
Finally, he licked her gently—almost too gently—it was driving her mad. He traced the lines of the henna with his tongue.
“What do you want?”
She pushed his head into her. “I want you, Jackson, you.”
He continued to trace the line with his tongue. Back to her breasts, circling them.
“They hurt?”
“A little.”
He kissed them delicately, goose bumps spreading across her body, gently biting at them, then pulling harder. He found his way into her. Rhythms of pain and pleasure pulled at her as he tugged at her nipples and hit her G-spot and she found herself screaming into one final fit of ecstasy.
As she lay in his arms, she dozed off, then fell into a deep morning nap. Every muscle, every fiber, of her body relaxed. At last.
C
hapter 66
“I want you,” she had said. “You.”
Jackson thought of her words as he struggled to get out bed, unwrapped from Maeve, to pee.
She admitted she wanted him—but did it mean she loved him? Or did she just lust after him?
“Just ask her,” Sanj had said, as if it was like asking her if she wanted another cup of tea. They had gotten a chance to talk a bit while he was in the hospital.
And Jackson had the time to really think—at least when he wasn’t in a dreamy drug-induced sleep, or when doctors and nurses were not poking at him.
When he came back to bed, he thought of waking her, asking her—what is this? Do you love me? This flawed man that I am. Do you love me? This man who doesn’t know how to love, who doesn’t know if he can love. Do you love me? He yearned to ask her. But instead he drank her in with his eyes. She was splayed under one sheet, with one breast visible. The jewel in her nipple sparkling in the dim light. Her hair fell over one of her freckled cheeks. Her dark eyelashes stood out against her white skin, looking like some kind of furry creature resting on her eyelids. He kissed her gently there and wrapped her in his arms. There she is—Maeve, so strong, so smart—yet, she yielded to him, gave herself completely. She wanted him.
“But do you love me?” he said out loud.
Maeve stirred. “Jackson. Are you okay?” she said sleepily.
He nodded. “I was wondering … can I ask you …” He was rubbing her back, stroking her.
“Anything,” she said wrapping her legs around him. He could feel the heat rise from between her thighs. She was insatiable—just as he had imagined.
“Do you …”
“Jackson,” she looked at him, her mouth open, tongue wet and shining, “I do. I love you.”
Jackson felt himself open—something deep in his chest, in his guts—he wanted to hold her, keep her to himself, give her everything she wanted. But now, in this moment, she was placing her legs on his shoulders, guiding him into her. He slid into her and it felt like home. God help him. He was home.
Chapter 67
“You said this ginseng is really potent. I can’t wait to try it in pancakes,” Jackson said, walking to the door and opening it to Sanj, Sherri, and Jennifer, who just happened to come along at the same time.
“Who is he?” said Sherri, with her usual gruff air. Sherri had been promoted and was now their agent since she was so familiar with their projects and had worked so closely with Alice.
Introductions were made all the way around.
“Well, Maeve, I am happy to see you at work,” Sherri said. Maeve had not even gotten out of her seat.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Sherri. I just needed to finish something up. We are having ginseng pancakes. The ginseng from China?”
“Certainly. You aren’t working him too hard, are you?”
“I, ah, don’t think so. He just got up from his nap,” Maeve told her, trying not to exchange a heated glance with him. “He seems to be fine, as long as we stop for rest. This book may take a little longer.”
“I want you both to know you have as much time as you need,” Sherri said. “We are already invested heavily in this project and are expecting perfection.”
“Perfection? That’s not too much pressure …” Sanj said.
“Who are you again?” Sherri said, pushing her glasses back onto her nose.
“He’s Sanj, one of my best friends. Would you like a cocktail?” Jackson said. “I’ve been experimenting with an aphrodisiac cocktail.”
“Certainly,” she said. “So you two are making progress and you’ve only been out of the hospital a few days.”
“Yes, sure. We got right to work,” Maeve added, sitting down next to Sherri.
Sherri pulled out a newspaper from her briefcase. “What do you think of this?”
Maeve gasped. It was a photo of her and Jackson kissing in Morocco.
“What?” said Jackson and Sanj together. Jennifer was flipping pancakes in the kitchen.
“A picture of us kissing …” Maeve said.
“So?” Jackson said, shrugging his shoulders. “So it’s out. We’ve got nothing to be ashamed about.”
“I certainly agree,” said Sherri. “Personally, I could give a rat’s ass who you’re sleeping with these days, Jackson—”
Maeve felt a reddening in her face and her heart pounding in her chest.
“Wait a minute,” Jackson interrupted. “You’ve got this all wrong.”
“For Christ’s sake, Sherri,” Maeve said. “Hello. I am sitting right here.”
“I know that, darling. But you know Jackson. How are you going to continue to work with him when he’s on to his next conquest?” she said.
“Or maybe he should be worried about how he will take pictures when I’ve moved on to my next lover?” Maeve threw at her.
“Wait a minute. Nobody’s moving on to anybody,” Jackson said, his eyes widening, brows lifting. “Sherri, Maeve and I are in love. We don’t know exactly … well …”
“We are just starting to explore a relationship. We don’t know where this is going. Does anybody ever?” Maeve said.
Sanj and Jennifer looked at one another and smiled as they brought in plates.
“I get that, Maeve,” she said, after a moment. “But the company does not.”
“What does that mean?”
“Mr. Jameson thinks the involvement could affect your work and the public perception of the ‘sexiest photographer’ in America. Also, you two are supposed to be doing serious work, serious inquiry into aphrodisiacs—”
“Look. I’ve gone along with this sexy photographer bullshit for way too long. It’s not going to ruin my personal life. I am where I am, not because of sex, but because of photography, because of years of hard work and sacrifice. I am really beginning to resent this fucking shit, this line of questioning into my personal business. I want to take pictures, and to be with Maeve, and I don’t give a shit if there’s another book, another tour, another article written about me. Do you hear me?” Jackson was shaking, his voice quivering with anger.
Maeve’s heart was on fire, listening to him, realizing for the first time how deeply he felt about her. But she felt a sinking in her stomach: this was her career, too. She knew how lucky she was as a writer to have this gig. So many others didn’t have this kind of opportunity.
Sherri looked at her, looked at him. “Please calm down, Jackson. We are going to finish the book, per the contract. It will be fine. Can we all take a deep breath here? I support you, both, we are talking about my boss here. In the meantime, maybe you two can be a bit more discreet?”
“Absolutely,” Maeve said, realizing the position Sherri was in. “We’ve not really talked about the next book. We have to get this one done and see how well it goes. But we’ve both known, for a long time, that there are other things we want to do. With or without one another. So we are willing to entertain any possibilities, right, Jackson?” She looked at him with pleading eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “I know Maeve wants to take some time and write more of her own personal stuff. I want her to do that. I am considering some other things, as well.”
“I think we also both know this is going to be messy. Whether we work together as a couple or not. We may not even want to do that. We’ll see.”
“How about those cocktails, Jackson?” she said and looked up at him.
“The pancakes are good, huh?” Sanj said, changing the subject, but Maeve could not take her eyes from Jackson. She’d had enough ginseng—she was so susceptible.
“Yes,” Sherri said. “I like the sweet pancake and the spicy ginseng. Who would have thought? You know, Maeve, I was thinking. Maeve?’
“Oh yes, I am sorry, Sherri,” she turned and looked at her.
“I was thinking about how frustrated you seemed.”
“Frustrated? Yes …” She looked at Jackson out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her, biting his bottom lip. Oh yes. Jackson wasn’t going t
o let a bullet in his hip stop him.
“You wanted to explore more. I noted it in each of your e-mails,” Sherri said.
“Explore … yes,” Maeve said. Jackson’s fingers were playing with something on the table, but he was still watching her. His head was tilted, the way she had seen it a million times when he was concentrating.
“I think we could do another aphrodisiac book … it seems we have only skimmed the surface. Are you game?” she directed her question to Maeve.
“Oh yes, I am … game.”
“Me, too,” Jackson said.
The warmth spreading through her body became unbearable—she wanted to take her clothes off and be with Jackson. Just Jackson. How odd. This feeling of wanting one man.
She pushed images of Mark and all of the others into another place in her mind, replaced them with Jackson. It was the easiest thing in the world to do—this thing called love. You just open yourself and say be damned with the pain. A deep knowing came to her: we are all born this way, to love and be loved. It’s a miraculous capacity we have.
Jennifer and Sanj scooted off—where had they gone? Sherri took her sweet time about leaving.
Jackson’s shorts were off before the door shut. “Maeve, you kill me,” he said to her, holding himself for her to see. “You were teasing me that whole time.”
“And what were you doing to me … sitting there looking at me … like that,” she said before placing her mouth on his, their tongues meeting in a soft frenzy. She tasted the ginseng on him, felt his hands on her sore nipples, cupping her breasts, ripping her top off with his teeth. Dropping her to the table, sucking at her breasts, taking her nipples and rubies in his mouth, swirling his tongue over them.
“Oh, Maeve, mmm—”
He grabbed her ankles, spread her wide, then lifted her legs on his shoulders. He entered her—she sighed in release—and rocked her hard, with her meeting him in deep, hard thrusts, the glassware on the table jiggling, the half-drunk glasses spilling, the mounds of pancakes and jars of exotic ginseng crashing to the floor. He was deep inside and there was no turning back now—their passions, their appetites, met there, spilled there, in exquisite relief.
