A House Divided

by Donna Hill

  “No way that you can do your story without her?”

  Zoie pushed out a breath of annoyance. “Probably, but it’ll miss the flavor I wanted. Not to mention that landing an interview with Lou Ellen Maitland would get my butt out of a sling with my boss.”

  Jackson bit back a sardonic smile. She was good, really good. He knew exactly what she was doing. “Maybe I can try to talk to her,” he offered, knowing that’s what she wanted in the first place.

  Her expression bloomed. “Could you do that?”

  “No promises.”

  “I totally understand,” she said with wide-eyed enthusiasm. “Really. Whatever you can do.”

  The waiter arrived with their meal.

  “It’s what you’d planned all along,” Jackson said once the waiter had left.

  She looked at him, the picture of innocence. “Planned?”

  “How ’bout this.”

  “What?”

  “How ’bout from here on out, we’re up front with each other, no matter what?”

  Zoie speared a piece of salmon. She tilted her head to the side. “You sure about that?”

  “Don’t think you can handle it?”

  “I always know what I can handle.”

  The corner of his mouth curved up in a grin. “So do I.”

  She popped the piece of fish in her mouth and chewed slowly, without taking her eyes off of him. “There’s more to the Bennett-Maitland connection,” she finally said.

  “Meaning?”

  She told him of the entry about Kimberly that she’d found in her grandmother’s journal, how it read that they “did the right thing,” and then the odd remarks made by her aunt Hyacinth. All the cloak and dagger surrounding the Maitland family was beginning to come together like the pieces of a puzzle.

  “So you really think that your grandmother had another child?” he asked in disbelief. “Why would she lie about it?”

  “That’s the only thing that made sense . . . at first”—she reached for her drink—“until I really paid attention to what Aunt Hyacinth said.”

  “Z, you know you can’t rely on your aunt . . .”

  “I know. But like babies and drunks, people who are a little removed from reality have real moments of clarity and speak the truth.”

  He studied her for a moment, even as the path she was leading him down was becoming clear. “You’re not saying—”

  “Jackson . . .”

  He glanced up. His eyes widened for a moment. “Lena. Hi.” He got up from his seat.

  Lena slid a glance at Zoie while her friend threw daggers at Jackson.

  He placed his hand lightly on her arm. “Lena, this is Zoie Crawford.”

  Lena’s eyes flashed for a moment. She lifted her chin. “Nice to meet you,” she said, barely moving her lips. She focused her attention on Jackson. “You remember Diane.”

  “Yes. How are you, Diane? Good to see you again.”

  Diane murmured something in her throat.

  “I’ll let you two get back to what you were doing,” Lena said. “We were just leaving. Too crowded tonight.” The two women walked off before Jackson could respond.

  He slowly sat back down.

  “That was clearly awkward,” Zoie said.

  He studied the table for a minute, then looked across at Zoie. “That was Lena Fields.”

  “Okaaay . . . I hear an and or a but in there.”

  Jackson wrapped his hands around his glass. “We . . . me and Lena—”

  Zoie held up her hand. “I get it. You don’t have to explain.”

  “I do. We said we were going to be straight with each other.”

  Zoie heaved a sigh. “Fine.”

  Jackson paused for a moment. “Lena and I have been seeing each other for quite a while. She’s a teacher at the college. Lena was the reason why I backed off the other day. We were still together.”

  “Were?”

  He nodded. “I broke it off with her because of you.”

  Zoie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “I still care about you, Z. And I couldn’t keep seeing her. She always knew about you, about us, from the beginning.”

  “I don’t want to be the reason—”

  “Too late for that.” He reached across the table and covered her hands. “Too late.” He squeezed her hands. “I want to try again. With us.”

  “Jax, I don’t know how long I’m going to be here. I have a life in New York.”

  “I know that.”

  “And you’re good with that? You weren’t before.”

  “That was then. I should have done a lot of things differently back then. I want to see how things go with us now for as long as we have.”

  Her brows drew together. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jackson, it’s not that simple.”

  “It’s only as difficult as we make it.”

  “You really mean that?”

  “Yeah, I really mean it.”

  “Jax, I have all kinds of stuff going on in my life—my grandmother’s business, this whole weird Maitland connection, my job . . .”

  “We’ll work it out.”

  “I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

  Jackson snorted a laugh. “No kidding.”

  Zoie smiled.

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “No. Not anymore.”

  “Good. So . . . what do you say? Try again?”

  She looked into his eyes. “I’m fresh out of excuses.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He lifted his glass. “To new beginnings.”

  Zoie hesitated. She touched her glass to his. “To new beginnings.”

  “Now let’s eat before our food gets cold, and you can tell me everything.”

  * * *

  “I know it all sounds like some movie of the week, but my gut tells me that I’m right,” she insisted.

  “So what are you going to do . . . especially if it’s true?”

  “I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I plan to speak with my mother. Lay everything out to her and see what she says.”

  “You do realize that if you’re right and you put it in print, the blowback will implode a lot of lives.”

  “I understand that. Believe me. I don’t want to see anyone hurt; that’s not what this is about. I’ll do everything I can to protect everyone’s feelings. But the truth has been buried too long. We deserve to know.”

  He saw the old fire in her eyes and knew that no matter what the cost, she would get the answers she wanted. How many lives would become casualties was the only question up in the air.

  CHAPTER 16

  Zoie hadn’t wanted to allow herself to fall into the trap of thinking that she and Jackson would ever be together again. The moment she did, back in her bedroom that night, her faint hope had been shot down. Now Jackson had set the table for a whole new agenda. She was excited and terrified.

  “Where’d you park?” he asked when they stepped outside of the restaurant.

  “In the lot out back.”

  “So did I.” He slid his arm around her waist.

  She glanced up at him and smiled. It felt good, and she knew how easily she could get used to his hands on her again.

  “There is something else I wanted to run by you,” she said as they entered the lot.

  “Anything.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” she teased. “I’m totally in over my head with the business, and my Aunt Sage, of all people, suggested that I ask you for some help.”

  Jackson tossed his head back and laughed. “Sage Bennett! The same woman who would have as easily had me in front of a firing squad as say good morning?” he joked.

  “I thought the exact same thing.” They stopped in front of her car. She faced him. “Come to find out, she said she acted that way because it was her duty to protect me.” Her throat tightened. “And that she wanted you to stay on your toes.” She swallowed. “I never kne
w she cared—not like that.”

  He cupped her cheek. “I think,” he said softly, “if you give people half a chance, you’ll be surprised at how much they care. Folks show affection in all kinds of ways. I kinda knew she wasn’t for real.” He half-grinned. “That’s why I still went around to check on them from time to time after you left. They were supposed to give me a hard time. That’s what families do.”

  She studied the ground. So much was happening, so many changes and new feelings and shifting relationships. She needed some time to process it all.

  “Anyway, I’d be happy to see how I can help. You said your grandmother kept records.”

  Zoie snapped back. She looked at him. “Yes. In the attic. I went through some of the files, but . . .”

  “I can take a look.”

  “Thanks,” she breathed. “And thanks for tonight.”

  “I’m glad you said yes.”

  “So am I.”

  He took a step closer, dipped his head, and covered her mouth with his.

  She felt her heart slam against her chest, and a rush of heat jettisoned from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. She moaned against his warm lips and nearly wept when the tip of his tongue dipped into her mouth.

  Jackson pulled her tight against him, and her mind flooded with memories of just how well they’d always fit together and still did. He eased back, but didn’t let her go.

  “Listen, I’m gonna be honest.”

  Her heart thumped.

  “I’m not up for playing hide and seek at your house. I want to take you home with me so we can make love like grownups and I can see if I can still make you holler.” He waited a beat. “So . . . what do you say to that?”

  She ran her tongue across her bottom lip and tasted him again. “I’m feeling very grown up this evening.”

  Jackson’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “You remember the way?”

  “Yep.”

  He gave her a light kiss. “See you there.” He walked off to his car, which was parked two rows away.

  Zoie got in her car and realized that her hands were actually shaking. She drew in a long, steadying breath and gripped the wheel. Her thoughts spun. Was this really going to happen? She and Jackson? Tonight?

  She stuck the key in the ignition and turned on the car. She glanced in her side mirror and saw Jackson pulling out of the lot. She put the car in gear and followed him out.

  * * *

  Zoie pulled into the driveway, parking behind Jackson’s rental. He came to open her door.

  “Still have a hot foot, I see,” he teased.

  Zoie laughed, gripped his hand, and stepped out. “Have to keep up with you.”

  Jackson angled his head toward the house. “Driving was the fastest thing I plan to do all night. From here on out, we’re gonna take it real slow.” He pecked her on the lips and led her inside.

  * * *

  The house was very much as she remembered. The furnishings were basically the same. He had purchased some new paintings, as art was one of his passions. It was Jackson who’d gotten her to begin to appreciate art, and she’d collected some pieces of her own back in New York.

  “This is new,” she said of the Basquiat that hung over the mantle.

  “Yeah, I picked that up at a gallery opening about six months ago.” He came to stand behind her.

  She looked closer. “This is an original,” she said surprised. “Must have cost a pretty penny.”

  “That it did.” He lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck, right on the spot that drove her crazy. He hadn’t forgotten. She squeezed her eyes shut to contain the shiver that scurried down her spine.

  “You do well for yourself,” she managed.

  “I can’t complain. I do what I enjoy, and it happens to pay well.” He slid his arms around her waist. “But things are tough at times, with the housing market being what it is. And after the Trade Center bombings, investors are holding onto their purses more tightly.”

  “How is that going to affect you?” She turned in his arms to face him.

  He half-shrugged. “It’s going to make any new financing for projects more difficult. For the ones in the works, the money is already committed.” His eyes moved slowly over her face. “Worried about my fate?”

  “I think you can take care of yourself. You always have.”

  “Things are always better with a partner.” His hand stroked her back, and he exhaled. “You feel good, girl.” He kissed one cheek and then the other before seeking her mouth.

  Zoie welcomed him, melted into his body, and relished the hard feel of him against her. So many of their days and nights together rushed through her, one explosive image after another.

  “I want our reunion to start off right,” he said against her lips.

  “Meaning?”

  “We’ll have some wine, listen to some music, talk, strip, and find our way to my bedroom, make some long overdue love, sleep, do it again . . . and breakfast in the morning.”

  Zoie giggled. “Have it all figured out, huh?”

  “I never have it all figured out when it comes to you, Z.” He moved away. “Red or white? Luther or Kem?”

  “White. Luther.”

  He winked, went to the sound system and found the Luther CD, then got two glasses and the bottle of white wine. He poured a glass and handed it to Zoie, then poured his. He lifted his glass. “To putting the past in the rearview.”

  Zoie tilted her head and pursed her lips. After a moment, she clinked her glass to his and took a sip to seal the pact.

  Jackson took her free hand and led her down the short hallway to his room. His bedroom, like the rest of the house, was much the same. He always had a habit of taking off his slacks and tossing them on the chair by the window. Zoie smiled when she saw two pairs, one over each arm. The dresser top was lined with loose change, two bottles of his favorite cologne, and a random CD. One black sneaker peeked out from under the foot of the bed, and its mate was by the closet door. A lone white dress shirt was tossed across the bottom of the bed, along with a navy-blue tie. But the bed, as always, was made. The hardwood floors gleamed, and the room held his scent. Her tummy fluttered.

  Jackson walked over to the bed, picked up the shirt and tie, and tossed them onto the chair with the jeans. He grinned at Zoie.

  “Some things don’t change,” she teased with an expansive wave of her hands.

  He shrugged. “Gives me a sense of normalcy.” He sat on the side of the bed and took off his shoes.

  Zoie made a show of taking off hers. Jackson got up and walked over to her. He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her to him.

  “Jax,” she whispered.

  “No more talking. Not now.”

  She remembered a lot—the rooms, the scent, the clothes on the chair. She thought she’d committed to memory how Jackson made her feel. She imagined his touch every time she was with Brian, the way he tasted, and the way he moved inside her. But now in the real world, it was not what she remembered at all. It was different, hotter, more urgent.

  Every nerve ending sparked. Every inch of her body that he touched or kissed ignited. She wanted to scream when he spread her legs and ran his tongue along the insides of her thighs, then suckled her swollen clit until her entire body vibrated. But the sound clung to her throat, unsung. Yet when he eased inside of her and her body opened in welcome, like a door for an old friend, she found her voice and sang his name to the new rhythm between them.

  * * *

  Spooned against him, she listened to the soothing beat of his heart, which soon became unified with hers. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the moment, the feel of having Jackson in her life again, even if it was only temporary. She had no immediate plans to stay in New Orleans. Once her year was up—her “sentence,” as her mother called it—she would go back to New York and continue where she left off. Her job gave her the ability to go and come as she pleased, but she’d made New York her home. That had to coun
t for something. Would it be enough?

  She kissed his hand, which possessively cupped her breast. Could she pick up and leave him again? Jackson stirred against her. What choice did she have? The only thing she could do is enjoy the time they had together and try to keep her feelings under control.

  He kissed the back of her neck and brushed his knee along her thighs. She sucked in a breath. Keeping her feelings under control would be easier said than done.

  She’d lost count of how many times they made love throughout the night, in every position and combination. But Jackson was true to his promise. He took his sweet time with everything, which drove her nearly out of her mind with lust.

  Maybe they slept at some point, off and on, between sessions. She wasn’t sure. When she was able to open her eyes against the sun that streamed in from the skylight and stretched beneath the sheets, she moaned in a good kind of pain. Her muscles ached. Her nipples were sore, and her vajayjay throbbed. She had been worked out. It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone, and her body was testifying to that fact.

  She turned onto her back and realized she was alone in the bed. She stretched toward the nightstand for her phone, held it up, and squinted at the face. 9:30. Damn! She pushed up onto her elbows. When was the last time she’d slept until 9:30? There were a million things she had to take care of. She tossed the sheet aside and jumped out of bed. Why the hell did Jackson let her sleep like that? Where were her clothes?

  “Morning.”

  Zoie stopped in mid-rant. Jackson was standing in the doorway with a towel tucked around his waist and two mugs of coffee in his hands. His body still glistened from his recent shower. The scent of his freshly washed body, the sight of his rippling abs, and the aroma of coffee instantly calmed the savage beast.

  She ran her hands through her hair. “Morning.”

  “It could get really easy waking up to that every morning,” he said, stepping into the room and hungrily eyeing her nakedness.

  Zoie flushed and eased her way over to the chair, where their discarded clothes had been tossed. She plucked her bra and panties from the pile and put them on.