Under My Skin (Stark International Trilogy 3)

So if I’m going to commiserate with someone, it makes sense that it’s Nikki.

“How are you doing?” she asks as I open the wine and pour two glasses.

We’ve moved to the patio, me on the chaise and Nikki in the chair. But right now, I don’t feel like sitting, so I stand up and walk to the rail, then look out at the neighboring building and the ocean beyond.

“Like the world is falling down around my ears,” I admit. “The resort is a mess. Just this morning, we lost two more investors because the word is out that Jackson is surrendering himself on Monday. And of course the press is all over that, calling Santa Cortez ‘troubled.’ How fucking annoying is that?”

“Very,” she says gently. “But I meant about Jackson.”

“I know you did.” I sigh deeply and return to the chaise. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m angry or hurt or something else all together.”

“All of the above, I’d imagine.”

I nod. “The thing is, I know that I can be alone.” And it’s true—it’s true because Jackson taught me how to let go of my security blanket. How to find the strength inside myself. “But I don’t want to be alone. I want Jackson beside me.”

“Even though he might not be beside you?” she asks. “He’s right, you know. Damien talked with Charles and Harriet. With all the evidence against Jackson—especially the prior assault, his temper, the argument that witness overheard—Harriet’s pretty certain the DA is going to play hardball. And she’s even more certain that they’ll be able to get in evidence of the underground fighting he does.”

My eyes go to hers. “You know about that?”

“I do now. The court will soon.”

“Fuck.” She’s right; a history of violent behavior is only going to make Jackson look like a hot-head who lost his temper and killed the man who refused to back off the movie.

“Maybe he’s right.” Her voice is soft. “Maybe you should walk away.”

My answer, when it comes, is fierce. “Hell, no. I want Jackson. I want Ronnie. I want the man I love and everything that comes with him.”

Something sparks in her eyes, and when she says, “I know you do,” I sag a little with relief at this proof that she really does get it.

“So how do I get him back? How do I make this goddamn stubborn man change his mind?”

“I don’t know,” she admits.

“What did you do?” I ask, knowing that she will understand I’m talking about Damien.

She lifts a shoulder. “I cried a lot. And then I fought.” She looks at me, then actually smiles. “Actually, with Jackson, fighting’s probably a damn good way to go.”

twenty-three

I wake to the sound of Jackson’s voice.

A wave of relief washes over me, followed quickly by disappointment when I realize he’s not in my condo. Instead, I’m hearing his voice on the television, and I realize I must have fallen asleep in bed with the television on.

Now, a morning news show is playing, and the image on screen is Jackson on the deck of his boat with Harriet beside him.

“You’re surrendering yourself tomorrow?” a reporter asks.

“I am,” he says.

“What about the Cortez Resort? Are you resigning?”

“I’m not. Assuming I get out on bail, I’ll continue the work. If I’m incarcerated, then we’ll either figure out a way for me to work while in custody or I’ll support the project’s efforts to find another architect.”

“The project’s efforts?” another reporter repeats. “You mean Sylvia Brooks? She’s the project manager, right?”

“Correct.”

“So where is she today? You two have a personal relationship as well. How does she feel about your arrest?”

His face tightens. “Ms. Brooks and I have only a professional relationship. We’re not together anymore.”

That sets off a new buzz from the crowd of reporters, but all it does for me is make my stomach hurt. Goddamn Jackson. I know what he’s doing. He’s making sure that our break-up is coming at me from all sides.

He’s making sure that I understand it’s real.

Well, fuck that.

Nikki’s right. If I want him back, I have to fight.

And I think it’s appropriate that Jackson is a fan of bare knuckles fighting. Because right now, the gloves are coming off.

It takes me no time to get dressed, but my problem is that I don’t know where I’m going. I try the boat first, but he’s not there. Then I try the office, because maybe he’s trying to get as much done on the resort as possible before he surrenders himself.