“The name Story sounds familiar.”
“After dinner, I’ll show them to you. You can give me your professional opinion.” She takes a bite.
“I’d love to see them. Photography and paintings are my specialties.”
“Wait until you see the finger-painting James gave me. I have it framed in my office,” Nick says.
“That’s adorable. I’d love to see his budding skills.”
Jackson’s hand was gone, and that’s when I clued in to what he already knew—I’m doing okay, better than the turmoil trying to drag me down.
The conversation moves on to the kids, and although I may not have all the answers about what life will bring or even what direction I’m headed in, something Cammie said returns. And just so I know what I’m getting into, I ask, “How big was Jackson when he was born?”
19
Marlow
“Marlow?”
“In here,” I reply, spraying my hair and patting down the flyaways. The past month has been fairly quiet at work as I iron out the details of the next exhibit. And it’s been blissfully peaceful in my personal life. Living with Jackson has been a dream, so hearing him stomp down the hall and through the bedroom has me worried.
That can’t be good.
As soon as he stalks into the bathroom where I’m getting ready for the night, our eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror. Taking a hard stance, he crosses his arms over his chest as a scowl digs into his handsome face.
I turn around, and ask, “What is it?”
“Why the fuck is some guy picking you up for a date?”
“What are you talking about?”
Moving closer, he lowers his voice. “Some fuck is at the door waiting for you.”
I rub my hand over his chest. “I don’t have a date, Jackson. You know I have a business dinner. That’s it. But also,” I say, my shoulders rising, “how would anyone even know this address for me?”
“That’s what I’m wondering, but it’s Friday night, and he’s standing in the hall waiting for you.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Other than fucker?”
I give him a pointed look and try not to laugh.
“Casteleone.”
“Oh, no.” Panic sets in, and I scramble back to the mirror. “He’s here?”
Even in the reflection, I see the moment his heart sinks, and his blue eyes turn cloudy as if I lied to him. “So he is here for a date?”
“No. It’s not a date.” I shake my head and start applying my lipstick. “That’s my dinner date.” Damn. I shouldn’t have said that. “Not date. Business. Only business. You can even come with me if you want. Mr. Casteleone is the art collector helping me secure the Kyoto exhibit.”
The tension ticking in Jackson’s jaw finally eases. I turn around and then go to him. “It’s not a date, Jackson, and I’m not sure why he’s here. We were supposed to meet at the restaurant. If you don’t want to come with us, then what do you say about me introducing him to my boyfriend.”
He officially has me with that lady-killer grin, making it so much harder to leave because I know what’s waiting for me at home. He kisses me and says, “You go. I’ll get some work done and then meet you in that bed right out there later. What do you say?”
“I say I can’t wait.” I kiss him and then nod toward the front of the apartment. “He’s actually a really nice guy. I think you’ll like him.”
After meeting him, officially, Jackson doesn’t like him . . . well, not so much dislikes, but more doesn’t trust him from what I’m gathering. Discussing the situation in the office, he says, “He’s way too old for you.”
“He’s forty-five, Jackson. Way smaller gap than Billy Joel and my mom.”
“I’m being serious. And I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“How he looks at me doesn’t matter. It’s business. He’s the owner of the collection. You know what it means to me to get this project.” I untangle his crossed arms and lift. Just before I kiss him, I whisper, “We can’t lose trust in each other. Promise me, we’ll do everything to keep that intact.”
As his eyes search mine, he takes my hand between us and then raises it to his mouth. Kissing my palm, he then says, “I trust you.” When he lowers it, he leans close to my ear, the scruff on his chin scraping across my earlobe. “I promise you can always trust me, Marlow.”
A delicious shiver runs through me, and I close my eyes, letting his words and this closeness sink in. It’s not just his proximity. It’s us becoming so enmeshed together that it would be easy to lose sight of myself.
For the first time in my life, I don’t have any inclination to run.
No, I step right into this fire, willing to burn along with Jackson. “Hey?” The word is so soft that I’m not even sure I voiced it.