by Penny Reid
But it will end.
He softened the kiss and, dammit, I whimpered. Unwilling to let him go, I twisted my fingers into his shirt, anchoring myself. And still he softened the kiss, retreating, his movements and strokes becoming languid, drugging, making me dizzy and breathless until his lips were just a tease. A soft, barely-there touch once more.
I could’ve cried, except I needed to catch my breath first.
He pulled away, his gaze on mine, and if I didn’t believe him before, I believed him now. He wanted me. Badly.
“I need a minute.” Jackson closed his eyes.
“Me too.” The crown of my head fell back against the alcove of the ATM, and I witnessed him struggle, his jaw tense, his breath sawing in and out.
I believed him about his reasoning for not spending the night with me. He wanted something real, not temporary. What I wanted was similar, something real with someone real. I understood, and I couldn’t fault him, but couldn’t he make just one tiny exception?
For me?
Oh please oh please oh please.
His eyes opened to slits, but they affixed to the ATM behind me as he stepped back, letting me go completely. My feet touched the ground. On unsteady legs, I cleared my throat and pushed away from the ATM alcove. Slowly, still breathing hard, Jackson paced to where I’d left the umbrella open on the ground by the double doors.
He picked it up, paused, his shoulders rising and falling, and then he brought it to me. “Here. Please keep it.”
I nodded, not about to turn the offer down. Maybe I was being silly and sentimental, or just strange, but I wasn’t going to turn down any part of himself he offered, even if it was just an umbrella. I’d keep this umbrella forever.
“Thank you,” I said, surprised to discover it was still raining, maybe even harder than before. As soon as he’d charged toward me, everything else had disappeared. But now the roar of the storm filled my ears, a crack then a flash of lightning creating a sudden and brief strobe effect.
“I’ll need my hat,” he said gruffly, glancing over at the Mustang and frowning. “Do you mind if I walk you to your car?”
“Not at all,” I said, wondering at him. He was so incredibly polite, all the time. What would it take to make the good deputy forget his manners?
Debating this, I lifted the umbrella such that he could fit under it and we could walk together.
He shook his head. “No, thank you. No need. Please.” He gestured toward the car, careful not to touch me.
I nodded, licking my lips as soon as I turned and stepped off the curb. How long would I taste him there? My chin wobbled because this felt so wrong. Just like that night, when I’d left him asleep in the bed, that had felt wrong for days and days after.
But what was the answer? Stay in Green Valley like Sienna and see if things worked out with my dreamy deputy? Move here and give up on my life in LA? Sienna was the exception to every rule. She’d maintained her success, her status.
We made it to the Mustang, and I stood at the driver’s side as Jackson walked around to the passenger door. He opened it. I watched as he retrieved his hat, and I reflected on how much different my path had been from Sienna’s. I hadn’t written screenplays for my movies. I hadn’t won an Oscar. I’d lost out on roles in the last year because I was now twenty-eight instead of twenty-one; and I’d lost the only role I’d been excited about in years to a more serious, acclaimed, respected actress; and I continued to be typecast.
If I left LA, I’d probably fall out of the A-list in no time. My career would suffer . . . but would that be so bad?
I shook my head, not liking that I was actually considering this to be with a man. Even if things did somehow miraculously work out with Jackson and me, what next? Sienna’s husband was a stay-at-home dad with a big family living locally. He gave up his own career to support hers, raised their kids, flew to her filming locations, followed her around the world just so they could be together.
How many men would do that for their wives? My dad wouldn’t, and hadn’t. He’d wanted to marry my mother, but he’d also wanted her to drop out of her PhD program and support his career.
“How much longer are you in town?”
I blinked, finding Jackson had walked around to the driver’s side and currently stood directly in front of me, but not under the umbrella. He squinted against the rain, his eyes on me.
I took a deep, bracing breath. “Until tomorrow.”
“Of course.” He chuckled, the sound without humor. “Of course you are.”
“Jackson—”
“No. It’s okay.” He nodded, taking a step back. “It’s for the best.”
I caught his arm before he was too far away, gripping his wet sleeve and pulling him under the umbrella. “Why?” I asked, searching his face. “Why is it for the best?” I didn’t feel like it was for the best. How could he kiss me like that and then say, It’s for the best?
“Because.” He wiped off his face and then placed his hat on his head, not that it did any good. He and his hat were completely soaked.
“Because why?” I pushed. I couldn’t be the only one who was having crazy thoughts, could I? Would he ever consider something real between us? Something that lasted longer than one night?
“Because it’s impossible,” he said, his voice deep with calm resignation, which also echoed in his gaze. He lifted his hand to my face, his thumb whispering against my cheekbone, slowly trailing down to my bottom lip and dipping just the tip inside my mouth, his eyes following the progress as though fascinated and completely transfixed.
I wanted to speak, offer to stay, but instead I caught his thumb with my teeth and gave it a little bite.
His grin dawned softly, those bedroom eyes returning to mine and twinkling, full of wistfulness and longing. Or maybe that was me.
Jackson’s parting words were nearly lost in the sound of thunder and rain as he backed away. “It isn’t meant to be, Rae.” He smiled wider, adding, “But it sure was fun.”
Chapter 11
*Raquel*
“I was in Asia and people asked me about being considered sex symbol. I don’t know if that’s good or not, because where I come from, sex isn’t something you’re allowed to talk about.”
Bai Ling
A sound I couldn’t fully incorporate into my sex dream (about Jackson) woke me up. Someone was knocking on the front door.
No. Wait.
Someone was pounding on the front door. Groaning, because the dream had just been getting to the good part, I rubbed my eyes and squinted at the clock on the nightstand. 6:17 AM. Other than the one time I’d been invited over for family dinner, no one had knocked on the door to the carriage house.
“I’m coming!” I called, searching the room for the bathrobe Sienna had loaned me. It wasn’t dark, the sun had risen already, but since today would be my last in Green Valley, I’d planned to sleep in. There would be no sleeping in once I returned to LA. My trainer typically had me up at 5:30 AM every morning for my first workout.
I’d continued working out here, just at less sadistic times of the day.
“Rae! It’s Sienna. I’m so, so sorry to wake you up so early. But this is important!” I heard her shout, spurring me to move faster.
“Is everything okay?” Forgetting the bathrobe, I jogged to the door and swung it open wide, finding Sienna fully dressed, a cup of coffee in one hand and her phone in the other.
She lifted up the cup of coffee. “This is for you.”
“Uh, okay. Thank you.” I accepted the mug.
“You might want to take a drink before I show you my phone.”
“Why? What’s wrong with your phone?”
Her expression was pained. “Just drink. Please.”
“Did something happen?”
She put her fingers on the bottom of the mug I held and encouraged me to lift it to my lips. Huffing, I complied, prepared to take just a sip. But the coffee wasn’t too hot and tasted wonderful, so I drank a gulp instead.
“Happy now?”
“No. Because now I have to show you this.” Sienna stepped inside and next to me, holding the screen of her phone up so we could both see it, and pressed the play button over a paused video.
And. I. Gasped.
“Oh my Gooooood!” I bent closer, gripping her hand holding the phone. “How—where—how—”
“ATM machines have video cameras, Rae. It’s everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. It was posted last night on EMZ. Even the big papers’ gossip sections picked it up.”
I watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as the video footage of Jackson’s excessively thorough goodbye kiss played on the screen. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Also, and I know this helps nothing, Rae, but you two look really hot together.
Ugh. I just couldn’t with my inner dialogue right now.
“I’m so sorry, but I had to wake you up.” She handed the phone over to me and stepped fully inside, closing the door behind her. “This is bad.”
Tearing my eyes away from the video, I gaped at her. “Bad?”
“Yes. Bad.”
I looked at the screen again. The video had no sound, but I knew this was the part of the kiss where I’d whimpered because he’d started to pull away. “It’s not a great copy, I admit. The video quality could be better, but—”
“Not the video quality, Rae! I’m talking about Jackson.” She paced away.
“What about Jackson?” My initial shock upon seeing the video had begun to dissipate, but at her words I tensed again. “This is bad for Jackson?”
“Yes. It’s clearly him in the video. He’s in his uniform.”
Oh shit. Sienna was right. He’d been there in an official capacity. I’m sure kissing the hell out of a civilian wasn’t on his list of primary duties.
She lifted her hand toward the phone. “And he just broke up with Charlotte.”
“She broke up with him.”
“Whatever! It doesn’t matter. Because now it looks like they broke up because of you. People here are going to talk. This could be bad for him. Very bad.”
I took another gulp of my coffee, staring at her, my mind spinning. What can I do? “Can we get the video down? Before it—”
“No. Like I said, it’s already everywhere. That’s not an option.” Sienna grimaced. “I know it wasn’t your intention, but this just made his life more difficult.”
“I didn’t do this on purpose! I’d given up on asking Jackson if we could be photographed together. I’ve given up on the whole stupid plan and fake engagement with Harrison.” I hadn’t explicitly made the decision about Harrison until just now, but it felt right. I was calling off the fake relationship. And I wasn’t going to quit acting, I was just going to quit pretending. My time in Green Valley, the few stolen moments I’d had with Jackson James, they’d been so essential.
Now that I’d had a taste of something real with someone real, I wasn’t willing to fake it anymore.
“Sienna, I was going to leave today, talk to Domino tomorrow and tell him I want out of the arrangement. I didn’t even think about the camera at the ATM. And Jackson kissed me. I didn’t know he was going to kiss me until it happened.”
“I know. I know you wouldn’t do this to Jackson on purpose, just like I know now that he never would have agreed to it. Jethro told me this morning that Jackson has been trying to clean up his image for the last few years, and he plans to run for sheriff when his dad retires. I do wish Jethro had told me before now, but this—” she gestured to the phone “—could derail all of that.”
My stomach hurt. The last thing I wanted was Jackson hurt. Even if everything between us ended forever yesterday, he mattered to me. Yes, I know that made me a little crazy, I barely know him, we’d spent less than twelve hours in each other’s company total, but still. He’d helped me see that I wasn’t willing to settle for pretending anymore. He mattered.
And even if he hadn’t mattered, I didn’t want to hurt anyone.
“And it’s not just Jackson I’m worried about. Rae, his father and mother and sister Jessica—who, as I’ve mentioned, is also my sister-in-law—will be upset, they’re all very close. I was just talking to Jess last night and she was so excited for her brother and his campaign.”
“Campaign?”
“Jackson’s dad plans to retire in three years. Maybe it’ll all blow over by then?”
Crap crap crap crap.
“Sienna.” I placed her phone and my coffee on the console table near the door and rushed over to her, grabbing her hand. “What can I do? What can I do to help? There has to be something. Please.”
She squeezed my hand. “Jethro has an idea.”
“Jethro? I thought Jethro didn’t get along with Jackson?”
“He doesn’t. Kinda. They—it’s weird. Men are weird and complicated. He wants to help, though. But first we need to call my sister.”
“Marta?” Marta had been Sienna’s manager since she’d started in the business and was a PR genius. “You think she can help?”
“I do. I want to run his idea by her. This is small-town politics we’re dealing with. Jethro is better at this stuff than me. But I feel like Marta will help us fine-tune the plan.”
“Okay. Okay. Sounds good,” I said, panicked. Calm down, Rae. Focus on helping Jackson. There’s a plan.
“Hey.” She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Get dressed and come up to the house in about an hour. We’ll all call Marta together.”
“Right.” I shoved my fingers into my hair before I remembered how knotty it would be.
“And Rae.”
“Yes?” I spun around to face her.
“Cancel your flight and have Sasha come out with some clothes and things. You’ll need to be in Green Valley for a while longer. At least a month.”
I quickly showered and dressed, braiding my hair in two long ropes instead of taking the time to blow-dry the thick mass straight. Then I powered on my phone, intent on calling Sasha, but paused when I caught sight of the time. LA was three hours behind Tennessee, 6:40 AM here was 3:40 AM there. She’d definitely be asleep.
But maybe Domino isn’t?
I received calls and texts from my manager at random odd hours, day or night, weekend, holiday, vacation, it didn’t matter. It was like he had no concept of time. On a hunch, I texted him:
Raquel: I know I was supposed to come back today, but I have to stay for a month longer. There’s a video that Sienna said is everywhere already. It is me in the video, and it’s not fake, but don’t provide any comment to the press. Call me when you get this, I’ll have my phone on.
I always used proper grammar when texting, a habit my mother—a tenured classics professor at a super exclusive private college—had hammered into me when I’d received my first phone.
“If you use U instead of you, or R instead of are, then you’ll only be allowed to text in Latin. And no emojis. Ever. Those aren’t language,” she’d said. I knew not to disobey. My mother never bluffed, and she always threatened me with Latin.
Not three seconds later, he texted me back.
Domino: I can call you now. I have news. Give me a minute to find someplace quiet.
Pacing into the kitchen, I set the phone down on the counter and crossed to the coffee maker. Before I had a chance to do much of anything, my phone rang. I didn’t even glance at the screen.
“Domino?” I heard club music playing in the background.
“Raquel.”
“What are you doing up so early?” Is he at the gym?
“I haven’t gone to sleep yet. Obviously.”
Yes, obviously. “Listen, the text message said it all, and I don’t have a lot of time to talk right now, but I wanted to let you know what’s going on. I won’t be back for a month.” This was true, but it was also a lie. I had more than a half hour to talk. But in Domino’s world, a half hour always turned into two hours.
“Fine. I can work with that.” I heard a door close, an
d the club music faded. “I’ve been giving you your space, but I have news, and you’re going to be happy. First, totally great if you want to stay at the Pepperidge Farm a little longer. And I’ve seen the video. I think it’s fabulous. A sheriff? Hot.” He over pronounced the t at the end of hot.
I tried to frown. I failed. And so I made sure my voice sounded extra grumpy. “He’s a deputy sheriff, not a sheriff. What is this news you want to tell me? The clock is ticking.”
“Okay then. I see you’ve recovered your spark. Good to know. Now, Gavin and his people called late last night, when the ATM footage broke of you with not-the-sheriff.”
What? Gavin Sidorov was the director, producer, and writer of Midnight Lady, the film I’d been replaced on by my ex-BFF, the role I’d been excited about, the reason I’d escaped to Green Valley in a fit of temper and despair.
“Why would they call you?”
“They want to replace Lina with you.”
“What?” I had to shake my head, because . . . what? “First of all, why aren’t they calling John?” My agent handled all contract negotiations for film and worked in tandem with Domino. Whereas Domino was my manager and publicist. He managed my career from a holistic perspective—appearances, interviews, product sponsorship, guest spots, etc.—not just film.
Domino hesitated, making a weird stalling sound, and then finally admitted, “They tried calling him, but he wouldn’t take their calls. You know he didn’t want you in that role to begin with. He doesn’t want you playing a prostitute or location filming in Cuba. There’s still controversary about filming in Cuba at all.”
I growled, so frustrating.
“He’s only looking out for you,” Domino coaxed, ever the politician.
“He’s only looking out for himself.” Gripping my forehead, I glared at the kitchen counter, debating my options. No, I only have one option. If I couldn’t trust my agent, then he wasn’t going to be on my team.
