by S. Ann Cole
I’m kind of speechless.
Suddenly, his mouth is gone from my ear, and his hand from my heart. “Enjoy your family’s last night here. Tomorrow, you come back to me.”
A chill settles at my back, and I don’t have to turn around…to know he’s gone.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The sun is still drowsy, its stretching yawn tinging the sky a dull tangerine, when Ma’s hired limo pulls onto the corporate airport tarmac carrying me, my sister, her husband, and my nephew to their plane.
Abel stirs in his car seat next to me as the vehicle comes to a stop. I whisper, “Hey there, little man.”
His mouth stretches into a tiny yawn, and he falls right back to sleep. He slept right through my bathing and dressing him, through my packing, and checking out of the hotel. He slept through the entire trip here to their private jet.
Jahleel hops out and begins to unload the luggage with the help of Thomas, their bodyguard-driver. I’m actually impressed. A star like him carrying his own bags.
Ma, who’s seated on the other side of Abel, asks, “Are you sure about this?”
“No,” I confess.
“Then why run?”
I push out a breath. “Because he said I’ve fallen in love with him.” I rub my thumb back and forth on Abel’s plump arm. “I’ve never fallen in love with anyone in my life. I know you and Jahleel are madly in love with each other, but your fights are scary and extreme sometimes. If that’s what being in love is…it just—” I shake my head. “It looks like it takes a lot of energy. I don’t know if I want that. Ever.”
“Forget about JK and me,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Our love is real, but it’s all wrong. It’s not standard. Not every love is the same, Timber. Some are…unique. What do you feel with Jaxon?”
I stare ahead, unseeing. “Everything.”
“Well, that’s not something you run from, sis.” She reaches over Abel to take my hand in hers. “Some people spend their whole lives searching for that. You leave him behind, chances are you will find someone who makes you feel some things, but never again will you find someone who makes you feel everything. You only get one of those in your lifetime.”
“Maybe I prefer that,” I argue. “Some things is a lot easier to control than everything.”
“Control. Ah.” She laughs. “Where’s the fun in that? A boring, controlled love is no love to have. Go after a wild love, an unpredictable love, a wrong love. A love that makes you ache, makes you confused and insane, and forever hungry for more.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “Anything else is a waste of love.”
Through a shaky breath, I admit, “But I’m scared.”
“Real love is supposed to scare the shite out of you. If it doesn’t, it’s not real.”
With a quick kiss to my cheek, she shifts across the seat and opens the door but pauses to say, “Running back home with us won’t get him out of your head, and most definitely not out of your heart. You can’t force love to stop. You can’t run from it. You can’t kill it. It’s like a bloody stalker and a plague and a goddamn assassin all rolled into one. Love is a fight you can win only by surrendering.” She gives me a sly smile. “Ask my husband. He should know.”
With that, she climbs from the vehicle and goes after her husband on the tarmac who’s in conversation with two men in suits. Before she reaches him, I see, in awe, his hand reach out behind him, feeling for her—as if his soul felt hers approach, even as his attention remains on the men. As soon she reaches him, her hand slips into his and he tugs her to his side, tilts his head, and kisses and nuzzles the side of her neck.
They are one.
They are real.
They are true.
And it’s so damn beautiful to see.
If I go back to Jaxon, will there be a day when his soul is so aware of mine? No games, no deceit? Will my body one day become an extension of his? Will we scream at each other all night and then make passionate love in the morning?
Will we be real?
Will we be one?
Will we be true?
I look down at Abel. Will we have our own pudgy bundle?
I have no clue.
And I don’t think I can stay.
I don’t think I can go back to him and his lies, and love him and his lies, and fight with him and his lies, and have pudgy babies with him and his lies.
As the two men in suits walk off the tarmac, Jahleel turns as one with Saskia and beckons me. They’re ready.
But am I?
Detaching Abel’s car seat, I climb out of the limo and carry him over to the stairs of the jet. Jahleel takes him and disappears into the aircraft.
Ma is watching me, and when she realizes I’m not just dropping off Abel, she shakes her head in disappointment.
Naturally. Because she’s in love with the idea of love. What singer isn’t? Clearly, my determination to run from love gives her no inspiration to write number one hit songs.
Boo-hoo. It’s my life.
Squaring my shoulders, I brush past her and walk determinedly up the stairs, onto the jet.
I can hear Abel’s loud, telltale shriek, which pretty much translates to I’m awake and hungry, and I demand that everyone fuss over me!
As I plop down in one of the recliners, Ma walks up the aisle and sits next to her husband. A few minutes later, the pilot comes out and starts talking to them.
Bored, I reach into my pocket to get my cell phone… but it’s not there.
I check my handbag. Not there, either. Dammit! I must’ve dropped it in the limo.
“Be right back,” I mumble to the others as I jump up and stride down the aisle. “I dropped my phone.”
The rented limo will be picked up by the company later on, so I don’t necessarily need to be bolting through the whipping wind to get my phone.
But I am. Because, inside the jet, I feel safe. Inside the jet feels final. Like he can’t get to me there. Outside, I’m temporarily out of that safe place, and I’m almost on the brink of panicking.
Stupid, I know. But there you go.
As I near the limo, Thomas climbs out from the driver’s side, gives me a nod, shoves his hands in the pockets of his long coat, and walks past me.
Wait. When did he get back in the vehicle?
A circle of early morning wind whistles around me and sweeps my hair off my shoulders so it levitates momentarily behind me.
Pressing a hand over my bangs against the wind, I open the car door.
And I die.
The SOB is sitting right where I’d been, my cell phone in his hand.
What the—
How did he—?
As early in the morning as it is, he’s dressed in one of his stupidly impeccable suits, his hair slicked back from his stupidly beautiful face.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
I know it’s a dumb question. The very universe knows why he’s here.
He’s here for me.
To claim me and take me back.
Because I’m his.
With one ankle propped up on a knee, he tsks. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t force this into a cliché.”
“Cliché?”
“Cliché,” he affirms. “The culmination to every cheesy chick flick. Girl packs and leaves for the airport, boy chases her, boy tries to convince her not to get on the plane, with obnoxiously corny lines.”
I snort. “Except, you’re not here to convince me, are you?”
“Don’t have to.” He shrugs, and smiles. “You’re already convinced.”
As I fight to control my breathing, I consider whipping around and sprinting back to the jet, screaming, “Fly! Fly! Fly!”
I ask, “How do you figure?”
“Get in the car.”
“No.” The response is instant.
This just makes him grin. “See?”
I don’t. And I’m getting annoyed. “See, what?”
“You’re already convinced.” He shifts toward me.<
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I want to move, but I can’t. Nor can I refute him.
“You know this is it.”
“It?”
“Mmm-hm,” he hums with a nod. “It for me. It for you. It starts and ends with us.”
Before I can summon a defense, he attacks. His long arms shoot out, lock around my middle, and he hauls me into the limo.
Oh, hell, no.
I flail, trying to grab anything solid, my legs bicycling. Until they’re no longer hitting air. I’m half draped over his lap.
I struggle to sit up until my face is aligned with his, and I rail at him. I slam my fists into his chest. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, you complete psychopath?”
The beautiful bastard just laughs at my puny attempts to hurt him. “I asked you to get in the car,” he says, as if that explains everything.
I clamp my jaw. “Well, I’m here. Now what? Huh? What?”
He kisses me. That’s what.
He kisses me, and it all ends, flees, dies. Every fight, every doubt, every hesitation. It all ends.
And I can’t. I just can’t anymore. It takes more energy to hate him than it does to love him.
So, I choose to love him.
I choose to give up and give in.
Surrender.
As his tongue takes and demands and owns, I lift one hand to touch the side of his face. A tear leaks from the corner of my eye.
Why does wanting him feel so damn good, and yet so painful?
Why does my heart have to squeeze so tight in my chest?
Why is my throat closed up and my breath so heavy?
Why does it feel like I’m dying in order to live?
What do I do with all these unfamiliar feelings? Where do I put them?
He parts his lips from mine, and his fingers leave my hair to wipe away my tear. “It’s over, Timber.”
I gaze up at him, and with an exhausted exhale, I ask, “When will it stop suffocating me?”
“When you stop hiding your love from me.” His thumb caresses my jaw. “You have to share it with me, beautiful. You can’t love alone.”
A moment of silence settles between us, but then I break it. I have to know. “Have you, um…” I take a deep, cleansing breath. “Do you feel the same?”
Why the hell did I ask that? This is Jaxon King. Maybe if I was a stray puppy, he would. Maybe if I was gluten-free. Maybe if I liked Batman. But…I don’t.
So, he doesn’t. He can’t.
He’s not.
“Foolish girl.” His head dips to drop a kiss to my parted lips. “All this time, who do you think was the hostage?”
I blink.
“You were never the hostage, Timber,” he says gently. “I was. You’ve held me hostage since that first kiss in Paris. You ripped my heart out of my chest and locked it in your own. Not that I’m complaining.” His lips tip up in a slight curve. “I love loving the ever-loving shit out of you. And I don’t mind being your hostage, at all.”
Oh my God.
Oh. My. God.
Jaxon King loves me. He loves me. How is that possible? How is he capable?
Unable to help it, I let a grin split across my face. And with that smile, all the suffocating pain leaves me.
And is supplanted by sheer bliss.
My heart is not restricting anymore but soaring. My throat is not closed up anymore but primed to croon a happy song. Nothing but joy and good vibrations flood through me, inside and out. I could do a tap dance, I’m so elated.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I blink again. “For what?”
“For letting go. And for sharing it with me.”
I gaze at him questioningly. “You felt it, too?”
Our moment is interrupted by the deafening whistle of jet engines. I whip my head around, straightening. But before I can make another move, he seizes me and sits me fully astride his lap.
“No,” I protest. “My things are on the plane. I need to get them.” I attempt to wrestle away from him and fail. “I can’t believe this. They’re taking off, and no one’s checked for me? I told them I was just getting my phone.”
“Calm down,” Jaxon says with all the calmness in the world. “Your things aren’t on the jet.”
I’m confused. “No. Jahleel and Thomas took all our luggage.”
“Not yours.”
Suspicion creeps through me. “How are you so sure?”
Nonchalantly, he says, “I visited your sister a few nights ago, to explain what she saw on the roof that night. I told her who I am, and what I do. Who you are, and what we want you to do. I told her how I feel about you, what I hope for with you.” He smiles. “Your sister was easy. Your brother-in-law, not so much.”
The engines whistle louder as the jet begins to taxi.
“Jahleel thought I was full of shit—as he should— and wanted proof. He wanted to see where I came from and meet my family. So, I invited him and Saskia to dinner with my whole family. Insane brother, included.”
“You’re joking, right?”
No wonder Ma was so cool and unfazed when I spilled the beans. She’d known the whole time. And Jahleel—I wouldn’t have guessed he knew a thing, what with how well he pretended to mind his own business.
I just stare at Jaxon, gob-smacked. “You’re telling me you planned this? All of you? That they never really intended to take me with them?”
His grin spells win.
Fudge on a stick. One damn dinner with my family, and he’s turned them into liars.
I already know the answer, but I can’t help myself. With a heavy, defeated sigh, I ask, “You would’ve come after me even if I left with them, wouldn’t you?”
One eyebrow kicks up in an arch that says, “What do you think?”
His hands circle around to my arse and squeeze. Hard. “So, now that we’re back on track, where do you want to live?”
My head is seriously spinning.
“I have two lofts. One in Philly and one here,” he tells me. “Your friends Collin and Mel are here, but if you choose to work for Dad, he’ll want you at the office at least three times a week. That’s roughly a four-hour commute back and forth each day.”
“But you’re here,” I somehow manage to say through the chaos in my head.
“No. I’m here, and I’m there.” When he sees my confusion, he says, “I work for Dad, too. Nadine and I. You know how I sometimes disappear for days without contact? Those are jobs from Dad. Field ops. He has private planes. We use them.”
I digest this for several long moments. Okay, so he works for both parents?
“What kind of field work do you do for Markus?” I ask.
“Classified.”
Now, there’s a shock. “Can you at least tell me if it’s dangerous?”
“Classified.”
“You are so damn annoying,” I grumble.
“You’ll understand when you start working and can’t tell me shit.”
I close my eyes briefly. “So we won’t be allowed to share stuff, even if we’re—”
“Married?” He shakes his head. “No.”
“Official,” I correct. “I was going to say official.”
He carries on as if he doesn’t hear me. “In our line of work, there’ll be things I’ll never be able to discuss with you, and there’ll be things you’ll never be able to discuss with me. We’ll just have to trust each other. If you’re working a job you can’t talk about and I ask you about it, you just say classified, and I’ll never ask about it again.”
“And vice versa, I assume,” I mutter.
“Exactly. This is how it has to be. There’s our work, and then there’s our relationship. Doesn’t mean we don’t respect each other. It just means our relationship has to be driven by trust.”
I don’t respond. I chomp on my bottom lip, my thoughts going a million miles a minute.
He presses his thumb to my chin and tugs until my lip pops free from between my teeth. “Do you trust me, Timber?”
>
Is that a trick question?
I make a face. “No.”
He nods. But it’s a sad nod. God knows why. Seriously, he’s done nothing but play me since I met him.
That said, if this really is the end of the games and lies and secrets, maybe…just maybe things can be different.
“But I could.” Surprisingly, it’s the truth. “I could learn to trust you. But…”
“But what?” There’s hope in those blue eyes.
“I’m not sure how I feel about you having sex with other women. Even if it’s to get the job done. The kissing, the touching, the flirting—I don’t think I can deal with it. I’ll go mad.”
He studies me for several heartbeats. He smooths his thumb over my bottom lip. “There’s a camera in the security monitor in Raphael’s shell. It’s programmed to snap a photo and send an email alert to me each time the wrong passcode is entered. You entered the wrong passcode three times. Your face was delivered to my inbox three times.”
Oh. Shite.
Why did I never think about that obvious possibility?
I don’t speak. I just blink.
“I knew the minute you found the music box,” he says. “But you didn’t take it. Because you wanted to be with me. You chose me over a promising future. And while I reveled in the idea that you valued me more, I felt guilty that you were failing Dad’s test, because of me. Of course, I failed, too, when I allowed you into my bed.”
Now I’m really gob-smacked. I don’t know what to think.
“You were never supposed to get attached, Timber. You were never supposed to fall in love. Certainly not with me. But you did. And you forgot all about your real reason for being there.” He shakes his head. “I knew I had to do something. To hurt you. Badly enough that you would complete your mission.”
My back stiffens, and my eyebrows draw together warily. “On the roof…that wasn’t real?”
“None of it.” He takes my face in hands. “And that’ll be the last woman I kiss, touch, or flirt with who isn’t you. Not even to get a job done.”
I stare at him for an endless minute.
Then, smack. My palm meets his cheek. I’m bloody furious. “Arsehole! Do you have any idea what seeing that did to me?”