by Serena Grey
“I’ve read a couple of good ones.” I tell him.
“She’s read almost all the books in there,” Blythe injects. “You guys absolutely deserve each other,” she adds, “Nerds United.”
She means it in a teasing way, and Jackson is chuckling at the comment, but I don’t laugh. The embers of hope in my chest burst into a roaring flame. If even Blythe thinks we have a lot in common, then my feelings are not so hopeless, are they?
We’re still standing there when the door to the study opens, and Aunt Constance comes out into the foyer, her fingers limp around the phone she’s holding. The expression of shock and sadness on her usually serene face is a sure sign that something is wrong.
“Livvie...”
As soon as she says my name, I know something bad has happened. I take a step towards her and look past her into the study. Through the open door, I can see the TV turned on to a local news channel. There’s no sound, but the headline is written on the screen. Local couple killed by drunk driver.
Immediately, I know it’s my parents. I feel my heart disappear to be replaced by something raw and aching. I hear someone screaming, and I realize that it’s me. I start to sob, closing my eyes to block out Aunt Constance’s red eyes and Blythe’s sad confusion. My body is shaking so hard, I can barely stand, and just before my legs give way, strong arms encircle me, and Jackson’s voice is whispering in my ear, soothing and comforting. “Shhhh,” He says softly, “It’s going to be all right.”
The Lockewoods support me through the awful days that follow, the funeral, the lawyers and the banks, and the liquidation of my parents assets to create a fund that would support me, not luxuriously but adequately, through high school and college and maybe beyond. The last of my grans died a few months ago, and since, like me, my parents were both only children, I don’t have any close relatives to take me in. Aunt Constance insists that I stay at Halcyon, and after everything is over, she offers to be my guardian until I turn eighteen.
I was in love with Jackson before, but after he took me in his arms and wiped my tears on the worst day of my life, I became his devoted slave. He never treats me as anything more than a little sister, so I have to content myself with my fantasies and my daydreams, where he always plays the lead role.
The year after my parents die, Blythe starts to go out with Carter Felton, and then leaves for college. I’m left with Aunt Constance, Mrs. Shannon and the other housekeeping staff. Aunt Constance works most of the time, remaining in the city for about three days every week to fulfill her responsibilities as the chair of the board of Lockewood Holdings, a position she holds in trust for Jackson, so I’m mostly alone in the big house.
I spend my free time exploring. I find the paintings and antique furniture in the attic, the rock bed that separates the lawns from the waterfront, and the assorted collection of sculptures in the garden. There’s also an artificial pond, overgrown with lilies, at the end of the gardens that was added by Tippy Lockewood, the great-grandmother whose husband, Edward Lockewood, was a former president. I explore the second floor balconies from where I can see the river for miles, as well as the towering skyline of the city in the distance. My best discovery is the gazebo beside the lily pond, with the colorful flower boxes and cushioned seats along the circular walls, and it becomes my favorite spot in the whole house.
All the beauty of the house pales in comparison to Jackson though, By the time I turn sixteen I’m so obsessed with him, my greatest fear is that somehow he’ll find out and not want me. So even though he’s the main character in all my fantasies, even though I’m so crazy about him I don’t go a second without thinking of him, I keep my feelings to myself, while spending many agonizing hours imagining him with Lindsay Gorman.
Chapter Five
Present
I walk behind Jackson into the familiar foyer. It’s still as beautiful as in my memories, with the sparkling crystal chandelier hanging down from the ceiling, and the wide curving stairs leading to the upper floor.
I sigh, and shut down the nostalgia threatening to overwhelm me, instead concentrating on the sight of Jackson walking ahead of me. He’s holding my case as if it weighs nothing, his stride as confident and easy as if he were holding nothing at all. The years have been kind to him I reflect, magnifying his attractiveness to the point where it is impossible not to be overwhelmed by it. He has used it to his advantage, the combination of his looks, money and social pedigree. According to the gossip columns, he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in New York society, and I’ve never seen a picture of him at some society event without a beautiful woman on his arm.
He’s has also proven himself to be a sound businessman. According to what I’ve read about him, he has more than doubled the size of the Lockewood holdings since he took over. With his looks, money and business acumen, as well as his keen intelligence, he’s the kind of man people write books about.
He stops at the door to the living room and turns around, catching me staring. I look away, busying my eyes with the pattern on the marble floors while he opens the door and waits for me to go in ahead of him.
“Jackson.” I hear the voice from my past right before I enter the room and see aunt…no, just Constance, setting a book aside, and getting up from an armchair. Time has been kind to her as well, but when is it ever unkind to people with the kind of money she has? She still has that serene beauty I spent most of my youth admiring and trying to emulate. Her beautiful hair is held up in a French knot, and her clothes are immaculate. As she looks at me, her gaze softens. I look away from her face, unwilling to remember, to think of anything that will cause me pain.
“Livvie, my dear,” She comes forward to give me one of her sweet smelling hugs, followed with soft kisses on both my cheeks. “Look how beautiful you’ve grown.”
I don’t like how like a reunion it all feels, first Jackson, now Constance, but I shelve the feeling for a moment to return Constance’s hug. “Thanks," I reply, “and you don’t look a day older.”
She laughs. “Now you sound like Nick.”
“God forbid,” I say, ignoring Nick’s hurt expression.
“I haven’t said anything that wasn’t true,” He says in his defense, directing one of his charming smiles at Constance, “and I didn’t know how well you all knew each other. I’m beginning to think of this as some sort of a reunion."
“Oh, it is.” Constance looks from me to him, “Didn’t Livvie tell you she grew up here?”
“In this house?” Nick looks incredulous as he turns a questioning glance at me, “Liv?”
“Apparently, that’s not information ‘Liv’ shares with her friends.” Jackson’s voice is mocking, with an inflection of the word ‘friend’ that makes me wonder if he thinks perhaps that there’s something going on between Nick and me. He’s still standing by the door, leaning on the polished wood frame and looking at me with a slightly mocking smile. After a quick glance at him, I direct my gaze back to Constance. Even if there were anything between Nick and me, it wouldn’t be any of his business.
“You must be tired after your journey,” Constance says, ending the awkward silence that follows Jackson’s words, “Elaine and Carl are in the library looking through some old family history, but I suppose you would rather go to your room and freshen up than join them right now.”
“I am tired,” I reply, thinking I would rather rest than spend time with a writer I’ve never met and Nick’s assistant, whom I don’t know very well.
Constance nods, “Well, I’ll get Sara to show you to your room.” She pauses. “We’ve put you in the east wing with the rest of your team.”
Her eyes are on my face, looking uncertain, as if she’s worried that I may not be happy about the choice of room.
“Thank you Constance,” I reply with a gentle smile. It’s not as if I was eager to stay in the family wing with Jackson just doors away.
“There’s no need for Sara.” I hear Jackson’s say. "I’ll show her up to her room.” He taun
ts me with a smile in my direction, “I may as well complete the job of transporting her delicate equipment.”
I open my mouth to protest. The last thing I want is to go upstairs with Jackson, to be alone with him, even for a moment. Only now, there’s no way to avoid it without sounding unreasonable.
I can’t afford to be unreasonable, or to give Jackson a reason to suspect that I’m afraid to be alone with him. I square my shoulders. What’s the worst that could happen anyway?
“We’ll catch up when you come down for dinner,” Constance whispers, before I leave her and go to the door, towards Jackson, who’s watching me as if I’m his prey. He follows be back into the foyer, and when we’re alone, it’s all I can do to prevent the tension I’m feeling from showing on my face.
His gaze is sardonic as he looks at me. “You know the way,” he says.
I turn towards the grand staircase, trying to forget that he’s walking behind me as I ascend to the second floor. I know the way to the east wing, but I have to wait for him to go ahead of me and open the door to one of the many bedrooms. It’s one of the larger rooms, with the walls and décor mainly in a soft dusky pink. It’s beautiful, grander than my old room, or any room I’ve stayed in all my life for that matter.
Jackson puts the case down by the bed, and turns to watch me as I walk inside.
“Thank you,” I say, not looking at him, but hoping that he’ll take the hint and leave.
“My pleasure.”
Hasn’t it always been about that! I think resentfully. I was here for his pleasure when I was a silly child who didn’t know better, thinking that I was in love, and when he’d had his pleasure, it had been easy for him to discard me as if I was nothing. I close my eyes against the memories, banishing them from my mind.
He doesn’t make any move to leave, so I move farther inside the room, away from him and towards the windows. Outside, I can see the length of the driveway, before the curtain of trees that prevents me from seeing it all the way to the gate. The gardens are also visible, as well as the fountain in front of the house. I keep my eyes on those, waiting to hear the sound of the door closing so I can know for sure that he has left me alone.
“If you’re wondering where Nick is staying,” I hear Jackson say, the sound of his voice dispelling my hope that he would leave, "He’s only a couple of rooms down the hall.”
I almost laugh. So he does think that I and Nick have something going on... well I am not going to deny it. Let him think what he wants. “Okay,” I reply, keeping my face blank as I turn around to face him, let him interpret it any way he wants.
He moves towards me. Just a step, but my heart skips a beat, then resumes with a speed that makes me start to feel lightheaded. “So are you two together?” He asks lightly.
“Do you ask all your guests about their sex lives?”
He chuckles. “So you’re not sleeping with him?”
I sigh, “It’s none of your…”
“Why did you come?” He interrupts me. “Why did you come back here?”
I’ve been asking myself that question since I found out that he was here.
I shrug. “I got a job.”
“And do you never refuse a job?”
I meet the storm in his gray-eyed gaze. “I couldn’t refuse this one, Jackson. And anyway, I didn’t realize that you’d be here.”
He tilts his head slightly as he considers me. “So you’d have turned it down if you’d known I’d be here.”
“Probably,” I reply.
“Why? I thought it was a job you couldn’t refuse.” His voice is mocking as he throws my words back at me. “Are you afraid of me?”
“I am not.” Even as I say the words, I realize that I’m lying. I am afraid of him, but I’d rather die than let him know that. “I’m just not eager to revisit ancient history.”
“And yet here you are at Halcyon.”
“I would gladly have stayed at the hotel,” I tell him, “I’m only here because you invited us to stay.”
“I didn’t,” He informs me drily, “For whatever reason Constance thought it was a good idea.”
So he hadn’t wanted me here either. Well I don’t care. “It’s only for a few days,” I say dismissively. “I don’t believe the past matters enough to make it impossible for us to coexist under the same roof."
“No, it doesn’t.” He agrees. “It doesn’t matter at all.”
Why does it hurt, I wonder, that he has so casually dismissed a part of my life that has influenced almost every decision I’ve made since then. I turn away from him, back towards the windows, because I don’t want him to see the moisture brightening my eyes. I wish he would leave, and give me some time to get my armor up. I’m going to need it if I’ll have to live with him in the same house for the next few days.
I don’t hear him move towards me, not until he’s standing mere inches away from me. My body tenses at his nearness. I want to move far away from him, to put some distance between us, but my traitorous body is remembering what it felt like to be touched by him, and yearning, almost desperately for even the small gap between us to be filled.
By sheer force of will, I keep looking out of the windows, pretending that I can’t feel him standing so close, ignoring the heat building inside me, the hunger as every surface of my skin screams for him to touch me,
“Constance is right,” he murmurs, his deep voice so close to my ear, that I can feel his warm breath tickle my neck, “You have grown very beautiful."
I don’t trust myself to speak, not when he’s so close. I don’t trust myself not to do something foolish and undo all the closure I’ve managed to get in the seven years I’ve been away from him. I search my head frantically for anything to occupy my mind, to take it away from the memories of how his touch used to feel, and thoughts of how it would feel now.
When I’m sure I have my insane desires under control, I turn to face him. “I’m glad you think so Jackson,” I say bravely, my expression blank as I look squarely into his eyes. I can do this, I think triumphantly, I can handle him. “Thank you,” I finish dismissively.
He chuckles softly and reaches up, the small movement making me flinch, half in anticipation and half in uncertainty, as my bravery of a few moments ago, flees me. I don’t know what he means to do, but I’m sure I don’t want his hands anywhere on me, because God knows I’m neither strong enough, nor indifferent enough for that.
He strokes a thumb across the base of my throat, where my pulse is beating a rhythm against the surface of my skin. His finger is warm and firm, and just that slight touch does things to my body, things that have nothing to do with self-control, and everything to do with the sexy, extremely attractive man standing in front of me.
“Am I making you nervous?” he asks, his voice beguilingly intimate.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Your heart is racing,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb down from my collarbone towards the neckline of my top. I should tell him to stop. I want to. I want to walk away, slap his face, tell him to get the hell out of my room, but something keeps me rooted to the spot. His abandons my neckline, and trails a light path down my arm with his fingers, and despite myself, I tremble slightly at the contact.
I drag in a shaky breath, my mind unwilling to accept that even though I haven’t been this close to him in seven years, with just one touch, my body is already consumed with wanting him.
“What are you doing, Jackson?” I say shakily. “What are you trying to prove?’
There is no humor in his smile. “Perhaps I’m just wondering if underneath that cool exterior you’re as indifferent to me as you seem to be."
“What does it matter if I am or not?” I ask. “I’m only here to work."
“Not to revisit ancient history, as you’ve already said.” His hand comes up to draw a soft line across my cheek. The touch is gentle, almost tender. "And you have no interest in renewing old friendships, and mixing business with pleasure.”
I laug
h. It’s a short bitter sound. “If it’s you offering the pleasure, then I’ll pass. Thank you.” I shake my head. “I’ve had enough of your particular brand of pleasure to last me a lifetime.”
He considers me for a moment. “Well if not me, you could always find someone else to play with. You were always very resourceful at finding unsuspecting guys to seduce, weren’t you?”
I flinch at his words as memories fight their way into my head through the walls I’ve kept up for seven years. If only he knew, I think bitterly. “I’m not going to join you in talking about the past, Jackson. I’ve moved on.”
He shrugs and steps back, as if our conversation had never happened. “Blythe will be here sometime during the week. I have no idea how long she’s staying.”
Blythe too! I sigh. This is becoming more and more like a reunion every minute.
“And you?” I ask, “Do you plan to remain here for long?”
“Would you rather I left?”
“It’s your house.” I say with a dismissive shrug.
An eyebrow goes up. “So it doesn’t matter to you if I’m here or not?”
“No.” I lie.
He moves towards me again, and I stiffen, my heart hitting my ribs hard as he leans over me. There is a dangerous gleam in his eyes, but otherwise there’s no expression on his face. I want to step back from him, but at the same time, I want him to do something, to touch me, to remind me why I’ve only ever really wanted him.
“How easily you dismiss me.” He murmurs. “I should warn you that I’m not so nonchalant about your presence here. Frankly I don’t know if I want to hurt you for coming back here after everything, or fuck you till your body can’t take anymore.”
The image pushes its way into my head and immediately my foolish body clenches in response. I swallow hard, but I don’t move, and neither does he. I want to say something dismissive, some careless remark about his last statement, something to put him in his place, but words fail me. Maybe if he weren’t standing so close, maybe if his eyes weren’t burning a hole in me, maybe if I didn’t actually want him to lean a little closer and remind me of what his lips feel like. Maybe then, I could find the right words.