Unwrapping the Best Man

by Rachael Stewart

  If I can just keep hold of him long enough to make him realise this could be real, long enough for him to trust me with his demons and let me in.

  I have time. For him, I’ll wait for as long as it takes...

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I HAVE THIS feeling in my chest I can’t describe. It’s been two weeks since Cait and I embarked on this affair that’s not an affair. Neither of us have voiced what it is, not since the night at her parents’ place, and I feel like the clock is ticking. Like I’m slowly suffocating under the pressure of what I feel for her and what I’m keeping locked inside.

  She wants the truth of my past and I can’t give it to her. The very idea breaks me out in a cold sweat and though I’m sitting alone in my office now I almost retch with it.

  I press my fist to my mouth and curse my stupidity. How could I think I could keep all this under control? How could I let it go on so long when every day that passes gives Cait hope that we could be more? I see the look in her eye—I see the love, the belief that I’m fixable, that we can play happy families for real. And every day has those three words clambering further up my throat—I love you. Words I cannot confess because Cait will never understand that though I love her I can’t have her.

  I spin away from my desk and stand to look at the poster on the wall. It’s a blow-up of the advert that was issued when the club relaunched under my ownership, when it became Blacks. It’s a reminder of how far I’ve come and what I’ve left behind. But the scars...nothing can take those away, not even Cait.

  And, given enough time, those scars will ruin her too.

  It’s why I need to end it now. But I told myself that yesterday and the day before and the day before that... Every morning I wake up with her in my arms and in my heart and tell myself the same, but I can’t do it.

  Which only proves how twisted I am. Twisted and selfish and fucked up.

  A rap on the door accompanies my fist to the poster and I take a breath, dropping back down into my seat.

  ‘Come in.’ I spin back into my desk, rubbing at my fist and frown at the opening door.

  ‘Hey, bad boy!’ Caitlin appears—Caitlin in full-on elf mode. Holy fuck.

  My heart stutters, the rush of heat down low no less powerful than it was the first time I saw her elfed up. In fact, it’s more because now it’s filled with everything that’s happened between us these last two weeks. It’s love, it’s desire, it’s a wish for so much more, and fuck, fuck. Fuck. How can I stop this?

  She smiles at me all sexy and sultry as she flicks the door closed behind her.

  ‘Santa sent me to sort you out... He even gave me a special little stocking just for you.’ She saunters up to me all cat-like and sexy, her hips swaying, her midriff bare, her little skirt and stockings showing so much thigh that my cock is already like granite. The blood pounds through my body, between my ears, drowning out my conscience as she swings the stocking in front of her. ‘Wait until you see what naughtiness awaits you in this little bundle.’

  ‘Isn’t it a little early for presents?’

  She sets it down on the desk and leans over me, her hands resting on the arms of my chair as she teases me with her cleavage, her sexy pout and her desire-laden eyes. ‘It’s never too early for this kind of present and, since Mum’s inviting you to stay for Christmas, I wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance to give—’

  ‘What?’ My chest squeezes tight and my pulse skips a beat. Wait. She couldn’t have—she wouldn’t. I mean Christmas Day. It’s one thing to masquerade as a couple and do the odd family dinner together, but Christmas. I don’t even like Christmas.

  Liar. You liked it well enough these past two weeks when you’ve been present-buying with Cait, decorating with her, eating festive fancies, drinking mulled wine, Granny’s eggnog...

  ‘Hey, it’s okay; she knows you don’t have family and thought it would be nice for you, for us, to, you know, spend Christmas with them.’

  ‘And you said yes?’

  ‘I said I’d ask you, but—’ She shrugs, a frown marring her brow, the spark in her eyes starting to ebb. ‘Sorry, Jackson, I didn’t realise the idea would upset you so much. I thought after all we’ve shared these past two weeks, we were kind of in that place.’

  In that place. In a relationship. It’s confirmation of everything my conscience has been spewing and suddenly my brain is racing, my heart too.

  ‘Cait—’

  I break off as the door swings open. ‘Jackson, we need to—’

  ‘Eliza?’

  She freezes in her tracks as Cait scrambles off me, her eyes quick to take in the scene she interrupted.

  ‘You?’ she blurts, her eyes narrowed and shooting daggers.

  ‘Me?’ Cait says, her frown all the more severe and directed wholly at Eliza now.

  ‘So you’re the reason he’s not returning my calls.’

  Cait looks from Eliza to me and back again. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but don’t you think it’s polite to knock and wait to be invited in before you barge into someone’s private office?’

  Eliza laughs. ‘Oh, girl, I don’t wait for anyone.’

  Cait doesn’t even flinch and I love her for it. I love how her spine straightens and her chin lifts. Doesn’t matter that she’s all green and white elf, she has all the poise of Eliza in her designer trench coat and polished air. ‘No, I don’t suppose someone like you would.’

  Eliza scowls before looking at me. ‘We need to talk. Alone.’

  She looks pointedly at Cait before coming back to me and I’m torn. I don’t want Cait to feel outdone, but neither do I want her to bear witness to whatever Eliza has come to say.

  I stand and take Cait’s hand, a gesture that Eliza’s beady gaze clocks but I don’t care.

  ‘Go upstairs, Cait, and wait for me.’ I squeeze her fingers gently.

  She sends another look between Eliza and me but nods. ‘Okay.’

  I watch her go, my entire body hooked on the appeal of her. My heart too.

  The second the door closes I round on Eliza. ‘What is it now?’ My voice vibrates with anger and she gives a high-pitched laugh.

  ‘Calm down, Jackson. You can have your little plaything later, if you find you still want her after what I have to offer you.’

  ‘Want her?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiles. ‘I never was the jealous type. I can share. And I have a business proposition for you, one that means you and I can work and play together again.’

  ‘You’re deluded, Eliza.’

  ‘I’m deluded? Seems to me you’re the one who’s deluded if you think that silly little package can keep you happy.’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ she purrs, strutting towards me, and I know what’s coming, I know that look of old and I turn away to head for my desk, sensing the scowl she gives me as she stills. ‘Don’t turn away from me, Jackson.’

  A laugh erupts out of me, stalling my hand as I reach for my whisky. I shake my head and look back at her, not because she asked it of me, no fucking way, but to glare at her. ‘Do you honestly think you get to tell me what to do, Eliza?’

  Her smile is cold. ‘There was a time when you did everything I told you. In fact, you’d plead for your next instruction. You remember those days, those nights, don’t you?’

  I swallow back the bile that rises.

  ‘I wish to God I didn’t.’

  She laughs. ‘You’re lying to yourself, Jackson. The things we did, the things you let me do, my sweet, you don’t grow out of wanting them.’

  I shudder, the words thrumming out of me. ‘Get the fuck out, Eliza. Now!’

  Her brows quirk, her eyes widen, but whatever’s going through her head has her expression changing, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘Oh, I get it, it’s role reversal. That’s wh
y you like the candy cane. She lets you do to her the things I used to do to you.’

  My gut rolls. Pins and needles fizz all over the surface of my skin and I can’t move, I can’t breathe. The wedding night comes back to me, the odd night since—the power dynamic, the control.

  ‘But Jackson... I can be just as docile, baby.’

  Baby—I call Cait that too. I say it just like that.

  She steps towards me and my eyes refocus. She’s untying the knot in her coat, her head slightly bowed as she watches me from beneath her lashes. ‘I can take...just as much as I can give.’

  ‘You take one more step and I’ll have you thrown out.’

  She stalls, her hands pausing in their task as her lips quirk with an uncertainty I’ve never seen in her before. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly.’ I can’t look at her any more. I can’t look at her without seeing everything she did to me merging with everything I did to Caitlin. I turn to my desk and take up the whisky bottle, praying she doesn’t see the way my hand shakes, the way her words cripple me inside.

  ‘But my business proposition... I want to talk about Berlin, Madrid too. I—’

  ‘Nothing on this earth would make me go back into business with you.’

  She gives an anxious chuckle. ‘Jackson, be rational for a—’

  ‘I won’t ask you again, Eliza.’ I focus on pouring the drink. ‘Leave or I will make you.’

  * * *

  I let myself into Jackson’s apartment and try to ignore the unease that’s making its way into every part of me. I don’t like her, and it’s not just jealousy. She looks at him like she owns him, like she’s made her mark and no one else can have him.

  And I know she broke him. I know it’s her that stands between us having a future, that whatever happened, it still affects Jackson now and he won’t open up to me.

  But seeing her tonight, hot on the back of Jackson’s outright panic at my invitation from Mum... My patience is wearing thin. We can’t keep doing this. I can’t.

  Either Jackson takes the leap or this has to end. Before I get in any deeper.

  Before?

  I shake my head, the painful realisation like an arrow through the heart. It’s too late for holding back. I love him with all of me and if he turns me away now, if he...

  I can’t finish the thought. I throw my overnight bag onto the sofa and head to Jackson’s fully stocked bar. It’s state-of-the-art, all glass and accented lighting. I go straight for the whisky. I need the hit of something strong to offset what’s happening deep down inside.

  I pour a hefty measure and walk right up to the glass, looking out on the glittering lights below and I see nothing. My head is full of him, of us. I replay all the moments of intimacy, all the signs that things were changing, that he was starting to feel the same. The signs that made me confident he wouldn’t turn down Mum’s invite...

  Not true—you used it as a test, and look where it ended.

  I take a swig of the whisky, wince at the burn and take another, wanting it to be more painful than the pinch around my heart.

  I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. Stood my ground.

  And then what? End up in a bitch fight over a guy? Never.

  And he asked me to leave.

  Maybe that hurts more, maybe I wanted to see him throw her out, and choose me over her. But he didn’t.

  My stomach rolls and I lean my forehead against the glass, pressing hard. It’s cold and unrelenting. I drag in a breath and my mind replays how he spoke to me, how he asked me to come up here and wait for him. The way his eyes blazed, the gentle squeeze of his fingers around mine, the connection...the very real connection that Coco spoke of.

  The connection you thought existed when you invited him for Christmas?

  I spin away from the glass, squeeze my eyes shut and when I open them again I know this is it. Make or break.

  I check my watch, clock the time and wait.

  And wait.

  * * *

  I stare at the floor, my hand pressed against the closed door to my apartment, unable to go in. Unable to face what awaits me on the other side.

  Caitlin. The woman I love and...and abused. My lungs contract, air rushing out of me as the pain winds me so completely.

  Eliza is in my head—her words, her brutal truth—and I can’t shake her out of it. She only confirmed everything I already knew. Everything that tells me I have to end this now. Before I go further. Before I break her, like Eliza broke me.

  And so I’ve stalled.

  It’s late—one a.m. late. I’ve been gone hours. I’ve been setting things in motion for the business, finding out through my own channels what Eliza hinted at with regards to Berlin and Madrid. It seems her marriage problems extend to their business and their investors are getting nervous. It’s an opportunity. A chance to swoop in and take over, really make Blacks global, and the ultimate revenge for what she—what they—did.

  The calls could have waited though. Eliza and Damien, the club expansion, it all could have waited. I just didn’t want to face Cait. The end that has to happen.

  I straighten up, square my shoulders and harden my heart.

  You’re doing it for her...

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE CLICK OF the door closing rouses me and I push up to sitting on the sofa, my eyes bleary in the low light of the room. ‘Jackson?’

  ‘Yeah...it’s me.’

  His voice is rough, raw, and I brush the hair away from my eyes to make out his presence in the darkened hallway. I hear his keys hit the dish beside the door. My head’s all foggy with sleep and I rub my eyes. I must have been asleep a while.

  Was he really with her all this time?

  My stomach writhes and I pull the sleeves of my jumper into my palms and bring my knees up to my chest, clutching them to me. I’ve long since changed out of my costume and into the comfies I packed for tomorrow. I’m so glad of it now.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Late.’

  No shit. I know that much.

  He’s slow to approach and the closer he gets the more I can see. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is crazed—I swallow, please let it be by his own hand.

  The thought zips through me, waking up my brain, clearing the fuzz.

  ‘Has she only just gone?’ I feel sick even as the words leave my lips.

  He tosses his jacket on the sofa and heads to his bar. He doesn’t even look at me. The move speaks volumes. The silence between us stretches, heavy and thick, broken only by the clink of crystal on glass, the release of the stopper in his whisky bottle and the slosh of liquid as he pours.

  He knocks back a mouthful, his face, what I can see of it, is drawn tight, grim.

  ‘Jackson?’

  He flicks me the briefest of looks, chucks back another swig and heads to the wall of glass, as far away from me as he can. I shiver, the chilling dread building out of my control, and I press my chin into my knees until it hurts.

  ‘She left just after you.’

  Hope flickers and my head snaps up. ‘Then...where have you been?’

  He angles his head to the side so I can make out his profile, but his eyes don’t reach me. ‘Taking care of business.’

  ‘Business?’ I frown. ‘What kind of business?’

  ‘She brought something to my attention...something that could benefit Blacks.’ He looks back to the glass. ‘I’ve been making calls, putting wheels in motion, it’s going to take me abroad for a while.’

  He sounds...clinical. I’ve never heard his voice so soulless; it takes me another second for his words to actually register and then: abroad? Eliza? Business?

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t understand. What’s Eliza got to do with the business? Wasn’t she just a client? An...ex?’ I choke over it. I acknowledge as I say it J
ackson’s rule never to sleep with the clientele. No need to ask where that rule came from then. I also realise with sickening clarity that he deemed business more important than coming to me.

  ‘She works in the same industry, has her own chain of clubs. She and her...’ his shoulders shudder, the move so negligible I wonder if I’ve imagined it, and then his head lifts ‘...her husband, Damien, they used to own Blacks...before it became Blacks, before it became mine.’

  ‘You worked together?’

  He gives an abrupt laugh and sips at his drink. ‘You could call it that.’

  ‘And now...what?’

  ‘Now, nothing.’

  ‘So why was she here? Tonight, and two weeks ago.’

  He’s silent.

  ‘Jackson?’

  His continued silence is damning enough.

  ‘She wants you back?’

  He nods.

  I swallow down the rising chill. ‘And?’

  ‘I made it clear it’s never going to happen.’

  My body relaxes a little, my voice easing as I say, ‘Good. And how—’

  ‘No, not good, Cait.’ He suddenly rounds on me, his eyes glittering with so much emotion, so much pain. ‘Nothing about this is good.’

  ‘What—’

  ‘It’s over, Cait. This. You and me.’ He thrusts his glass out and gestures between us, the whisky sloshing over the sides. ‘We can’t do this any more. I can’t.’

  I’m hearing the words but all I can see is the hurt, the torment, the sadness...all things that our love can take away if he’d just let me in.

  He raises a trembling hand to his hair as he sweeps it out of his face and avoids my eye now. ‘You can stay here tonight, in the guest room.’ Clinical Jackson is back. ‘I have a flight out of the country tomorrow. It’ll give us the space we need, time to adjust.’

  My laugh is harsh, incredulous, and I push myself to my feet. ‘Time to adjust?’

  His eyes flicker in my direction. ‘Don’t shake your head at me, Cait.’