by JM Stewart
***
Two hours later, though, revealed an empty cabin. Becca had straightened up the place, making the bed, picking up the clothing they’d used. The fireplace showed evidence that it had once been burning, though it looked like she’d doused it. She’d taken her belongings with her, but the dinner she’d apparently had delivered still sat in its containers on the stove. Jackson swore under his breath as he eyed the dinnerware still sitting neatly at their places on the table. She’d gone through a lot of trouble for him.
With a heavy heart, he gathered the dinner containers, closed up the cabin, made sure the doors and windows were locked, and then climbed into the back of the limo. The small space filled with the aroma of barbecue. No doubt pulled pork sandwiches. She’d ordered his favorites. Call him a walking cliché, but one of the things he missed about the South was the food. His parents had insisted on the best of the best. Fancy dishes. Things like pulled pork sandwiches had been a rare treat, usually made for him in secret by their cook, Ida Mae. That Becca had remembered made his chest ache.
“Where to, sir?” The driver peered at him in the rearview mirror.
Jackson released a heavy breath, dropped his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. The dejection swallowed him, and he let it. “Home. Take me home, if you don’t mind.”
***
Wading through the heavy traffic had taken them another hour. Traffic had been rerouted, making the already crowded side streets jam-packed with more cars than usual. As they pulled into the driveway, Jackson’s stomach tied itself in sickening knots. He had no idea what he’d find in the house, but only one light was burning inside. The one they’d left on when they’d left. The kitchen light.
No doubt the house was still as empty as when they’d left it. He’d have to call around her family to figure out whose house she’d gone to. With a sigh, he exited the car, thanked his driver, and trudged up the porch steps. His heart hung heavy in his chest as he pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door.
One step through the doorway, he halted in his tracks, hand still holding the knob. Stunned surprise slid over him. Halfway down the hallway, Becca stood with her hands fisted at her sides. The light burning in the kitchen spilled out into the hallway, illuminating her face. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes shot daggers at him, warning him of the oncoming onslaught of anger.
All he could focus on, though, was how glad he was to see her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss the hell out of her. Even glaring at him, she was the best damn thing he’d ever seen. She hadn’t gone to her family. She’d come home. If only to give him a piece of her mind, maybe, but at least she’d come. She’d left without a word last time. That she’d come at all meant he had a fighting chance this time. That chance might be a tiny speck of dust, but he’d take what he could get.
So he closed the door behind him and started talking while he could, while she’d let him. The words rushed from his mouth on a desperate need to make her understand. To tell her, yet again, all those things he should have told her a long time ago. “When I left my father’s company, Nathan Rembrandt came with me. His family is older than Savannah itself, and they’re worth billions. The man makes me millions every year. I’ve worked his campaigns since I started with my father after college, and he said he’d never change. He left my father’s larger, more experienced firm to come with me to a new company. He’d been with my father since before I got there, but he took a chance on me, and I have never let him down.”
He paused, waiting for a reaction, but she didn’t say anything or so much as move or even blink. So he drew a breath, dragged a shaking hand through his hair, and continued. Before she did say something. Before she walked around him and out the door behind him.
“Do you know what my father said to me when I told him I wanted to open my own advertising company?” His shoulders rounded as the painful memory rose over him, sinking inside of him. “He told me I’d fail. Said fifty percent of companies failed their first year out and he couldn’t understand why I wanted to start one when someday his would be mine. He told me starting my own company was a foolish waste of money, and if I insisted, he wouldn’t support me. So when Nathan Rembrandt says jump, I ask how high. I go out of my way to accommodate him, because I’m damn grateful to him.”
He paused again to gauge her reaction. She was silent and it was grating on his already raw nerves. The soft light drifting out from the kitchen glinted off the tears hovering in her eyes. Red-rimmed eyes. Seeing the evidence of her pain, a pain he’d caused, broke his heart. Becca only cried when she was desperate and hopeless. He’d been the one to put those tears in her eyes.
He dropped his arm to his side, helplessness washing over him. “Becca, say something. Yell at me. Tell me I’m a fool.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She finally moved from her spot, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. “I was going to leave again, you know. I sat in that damn cabin for seven hours by myself. I called and had dinner delivered. Lit every candle I could find in the drawers. Made a romantic little fire to go with it, too. Lila helped me pack my bag for this weekend. She left a surprise for you, and I put it on. Sat at that table for an hour, waiting.”
His gut wrenched, shame rising over him. He opened his mouth and moved toward her, ready to throw himself at her mercy, when her words finally sank in. He halted halfway to her. “Wait. Was?”
She came to a stop in front of him, head tipped back to meet his gaze. Her lower lip wobbled, and those damn tears continued to stubbornly hover in the corners of her eyes, but Becca drew up straight. Her eyes narrowed and she poked a finger into his chest. “You are going to have to figure this out, Jack.”
He blinked, processed, his mind still stuck on the last thing she’d said. She’d said was. Not “I am leaving you,” but, “I was leaving you.”
“You’re going to have to start rearranging your schedule to fit us in. Start putting your foot down with those clients of yours, hire more people.” She waved a flippant hand in the air, then glared at him again. “I don’t care how you do it. But you’re going to figure this out, because damn it . . .”
Her voice wobbled, and she swallowed, her throat bobbing. Her angry expression faltered, her eyes searching his. After a moment, she straightened her shoulders, hiked her chin a notch, and furrowed her brow again.
“Because I refuse to live without you.” Despite the fierceness of the words, her voice cracked, and her stiff posture deflated. A single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek.
All the breath rushed from his lungs. Relief shuddered through him, so keen he wanted to shout from the rooftops. She wasn’t leaving him again. Of all the things he thought she’d say, he hadn’t expected that. That was the best damn thing he’d ever heard.
Too stunned and too grateful to do much more than react, he did the only thing he could think of. He slid his hand into her hair and seized her mouth. He savored the luscious flavor of her tongue, luxuriated in the way her lips melted beneath his. When she leaned into him and a soft whimper escaped, he forced himself to release her.
“I’m sorry.” Beating him to the punch again, she whispered the words between them. Another tear broke loose, following its predecessor down her cheek.
“What on earth for?” His chest aching, he swiped away the wetness with the pad of his thumb. If only he could take away the pain he’d caused her as easily. Regret sat like a stone, hard and immobile, in his gut. “I’m the idiot who left.”
She slid her hand up his chest, settling it over his heart. “I left that cabin positive I was leaving you again. I was terrified. When you didn’t come back on time, all I could think was that the past was repeating itself, and I decided I couldn’t do it again.”
He lifted a hand, stroking her cheek, running his fingers along her jawline, any part he could, simply because he could. “So what’s changed?”
She gave a helpless shake of her head. “I came back here to gather my things, and the empty house got to me. I got to sitting in the living room, thinking about how much I’d miss this place. And then I got thinking about all those nights we sat in there, watching the news together, and that’s when it really hit me. The silence. The empty house. When Allie went to bed at night, I’d be alone. You told me a couple of weeks ago that I scare the hell out of you? Well, you scare the hell out of me, too.” She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. When she spoke again, her words came out in a trembling whisper. “Nobody makes me feel as vulnerable as you do.”
“You had every right to be upset with me.” He stroked her back, enjoying the familiar curves of her body beneath his fingers, grateful beyond words that he could touch her at all. “I should never have left. I had a long talk with my client before I left the office. It’s why I was late. The meeting was running long, because he’s an old Southern gentlemen, used to getting his own way. He was dissecting the small details, and it frustrated the hell out of me. I told Nathan I couldn’t do it anymore. That weekends had to be my time. With my family.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, remembering the conversation. The old buzzard was a talker, and Jackson had grown frustrated.
“Lord, Becca, I told that man things I probably shouldn’t have said, in front of a full room. I told him everything. The divorce. The fire. You coming home. Christ. I even told him I’d left my wife, naked, at a romantic little cabin on the coast to come cater to his needs. Took me forever to get back to the cabin. Damn accident on the highway. Twelve-car pileup, of all things. Traffic had backed up for fourteen miles. By the time I got to the cabin, you’d already left.”
She leaned back to peer at him. “I came to find you.”
He smiled, quirking a brow at her. “To give me a piece of your mind?”
A soft flush slid into her cheeks. “I got to sitting around in the house. I hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to you being there every day. I realized how much I’d miss you if you were gone.”
“And?”
She looked up. “I didn’t want to leave. The thought of not having you there every day hurt too much. I can’t let go again, Jack. I can’t bear the thought of having to tell Allie we’re leaving again. She’s been so happy being at home.”
“Can you forgive me for being a fool?” His fingers trembled as he stroked his hand down the side of her face, relishing the softness of her skin.
She pressed closer, slid her hands up his back, and laid her head against his chest. “If you can forgive me for not having faith in you. It takes two to make this work. It takes faith and trust, and I wasn’t giving you any of that. I was so afraid, but how can I expect you to give me all of you and hold back in return? I wasn’t being fair to you. I was lost in my own selfishness.”
He closed his arm around her, held her as tight as he dared as emotion rose up around him. She was here, and he was . . . in awe. He didn’t know if he had the words, but he had to try. It was a strange place to be, like discovering uncharted territory; yet, at the same time, the most natural place in the world. Over the last couple of weeks, he’d come to relish the new intimacy between them, and he needed her to know how much.
“It’s not selfish, sweetheart. You were right. But I’m done. I’m done being that man, and I’m not letting you go again.” He ducked his head, buried his face in the fall of her hair, and lowered his voice, murmuring against her skin. “Because without you, sweetheart, I’m nothing.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Ever again.” She pulled back and turned her head, finding his mouth. Her kiss was everything all wrapped up in one—hungry, lingering, tender—and she trembled every bit as much as he did. “We’ll figure everything out, Jack. Together. The way it should be.”
He’d died, he was sure of it. Died and gone to heaven. He was sure he’d lost her again, yet there she was, and he hadn’t a clue how to tell her what that meant. “I’m not perfect, sweetheart. I can guarantee I’m going to make mistakes. I’ve never had anything as open and honest and loving as what you and I have, and I’m afraid I don’t quite know what to do with it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. Just be here with Allie and me.”
“Tell me you love me, Becca.” He pressed his nose to hers. “Tell me you’re coming home. For good. I need to hear you say the words.”
She pressed closer, her breasts pushing into his chest, and slid her hands up to cup his cheeks in the warmth of her palms. For a long moment, she held his gaze, and he lost himself there, in her beautiful blue-gray eyes.
“I love you, Jackson Kade.” Tears flooded her eyes, and she whispered the words on a trembling voice, barely audible in the miniscule space between them. “And I want to come home.”
“God, I love you.” He crushed her to him, heedless of the pain shooting through his ribs when her arms tightened around him in return. An overflow of emotion swept through him, a river of need and relief and gratitude. He held heaven in his arms and he wasn’t ever letting her go. “I love you so damn much. A year ago, when I signed those papers, I thought I’d never hear those words from you.”
“Me either.” She pulled back suddenly, frowning at him. “What happened with your client? Was he angry?”
Jackson laughed. “I haven’t a clue. I told him if he wanted me he’d have to wait until Monday, because if I didn’t put my family first right now, my marriage might well and truly be over. Then I left. Last I saw of the man, he was staring at me like I’d lost my ever-lovin’ mind. I have absolutely no idea if he’ll still be a client come Monday morning.”
She drew her brows together, sorrow rising in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I never meant to put your company at risk.”
Jackson shook his head. “You didn’t, sweetheart. I made a decision on a whim. All that mattered right then was coming to find you.” He leaned down, nipping at her bottom lip. “Right now, I don’t care. I’ll deal with the fallout when Monday comes. Our weekend isn’t over yet, and I have some making up to do. I have an idea. I think I know how to make up for the last few hours.”
She playfully narrowed her eyes. “What do you have planned?”
“You’ll see.” He waggled his brows and kissed her again. “I’m going upstairs. Give me ten minutes to get ready, then come up after me.”
***
Becca paced the living room, watching the clock above the sofa. She’d sat in this room for hours, crying, heartbroken at the thought at having to leave again. Sitting there, she’d expected the choice to be some sort of epiphany, but it hadn’t. The decision had come quietly, more the gradual acceptance of the truth than a bold neon sign. She recalled Kyle telling her that once. That the realization that he’d fallen in love with Ceci had hit him the same way. Softly. An acknowledgment of something he already knew, and Becca had realized the same thing. That she already knew what she wanted.
Jackson. Nothing else had mattered. So she’d waited. When the telltale sounds of the limo pulling into the driveway announced his arrival, the tears had started again. Grateful. Terrified. She hadn’t been certain what he’d say, but the panic written on his face had started the waterworks again. Listening to his story, her decision had only cemented itself. Because he was trying. He’d stood in front of her with his heart in his hands, laying it all at her feet.
When the ten minutes were finally up, she followed Jackson’s instructions and headed upstairs. She came to a stop in the doorway, heart caught in her throat. The sight of the bedroom took her breath away. Candles covered every available flat surface. Flickering golden light cast a soft, intimate glow around the room. White rose petals from the flowers he’d given her the day before lay scattered over the bed. Having so many bouquets at the office, she’d given a few away and brought several home. He’d covered the bed with an old patchwork quilt Becca hadn’
t seen since she left a year ago.
The sound of running water told her where Jackson had gotten to, hinting at what he’d dreamed up. A delicious little shiver shot down her spine. He might not be perfect, but he could be very romantic when he wanted to be. The sight of the room made her melt.
“Jack?” She called out to him as she moved around the end of the bed.
The water shut off and Jackson appeared in the bathroom doorway. He stood in nothing but his slacks, his chest and shoulders deliciously bare. How he’d gotten himself out of his sweater alone, she wasn’t sure, but the sight caught her. He really was beautifully made.
“You did all this in ten minutes?” She scanned the room again and shook her head, awed.
He shrugged. “It was all I could come up with on short notice.”
“It’s beautiful.” She fingered the edge of the quilt. Handmade, patches of various materials pieced together, the blanket had been a wedding gift from Ceci and her grandmother. For good luck and a happy marriage, her grandmother had said. “I thought for sure you’d gotten rid of this.”
That he hadn’t nudged another something in her soul.
He crossed the room and stopped behind her, slid his arm around her waist, and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. Ironically, I kept it for the same reason I took it off the bed. This quilt reminds me too much of you, of us.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She turned in his arms and pressed along his length.
“I love you, Jack.” She whispered the words again, overcome by the emotion rifling through her. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to losing him, to walking away. By some miracle, they’d found their way back to each other, and she wasn’t ever letting go again.
His mouth curled into a gentle smile. The tenderness in his eyes pulled her in and rendered her defenseless.
“I love you, too. More than I have words to say. Home isn’t a place for me, Becca. It’s you and Allie. You’re home for me. I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how grateful I am to have you both. In every way I can think of.” He leaned down, mischief in his eyes, his voice husky and suggestive as he whispered against her mouth. “You and I are going to start with a bath.”
