Jackson looks confused, torn and at a loss for words. Like he’s at war with himself. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
“Just hold me.” My voice is a whisper, and I sound broken.
He turns the lights off and crawls in beside me, still fully clothed. Then he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against his chest. His body heat pushes away the chills brought on by Stewart’s cold touch.
* * *
“You should have called the police,” Jackson admonishes the next morning as he examines the bruises that cover my upper arms. “It might not be too late to get a police report.”
I shake my head, adamant. “No. I don’t want to.”
“I think it’s necessary,” he insists, his voice stern.
“Well, I don’t.”
“I have a feeling he’s going to keep bothering you.”
“I don’t want to, Jackson. I just want to forget about it!” My voice comes out louder than I intended, and his wounded expression makes my heart drop. I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m just—I don’t know—on edge. I don’t want to think about it anymore.” I want to run from it. Just like I do with everything else.
He sighs heavily but dips his head and brushes his lips against mine. “Okay.”
The conversation is dropped for now, and I’m thankful.
* * *
“Charlie darling, hello!”
Jackson’s mother, Grace, pulls me into a warm embrace when she opens the door to greet us. It surprises me and takes the edge off my nerves.
“Hello, Mrs. Stiles, Mr. Stiles.” I nod politely to both of them. They’re the picture-perfect couple. Randy is in a tailored suit, and Grace is wearing a shimmering green dress that matches the color of his tie.
He smiles and offers me his hand. “There is no Mr. or Mrs. here. Only Grace and Randy.”
I shake his hand and laugh a little. “Got it.”
Grace hugs Jackson. “Beetle!” She kisses him on both cheeks when she pulls away.
The pet name makes me grin. His father hugs him too. They may be filthy rich, but they’re still normal people—normal people who love their son.
Grace clasps one of my hands between hers as we walk through the house. “We’ll be having dinner on the terrace. I hope that’s okay?” She looks at me.
I’m quick to nod. “That sounds wonderful.”
When we’re all seated, the staff appears and begins presenting the dishes for dinner and pouring wine. It’s peculiar to me, and it isn’t something I think I could get used to.
Grace smiles at me. “I’m so happy Jackson has found someone to be with.”
I flush, unsure of how I should respond to her odd comment.
Jackson shoots her a wary look and grips my knee beneath the table. “You’re making Charlie uncomfortable.”
Randy casually changes the subject. “So, Charlie, Jackson tells me you graduated from UNT last spring?”
I nod and take a sip of my wine. “Yes, I did.”
“What did you study?”
“Business.”
When he grins, he’s the mirror image of Jackson. “Very good. I like a girl who knows the ins and outs of business.” There’s approval in his eyes and I feel I’ve won part of him over. I’ll take that.
The conversation the rest of the night is easy and unforced. They’re more laid-back than I remember, and by the time we finish dinner I feel completely at ease.
They walk us to the door when it’s time to go.
Grace kisses Jackson on the cheek and pinches his arm. “Night, Beetle. Come back soon.”
“Come back soon—but not without Charlie,” Randy adds before sweeping me into a bear hug. Grace does the same.
Jackson grins smugly after the door shuts behind us. “I told you they would love you.”
I laugh. “I’m not sure why.”
Jackson catches my hand and swings it as we walk. “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “That it’s not an easy thing to do.”
He spins me then pulls me back to him. “Nah, you’re easy to love, Charlie.”
Chapter Fifteen
On Friday my dad is absent from the office...again. He’s taken every Friday off this month. Today I’d planned on giving him the Charlie Day Interrogation, and now he’s ignoring all my phone calls. I must not procrastinate any longer or let myself be distracted by dreamy coworkers—first thing Monday morning, I’m getting to the bottom of this.
My computer pings, and I snap back to attention.
Jackson Stiles: What are your plans for the weekend?
Charlie Day: I don’t have any yet.
Jackson Stiles: Let’s get out of here.
Jackson Stiles: Now.
Charlie Day: Like, out of the office?
Jackson Stiles: Like, out of the office and out of town.
I grin at the computer screen.
Charlie Day: Are you asking me to play hooky from work, Jackson Stiles?
Jackson Stiles: That’s exactly what I’m doing.
Charlie Day: Well, what are we waiting for?
Before I even get the chance to power off my computer, Jackson is barging through our adjoining door and pulling me from my computer chair. “You ready?”
I shake my head like he’s crazy. “I need to put some of this away first.” I gesture to the stacks of paper scattered across my desk.
He shakes his head and pulls me toward the door. “No. There’s no time for that.”
I twist back around and pluck my bag off of my desk. “Are we late to save the world or something?”
He hushes me as he leads me down the hallway to reception. Jessica watches us with an odd smile as we sneak across the room.
“You never saw us,” Jackson tells her before turning his back to her and whistling while we wait for the elevator.
She shrugs her shoulders and turns back to the computer screen.
When the elevator doors close and we begin our descent, I ask, “Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go?”
I think for a minute. “Anywhere.”
He checks his watch. “We’ll drive somewhere. We can be out of the city in two hours.”
* * *
We pass the city limits sign at 3:48. We’ve managed to throw a couple of suitcases together, get on the road and out of the city in under two hours, just as Jackson said.
He’s weaving the Range Rover in and out of traffic, fast but always in control, when his BlackBerry rings in his pocket. He digs it out and connects the call with the push of a button. The conversation is one-sided. He only offers the occasional yes or no, then hangs up abruptly. Within three minutes it’s ringing again. An endless string of calls ensues over the next hour. Geez.
I crack open the book I brought along. “You’re very popular.”
He tosses me an apologetic smile. “Business.”
I open my mouth to let a smart-mouth remark fly, but the ringing of his phone interrupts me.
“Does it ever stop?” I ask after he’s taken another two calls.
“Everyone wants to get a word in before five.”
I check my watch—4:52. “Only eight minutes to go.”
He glances over and his eyes soften. He powers it down. “Business can wait until Monday.”
My irritation simmers down. “You don’t have to do that.”
He slides his hand across the console and places it on my knee. “I want to.”
When we reach a part of the highway I don’t recognize, I tuck my legs beneath me and shift around to face him. “So where are we going?”
“Somewhere you’ll like.”
That really narro
ws it down. “Is it somewhere that I’ve been before?”
He thinks for a moment then shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
I fish for more. “City or town?”
“Town. Small town.”
I settle back in my seat and think about wherever it is we’re going. The only thing that matters right now is Jackson and me and our bubble—and that’s exactly what I need. The worries I took to work with me this morning have already taken a backseat—for the weekend, anyway.
* * *
Jackson squeezes my leg just above the knee. “We’re here.”
I shut my book and glance up as he pulls the Range Rover off of the main road and onto a long gravel path. Forking elm trees flank the narrow roadway, and the shafts of sunlight shine through the twisted branches over the car.
We come to a stop at a big iron gate, and Jackson rolls down his window to speak with a man via the security box. He pushes a button, and the fence rises in response.
“What is this place?” I ask, gazing at the elegant estate that waits ahead.
“Stone Creek Manor.”
“It’s beautiful.” I study the red brick villa. It’s three stories tall, with white shutters and a wraparound porch. The front lawn is green and there’s a fountain in the middle of the circle drive. I put my window down as we roll along the path. The air is cool, and I smell the flowers before I see them—two large gardens on either side of the estate.
“I used to come here with my mother and father when I was a kid,” he explains as we pull around the circle drive and stop.
A man descends from the manor steps and greets us with a cheery smile. “Hello! Welcome to Stone Creek. May I help you with your bags?” The name George is etched into his golden name tag.
I thank him as I hand over my bag.
“Will you be checking in with us today, Mr....?”
“Stiles, and yes,” Jackson confirms.
“Wonderful, Mr. Stiles.” George turns to me and smiles. “Mrs. Stiles, right this way.”
I open my mouth to correct him, but he turns on his heel and walks toward the stairs at a brisk pace.
Jackson is grinning. “Mrs. Stiles, right this way,” he echoes. Then he steers me up the staircase after golden-name-tag George.
* * *
Our suite isn’t part of the main estate, but actually a small cottage just off of the main grounds. It has an Old World charm on the outside with surprising modern touches on the inside. And it’s private. I like it. A large sleigh bed is adjacent to the sitting area. The dining area is beyond that, surrounded by colonial-style windows that extend from the floor to the ceiling. In the bathroom, there’s a huge, granite soaking tub and a walk-in shower with a glass mosaic of a cherry blossom tree.
Jackson watches me as I gaze out one of the windows. “Do you like it?”
I turn away from the view to face him. “I love it.”
“Good.” He hauls my suitcase off the ground and drops it on the bed. “What do you wanna do tonight?”
“I don’t know.” I cross the room and plop down on the bed beside my bag. “What do you wanna do tonight?”
His hands wrap around my thighs and he pulls me toward him. “I think we both know the answer to that.” He slides his palms up until they reach my waist and slips them just beneath the hem.
I arch one of my brows. “Oh?”
He nods, and his lips lift into a crooked smile. The way he’s looking at me is making it hard to keep my hands off. So I don’t. I grab fistfuls of his shirt and tug him to me. Then I cover my mouth with his. His right hand knots in my hair, and his left hand brushes across the bare skin of my abdomen. When I part my lips, his warm tongue delves into my mouth.
He makes a sound—a cross between a sigh and a moan—like a soft, subtle, wordless yes. It makes me want to be closer. I slide my hands up his chest and curl my fingers into the wisps of blond hair at the nape of his neck. Then I pull him, relishing the way he tastes—minty and sweet. Like Jackson, my Jackson. My heart does a nervous flip, accelerating, rendering me breathless.
He tears his mouth from mine and groans. “We’ve gotta stop.”
I push my hair out of my eyes and try to regain my bearings. “Why?”
“Because we’ll be in this room all night if we start now.”
I don’t mind.
He takes a step back. “Go get ready. I want to take you to dinner.”
I sulk but obey and change into a pair of skinny jeans and brown riding boots with a simple white T-shirt. In lightning speed, I freshen my makeup then fluff my hair. It’s messy since Jackson has been running his hands through it, but I decide to leave it be. The disheveled look works, right? When I emerge from the bathroom, Jackson is dressed and ready to go. His hair is messy for the same reason mine is—I love that.
The manor’s shuttle service takes us to the town square. It’s charming, a scene straight from a movie. An ancient wooden gazebo is at the center of the area. It’s surrounded by blooming flowers of various colors, organized into patterns and rows. Local businesses flank all four sides of the plaza, and black vintage streetlights light up the sidewalk. Across the square an old man is sitting on a bench and playing the harmonica. I can’t imagine being anything but happy here—I love this place already.
Jackson takes my hand and leads me along the sidewalk until we reach a red brick building. “Here we are.” The fading paint overhead reads O’Malley’s Pub. It strikes a childhood memory, and I smile.
When we were kids, I was obsessed—and I mean obsessed—with a Disney movie about a bunch of cats. For an entire summer I made Adam and Jackson watch it with me every day. I knew every word and they knew every word. One of the characters was an alley cat named O’Malley. I’d named my first pet after him.
Jackson steers me toward the bar by the small of my back. “I have someone I want you to meet.”
I tilt my face back to look at him, but his face gives nothing away. We’re alone at the bar, so I guess whoever we’re meeting isn’t here yet. I take the time to look around the pub. The decor is authentic and friendly, and it has a feel to it. The room is full of character and characters, but everyone’s laughing. Everyone’s getting along. Like one big family. This sign above the bar sums it up perfectly: There Are No Such Things as Strangers, Only Friends We Haven’t Met Yet.
I do a double take when a dog wanders up and paws at Jackson’s leg. It’s an Australian shepherd with different-colored eyes. One blue and one brown. He bends and starts petting him like he knows him.
Jackson scratches the dog behind his ears and laughs. “Hey, buddy, how ya been?”
I stoop and let the dog sniff the back of my hand. Once I’ve received approval, I rub behind one of his ears. “You know this dog?” I ask.
He nods. “This is Beau.”
I scan my brain for a moment before it snaps. Beau! If this is Beau then his owner must not be far away, and if his owner isn’t far away then Jackson is opening another side of himself up to me.
Just as I connect the dots, a voice bellows behind us, “There he is!”
I straighten up and turn to see who’s approaching us. This must be Evan. He looks like he’s in his mid-twenties, and his big, easy smile is so freakishly contagious, it can’t possibly be human. When he reaches us, he tugs Jackson into a tight hug. He’s a head shorter than Jackson, but they have the same lean build.
He looks at me and grins. “So. You’re the girl?” His eyes are a deep, lazy gold.
Was that a question? Either way, I must be the girl, because I’m the only person he’s looking at. “Yeah. I guess that’s me.”
“From the photograph,” he explains. Jackson lifts an arm and shoves him.
I look from one to the other. “What photograph?”
He shakes his head. Then
he takes me by surprise and sweeps me into a hug. Over his shoulder, I shoot Jackson a look of confusion. He shrugs and holds up his hands.
When Evan releases me, he laughs then extends his hand. “I’m sorry. You probably think I’m crazy—I promise I’m not. I’m Evan.”
I shake his hand. “Ch—”
“Charlie.” He nods as he pumps my hand up and down. “I’ve heard all about you, but I’m happy to finally meet you. I feel like I already know you.” He’s got eyes that smile even when his lips aren’t, and the easygoing vibe he gives off makes me want to grin. So I do. I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since I started.
He runs a hand through his mop of brown hair. Then he points to his dog. “This is my better half, Beau.”
“I’ve met him.” I bend down and pet him one more time. “He’s very handsome.”
Evan snaps the suspenders he’s wearing, and as if it’s even possible, his grin gets bigger. “Well, thank you. I think so too.”
He pulls a seat out at the bar, and I sit down. Then he paces off to the far end of the room and ducks behind the bar.
Jackson scoots in beside me. “Evan runs the place,” he explains.
Evan pops up in front of us, holding up a set of pint glasses. “Guinness for my friends?”
I nod. “Sure.”
He sets the glasses in front of us, and I take a sip. I swish it in my mouth before swallowing it down. It’s rich and heavy with a twinge of coffeelike twang. I take another drink. It’s good.
Evan rests his palms on the hardwood in front of us and leans in. “So you finally got your girl, Jackson.”
I flush in response and take another swig of the beer.
Jackson finds my free hand beneath the counter and gives it a squeeze. “I did. Though I’m not sure it will be for long with friends like you—you’re scaring her.”
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