by Kendra Leigh
“You said something about him gambling when we were at the cabin, remember?”
I nod. “Ironic, isn’t it? I was certain he was a loser before I knew he actually existed. I always had great radar for assholes.”
“You really didn’t even know for sure that I was married?”
“No.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Anyway. I’m assuming that was the bad news and the good is yet to come?”
“What? Oh, right, yes, the good news. Well they’re one and the same actually. Him being a lousy businessman may be your ticket to taking back your company.”
I see hope light up her face. “How so?”
“Over the last few weeks, Ethan, or Wilde Industries, has been evaluating your company as an acquisition candidate. He’s meeting with Nick right now with an official proposal.”
“I see.” She looks a little perplexed. “No, I don’t. I have no clue what you’re talking about. What does it mean, this acquisition thing?”
“It’s a corporate action when a buying company obtains more than fifty percent of a target company. It’s part of a growth strategy, particularly for large empires like Wilde Industries. It allows them to expand their operations, often into niche markets. When Ethan identifies a company that has peaked due to logistical or financial constraints but, with the right management team in place, has the makings of a very profitable business, he’ll acquire it as a scalable enterprise.”
“Right. But I thought you said the business is on its ass? Why would Ethan Wilde want to invest in it?”
“The only reason it’s struggling is because he’s draining its resources to pay off his debts. But that’s the very reason he’ll bite Ethan’s hand off. Wilde Industries is the answer to his prayers. He’ll have their exceptional expertise and their financial backing, all of which will gain him advancement in the industry, and obtaining investment will free up capital to pay off his debts. He won’t own the majority of the business anymore, but a small percentage of something substantial is better than a large percentage of something worthless.”
“Right,” she says again. “But how will Ethan buying some of my company help me?”
“Apart from Nick, who currently owns the majority share, there are four other shareholders including you.”
“Yes, the men who were in our party at the event that night.”
“That’s right. Wilde Industries will produce a tender offer to all shareholders for an amount way above the market value in exchange for their shares. An offer they won’t refuse. Ethan will then obtain the remaining shares necessary to give him the majority from Nick. What Nick won’t know is that the other shareholders will be offered a handsome bonus to step down from the board altogether, and Wilde Industries will replace them with a new board of directors. One that will include someone who will take over as CEO when the other members offer up a vote of no confidence in Nick, which they will. That member will be you.”
“Me?” She steps back as if I insulted her, her face panic stricken. “CEO—me? Jackson, what the hell are you talking about? The idea is ludicrous. Didn’t you hear me when I said I don’t know anything about the business? I don’t want to know. I just want to sell. I can’t do this!”
Here she goes again. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression you’d got past this limited capability nonsense. When we had the discussion in the park, you sounded like there was nothing you can’t do.”
“This is different. This is … big.”
“So you give up the second you’re faced with something you think is too big for you?”
“It is too big for me. C-E-O? Are you listening to what you’re suggesting?”
“Savannah, it’s just a title. One you don’t even need to keep, but it will give you back control. Once the business is back on its feet, you can do what you want. You could get involved, if you want to, take advice from the best, or if you don’t you can sell. Or you could even leave the people Ethan has employed to run it for you and sit back and enjoy the profits. It will be a source of revenue, a decent one.”
She shakes her head. “But it won’t belong to me. It will belong to Wilde Industries.”
“Only short term. The shares will be transferred back to you as soon as the deal is done with Nick. You’ll snatch it back from under his nose.” I move toward her, taking her by the shoulders. “Think about it, Savannah.”
I can see the idea taking shape in her mind, the thought of bringing Nick to his knees becoming a possibility.
“Why would you do all this for me?”
I sigh, my eyes rising to the ceiling as I decide how honest to be. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Her eyes search mine as if she’s trying to understand if it is or it isn’t. “I can’t give you anything in return, Jackson. Not yet. Maybe not ever. There isn’t enough of me.”
I’ve been walking around with this flimsy bubble of hope for weeks now, and in less than a second it’s gone, bursting before my eyes. Although I try my best to hide my obvious disappointment, I struggle to swallow the telltale lump of rejection that’s formed in my throat.
“I’m not asking for anything. I just want you to be safe. And happy.” Releasing her shoulders, I thrust my hands into my pockets and take a step back. As much as it stings, I have to respect her need for space.
She gazes at me with sad eyes, her hand moving toward me briefly as if she’s considering reaching for me, but instead she lets it fall back to her side.
“Anyway, it’s not really me that’s doing anything, is it. It’s Ethan. And it’s all in a day’s work for him, I assure you. He’ll take great enjoyment in bringing Nick down.” I reach into my inside jacket pocket for my cell. “All he needs is the nod and it all begins. It’s up to you.”
“He doesn’t even know me.”
“He knows me. It’s enough for him.”
“What if I can’t repay him? Ethan? What if the business doesn’t rebuild enough for me to pay him back?”
“It will, but that’s not why he’s doing this. I don’t mean to be flippant, but, monetarily, this is just small change to him. You don’t need to worry. He won’t expect anything in return either.”
The remark cuts a little deeper than I intended. I can see it in her eyes, but I don’t take it back. I just look down at my cell. “So, do I make the call?”
I see the steel return in her expression. “Yes. Make the call.”
* * *
I hang up and return to the kitchen in time to see her limping across the room, the pain evident in the way she winces. “You need to take the weight off it.” Before she has chance to respond, I pick her up and sit her on the table. Then retrieving the bag of icy vegetables from the floor where she dropped them, I fold them around the swelling. “Do you have strapping? It could do with some support.” I can see she’s about to protest. “Yes, Savannah, I’m fully aware you can manage on your own, but it’s just an offer to strap up your ankle. An offer of kindness, nothing else.”
She relents and nods toward the cupboard behind me. “Bottom shelf.”
Grabbing the box, I pull up a chair, arranging it right in front of her, and take a seat. Gently, I place her bare foot on my thigh, and suddenly I’m aware of how close she is. The positioning of her body in proximity to mine couldn’t be more torturous. I get a waft of her unique scent, feel the warmness of her skin on the sole of her foot through the fabric of my pants. I take the strapping and begin to bind her ankle, hoping she doesn’t notice how aroused I’ve suddenly become.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she says quietly.
“Which one?”
“How you came to be peering through my kitchen window.”
“Well, it’s simple really. I needed to see you …” I say as I tape the strapping in place, my fingers stroking gently over the swelling before involuntarily gliding up behind her toned, shapely calf. “I waited for you at the park,” I lie, “and when you didn’t come, I got worried. I didn’t want your nosey neighbor to see, so I cam
e around back.” I realize I’m still stroking her leg, my fingers moving slowly up behind her knee toward the hem of her workout shorts, like she’s mine and I don’t need to ask—it’s just innate—the need, the act of touching her. My heart hammers as it did earlier, albeit for a different reason now, matching the thumping feeling of blood pounding in my erection.
She’s quiet. She hasn’t responded to what I said, but her body is responding to my touch. I can hear her breathing changing, faster and heavier. I look up and meet her eyes, the ice turning dark blue like the depths of an ocean, peaches returning to her cheeks. I shift on my seat, closer so that I’m sitting directly between her legs, and taking her other foot, I rest it on my opposite thigh. My legs are spread and so are hers. I want more than anything to bury my head between her thighs. Smell her, taste her. Make her mine.
We watch each other closely as my hands work in unison now, one mirroring the other as I stroke my way up over her knees to her thighs, my thumbs tracing a path on the tender inner flesh up toward her shorts. It’s the tiniest amount, but I feel her legs widen further, the slightest gasp escaping her lips. Slowly, I lean forward, my eyes not leaving hers as I brush the inside of her knee with the gentlest of kisses. My tongue snakes out almost involuntary, one sweet lick of her luscious skin and it’s like a drug to a recovering addict. I want more, so much more, but …
“I can stop,” I whisper. “If you want me to.”
She licks her lips, her nostrils flaring as she gazes down at me. “Is it just another offer of kindness?”
“No, Savannah. I’m afraid this is more. So much more.”
Her lip trembles slightly. “Then, no. I don’t want you to stop.”
“Are you sure?”
One small nod.
Little by little, I glide my hands up her thighs, the action coaxing them to spread wider still. My thumbs skim beneath the hem of her shorts, the material gathering in the crook of my hand, until I find what I’m searching for. I stroke the pad of my thumb over her silky warmness, feel her pelvis shunt toward me in response, a small cry emerging from her lips. Eyes closing, like a starving man, I peel back the fabric that’s keeping me from the unparalleled drug I crave and see, emphatically, the effect I’m having on her. Her slickness glistens in the sunlight leaking in through the blinds. I can’t bear it any longer, can’t wait another single second to taste her, even if my life depends on it. As much as I want to devour her, I also want to savor her, take my time, make the most of every tiny morsel. And so I do.
My Sparrow. My sweet, sweet Sparrow.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Savannah
IT’S NOT THAT LATE, ONLY about 8:00 pm, but I just want to sleep. That way I might be able to stop myself from reliving this afternoon over and over again in my head. The memory alone is playing havoc with my insides; I am so aroused by it that I ache. The way he made me feel today, the way he looked at me—I can’t express the effect it had. Despite our beginning, despite wanting—almost needing to find something untrustworthy about him, I can’t. I see only goodness in Jackson Dean. Clean, wholesome, unprecedented goodness. One thing is for sure, I can’t fight my feelings for him anymore. It’s too exhausting. I thought that by giving in to them, I would feel that I was giving up control of my life again to yet another man. Yes, this fight with Nick is mine to conquer, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t consider a future with Jackson. I deserve to be happy. I do.
Vowing to put everything out of my mind, I turn over, plump my pillow, and begin to count sheep. It’s then I hear the front door slam loudly downstairs. He’s back. When he didn’t show at dinner time, I assumed he’d be out celebrating the deal he struck with Ethan Wilde, probably stuck behind a blackjack table in some casino spending more of my money, glass of whiskey in his hand.
I jump out of bed quickly. I know I locked my door, but I just need to check. Having managed to keep him at an arm’s length for the last few weeks, toeing the line to a degree but mostly just keeping out of his way, the last thing I want is him catching me unaware. Quietly, I try the door. It’s locked. But then I hear something coming from downstairs. Laughter. Hushed tones. Him, but the voice of a female too.
My curiosity piqued, I unlock the door and tiptoe to the top of the stairs. I can’t see anyone, which means they’ve moved into the kitchen or the sitting room, but a definite female voice emanates from somewhere down there. Something about her giggle is familiar. At first, I think it’s Helen, but no, she sounds too young. Unable to stop myself, I limp silently down the stairs. The sound of muffled talking has quieted, replaced by heavy breathing, groaning and the rustling of fabric. Incredulity roots me to the spot. He’s screwing somebody in my sitting room. Mine. While he thinks I’m sleeping upstairs. He can screw whomever the hell he likes, I don’t give a shit. It’s not the infidelity that irks me. It’s the disrespect. The persistent need to humiliate me.
Suddenly, I get a sense of something. A smell. The scent of a woman’s perfume so distinct that I recognize it straight away. And when the smell connects with the familiar laugh in my brain, I know exactly who my husband is screwing in my sitting room. The memory of a conversation flits into my mind. “I won’t touch a guy unless he’s well into his thirties,” and before I know what I’m doing, I’m striding into the room and flicking on the light. Nick’s smirk says it all as he sits there on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned, pants undone, and Erin, Ava’s sister, straddled across his lap.
She doesn’t turn around to look at me as she pulls on her blouse, but I can tell she is smiling when she speaks. There’s an underlying giggle to her tone when she utters her single word. “Oops.”
“Get out of my house, Erin,” I say calmly.
I see her shoulders slump in disappointment. She wanted to shock me when she turned around to reveal her identity.
“In case you’re wondering how I know it’s you, it’s your stench. Akin to rat’s piss or something equally as grim.”
Nick is practically laughing, amused by my reaction to his theatrics, and I realize, to some degree, I’ve played right into his hands. It’s been weeks since he last touched me, raped me, and his frustration has been growing bigger each time he’s tried my bedroom door only to find it locked. I’ve made sure to steer well clear of him if I thought there was even the remotest chance he might have been drinking. He’s brought Erin back to the house for sex with the genuine delusion that I’ll be jealous. That it will be a humiliating lesson to me for preventing him taking what he thinks he has a God-given right to take whenever he pleases.
“Are you going to let her talk to me like that, Nicky?”
Nicky?
Still smirking, he pats her thigh. “Up you get, little honey.”
Oh, now I might throw up altogether. His little honey clambers off his lap, tugging at her skirt to cover her nudity.
Nick pulls some notes from his pants pocket and thrusts them at her. “Get yourself a cab.”
“What? Why? I thought this is what you wanted. We can be together now. You said once she knew, you’d move her out and I can move in. This is our chance, Nicky.”
I laugh out loud. I can’t help it. “Is that what he told you? This is my house, you little slut, and I’ve told you to leave.”
Nick’s eyes narrow, his jaw begins to tick.
“I’m not going anywhere. Not without Nick. Nick?” She tugs at his arm as he moves toward me, like a puppy trying to get her master’s attention.
“Oh, Lord, you really don’t get it do you?” I say. “Erin today. Helen tomorrow. Who knows who he’ll be sticking his dick in on Sunday. I frankly don’t care as long as it’s not me.”
It comes out of nowhere, a sucker punch to the side of my head sending me flying across the room. The pain is so acute I’m not even sure which part of my face it derives from. All I know is I’m on the floor, my head is spinning, and I can just about hear Erin screaming through the ringing in my ears.
“Oh, my God! You hit her. Why did you do that?�
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Through the pain and the dizziness, I pull myself up to a sitting position and lean against the wall. Nick stands with his fists bunched at his sides, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, his eyes large circles of black coal against a blood red flame. The red mist has descended.
Pain spears through the left hand side of my face as I open my mouth to speak. “You might want to stick around for this, Erin. See what your Nicky is really like.”
* * *
It’s a least two hours later when my eyelids flicker open. Well, one of them, at least, my right one. I’m not even sure if my left remains in the socket, but I definitely can’t see through it. Every part of my body aches as the memory spins into my mind—an onslaught of punches and kicks, brutal and unforgiving, a frenzied torrent of pent up anger. The nausea is overwhelming, and as the dry heaves rack my body with a fresh wave of excruciating pain, I beg God for mercy and he listens. There is only blackness.
When I wake again, I can’t breathe. My nose is blocked with dried blood and my tongue is swollen inside my mouth. I try to move, but my vision is so distorted—a kaleidoscope of rapidly moving colors and patterns—that I can’t even make out where I am, and the motion sickness returns with a vengeance. I know I need to remain calm, to breathe through my mouth the best I can—slow and deep. I’m afraid. So very afraid. More afraid than I can ever remember being before in my life. I’ve been beaten more times than I can remember, but this attack was different. This time, I actually think I might die.
Jackson’s face swims into my mind. Crinkly brown eyes, the kindest smile. The face of the man I love. I know this now without any fragment of doubt. I wanted the chance to tell him how I feel. I wanted to hear the words from him, because I’m sure he feels them; I see it in the way he looks at me—a way no man has ever looked at me before. Why have I waited? Why have I pushed him away to fight this battle alone? A battle I now don’t even care about winning. My breathing is shallow, the pain from my ribs only allowing me the smallest amount of movement to inflate my lungs. It’s not enough and I can feel the panic rising.