“Good? Sweetheart, good is the first cup of coffee in the morning or a perfect powder day on the mountain. This was off the scale—”
“Good sex is a matter of physical compatibility. It doesn’t have to be close—”
“You’ve had sex like that before?”
“I— No—” He tied her in knots. She couldn’t get her balance. Couldn’t breathe. “Jackson—”
“This doesn’t feel close?” He lifted his eyebrows, and she couldn’t blame him for that because her limbs were tangled with his, her naked body pressed against his. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t touching him.
“It feels close. And I don’t do close.”
“Because it’s safer to keep yourself distant so you don’t get hurt. Yeah, I get that. But just because your parents had a screwed-up relationship doesn’t mean all relationships are screwed up.”
“Their relationship wasn’t screwed up. They never argued.”
“And that didn’t strike you as strange?”
“Why would it? I assumed it meant they were happy.”
“Really? Because that isn’t what it would have said to me.”
“What would it have said to you?”
“Sweetheart, you can’t live with someone, be married to them for years and never disagree on a single thing. How is that healthy?” His hand was warm on her bare back. “There are only two reasons a couple are never going to argue—the first is because they’re afraid, maybe because the balance of power is wrong or other complex reasons mostly driven by fear, the second is because they don’t care enough. There is a third, which is when they’re thinking and feeling the same thing at the same time, but that would make them robots.”
She hadn’t thought about it before. “There’s a fourth—” her hand slid around his waist “—and that’s that you don’t see each other enough to argue. That’s how it was with my parents most of the time. My father stayed away.”
&n
bsp; “With his other family. And that sucks, and if you want my utterly biased opinion, I confess to wanting to shake the pair of them for not living their relationship in an honest fashion.”
“I suppose they thought they did their best.”
“Then their best wasn’t good enough.” His voice was hard. “Either one of them could have said at any point that it wasn’t working for them. That they wanted more. Instead they colluded to live a lie and they forced you to be part of that lie. And when that lie fell apart, as it inevitably would in those circumstances, you were left holding the fragments of something that never even existed. You avoid relationships because you’re terrified of having that and losing it again—” He curved his hand behind her head and forced her to look at him. “But what you saw wasn’t a relationship. It was a tangled mess. And instead of untangling the mess, they just stepped over it and left you there in the rubble. They didn’t even try to rebuild something you could be part of.”
“Neither of them wanted me living with them.” She paused, aware of an emptiness in her chest. “I suppose I’m just not that lovable.” It was the first time she’d voiced that feeling, and he swore softly and rolled, pinning her to the bed.
“They told you that?”
“They didn’t need to. It was obvious in the lengths they went to not to spend time with me. Those first few holidays when I started at boarding school were hideously awkward. The correct term for it is a blended family, but we were never that.” She stared up at him, distracted by the blue of his eyes and the sensual curve of his mouth, feeling more vulnerable than she ever had in her life before. “There was no blending. I used to hear my father’s new wife on the phone—‘we have his other daughter staying with us’—and then there’d be a pause while whoever it was on the other end of the phone sympathized with her. I stayed in my room as much as I could and then the next year I told them I’d been invited to stay with a friend. Deep down, I hoped they’d talk me out of it. That they’d tell me it was Christmas and they wanted me home.”
“But they didn’t.”
“They were relieved. They gave me money and told me to go and enjoy myself. After that they sent me money every year. Why are we talking about this?”
He stroked her cheek with his fingers. His touch was casual, but the look in his eyes was anything but casual. “I like to know what I’m fighting. You can’t remove obstacles until you know what they are. Now I know more about you.”
“You don’t know me, Jackson.”
But he knew more about her than any other person.
“I know that what you believe about relationships is based on one appalling example. I know you’re scared.” His voice was rough. “I know I’m going to change that.”
“You can’t. I’m stuck this way now.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” His mouth was on hers, warm and skilled, and this time when they made love it was slow, deep and rocked the heart of her. And she knew that each time they did this she was making it harder for herself to walk away unscathed.
“Jackson—”