It Started with a Kiss

Stopping in front of the Lamborghini, I take Jackson’s other hand and hold them both between us. “You know what I’m going to say.”

His expression doesn’t fall, but he’s struggling with indifference. “You’re staying.”

“I have to.”

Resignation is foreign to my fighter’s demeanor, but it’s there, seen in his posture. “And I have to leave.”

I sigh because that thought is depressing. I don’t voice my needs because relationships are built on compromise, and that’s where we are. We’re stuck in the in-between of wants and needs.

I didn’t call him the man I love for my father’s sake. I don’t want to ever hide how much I love Jackson, not from anyone, especially the man standing in front of me now. My feelings won’t change. Distance and time won’t erase my love for him, but as much as I hate it, I need to let him off the hook. “Our timing . . . Just know I love you.”

The words strike a different chord inside him than usual, and a heavy breath follows. “That’s a way to kick this conversation off. Bringing in the heavy hitter right off the bat.”

I sway our hands, trying to figure out what to say when I don’t want to say any of it. I want him here, with me, but that’s an impossibility. “I love you, but I don’t know how long I’ll be in LA.”

“I think this is when I say I’ll wait.” He releasees my hands and cups my face, his thumb caressing my cheek. “I’m sorry this isn’t more romantic. Us, in a parking garage with the smell of gasoline in the air, the sound of tires squealing as they head for the exit. Yeah, I could have played this better, and then maybe you’d change your mind.” He kisses me and then presses his forehead to mine. “I can’t ask you to leave, but please see that I’m a man in a state of desperation. I’ll wait for you, Marlow.”

“I can’t do that to you, though. I could be here for weeks or even months. I have to stay for my dad. I wish I had an idea for how long . . . but I don’t.”

His head tilts to the right. “What do fucking months have on us? We got this. We waited years to be together.” I want to smile, but my heart hurts too much, so I move closer. His arms welcome me and then warm me from the outside in. I’m not sure what to say because nothing will make this better. Our journey’s been long and winding, the timing always a bit off from one another. I just thought this time would be different. Life threw a curveball right at us. He kisses my head, and says, “You always hated LA.”

I’ll cling to his desperation as a reminder of how much this man loves me. But our timing is off, and all I can hope is that one day we can recapture it. “I did, but the sunshine’s not as bad as I remember.”

Leaning back, he locks his gaze on mine. “No, baby. You’re a New Yorker through and through. Don’t you forget that.”

“I won’t,” I whisper. I also won’t forget how he was mine and I was his for too short of a time.

Tears start to form as our goodbye grows louder in my ears. Just when I feel a sob rising inside, warm lips press to mine, and our tongues embrace one last time. Hands caress my face as fingers slide deep into my hair.

I’ve never known what being consumed—body and soul—felt like until Jackson St. James was kissing me. Now I never want it to end.

Except it isn’t up to me . . . It’s now in fate’s hands.

32

Jackson

Andrew walks in without knocking and drops a red file on my desk.

“What’s this?” I look up. When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What are we doing? Charades? File. Red. Folder. I’m going to need more to work with here.”

He must be in a good mood because for a serious guy around the office, he chuckles. “Funny.”

“I try.”

Tapping the folder, he says, “That’s the evidence we need to clear CWM, and you, though I’m having second thoughts about getting you off the hook with your attitude.”

“My attitude is always the same.”

“That’s my point.”

Now I’m chuckling. I pick up the file and start flipping through it. “That didn’t take long.” I shrug nonchalantly and then open a side drawer to pull out a blue file I’ve been holding on to for just this occasion. Handing it to him, I say, “I mean, a week longer than my attorneys, but you guys got there in the end.”

Settling in on the couch, Nick smarts back, “Considering how many calls I had to field from your attorneys, you’re lucky I was there to guide them through the process.” The laughter is contagious, and he struggles to hold a straight face when he adds, “Amateurs.”