by JM Stewart
“Morning.” Jackson made his way up the bed. With one arm, he moved painfully slow, and she ached to help him, but she’d learned last night that Jackson insisted on “not being an invalid,” as he put it. He inched slowly up beside her and dropped a kiss onto her mouth before rolling onto his back.
“Morning, yourself.” She smiled and braced a hand on his bare shoulder, sliding over on top of him. Careful not to hurt him, she twined her fingers with his one good hand. He arched upwards at the same time she sank down. Having discovered the hard way throughout the night that vigorous lovemaking jarred his ribs too much, they took their time, rocking against each other in a slow, torturous rhythm. She luxuriated in the solid warmth of him beneath her, his hard body inside of her, in watching his pleasure ripple across his features, matching the intensity raging through her. His fingers curled tightly around hers, she lost herself in him, in the connection between them.
Every slip of him inside her built the delicious friction all over again. The slow burn liquefied her insides. Until, with a final stroke, her orgasm washed over her. Pleasure pulsed through her, soft and luxurious, but powerful all the same, and she closed her eyes to savor it. Beneath her, Jackson tensed and shuddered. He let out a long, low groan, his fingers tightening around hers.
When the luscious spasms finally ceased, she dropped into the space beside him, breathless and exhausted and more sated than she ever remembered being. Even when they dated they hadn’t made love this much.
A glance at the clock confirmed it was a little after eleven, which meant they’d gotten, at most, four hours of total sleep last night. She let out a quiet laugh and gingerly laid her head on his chest. “We haven’t slept this late in a long time. After last night, how do we still have the energy to make love again?”
Still every bit as breathless as she was, Jackson let out a quiet laugh, his chest rumbling beneath her ear, and stroked his hand down her back. “Making up for lost time.”
She hadn’t felt this close to him since they’d come up here the first time. She loved the simplicity of the connection. The freedom of loving him, of seeing the emotion shining back at her from the depths of his eyes. Thirteen months ago, when she’d left him, she didn’t think she’d ever find herself here again.
They had one more day of bliss before life forced them to enter reality again. This part still had her nerves in a tangle. They’d always been good in the bedroom. Reality, day-to-day life, however, was where the real test began. They’d done it so far, but they’d only lived together for a couple of weeks. Could their relationship survive this time? She had to admit Jackson was trying. He was more open with her now, and he was trying to work less.
She knew what she wanted, though. To go home. To put their family back together. In truth, she’d always wanted that. Even when she’d left him, she hadn’t wanted to end their marriage. They’d have to tell Allie at some point. Becca couldn’t help worrying what the back and forth would do to her. Would she be okay with it? Or would it only confuse her? They’d have to take things slow, ease them all back into it.
Jackson’s cell phone vibrated on the bedside table, its quiet noise interrupting the silence. Becca couldn’t stop herself from tensing. Remnants of old, painful memories rose to the surface. That phone had interrupted too many things.
She closed her eyes, refusing to acknowledge the ugliness rising in her mind. They were different now. He was different now. Instead, she buried her face in his chest, in the heady scent of his skin. “Don’t answer it.”
“It could be about Allie.” He kissed the top of her head before easing himself upright and snatched his phone from the nightstand. As he peered down at the screen, his smile melted, taking the light in his eyes with it.
Now alarms were sounding in her head. Becca sat up, her heart hammering in rising panic. “Is it Allie?”
He shook his head and peered over at her. The anxiousness and regret in his eyes had her stomach knotting. Whoever it was, clearly he knew she wouldn’t like the news. Which meant it could only be one thing. Work.
Her spine stiffened, but she tamped down the panic threatening to rise, determined not to allow it to take root. She had to learn to trust him at some point, right? He ran his own business, the same as her, and she knew from experience you couldn’t just take days off and not stay connected. Sometimes, all the wrong things happened. Like last year, when one of her instructors up and quit on her. He simply didn’t show up to work one day.
She nodded. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be quick. I promise.” He leaned over, pecking her lips, then punched the ACCEPT button on his screen and held the phone to his ear. “What’s up, Josh?” The frown between his brows deepened, his voice growing irritated. “Have you told him I’m not available? Well, you’re going to have to do your best with him. He’s saying what?” He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders rounding. “Damn it. I was afraid of that. Put him on.”
Her heart had rooted in her throat as she watched, as if from within the haze of a dream, as he eased himself off the bed and made his way into the living room. Becca knotted her fingers together and held her breath, listening, waiting, hoping. He was quiet for what seemed like a full minute.
“Mr. Rembrandt, I’m afraid I’m not available this weekend. Everything is set up, I’ve seen to it myself. Josh is my top executive, and I’ve—”
He went silent again. This time the floor creaked in rhythmic fashion, telling her he’d begun to pace. The sick sensation twisting in her stomach told her she knew how this would end. She’d seen it a thousand times. Work was about to interrupt their time together.
“Yes, sir. I realize that. You’re my oldest client, and I’m not sure Kade Advertising would be where it is without your business, but . . .” He let out another heavy sigh, this one laden with remorse and defeat. “Yes, sir. I’ll be down as soon as I can. I’m afraid it’ll take me an hour to get there.”
In the other room, Jackson swore, and something shattered as it crashed to the floor. Becca flinched, every inch of her trembling as she waited. Finally, he appeared in the doorway. The regret on his face told her she hadn’t heard wrong.
When he finally came back into the room, Becca bit her bottom lip and clasped her hands together hard, determined not to let the disappointment twisting her stomach into knots show on her face. It was fear, that was all, and she wouldn’t let it ruin their time together. It was an extenuating circumstance. She couldn’t be angry at him for this one. At some point, she had to learn to trust him. If he could give, so could she. “You have to go.”
Panic rose swift and palpable in the deep-blue eyes staring back at her. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and eased down onto the bed beside her. “A couple of hours, sweetheart. That’s all it’ll take. I’ll make sure to take Monday off to make up for lost time.”
Becca forced a brave smile and waved a hand at him. “Go. Just hurry back.”
He cupped her chin in the warmth of his palm, his fingers stroking her skin. “Will you be here when I get back?”
For a moment, she could only stare at him. She couldn’t deny that fear had a hold of her. Everything inside of her yearned to hear him tell her he wouldn’t go. But she had to give him this one. If only in large part because he clearly understood what this moment meant for her. Fear shined back at her from the depths of his eyes, and the fingers stroking her chin trembled.
She couldn’t deny either that she’d fallen in love with him again. She was prepared to go home. Home. For the entire last year, that word meant a small two-bedroom house she could barely afford with what little revenue her dojo created. Somewhere over the last month, she’d started thinking of him, of their house, as home again.
Finally, she nodded. “I’ll be here.”
His stiff posture deflated, his relief palpable. “Any other client, I’d tell them they had to wait until Monday, but th
is one, I’m afraid can’t. Thank you. For having faith in me.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, then rose from the bed.
He put in a call to his limo driver, and while waiting for it to arrive, she helped him get dressed. Tension rose between them that had them both shaking. She forced herself to stay positive. This was it, the moment she’d waited for. When their lives would officially return to normal, when reality would enter their relationship. How they handled this would tell her whether or not they’d make it this time.
When his cell phone buzzed twenty minutes later and the popping of rocks under tires sounded outside, announcing the arrival of his limo, her stomach tightened, but she smiled. She held tight to the hope that this time would be different.
He rose from the bed, pulled his wallet from his back pocket, and dug through it for a moment. He came out with a business card, and set it, along with his cell phone, on the bedside table. “I’m assuming you don’t have your cell with you?”
She shook her head. “I assumed you’d have yours, so I left mine at home.”
He nodded. “I thought as much. I’ll leave you mine, in case you need it. My driver’s number is on that card, along with the number for the service he works for. Should you need it—”
She shook her head. “I won’t.”
His brows rose. “But if you do . . . all you have to do is tell ’em my name and where you are. They’ll come get you.” He stood over her for a moment, anxiousness in his searching eyes, then bent to kiss her cheek, his warm, soft lips lingering on her skin. “It’s an hour there and an hour back, so four hours, give or take, depending on how backed up traffic is on I-5. It’s rush hour, and you know how horrid rush hour can be.”
He straightened but didn’t move.
So she rose and pressed lightly into his arms. “I’ll tell you what.” She darted a glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Just promise you’ll be back by dinner, and I’ll whip something up here. We’ll make up for lost time when you get back.”
The tension in his body drained, and his arm came around her back, tugging her hard against him. Despite how much it must have hurt his ribs to do it, he held her tightly and claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss, then leaned his forehead against hers. “Thank you. Your trust means a lot, darlin’. Dinner, I can do. I love you, Becca. Please don’t forget that.”
He kissed her one last time, then released her, pivoted, and strode from the room. She followed the sounds of him leaving but couldn’t force herself to go after him. The quiet thumps of his footsteps across the old floorboards. The creak of the rusty hinges as the front door opened. When the door snapped shut behind him again, she dropped onto the edge of the bed, releasing a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding.
This had to work. It had to. If he didn’t come back. . . . She shook off the thought before it fully formed. No. He’d be back. He’d promised.
***
Seven hours later, Becca sat at the small, round table just outside the kitchen. The quiet of the little cabin echoed around her, so silent her breathing seemed loud. A lump rising in her throat, she glanced around her. Every emergency candle she could find sat lit on every available surface, lending a warm, intimate glow to the space. The table was set. The dinner she’d had delivered sat on the stove, waiting. She’d even donned the lingerie she’d packed for this weekend. The see-through lace was completely not her style, but she’d wanted to surprise Jackson, and tonight seemed the perfect night for it. She’d even lit a fire, and although its heat cut the chill seeping in from outside, she couldn’t seem to get warm.
She’d been waiting all day, her nerves shattered, for him to come back. She’d kept herself busy by taking a walk on the beach, then preparing her intimate evening. Except dinner had come and gone an hour ago and Jackson had yet to return. He’d called from the office, but she couldn’t bring herself to listen to the message. She was too afraid. That he wasn’t here told her she already knew what his message was, and she couldn’t bear hearing it. Not now.
Looking around her, the weight of an elephant sat on her chest, crushing the breath from her lungs. She couldn’t ignore the moment they’d arrived at. Despite all hope for the contrary, it was happening again, and the hard questions rose within her. Did she really want to go through this again? All those lonely nights, waiting for him to find time to spend with her and Allie? Watching the pain on her daughter’s face when her father had to work yet again, instead of coming to the dojo to watch her practice?
Sitting night after night at an empty dinner table, knowing he wouldn’t be home on time, that she’d more than likely be in bed by the time he finally did?
Tears welled in her eyes as the truth settled over her. She couldn’t. She refused to go back to being that ghost, invisible to him, taking the scraps of time he offered her. She’d hoped, prayed, that he really had changed, but clearly he hadn’t. When push came to shove, he reverted to what he knew.
The hardest part was, she couldn’t be angry with him this time. He was who he was, and his business was at stake. He’d told her about this particular client before. She almost wondered if he’d done so to warn her. Besides, she had her own business. She knew how difficult running one could be.
But at what point did she insist their relationship come first? It was selfish and she knew it, but at some point, she had to put herself and Allie first. She wanted more for their daughter than a father who wasn’t there.
Which meant drawing a line. Again. This time, she had to stand firm by it. Jackson hadn’t changed, and she couldn’t settle for less. Maybe they were just too different. Maybe she was asking too much from him, but at some point, she had to do what was right for herself and for Allie.
As the finality of her decision settled over her, so too did their time together, and the shell she’d buried herself in this morning cracked. Tears welled and overflowed, an unstoppable river, and she buried her face in her hands and let them come. She had to let him go again, and it was breaking her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
“Can you see what’s happening?” Jackson rolled down the limo partition, eyeing the driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror. The car had come to a dead halt on the highway and hadn’t budged. They’d been sitting there an hour now, a sea of red taillights spanning for miles on both sides of them.
The driver met his gaze in the mirror. “Traffic accident, sir. According to the radio, it’s a twelve-car pileup. Traffic’s backed up for fourteen miles.”
Jackson cursed under his breath. Panic had begun to take root in his chest a half hour ago, way too many thoughts churning in his mind. He’d left Nathan Rembrandt slack-jawed in his boardroom an hour and a half ago. Lord, he’d said things to that man he likely shouldn’t have said.
The meeting had run a half hour late. The old coot was a perfectionist and used to getting his own way. Normally he coddled the man, but he was arguing things that could damn well wait until Monday. He’d probably regret his hasty decision when Monday actually came and the man called to fire him, but he’d been so focused on getting things completed so he could get back to Becca that his nerves had snapped.
All he could focus on right then was the damn traffic. He ought to be back at the cabin by now. He’d called Becca before he’d left the office, had used his driver’s phone to call her again twenty minutes ago, but she hadn’t answered either call. Nor had she called him back. He prayed it was just spotty cell reception. Or that maybe she was napping, biding her time by making up for the sleep they hadn’t gotten last night. He refused to ponder anything else, or the thoughts would sink him. A twelve-car pileup? Accidents that size could take hours to clear. Would Becca wait? Would she even still be there when he got back to the cabin?
His chest constricted. That was the trouble. He didn’t know. He was entirely too aware he had one shot at this. This weekend was a test, and he was clearly failing. Not that there was anything h
e could do now, except pray that when he got back, she’d still be there. He desperately wanted to prove to her that he wasn’t the man he’d been. He had every intention of never being that man again. Yet here he was, stuck in this goddamn mess. The drive from his office in Seattle to the cabin in Port Townsend was easily an hour. With a mess this size, three or four hours could pass by the time he got back.
Drumming his fingers in impatience on the armrest, he turned back to the driver. “Can you go around?”
The driver flashed an apologetic smile. “Not at the moment, sir. Next exit’s a couple miles ahead.”
Jackson dropped his head onto the seatback and closed his eyes as the hopelessness of the situation slid over him. He should never have gone. He’d left the love of his life naked in bed, alone in a romantic little cabin. All this work to convince her he wasn’t the man he used to be, and he’d probably just succeeded in convincing her that divorcing him had been the correct decision. All for what?
To compete with his father. To prove to the one person who never gave an ounce of care for him in his entire life that he was worthy. Meanwhile, the one person who’d always stood by him was back in a cabin on a deserted stretch of beach. Alone.
She had to be hurt. The very thought made his chest ache. He was lower than the filth on a flea. Maybe he really didn’t deserve her. Maybe she’d be happier without him.
No.
He opened his eyes, determination swelling in his chest. He wouldn’t let her slip away again. She had to know. Telling her might not get him anywhere except the door slammed in his face, which he damn well deserved, but he had to say the words.
He lifted his head, eyeing the driver in the rearview mirror again. “When you can, go around this. Please. I need to get back as soon as possible.”
The driver nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Jackson cursed the sea of traffic in front of them again and prayed Becca would still be at the cabin when he finally reached it. Please, God, let her still be there.
