****
Another sleepless night. Why the hell had Ellis ever brought up Jackson's existence?
"Babe, are you okay?" Ellis asked me. I'd been tossing and turning for hours.
"I'm fine," I said. "I'm going to get a snack." I rolled out of bed and stood up. "Do you want anything?"
"No."
"You sure?"
He didn't answer.
I walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, but nothing looked good. I finally settled on a chunk of organic banana loaf and a glass of milk.
I sat alone at the expansive oak table and ate. But it wasn’t satisfying in the least, so I got up and threw the food away and put the dishes in the sink. Being rich was miserable, I decided. Even worse than being poor.
I walked back to the bedroom and got under the hot, uncomfortable sheets.
"Did you ever call your stepbrother?" Ellis asked. I felt dread consume my body. It was the last question I wanted to hear.
"I don't know how to find him," I said quietly.
"Is that it?" Ellis asked lightly. "That's what's been bothering you? I can ask the head of ski instruction tomorrow. He's another Yale alum."
Was it really that simple?
"Thanks," I said. But I still couldn't sleep.
****
We skied a little the next day. I liked skiing, but I always felt bad because Ellis was so much faster than I was, and he had to wait for me all the time. Of course, he always did so without complaining.
At one point I came up next to him, totally exhausted, and asked hopefully, "Last run?"
"Okay," Ellis agreed, sounding disappointed.
"You can do another if you want?" There was no way I could, my legs felt like Jell-O. I didn't know why rich-people sports had to be so exhausting.
"No that’s ok. We should get ready for tonight anyway, we have that gala to attend."
Oh yeah…I'd forgotten all about it in my renewed obsession with Jackson. I didn't dare ask if Ellis had inquired about Jackson; it made me too nervous, and I didn't want to know anyway.
"By the way," Ellis began, "I asked about--"
At that moment we were interrupted from behind by someone shouting, "Hey Ellis!" We turned and saw a slightly overweight man, around Ellis' age, skiing towards us rapidly. "Ellis Buchanan!"
"Marty!" Ellis shouted, glowing with excitement. "I haven't seen you in ages!"
I fought the urge to roll my eyes as the two shook hands. This always happened. It seemed like Ellis knew everyone here, was always running into people.
"Marty, this is my girlfriend, Mia. Mia, this is an old college buddy of mine, Marty Thompson."
Then this part: Marty looked me over as if he were appraising me, as if he were sizing up my suitability for a blue blood like Ellis.
"Pleased to meet you," Marty bubbled, a big fake smile spreading across his face. I mustered a smile and shook his hand.
"I'll catch you guys later," I said, "I need to pick some stuff up for the house."
"Bye sweetie," Ellis simpered, leaning in for a peck.
We kissed, then I clipped out of my skis, threw them over my shoulder, and walked the few hundred feet to our slope-side home.
The moment I stepped inside my phone buzzed. It was a message from Ellis. He was probably texting me to say he and Marty were going to the clubhouse for some drinks and that he would be late getting home. I'd have the big, cold house all to myself until an hour before the gala.
Yup, sure enough: Marty and I are headed to the club for drinks. I'll be back a little late.
Rrrgh! What was I supposed to do? Go shopping again? Lay around the pool by myself?
Maybe I'd call the head of the ski school myself and ask where Jackson was.
No, I couldn't do that…I really shouldn’t.
I bit my fingernails nervously. I was starting to bite my nails a little too much lately. Maybe I was losing my mind.
I did what I usually did when I thought I might be going crazy: I poured myself a drink and slammed it down. Then I threw the glass in the empty glass in the sink, grabbed the bottle instead, and headed outside to the pool.
When Ellis arrived a couple of hours later I was starting to drift into an alcoholic haze.
"Mia!" he exclaimed, eying the half-empty bottle of whiskey placed on the floor next to where I was spread out on a pool lounger. It was The Glenlivet, his favorite, and he knew I hated whiskey.
"What?" I demanded, registering his presence from behind my sunglasses. I was hoping we'd get into a fight, right here, and that our stupid rich neighbors would overhear us.
"We have to be at that gala in an hour, and here you are, getting drunk by the pool." Ellis shook his head.
"Oh, give it a rest," I said, standing up, "I'm not drunk. I'll get ready."
But I was a little drunk, and it took some focus to force myself to walk back towards the patio door. Ellis followed, carrying the whiskey bottle.
I walked to the bedroom, still in my ski clothes, and pulled them off, all $1500 worth of ugly Gore-Tex, and left them crumpled on the floor. I searched my closet for something suitable, and settled on a slinky black cocktail dress, next to my three other slinky black cocktail dresses. I threw it on, pinned my hair up, and dashed some makeup on my face, all in the course of five minutes.
"There," I said, "I'm ready."
"Mia..."
"What? I'm ready."
"This is one of the most important events of the season, and you didn't even take ten minutes. I try my best to deal with you, I really do, but sometimes you act like a spoiled child. The least you can do is take a shower."
"Oh really," I sneered, "a spoiled child. How do you think I feel coming here? I don't know a single damn person here. I don't know how to ski, I barely know how to act at all these fancy dinners full of famous people. When you're not around all I do is sit here by the pool and drink."
"I know that, Mia. I've tried my best to introduce you to people. I've done everything in my power to make you feel comfortable here, but lately you've been throwing it all back in my face. I've been trying to understand, but sometimes I just can't."
I watched as the frustration began to grow in his eyes. And then he turned away, unable to even look at me, struggling to contain his emotions.
"Goddammit!" he finally bellowed, punching the wall next to him. I almost jumped out of my skin.
"And I'm trying to find your stepbrother," he said, his voice measured again, "The one person you do know. For whatever reason you can't even find him on your own. I don't even want to ask why."
I looked at myself blankly in the mirror, chastened. I didn't want to admit it, but Ellis was right. Instead of speaking my mind, actually talking to him, I'd been acting like a spoiled brat instead.
"Ellis, I'm sorry," I finally said. And I meant it. I reached out and touched his arm.
"Why don't you drive down to the Hilton, and I'll come join you after I’ve prepared myself properly."
He nodded in agreement and then left. I went over to the window and watched as he walked to his Land Rover. He drove away, and then I put my hair down, wiped the makeup off, and started all over.
After I looked perfect and put-together for Ellis, I finally headed out the door. I got in my BMW and drove into town, an hour late, but in control of myself once again.
I slowly pulled up outside of the exclusive hotel. I spotted the red carpet unrolled for the gala, the gaggle of limousines in front of the building, the valets idling around waiting for someone to attend to, the bored photographers adjusting their equipment. I came to a stop for a brief second, then drove right past.
I decided to go in the back way, through the bar. I found an anonymous parking spot towards the back of the lot and started walking through the slushy parking lot in my heels. My phone buzzed with a message from Ellis.
Where are you?? Hurry please.
I picked up my pace, quickly smiling at the doorman as I ducked into the building. I had better get there
before I ruined everything with Ellis.
The bar was dark and raucous, packed with people. Rich socialites were everywhere, still in their ski boots and getting wasted on expensive liquor. I started to push through the mob, hurrying for the entrance to the hotel. The whole room was charged with sex and money, like a time bomb ready to explode. And right in the middle of it all was my stepbrother!
He was leaning against the bar coolly, surveying the room like a lion looking over his domain. My heart jumped into my throat. He looked the same as he had when he left, just older, more muscular, his face tanned and weathered by years of Colorado skiing, and his tousled hair bleached by the sun. My heart began pounding wildly in my chest.
My phone buzzed again, compelling me to action. I kept walking, arriving next to Jackson. I grabbed his arm, pulling his attention away from something, or someone, across the room.
"Jackson!" I yelled, above the din of the crowd. I watched his eyes grow wide with surprise.
"Mia?"
"I've got to meet somebody, I’m sorry I don’t have any time to chat," I told him. "Call me!"
I rushed away from him, my body on fire, and disappeared into the crowd.
It immediately became quieter as I stepped into the hotel. The only sound other than the amiable banter of the desk assistant and the classical music tinkling over the PA was the sound of my heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
I found the ballroom and waited at the entrance as a smiling attendant ticked my name off the list.
A crisply dressed young man parted the rope at the entrance.
"Right this way, madam," he said, ushering me into the room. I searched the crowd for Ellis. He wasn’t hard to find, right in the center of a group, as usual, nattering away next to Marty, poised, looking comfortable in his crowd. He hadn't noticed me, so I approached quietly, hoping to surprise him.
"You should never have started up with her anyway," I overheard Marty say, "she's white trash. Real white trash."
"Don't talk about her that way," I heard Ellis grumble. "I just don't know what to do with her. Every time I take her somewhere she looks like she wants to run away. Every time we go to a soirée or a nice place for lunch or whatever, I get the feeling she'd be more comfortable at a Waffle House."
That got a good laugh from the crowd.
"What is that I've heard about her stepbrother?" a woman hissed, her voice a scandalous whisper, "that they were, uh, involved together?"
"Oh lord," I heard an older woman say, in a nasally, whiny cackle. "Her stepbrother. That's so trashy. Like a smutty novel." I heard her shrill laugh again. Then she changed the subject, turning to talk to someone else. "Hamilton, darling, have that Mexican fellow bring us more hors d'ouevres."
My heart sank. I'd done my best to fit in, and to do the right thing, especially tonight. I shrank back into the crowd, then turned and made my way back to the bar as fast as I could.
Jackson was nowhere to be seen. There was tall couple standing at the bar where he had been.
I grimly made my way back to the ballroom. But at the last minute I decided I couldn't go back there and veered into a hallway. I wandered through halls and up stairs until I found a second-story balcony overlooking a street.
I found a maintenance man leaning against a railing, smoking.
"Bum a smoke?" I asked.
He looked at me with surprise, then a second later, silently tapped a Marlboro into my hand.
"Thanks," I said as I leaned forward and the man lit it for me. I hadn't smoked in years, probably since I was in junior high, but I knew it would calm me down.
"Not my crowd down there," I said by way of explanation. The man nodded, looking at me flintily. We stood silently on the balcony. I leaned against the railing and looked down at the passersby on the street below, watching them come and go.
I thought about Jackson.
And then, miraculously, I saw his familiar figure walking on the sidewalk in front of me.
"Jackson!" I screamed. He kept walking. He was talking into his iPhone, lost in a conversation with someone. "Jackson!" I yelled again. But he disappeared into the crowd.
My heart was pounding. I reached down and pulled off my heels. If I let him get too far I would never see him again.
I ran pell-mell down the stairs.
"Pardon me, excuse me," I recited breathlessly as I pushed partygoers out of the way. I somehow made it through the room, and then I stepped outside in my bare feet onto the dirty, cold, slushy sidewalk.
The sidewalk was crowded with people bundled up against the evening chill, lost in conversation. My heart sank. I'd never see him again.
I started running down the sidewalk anyway. But only a few seconds later I heard a voice behind me.
"Mia!"
I whirled around breathlessly. Jackson was jogging through the crowd towards me. "What are you doing running around barefoot?" His eyes flashed when they met mine.
"I--"
"Come on," he urged, “let's get you inside.” He then picked me up off the ground. I almost squealed in surprise as he lifted my body like I was as light as a pillow; I settled into his arms, my heart pounding. He carried me down a side street and a few seconds later we came to a small apartment building.
"You live here?"
"Yeah, this is where they put up the senior ski instructors." I stepped off the cold concrete onto a warm wood floor. Jackson's place was clean and sparse, with bright white walls and a wooden ceiling. It was a tiny studio; the bed was placed next to a stacked washer-dryer and a kitchenette. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for me, and I sat down, brushing the grime off the soles of my feet with my hands.
I confronted him before he even had a chance to sit down next to me.
"Why did you leave us? I hate you."
"Mia." His eyes grew wide, and he leaned forward to touch my knee. "Why are you so angry? I've been sending you guys money for the last five years."
"What?" We hadn't received a single cent. "You're a fucking liar. We never got anything." Jackson looked confused.
"I've been sending it to your address in Snaketown. Every Friday when I get paid." I sat there, trying to hold in the hurt. Why did he have to lie to me, on top of everything?
"Darrell told me that you had disappeared, and that you never wanted to see me and mom again."
"What? Why would he say that? He told me that you and your mom hated me for leaving, that you guys never wanted to talk to me again, but I've been sending you money anyway. I swear to God, I go to the post office to mail you guys a check right after I make my deposit at the bank."
It dawned on us both at that moment what had been happening—Darrell, my mother’s loser boyfriend, was pocketing the money.
"That fucking bastard," Jackson hissed, "I'll kill him."
"No," I admonished, reaching out to touch him. "Come here."
Jackson took me in his arms and I settled against his body, hot blood coursing through me, so happy to have finally found him again, to be able to touch him again.
"Why did you leave so suddenly?" I asked with my head resting on his chest. "You never even said goodbye."
"There were people from Aspen recruiting at Mad River. They only bring the best of the best out here. Their first choice got injured, so they took me at the last minute. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. They called me that day, and I had to go. " His hand affectionately rubbed my back, sending warmth blooming through my chest. "And I was scared, scared of..."
Of what happened--how we had kissed, and that night the next week when we had given in and fooled around. We lived in a small town, and if word had gotten out, it would have been a real scandal.
Then I stood up, straddled his lap, and kissed him hard on the lips.
I felt Jackson's body stiffen in surprise, and then he relaxed, his lips moving with mine.
Then he pushed me away.
"We shouldn't do this," Jackson breathed, holding me away from him, his hand pressing against
my ribs as I tried to pull him in.
"I've wanted to for so long," I whimpered, leaning forward to kiss him again. Then I took one of his big hands in mine and moved it to my breast. I looked into his eyes pleadingly, unable to turn away.
Then he swept me up in his arms and carried me to the bed.
He laid on top of me, his strong arms gripping my shoulders as our lips met again, heat growing in the space between us. Every time we kissed I felt a shiver of electricity corkscrew through my body. His lips traced a searing line from my earlobe down to my sensitive neck, plunging downwards until he was kissing the hot, flushed skin between my breasts.
Taboo Step Surrender (Steamy Twenty Book Box Set) Page 4