Reaching For Emeralds

by Lacee Hightower

  He wanted truthfulness.

  I was giving him exactly that.

  And I would continue.

  “You felt nice too, Lay.” For seconds, his expression was soft, his eyes brimming a closeness that resembled affection.

  Lay? My dad used to call me that. Bittersweet memories pierced me, tears choking my eyes at the recollection.

  “Can I please sleep beside you tonight?” I whimpered, roused with sentiment.

  “No.” He walked out of the study, leaving me alone and emotional.

  So tired, my body was spent. My spirit shredded. I wanted to forget everything for a few minutes. Laugh with Joslyn. Eat sinful amounts of dark chocolate until my stomach hurt. Drink way too much wine. Instead, I pushed to my feet and slid my sundress back on, climbing the stairs and returning to my room that still felt foreign. I crawled under the soft bedding fully dressed. After a few minutes, my eyes felt heavy as I allowed myself to relax, the soothing scent of Jackson still strong on my body as I nodded off into a deep slumber.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Layla

  Something was changing in Jackson. Slowly, but I sensed it. He wasn’t so angry. Or demanding. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me. He called me Lay.

  Unable to rest for very long in this unfamiliar bedroom, it wasn’t that it wasn’t perfectly plush and comfortable. Not that the surroundings weren’t way nicer than anything I’d ever been accustomed to. But because I wanted to be beside him. In the dark of night, I craved the safe and secure feeling against the warmth of his body in the icy cold bedroom he insisted on. Listening to his breathing patterns as he slept. Discovering if he was a sound sleeper. A snorer. A sleep-talker.

  Instead, I’d tossed and turned wildly all night, only to finally get up at 5:00 AM after the door to his bedroom shut. Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in the kitchen over Starbuck’s Breakfast Blend, wondering why he’d left for work this early. Why he hadn’t said goodbye. And why I’d ever expected him to.

  I opened up my laptop, thankful he’d had it brought over, along with a few of my other personal belongings from home. I logged onto my email, quickly reading Joslyn’s newest reply to our chain of ongoing messages. My closest friend, I hadn’t been completely honest with her. She had no idea how confused and unsettled my head was right now. Or how upsetting the thought of her with Jackson had become.

  A loud crash jolted me. What was the sudden confusion? I stood, my side bumping the side of my laptop as I jumped. Two dark-headed, young boys with stunning blue eyes stumbled through the kitchen door like wild bulls in a china cabinet, both grinning, one of them holding a large toy gun of some sort with a big red bow on top.

  “Unca Jacks? Where are you? We have a big, big, big surprise.”

  “Well, hello,” I said to the two adorable boys, immediately recognizing them as the boys from the photos.

  “Where’s my Unca Jacks?” the one boy asked, while the other stood quietly.

  Unca Jacks! Oh, my God. How cute is that.

  “Uncle Jacks…” Never finishing my response, a really beautiful woman walked through the door staring down at her cell phone, a big, expensive black bag on her shoulder, along with rocking, sexy, strappy sandals on her feet.

  Jesus, I desperately need those shoes.

  “Hi,” I said to the young woman who only stood and stared at me for what seemed like twenty years. My cheeks flamed. Shit, I wasn’t even showered yet.

  Fuck and Hell.

  “Unca Jacks? Unca Jacks?” The two boys continued their search for the uncle who unfortunately wasn’t home, a second large crash of some sort blisteringly loud on the other side of the door.

  “Oh, shit! Jacks is gonna murder my ass. What did they break now?”

  It was a weekday. Didn’t this obvious relative know Jackson worked during the week? And did she have her own key to his house?

  “I’m sorry.” She looked at me for a few seconds, then smiled. “I’m Hartley Wisely. I’m Jackson’s sister. He calls me Coco.”

  Oh, fucking hell!

  She set her purse down beside her phone and brushed the hair back from her face.

  “Hi, Hartley, or should I call you Coco? I’m Layla, by the way. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise, Layla.” A huge grin covered her face. She seemed nice. Or rather amused. Maybe a little of both. “Dear God, please call me Hartley. Jacks is the only man on the planet Earth that gets away with calling me by that foolish nickname. I’ve begged him for years to can it, but my brother is somewhat hard-headed, if you haven’t discovered that already.”

  I’ll say.

  She laughed, so I did the same. “I’m sorry about this. Heaven knows, we don’t usually show up unexpectedly, but I was hoping Jacks might be home. Derek rang the bell and after no answer, I used my key. I wanted to leave the boys’ gift.”

  Their gift? A toy gun?

  I didn’t hear the bell ring.

  “We went to Target early this morning after they woke up at the butt crack of dawn full of shit and vinegar or however that saying goes,” she said. “I had to do something before they wrecked the entire house and my patience, so I opted for Target,” she shrugged. “So anyway, here we are. They insisted on buying another damn water gun to give to Unca Jacks. I thought he might still be home this early.” She lowered her voice a notch. “I guess I should have called first.” Jesus, how embarrassing. This was Jackson’s sister. And she was beautiful when I looked like a living nightmare. Plainly familiar with his lifestyle, she most likely knew exactly who I was. What I was.

  And I wasn’t wearing a damn bra. I wasn’t even showered.

  And to top it off, I reeked of sex.

  Fuck. Double fuck.

  “I don’t know who I want to kill the most for introducing the boys to these monstrosities.” She made a frustrated gesture with her hands. “My husband or dear ole big brother Jacks.” We both smiled. She seemed totally down to earth and nice. From what I could tell, she was a lot different than her uptight brother.

  “Your boys are adorable. When is the baby due?” I glanced at the very pregnant bump in her belly. She grinned, rubbing a palm across the semi-large stomach.

  “I’ve still got three months to go. I know I look like a blob and I don’t know how. These two boys of mine keep me going every second of the day,” she winked. “And I swear, they’re not medicated. They’re like this every minute of the waking day. And they sure do love their Uncle Jacks.” I smiled at that comment. Another side of Jackson, or was it Jacks, that I couldn’t picture.

  “I think you look absolutely beautiful, Hartley,” I said, at the same time the two striking young boys rushed back into the kitchen, making a beeline toward Jackson’s pantry.

  “Look, Mommy. Unca Jacks has these,” the more talkative twin said, holding up an unopen bag of Cheetos.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Hartley said, scrunching her nose up. I smiled, knowing exactly what she was thinking. Jackson Shipman wouldn’t touch something so unhealthy if his life depended on it.

  “They’re mine, actually. I live and die for Cheetos and Oreos. I’m a complete junk food junkie, unfortunately.” Jackson’s sister immediately held up a palm, offering me a hilarious high-five.

  “Oh, I like you,” she smiled.

  “Can they have the Cheetos? I don’t mind at all,” I said before remembering I’d baked muffins before the sun came up. “Oh, and I baked muffins. Would you like one?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jackson

  The clock seemed to tick at an all-time slow today. Plenty to do, only one thing was on my mind. Layla Richardson. Everything I did, she was there in my head. Each step I took, temptation burned through my groin. Less than twenty-four hours since I’d been erupting inside her, my dick was still hard, aching for more of the beautiful woman who had given me the gift of breaking her innocence for the first time. No other man’s dick had been inside her. And therein was the problem. I wanted to keep it
that way, which was why I’d refused to sleep with her last night when I’d craved it like I did oxygen. I was a busy man with an important job to do. I couldn’t and wouldn’t allow anyone in my heart that had enough power to take it and rip it from my chest. Yet, I continued feeling this uneasy urge to open up. Tell her the fucked-up things I’d done to women over the years.

  The car crash that changed my life.

  Invite her to sleep with me.

  Ultimately, something about her made me want to share things that I’d never told another person. She was distinct, unlike anyone I’d ever been acquainted with. She was beautiful, but so were hundreds of other women. The candid fact was simply that Layla Richardson was everything I’d always avoided.

  After reading through a few pages of the stacks of work that needed tending to, despite not being a real big fan of texting other than when necessary, I sent a short message to Layla.

  Hope you’ve enjoyed your day. Have you tried out the pool yet?

  Seconds later, her reply popped up.

  No pool time yet. Was considering baking you something that didn’t repulse you. LOL.

  An idea struck me after reading her text. Still early, I ran a few things by Renee and threw a few things in my briefcase and called it a day. Whole Foods was my next stop. And I actually looked forward to it. In fact, so much that I found myself whistling as I locked my office door.

  ****

  Opening up a bottle of water, I eyed Layla’s open laptop. The Mac only a breath away from falling off the side of the table, after a long cool drink, I slid it back to a safe position, the screen lighting up. Along with an open long stream of ongoing email messages.

  Well, well, well, Ms. Richardson. The truth always rises to the top.

  After minutes ticked by, I grabbed my water, my briefcase, and quietly retired to my bedroom, my anger growing. I was pissed, but not all that surprised.

  An hour later, after I’d had time to calm my temper and lower my simmering blood pressure, I headed back to the kitchen. Layla was examining each bag of flour like they were expensive bottles of fine-aged wine. Lifting the bags against her face, she smelled each one like they were something intimate and important, smiling as she lowered them back to the counter.

  Jesus fuck. It’s only flour. Does the stuff even smell?

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her long legs. The perfect curve of her ass. The way she was excited over something so trivial as a few bags of flour. The way she smiled each time she inhaled the white powder with gusto.

  The lies.

  The deception.

  I wanted to kiss every inch of her face, knowing damn well how fucked up the reality of that was. Despite all the untruth, I still wanted her. My loins ached for her. Even mad as fucking hell, my heart rate still racing at a dangerous pace, I couldn’t imagine sending her away.

  She turned, her eyes going wide. Taking long strides, she walked toward me, pulling my face between her hands and kissing me as she jumped up, wrapping her legs around my waist. I was instantly hard.

  “Thank you, Jackson. I can’t believe you did something so warm-hearted.” She was smiling, her eyes glowing with delight.

  “It’s just a few bags of flour, Layla. And I’m not a complete dick.” Rattled at my response, she blinked a couple of times, seemingly confused by my outburst.

  “It’s every kind of flour, Jackson. And I love it. Along with this Viking 5 Series oven. You have no idea what all I could bake in this treasure.” In seconds, her arms were tight around my neck as she kissed me with her soft warm lips that tasted like citrus and popcorn, her hands rubbing the back of my neck that vibrated with tension while she rubbed her sex against my erection.

  Every part of me wanted to forget what I’d just read and pack both our shit up and go away together for a few days. Someplace private with no phones or computers. Just the two of us together with none of the pressures of work … or threatening emails.

  I resisted the temptation. Jesus Christ, she was using me. Still playing games with intentions of hurting me. Exasperated, I lowered her to the ground, taking long deep breaths, my body needy while my mind was fighting fury and bitterness.

  “What’s your favorite bread, Jackson? Or will you even eat bread? I mean, all that bland shit in your freezer. God.” She was still smiling. And so fucking beautiful that it already hurt.

  “Of course, I eat bread.”

  “Yes!” Her whole body convulsed as I responded to something so simple as bread.

  “What kind? Tomorrow, you’ll have fresh bread to eat, baked by these hands.”

  She reached for my neck again, rubbing at the growing tension, my willpower just about nothing at this point.

  “Seven Grain. I like Seven Grain, Layla.”

  Bread was the last fucking thing on my mind. I’d had enough foolish kitchen talk.

  “Twenty minutes from now, I want you on your knees, naked, in my bedroom.”

  Her face fell.

  “Jackson, did I do something?” There was an edge to her voice as she blinked up at me anxiously with nothing but candor in her eyes.

  Fuck.

  The sound of my ringing cellphone broke up the uncomfortable moment.

  “Bull. What do you need, man? I was just on my way out.” A call from Venture meant one thing. A rare opening in the Mystery Room. The thought was very tempting with the way my mood had deteriorated. I’d experienced some of the mutually hardest fucks of my life in that room.

  Right now, it was the last thing on my mind.

  “I appreciate the offer. Maybe next time.” I ended the call and turned back to finish the uncomfortable discussion with Layla.

  Except she was already gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Layla

  Twenty minutes from now, I want you on your knees, naked, in my bedroom.

  Less than an hour ago, I’d been relaxing in the library, reading heart-wrenching Sylvia Plath poetry. A sudden craving for my new favorite Whole Foods orange juice, I’d ambled into the kitchen to find the counter covered in every kind of flour in a baker’s dream. He’d come home early bearing gifts. Jackson had gone out of his way to do something he knew I’d enjoy.

  Now, the next minutes, or longer, that awaited me inside his bedroom could be my very worst.

  Or … best.

  My stomach was clenching.

  Did he want me … or not? One minute, his eyes said yes. The next, his expression was cold and harsh.

  Uneasy and confused, memories from last night flooded my thoughts. His lips whispering against my neck in his sensual voice, tickling my skin. His eyes full of need and heat as he told me how badly he wanted me. The way he’d taken me with such ferocity and savagery in the very room I’d just left because he couldn’t wait to get upstairs and into his bedroom.

  His mood was dark today. Could I sustain his treatment?

  I blinked a few times, taking deep breaths at the onset of a building panic attack. My chest ached, the familiar pull feeling like someone was pressing a heavy, hard hand against my windpipe, keeping me from catching my next breath. Before my dad’s legal problems, I’d never had these issues. Now, they were commonplace.

  Breathe, Layla. One… Again… Two…

  Icy cold like always, my body instantly covered in a deep chill the minute I stripped off my clothes and dropped to my knees on the thick rug in front of Jackson’s bed. The faint purring of the air conditioning suddenly stimulating for some strange reason, my breath caught in my throat at the site of cutting eyes as he walked into the frigid room.

  “Eyes to the ground, Layla,” he snapped.

  His tone was intense, an edgy anxiety radiating from him. I obeyed, dropping my gaze like the compliant woman I was becoming.

  Only inches away, he stood quietly for long minutes, the tension-filled silence making an already frightening situation almost nerve-wracking. Then he was loosening his shirt collar, removing his tie, and placing both across the back of the chaise lounge
only feet from the bed. Next, he removed his shoes. I turned just slightly, enough to see the subtle beige lines crossing the toe of his socks in my peripheral vision. Next, he removed something from a drawer that I couldn’t see.

  In nothing but his suit slacks, the muscle in his thighs tensed underneath the fabric as his hand settled on my shoulder, his fingers caressing. He nuzzled his face against my ear then grabbed my hair. “Look at me, Layla.” He tilted my head, my eyes trailing up the length of his defined chest.

  “Tell me more about your relationship with Joslyn. Just how close are the two of you?”

  I swallowed a surge of fear as I looked up at a bright red crop in his free hand, if that was in fact what it was.

  “She’s my best friend. We’re very close.”

  “Indeed,” he replied, leaning over me and brushing his warm lips against my ear.

  “Did your best friend explain all my expectations in a woman, Layla?”

  I nodded, my response of, “Yes,” almost a silent whimper.

  Paying no mind to my worrisome glance, his gaze was cold and dark. He was far away, everything he hadn’t been last night and even thirty minutes earlier in the kitchen. Before I could think of what to say next, a fiery biting sting on the side of my bare thigh had me yelping in surprise.

  “Stay still,” he mumbled, popping the same spot with the crop a second time and then again. He tilted my head back, pressing his hard erection against the stinging skin of my leg.

  “What exactly were you and Joslyn expecting to accomplish once I invited you into my home and my bed?” His fingers eased from my hair, cupping my cheeks.

  “Look me in the eye and tell me exactly why you entered that auction. I want to hear the words straight from the horse’s mouth, Layla. I think you owe me that much. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I fought to look him in the eye and he dropped another biting stroke on the bottom of my ass cheek this time. Fuck. Motherfucking hell!