Mark scoffs and puffs his chest out. “I’m proud of my name. At least they aren’t saying I’m a fat ass. That Edward dude had abs like a rock. Besides, I could kick your ass any day, any time,” he challenges, stepping closer to me as he smiles widely.
Jackson raises his chin and addresses me. “He’s an asshole but knows his shit, so he stays—for now.” He smirks at Mark. “And anyway, he knows who’s in charge. Right, Mark?” I can almost smell the testosterone in the room.
Mark laughs and his eyes crinkle. “Keep thinking that, assclown. You need me too much.” He puts his arm around my shoulders, taunting Jackson.
“Right, remember who signs your paycheck.” Jackson raises a brow.
“Anyway, Catherine, this fucknugget gives you any problems, you call me and I’ll kick his ass.”
I instantly love this man. He flashes me that ever-present smile one last time before heading back over to his desk. Jackson grips my hip, grimacing and mumbling something under his breath.
Jackson guides me over to an office and flips on the light before closing the door. It’s large and airy. There are photos all over the wall and I walk over to get a closer look. There are a few of Jackson, Mark, and some other guys drinking and laughing. A few of him on a boat with some friends, looking carefree and happy. My stomach clenches at the next one. He’s standing in camouflage with a huge gun slung across his body, a menacing look on his face. He looks scary yet unbelievably sexy.
“You know …” I say, turning, and then I gasp as he startles me.
I was so lost in the photos I didn’t even realize he was behind me. “What?” He smiles.
Once my heart settles and I can speak again, I remember what I was going to say. “You looked pretty nice in uniform.”
“Nice?” he asks, arching a brow.
“Cute.”
“Cute?” Apparently this is even worse than nice.
I look back at the photo, trying to figure out what he seems bothered over. “What? Is cute not a good word?”
I feel him move in behind me, and I struggle not to lean back into him.
“Cute is for babies and puppies. I can think of at least ten other words to better describe me,” he says against my ear. A shiver races over my body and I have to consciously work to steady my breathing.
I close my eyes and smother the desire burning through me. “Really?” I ask breathily.
“Hot, sexy, buff, handsome, fucking amazing, God’s idea of perfect … I could go on, but any of those would be acceptable,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I turn to face him. We’re so close physically, but in any other way we’re miles apart. Still, I’m battling every cell in my body not to give in to him.
“Jackson,” I warn.
He takes a small step forward. “I know you’re taken, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My brows furrow in confusion. “Taken?”
He looks down at my left hand and brings it up between us. “Aren’t you engaged?” He looks from my eyes back down to my hand where my ring used to sit.
“Oh. Ummm, no. Not anymore. We’re over and have been for a while.” I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell him the guy was Neil. I start to feel panic rising at how ridiculously screwed-up my life is and how all of this can come crumbling so easily.
“That certainly changes things.” His eyes blaze with unspoken promises.
“Changes things? No. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re my client.” Or how I’m a mess over the constant screw-ups from the men in my life. And it definitely doesn’t change how I know with every ounce of my being that Jackson would ruin me if I let him in.
“Catherine, I can’t stay away from you.” His voice penetrates through my thoughts, straight to my heart, and it takes me a second to find my resolve.
He cups my face in his hands, holding me, forcing me to look at him. “Jackson, I’m not with anyone, but this isn’t a good—”
Before I can finish my sentence his mouth is on mine. All at once, I’m surrounded by heat, strength, and power—all that is Jackson. The sparks I felt previously are nothing compared to the inferno raging between us right now. I close my eyes and lose myself in the feel of his mouth on mine. My chest presses against him as he pushes me back against the wall and tilts my head to the side. His tongue is against my lips, begging for entrance. I sigh, which is all the permission he needs. Our tongues swirl together as we kiss with fervor. Lifting my hands, I grip his hips and pull him closer. Wanting to touch his body, I trace my hands across the muscles of his taut back, over his hard arms, across the ridges of his abs. The way he feels against my lips, against my body, against my fingers … it’s incredible. I could kiss him forever—his mouth is heaven. Never have I been kissed like this. Jackson shifts and lifts my head to gain better access, and I willingly give it to him. Pushing and pulling each other, trying to get closer and closer, I moan, causing Jackson to break the kiss.
He rests his head against my forehead as we both struggle to catch our breath. I can feel the shift in him as he sighs loudly. “Fuck! I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” He leans back and looks over toward his desk.
I snap my head up, wounded and embarrassed by his sudden rejection. His words, the regret in his voice, and his now distant behavior has me in knots. My stomach flops and I feel sick. He kissed me, and now he’s acting like it was a mistake. I don’t want to want him, but I do. As much as I want to fight what I feel for him, I’m not sure I’m strong enough. But maybe I don’t need to be after all. Maybe my concern was all for nothing. His aloof attitude stings, but I shove down my feelings. I can’t let him know he’s hurt me. I won’t let another man destroy me.
I move over to the side of the room and take a deep breath. “Jackson, it’s fine. I should never have crossed that line.” I don’t know what line I actually crossed, but I’ll take the blame. He’s my client, and the last thing I need is for him to fire me. Besides, it will only be a matter of time before he sees the real me and decides he’s better off. My mind is spinning as the pain of his rejection swells. My God, how many times will I do this to myself? You’d think by now I’d realize that every man in my life leaves. They take and take and then I’m left cleaning up the pieces, praying next time will be different.
He moves toward me and stops suddenly. He swallows hard and rubs his hand over his face. He looks sad and angry. “You did nothing wrong!” he snaps and I take a step back. He lifts his head to the ceiling and shakes his head. “You’ve had a lot of shit happen today. I didn’t mean to …” He takes a step forward with his hands by his side, clenched into tight fists. I’m not sure why he’s so angry about it. I thought he enjoyed it, but I guess not.
I put my hands up to stop him—I don’t want to hear it. “Please, just stop. Let’s forget about it, okay? I’m a lot stronger than you think. I’ve dealt with a lifetime of this.” I turn away and look out the window. I don’t trust myself to say any more right now.
“Catherine, please …” he pleads. I hear him step forward but he doesn’t say anything else. It feels like five minutes have passed when I feel his hands on my shoulders. I shrug him off and turn to face him. The look in his eyes stops the hostility I was feeling. He looks devastated, torn. He swallows and his voice is soft, laced with pain. “I’ve wanted and yet not wanted to kiss you for the last two weeks. It isn’t you, I promise. I don’t want to take advantage of the grief you’re feeling.”
I don’t know what to believe. “Okay, let’s just call it what it was—a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not sure about that—”
“I am. It won’t happen aga—”
“It won’t happen again on the day you lost a parent,” he says with a small smile. “Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I’ve been there. I know the pain you’re feeling. Okay?” He takes a deep breath and looks at the wall of pictures, staring at one in particular. There are so many, I�
�m not sure which one he’s looking at. However, he was a SEAL—maybe he’s lost friends? My heart breaks for him at the thought, and I want to soothe his pain.
“I’m sorry you’ve lost someone.”
“That’s not for today. Let’s get out of here.” He smiles and walks over to his desk, grabbing some papers. I walk back over to the wall, looking at the photo of Jackson—so strong and lethal. A chill runs down my spine. Jackson comes around to where I’m standing and looks at the photo. He’s close enough that his arm and chest are touching my back, and I know he positioned himself there on purpose. Every time he touches me I lose the ability to think clearly. I step away from him, trying to keep some space between us.
“You done ogling my picture?” he asks.
My jaw drops at his sudden teasing. “I wasn’t ogling. Maybe I was staring at Mark’s picture.” I lift my eyebrows and challenge him.
“I’m sure he would love that.” He smirks and turns to head out of the office.
Before we can leave, Jackson’s called over to handle an issue. I meet a few more people in the office as he’s dealing with things. Once he finishes, we say our good-byes and Jackson assures them that he’ll be back in the office a few times this trip to work over some contracts. Mark and a guy named Ski joke with him, telling him he can only come back if I come with him. He laughs and tells them he’ll think about it. I’m captivated by the way he handles two companies—companies that are on such opposite spectrums. It’s obvious the security company is his passion and evidently he’s good at it, considering some of what I’ve heard here today.
Once we’re back in the car, it appears all the joking and normalcy is gone. He seems distracted. I give him the quiet I assume he’s seeking and try to focus on my own emotions. I press my hands to my lips. I swear I can still feel him. I can smell his cologne on my skin. The car is filled with tense energy. I want to say something but I can’t. I know what his mouth tastes like, feels like. I’m fighting every part of my self-control to kiss him again. But his small rejection reminds me of the ability he has to hurt me. I don’t know if I could handle that again. I promised myself I wouldn’t go there until I was sure the guy was worth it. And right now I’m not sure if Jackson is.
We check into the upscale Ocean View Hotel. It’s chic. The concierge informs us that we both have rooms on the fifteenth floor—right next to each other. Thoughts of how close he’ll be float through my mind. I enter my room and the sheer beauty of it takes my breath away. There’s a four-poster king size bed that faces the ocean. It’s adorned with a fluffy white down comforter and luxurious soft blue linens. However, nothing is as beautiful as the wall of windows that opens to a balcony overlooking the waves. I put my bags down and explore the rest of the room. The bathroom is contemporary but still has the beach feel to it with blue and white accents that match the bedroom area. A huge two-person shower all done in marble is on the left, and in front of it is a square white soaker tub. Everything about this hotel is picture-perfect.
The sound of the hotel phone startles me. I rush over, picking up the receiver.
“Hello,” I say, a little breathless.
Jackson’s rough voice meets my ear. “Hey, I know we were going to leave right away, but I had something come up at the office that I need to handle.” He sounds frustrated. I picture him pacing the room and rubbing his hands over his face.
“Sure, that’s fine. Take as long as you need.”
“Shouldn’t be more than two hours. Sorry, but I have to go,” he says quickly and hangs up.
I flop onto the king size bed in my beautiful hotel room and stare at the ceiling. I’m dead tired, even after my nap. It’s only 2 p.m. but I feel like it’s 2 a.m. Jackson exhausts me—hell, my life exhausts me. Instead of taking yet another nap, I decide to take this time and call my mother. I’m still beyond pissed that she left a voicemail, but she’s all I have left and I need some answers.
I dial her number and press the send button. After two quick rings, I hear her voice come through the line.
“Oh Cat. Hi, honey.” She sounds so happy to hear from me.
“Mom.” My reply is clipped and full of sadness. I’m trying to control my emotions.
She huffs. “You got my message, I assume.”
“Yes, Mom, it was wonderful hearing that on a voicemail.” I roll my eyes even though she can’t see it. I need to keep calm. I walk over to the balcony overlooking the ocean and stare out at the horizon.
“Catherine, what was I supposed to do? Huh?” she asks and takes a deep breath. “You don’t answer your phone. You don’t call me back. I do the best I can with your attitude toward me. If you answered your damn phone, I wouldn’t have to leave you messages.” She sounds exasperated. I don’t have an answer to that. Talking to her usually ends with one of us upset. We both argue and fight, and most of the time it’s about something I’m doing wrong—according to her.
I’ve always felt second best to my mother. Either I wasn’t smart enough, didn’t try hard enough, or was too much like him. She would cry at night about how I was a constant reminder of my father. My father and I were pretty much identical, so I can understand how looking at me was difficult, but it was even harder having her push me away. The pain of having both parents walk out that day—one physically and one figuratively—was excruciating. I lost every idea I coveted about what my family was like the day he packed and left. He took more than just his belongings with him—he took my childhood. All I’ve wanted was for her to see me without seeing my father.
I let out a deep sigh. “Really, Mom? A voicemail? Why didn’t you call Taylor?” I’m trying to restrain my voice, but I’m growing more and more agitated with her.
“I shouldn’t have to call your damn secretary!” she yells. Then her voice softens. “I’m still your mother. I don’t know why you hate me. You never think of anyone but yourself. I wish just once you cared about what I’m going through.”
I choke back the emotion bubbling up. Once again she makes me feel stupid, as though I’ve done something wrong. I know she means well, but her execution leaves a lot to be desired. “I don’t hate you. God. I love you and I don’t want to fight. I’ve been really busy with work. That’s why I haven’t called.” And it hurts too much.
“Too busy to call me back? Ten times I called!” She gets frustrated again. This is her thing: she gives me guilt trips and somehow I come out feeling inadequate. She hasn’t yet asked me how I’m doing or if I’m okay.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I will try to do better about calling.” I soften my voice, knowing we’re getting nowhere. I decide to get the answers I need. “So what information did you get from the lawyer?”
“I got a letter stating you’re named in his will and you need to call them. I don’t know much more than he died last week. Alone.” She lets out a puff of air and quickly sucks in another breath as if she’s upset. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.” She starts sobbing.
“I don’t understand why you’re crying,” I say in an even tone, feeling betrayed by her reaction. “Why are you upset? He left us and never looked back. He didn’t love us, Mom. At least now I know he won’t come around because he’s dead and not just because he doesn’t want to.”
She cries harder. I’m shaking, trying to wrap my mind around this.
“Catherine, I loved him! I had a child with him.”
I understand loving a man who doesn’t love you back—hell, I know it all too well. I can’t fully understand since I never had a child with Neil—thank God for that. But for once I want her to put me before my father. Sure, at some point he was a good dad, but I barely remember that because the bad memories far outweigh any good ones. There’s a small part of me that understands that once you love someone there is a piece of your heart that is always theirs. But doesn’t the hurt and pain that he put us through for twenty years negate that love? Don’t the months where we ate macaroni and cheese every night because it’s all she could afford due to his disappearance and lac
k of child support dampen that? My head and heart can’t find common ground with her reaction. I’m angry over his death more than anything. I will never get answers. I won’t know why he did these things. Did he feel remorse? Did he think about me and wonder who I became?
My blood boils as my chest tightens. “Yes, and then he left!” I remind her as the anger takes hold of me.
“He was a good father—”
All the air is pushed out of my lungs as if I’ve been punched in the gut. Of all the things she could say—to side with him is more hurtful than anything. “Are you kidding me?” I shriek. This is insane.
“Catherine Grace Pope, you do not get to yell at me! I don’t give a shit how old you are.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t you Mom me. He was my husband. Yes, he left, but I made vows with him. I loved him—very much. I know you don’t feel the same. I’ve never asked you to. But don’t you dare try to make me feel bad for being sad that someone I shared a part of myself with is dead.” She starts to hiccup-cry again. I know better than to try to speak. My hands tremble with rage as angry tears flow down my face. She composes herself and starts again. “He loved you. Maybe he didn’t know what to do or how to be a father after he left, but he did love you.”
Apparently she forgot all the nights I cried myself to sleep begging for him to come home. The days I sat at the top of the steps with a bag, hoping he was going to come get me for the weekend. The thousands of times I would ask if Daddy was going to call or come back. Every birthday when I would cry because I would wish for him and he’d never show. Tears fall relentlessly as anguish slices through my heart.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mom.” I take deep breath. “I wasn’t enough. I have to go.” I press end, disconnecting the call, and throw the phone on the bed. I won’t listen to her tell me he loved me. If I stayed on the phone, we would’ve fought more and I can’t handle any more of it today.
Beloved (The Belonging Series) Page 10
