by Donna Hill
He half-smiled. “I’m just glad to be indoors. Thanks.”
She looked at the floor to make sure she’d gotten up the puddles of water. Her family would have a fit, and she didn’t need another tongue-lashing. “Come on upstairs. You can get out of your clothes in my room and take a hot shower. I’ll throw your things in the washer.” She led the way upstairs. “Try not to leave too much of a trail,” she said over her shoulder.
Zoie switched on the light in her bedroom. It flickered for a moment, then came on. “Lights have been acting up for the past hour or so,” she sputtered, suddenly nervous about having Jackson in her bedroom. It resurrected too many memories. “I can’t believe they don’t have a generator. Things could go out at any minute, and then what?” she rambled.
“I’m sure your family has been through this enough times to be able to handle it.”
She dared to actually look at him. Her heart pounded. “Um, the bathroom is right through there.”
“I remember.”
“Oh . . .” She folded her arms. “There are fresh towels on the shelf.”
“Thanks.” He walked off.
Zoie actually breathed. Her heart had been racing so fast she was short of breath. She turned in a circle. Jackson in her bedroom . How many years had it been? How many secret trysts did they spend in this room, right under her family’s noses? The excitement of possibly getting caught turned them both on, heightened the pleasure.
She sat down on the side of her bed. They were good together once. They’d been happy until they weren’t. And as reluctant as she was to admit it, no man had ever made her feel the way that Jackson Fuller had. Ever.
How do you get beyond that? She knew she had played a major role in the demise of their relationship. But she wanted him to fight for her, make her stay. He didn’t, and she took that to mean that he didn’t care the way he claimed he did. She let her ego get in the way. She’d spent so much of her life and energy dealing with the chill of the Bennett household, her mother’s clinging and nagging, that to discover or believe that the one meaningful person in her life, other than her grandmother, didn’t seem to care in the way she needed him to care was more than she could handle. Why were his life and goals more important than hers? Why couldn’t he simply pack up and follow her to New York?
She wanted to work herself up into an emotional frenzy again, dredge up the old hurts and miscues, so that when Jackson stepped out of the bathroom she could sit on her high horse of resentment instead of willing him to gather her close and tell her that everything was going to be fine. She could not let that happen. Too much time had passed. He had moved on, and so had she. Him turning up on her doorstep in the middle of a pending hurricane was no more than prevailing circumstances, not divine intervention.
She heard the water shut off in the bathroom. Quickly she jumped up to her feet. No need for him to walk in on her sitting on the bed, of all places.
The bathroom door opened, and Jackson stepped out from a cloud of steam. Her throat tightened, and her heartbeat escalated. She’d tried to forget how gorgeous this man’s body was, but now it was all in front of her in living, breathing color. If it was possible, he looked more chiseled and defined than what she remembered. She swallowed and forced her eyes away from the knot that held the towel around his waist.
He carried his wet clothing under his arm.
“I’ll take those and put them in the machine. Um, can I get you anything?”
“A stiff drink.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. I heard the forecast and went out anyway. Pretty sure my car is up to the windshield in mud and water by now.”
“Oh no! Wait. Let me get these clothes washed. I’ll see what the folks have around here to drink and be right back.”
“I would go with you, but . . .” He extended his arms in explanation.
Zoie chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think they’re ready for all that. Be right back.” She went out and shut the door behind her.
Her thoughts spun as she dumped the clothes in the machine, added detergent, and turned on the machine. Jackson in her bedroom. Storm raging outside. Secrets stowed away in the attic. Family that resented her inheritance. All the makings of a Lifetime movie.
She went to check on the stew and found her mother in the kitchen.
“Oh. I was going to check on the food.”
“No need.” Rose kept her back turned.
“Mama, did something happen between you and Kyle Maitland?” she asked as gently as she could and saw her mother’s body stiffen.
“Nothing more than a schoolgirl crush. That’s it. Nothing to tell, so let it go. Please,” she added and turned to face her daughter. “Please, Zoie, for once in your life do what I ask, not what you want.” She turned and put the lid back on the pot. “Another half hour,” she said and walked off.
Zoie blew out a breath. Something had happened. If she doubted it before, she didn’t any longer. But it was so long ago. There was no reason not to talk about it. Sure, things were very different back then. Not only was her mother the daughter of the Maitlands’ employee, she was young and black. She could see the Maitlands wanting to erase that mark, but why her family? Yet, as much as she wanted to dive right in, she couldn’t erase the look of hurt and pleading on her mother’s face when she asked her to leave it alone.
She replayed her mother’s words. Had she always been bullheaded and difficult? Was it always her way or none at all? Jackson had said as much to her the night they broke up for the final time. She didn’t want to hear it then, and she didn’t want to hear it now.
She went in search of her grandmother’s stash of liquor. Nana usually kept a bottle of bourbon tucked away on the top shelf of the bookcase.
Bingo! It was right where she remembered. She took the bottle, went back to the kitchen, grabbed two glasses, filled them with ice, and swiped the plate of cold roasted chicken from the fridge. Loaded with her booty, she hurried back up to her room. She knocked on the door with her foot, and when Jackson pulled the door open, her breath hitched in her chest.
“Hey, let me help you.” He took the platter and bottle and set them down on the nightstand.
Zoie stood in the center of the room. When Jackson turned toward her, she held up the two glasses to take his attention away from the fact that she was a basket case with him half naked in her bedroom. As much as what went wrong between them continued to rise to the surface and remind her of why they’d parted ways, she could not deny the pull that Jackson still had on her.
He grinned. “Bourbon, huh? You planning on taking advantage of me?”
“Not hardly. And from what I remember, you are pretty good at holding your liquor.”
“True.” He took the ice-filled glasses from her and splashed them both with bourbon. He handed her a glass and raised his. “To those who come to the rescue of others.” He winked.
Zoie couldn’t help but smile at the reference to the last time they’d seen each other.
“We have to stop meeting under traumatic conditions,” she quipped and took a short sip of her drink. She screwed up her face. “Whoa, definitely has a kick.”
“That it does.” He took a deep swallow, crossed the room, and sat in the chair by the shuttered window.
Zoie felt safe enough to sit on the bed. “So, what were you doing out there, and how did you wind up on my doorstep?”
Jackson rested his forearms on his thighs. “My intention was to check out the development I’m working on before the storm really hit.” He went on to describe what happened and ultimately his decision to walk to her house in the storm.
“Jackson, you could have been killed!” The reality of what could have happened to him rocked her in a way that she did not expect. Regardless of what had happened between them, the thought of losing him, really losing him, shook her to her center. She took a swallow of her drink and allowed the burn to sear away the feelings that had ignited just beneath the surface.
He looked
directly at her. “The only thing I kept thinking about was that if I could make it here, everything would be okay.”
The pulse in her throat quickened. “Well . . . you’re safe now,” she said on a breath. “Damn, I didn’t bring plates for the chicken.” She jumped up and started for the door.
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s pretend we’re having a picnic. Eat with our fingers. I don’t mind. Do you?”
She swallowed. “Sure. Fine.” She walked over to her closet and pulled out a quilt from the top shelf and spread it out on the floor. “Waa-laa, instant picnic.”
Jackson chuckled, got up from the chair, and retrieved the platter of chicken and the bottle of bourbon. He set them on the center of the blanket, then lowered himself to the floor. Zoie took a moment before she joined him.
“So how are things going here?” He ripped off a wing.
Zoie shut her eyes for a moment and sighed. “The usual times ten.” She looked into his eyes, and in that instant, she remembered that, no matter what was happening between them, Jackson could always be trusted to be the rational one when she went off the deep end.
“Whatever it is, you know, you can tell me, right?” he said as if reading her thoughts.
Zoie dug out a piece of white meat from the chicken. “I found some things . . . letters, journals, pictures in my grandmother’s trunk up in the attic.”
He looked at her from the side. “And . . .”
Between bites of chicken and sips of bourbon, she told him about what she’d found, what she’d pieced together, and her family’s irrational response.
“Wow.” His brows lifted, then lowered. He draped his arm across his bent knee.
“I’m thinking that both families wanted to avoid a scandal,” Zoie said, “especially with Kyle Maitland being primed for politics. That kind of scandal with an underage black girl would probably have ruined him.”
“Makes perfect sense if that’s what happened. It’s still all speculation on your part, Z. Your mother hasn’t admitted to anything more than a crush. What young woman or man hasn’t had a crush on someone that went nowhere?”
She was thoughtful for a moment, allowing the information she’d found, her family’s response, and Jackson’s sobering words to marinate in her head. She looked at him. “That may all be true, but my gut tells me that there is much more to this, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
“Even if it opens old wounds and could potentially hurt a lot of people?”
She leaned forward to press her point. “This is what I do, Jax. This is what I was trained to do . . . investigate until there is nothing left to find. It’s why I’m good at my job, why I was assigned this story,” she said with the gravitas of one who had come to believe the hype.
Jackson let his gaze move slowly across her face. “You really have changed,” he said softly.
Zoie jerked back. “We all have. It’s part of the process.” She took a sip of her drink and held her glass out for a refill. Jackson obliged her.
“All I’m going to say is this, and then I’m going to leave it alone.” He reached out and took her hand. “Don’t let your drive for glory run you off a road that you can’t ever come back from. You may have a fucked-up family, but they’re still family, Z.” He released her and held up both hands. “That’s all I have to say on the subject. “
She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth, then got to her feet. “I’d better check on your clothes and get them in the dryer.”
“Yeah . . . then maybe you can show me what you found.”
Zoie stopped, looked at him over her shoulder. He always gave her a way out. “Sure.” She walked out and shut the door.
CHAPTER 10
Jackson looked around Zoie’s bedroom. He’d tried to tamp down the bubbling memories while they sat together talking, eating and drinking, but it was impossible. They’d spent many nights in this room, afternoons too, when they thought they could get away with it.
From the moment they’d met years ago at that café, Zoie Crawford had gotten under his skin, and no matter the distance between them or the women who’d come and gone from his life, he had not quite gotten over Zoie, and now he didn’t think he ever would.
Until he saw Zoie again, he’d wanted to believe that maybe Lena was finally the one. She was intelligent, sexy, caring, and a savvy businesswoman. And he did care about her. But the truth was, he hadn’t given her a second thought all day. It didn’t occur to him to try to call her, even though he knew she would be worried. Fortunately, he could use the excuse of no phone signal to buy some time because him being at Zoie’s home was the last thing he wanted Lena to know about.
Maybe the storm, getting stranded, and winding up on Zoie’s doorstep was a blessing in disguise. Maybe this is the time they needed to figure out what had really gone wrong between them and if there was any way to fix what they’d broken.
Zoie returned. “The natives are moving about. Stew is ready.”
“That’s what I smelled.”
“Hmm. I guess as soon as your clothes are dry, you can come down and say hello.”
“Yeah. Cool. Listen, like I said I can take a look at some of the stuff you found . . . if you want a second opinion. I meant that.”
“Oh, you sure?”
“Yeah, since I’m here, I might as well make myself useful. Truth is, I have so many other things I want to do with you that reading old letters will take my mind off of them.”
“Jackson . . .”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to jump your bones . . . unless you want me to,” he added with a smirk.
Zoie lowered her head to hide her smile. She looked at him. “Be like old times: house full of wide-awake people while we were in here doing all kinds of things to each other and trying to keep quiet.”
“You were always the noisy one,” he reminded her as the sounds of her moans and cries of his name exploded in his head.
“With good reason.”
She took a step toward him, and he became very aware of the rise happening beneath the towel. Zoie noticed it, too. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip. “I have one of the journals in my nightstand and a couple of letters.”
Jackson heard the slight tremor in her voice and her innocuous words, but the dark look in her eyes, and the way her body seemed to have softened from the stiffness of earlier, told a different story.
“We can’t, Jax,” she whispered. “It would be wrong on so many levels.”
“I don’t agree,” he said and stepped closer. He put her hand on the knot that held his towel together. If she did what he knew she wanted to do, then . . .
Her gaze dropped. After a moment, she looked up at him. He watched her chest rise and fall as her breathing escalated. She pressed a hand against his bare chest, and the softest moan escaped.
“Jax—”
He cut off her excuse, covering her mouth with his. Her brief instant of resistance quickly vanished as she melted against his body. He looped his arm around her, pulled her close. She fumbled with the knot of the towel, just as the lights went completely out.
The strident voice of her aunt Sage rang out in the hallway. They sprang apart. “Lights out! Hurricane lamps in the pantry. Zoie, did you find those candles like I told you?”
“Coming!” She stroked Jackson’s face in the dark. “Be back.”
“Good time to eat,” she heard her mother call out.
“Just like old times,” he quipped.
“Almost.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the lips, then darted out.
Jackson expelled an expletive, but then he had to laugh at the irony. The lights went out just in time. It gave them both the time to let reality strike and to avoid raging hormones and unresolved feelings. If the lights hadn’t gone out when they did, he knew for sure he would be in the throes of making love to Zoie, and that wouldn’t be fair to Lena. She didn’t deserve that.
He tightened the knot on the towel.
* * *
/>
“Is Grandma okay?” Kimberly’s daughter Alexis asked.
“I’m sure she’s fine, sweetheart. She’s used to bad weather.”
“Can we call her?” Alexandra asked.
Kimberly draped her arm around her daughter as they sat on the couch, watching the news of the storm. “As soon as the phone lines are working, we’ll call. Okay? But I’m sure she is just fine.” She hid her worry behind a smile.
Her mother and father were pretty much alone in that big house and had refused over the years to relocate with their daughter to New York. Her mother insisted that the only way she was leaving her home was feet first. Lou Ellen had unintentionally instilled her rock-solid determination into her daughter, a determination that had set the course of Kimberly’s life and career.
From the time Kimberly was a little girl following tight on the heels of her older brother, Kyle, Lou Ellen insisted that her daughter needed to find her own place in the world as a woman and a wife. Her mother was set in her ways and worldview, believing that a true woman’s place was at the side of her husband, a role that she played to the hilt.
Lou Ellen was ruled by protocol, social etiquette, and appearances. She sat on every board, accompanied her husband to every event, leaving little time to nurture her family, Kimberly in particular. What attention she did pay was showered on Kyle. Had it not been for Ms. Claudia, Kimberly would have wallowed in loneliness. It was Ms. Claudia and her brother who reminded her how special she was, how worthy of love she was. But it was her mother’s love that she sought and never truly found. She never understood her mother’s seeming detachment, especially when she became a mother herself. Her children were her world, and she vowed that she would never be the kind of parent her mother had been.
“Here are my beautiful girls,” Rowan said as he entered the living room. He held out his arms.
His twin daughters jumped to their feet and wrapped themselves around their father.