Читать книгу Awaken To Pleasure - Nalini Singh - Страница 11

“One of the spare rooms is made up. It’s to the right of the upstairs bathroom. My bedroom’s across the hall if you need anything.” Jackson’s tone was businesslike.

Taylor knew a dismissal when she heard one. “Yes, boss.” She looked from the tumultuous weather outside to the powerful man standing next to her. He could be just as dangerous as the storm winds.

“I certainly never heard that when you were working for me.” His words were light but the look in his eyes was intensity itself, hot and possessive.

She knew what that look meant and had from a very early age. She just didn’t want to deal with it. Heart thudding, she said an abrupt, “Good night,” and left.

There was no lock on the bedroom door but she didn’t worry. Jackson would never assault her. That didn’t mean he didn’t want her. In the past, when life had threatened to become too bleak or lonely, she’d hugged the awareness of his desire to her, safe in the knowledge that nothing would ever come of it. She wasn’t that kind of woman.

And Jackson wasn’t that kind of man. His personal code was stronger than lust or passion. He wouldn’t have broken his wedding vows no matter what Bonnie had done. But now his wife was gone and he’d acknowledged the smoldering fire between them, if only with his dark eyes.

Confused by her warring emotions, Taylor started to get ready for bed and then realized she had nothing to sleep in. About to search the closet in the room, she heard a heavy tread outside her door. A curt knock followed.

Opening the door, she found Jackson holding out a white shirt. “Thought you might need this.” His voice was low and that banked fire in his gaze wasn’t apparent.

Her heart turned over. “Thanks.” Just as she took the shirt, her cell phone, which she’d dropped into the pocket of her robe, rang. Immediately, worry shot through her. “That might be Nick. Hold on.”

Unfortunately, it was her stepfather, Lance Hegerty, on the line. “Where are you, Taylor? No one’s answering at your place. Where’s my son?”

She knew he’d said the last deliberately—a cruel reminder that Nick was only her half brother. No matter that she’d raised him, in the eyes of the law she had less of a right to Nick than Lance, his biological father.

“Why are you calling? It’s late.” Her voice threatened to tremble. She crushed the shirt in her hand.

“You haven’t responded yet.”

She knew her face was losing its color. Turning her back to Jackson, she said, “I have two more weeks.” A bare fourteen days before time expired to file legal papers in opposition to his claim for sole custody.

His laugh was cruel. “We can do it easy or we can do it hard but I’ll win. Remember that and don’t forget your place, brat—you’re nothing but a rich man’s castoff. My son deserves better than a life with you.”

She hung up, hand shaking. Lance could reduce her to tears with a few well-chosen barbs, but she prided herself on never breaking down where he could see or hear her.

“Who was that?” Jackson demanded.

She could almost feel the heat of his big body against her back. The urge to tell him was overwhelming, but remnants of the fear generated by the call held her back. Jackson was a rich and powerful man, too. He might take Lance’s side. Bewildered and a little lost, she could barely think. All she knew was that she couldn’t let that monster take Nick. Suddenly, panic hit her. What if Lance took him by force? She had to call the camp and warn them!

When she turned to face Jackson, the clean, male scent of him taunted her with promises of safety. “Someone I don’t want to talk to,” she admitted, trying not to let him see the panic riding her.

“Do you want me to deal with it?”

She shook her head. “No. I think I’d like to go to sleep.” Her words were blunt, her inner resources depleted by the force of her apprehension.

Though his dark eyes narrowed, he left, his shoulders almost filling the doorway. Despite the horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, the urge to touch those shoulders made her throat dry. Big, strong Jackson seemed like the safest port in the storm of her life.

Trembling, she closed her door and immediately called Nick’s camp counselor. After waking her from a deep sleep, she made the poor woman do a bed check on her brother and then swear that she’d ensure that no one but Taylor was allowed to pick him up, during or after camp. She wanted to go get him right now, but Nick had been so excited about the camp, she couldn’t bear to cut it short.

Calmer now that she knew he was safe, she got out of the robe and into the shirt. It came almost to her knees and she had to fold back the cuffs several times before her hands poked through the sleeves. But, for some reason she didn’t want to face, it comforted her to be wearing Jackson’s shirt. She crawled into bed, craving sleep.

Instead, fear hammered at her temples, creating an excruciating headache. Whimpering in pain, she sat up, aware that her suffering was stress induced. She needed to release some of the pressure by asking for help—by asking Jackson? Out of the grip of the illogical terror that had bewildered her after the call, she knew that her fears that he’d take Lance’s side were groundless. Jackson Santorini might be dictatorial and dominating, but unlike her tormentor, he had honor.

Life had forced her to be strong, but this time there were so many burdens on her that she felt as if she would collapse. Despite that, her heart rebelled against asking Jackson. She remembered how his family ignored him, except when they needed his help. Becoming another burden chafed, but she’d do anything to protect Nick. Including asking the help of a man who made her wish for impossible things.

Afraid that her courage would desert her if she delayed, she jumped out of bed. It was only when she was standing before Jackson’s bedroom door that she remembered her only clothing was his shirt. Her knuckles had hit the wood by then and it was too late. The door swung open before she could retreat. Jackson stood in front of her, wearing a pair of white boxer shorts.

Captivated by the view, she lost her train of thought. His thickly muscled wall of a chest, covered with a sprinkling of black hair, was only the start. Ropes of muscle ran across his shoulders and arms, and his abdomen was ridged in a way that told her he carried no excess flesh. His thighs looked like tree trunks. She’d been right—the man was muscled everywhere.

He shifted and she jerked her head up, aware that she’d been staring. But, how could any red-blooded woman resist indulging herself with such a prime example of masculinity? Especially a woman who’d been shown time and time again that this masculine power would never be turned against her. She expected to see amusement in those dark eyes, but something else awaited her.

Desire.

Hot, rippling desire.

Scorching desire.

She was familiar with desire—Jackson inspired dreams of such erotic power they left her drenched in sweat. But she was even more familiar with desire in men’s eyes. After she’d turned fourteen, her mother’s boyfriends had looked at her with eyes hot with wanting. Then there had been that…she didn’t like to think about that much. It still made her feel dirty and used.

“Cara.” Jackson’s husky whisper sent shivers racing through her, but she couldn’t move away.

He tipped up her face with a finger under her chin and then bent down to press his lips gently against hers. Instinctive defense mechanisms kicked into place and she stood still, not fighting but not responding either. Frustration gnawed at her stomach as she realized that despite her age and knowledge of Jackson, childhood terrors still had a stranglehold over her.

He broke the kiss. “My apologies. I did not realize that you did not accept my kiss.”

So formal, she thought, so icy, when his lips had been warm and soft. She felt suddenly bereft but knew it was her own fault—the fruit of cowardice. “I accepted.”

He braced his right hand on the doorjamb, his face expressionless in a way she hated. “Like a statue. I won’t touch you again if that is what you prefer.”

That option didn’t sound good to her. Nibbling on her lower lip, she looked down at the lush grey carpet and then back up. “I don’t deal well with men wanting me.” While she didn’t trust Jackson’s desire, she trusted his intellect. He would never judge her for her fear, not when he’d been hurt so much by others. “I…had some bad experiences when I was younger.” She hadn’t meant to admit that much but couldn’t bring herself to regret the confidence.

Jackson’s protective instincts were jolted awake. “Who?” he demanded, his tone barely above a growl. Closing the distance between them, he put one hand on her hip. He’d expected her to recoil but to his pleased shock, one fine-boned hand fluttered to rest on his bare chest. Heat engulfed his body but he ruthlessly caged the fire, aware of the fragility of her faith in his goodness.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” Her answer didn’t satisfy him, but then she said, “I wanted to talk to you about the phone call.”

He was placated by that evidence of her trust. For this night, it was enough. “Who was on the other end?”

“Why didn’t you press for more information before?”

“I figured I had no right to know.” Her face was so solemn, so lovely in the frame of midnight-dark hair. He loved Taylor’s thick, curling mane. Dreams of the silky strands spread over his arm as she slept beside him had tormented him since their first meeting. “Do I?”

Taylor knew what he was really asking. “I don’t know if I’m ready to let you into my world.”

He was silent for a moment. “Why?”

“You’re…” How could she admit that she was scared of what he made her feel, what he made her ache for?

“You trust me, don’t you?”

The answer came easily because he’d always been far more than just her boss, no matter what she’d tried to convince herself. “I’m here.” And she wouldn’t be if she didn’t trust him on a deep, unshakable level.

That trust was rooted in the knowledge that he’d never coerce her to do anything against her will. Jackson was a protector. And she needed his protection from Lance. More importantly, Nick needed his protection. “Nick is the most precious part of my world,” she whispered, making a decision.

“I know.”

“He’s returning from camp in a couple of days,” she told him. “Do you want to come pick him up with me?”

“Yes.”

Taylor felt something change in their relationship at that moment. With her invitation, she’d accepted Jackson’s claim over her and made a claim of her own. But did she have any right to him when her whole being was wracked with fear over Lance’s threats to take her brother away?

“You only ever speak of Nick.” One big hand stroked her hair. Instead of fear at the intimacy, she felt a shy sense of pleasure because this was annoyingly protective Jackson. “Do you have no other family?”

“Not in truth.”

“Tell me what that means, piccola.” It was a masculine demand disguised as a request.

Taylor found that she wanted to tell him. He’d never been given any privacy with his life and it seemed only fair that he should know something of her as well. And the truth was, she needed to tell someone and aside from Jackson, who was there?

The first words took time, but he didn’t hurry her. Standing in the hallway with her toes digging into the carpet and Jackson’s heat surrounding her, she’d never felt safer. He might want her, but he would never force her—she’d stake her life on that. “My mother brought us up, well, she brought me up anyway. She died when Nick was six.” Keeping her voice steady was an effort. “I was twenty and her death wasn’t a surprise. She was an alcoholic.”

To her shock, right then, Jackson picked her up and walked into his bedroom. The only light came from the full moon outside. She remained absolutely silent as he pulled a blanket off the bed and then sat down in a window seat similar to others about the house. He slung the blanket around her shoulders and held her in his lap like she belonged to him, while he leaned against the wall. She sat up but his body surrounded her. Protected her.

“Why am I telling you?” she asked, wondering how it was that she felt so safe with him. And whether she should be frightened at the reason behind the feeling.

“Because you obviously need to talk. Did that phone call have anything do with your brother?”

“How…” She gasped at his perception.

“It terrified you. You only react like that when Nick’s hurt.”

Her nod was jerky. “It was Nick’s father, Lance.”

“Your father?”

Her blood seemed to turn ice-cold. Taking a deep breath, she told Jackson the reason why Lance cared nothing if he destroyed her. “He’s not my father.”

Jackson looked down at the flat sound of Taylor’s voice. “What?” The urge to wrap her up in his arms and press her against his chest was almost irresistible. He fought the urge because he needed to see her face.

“My mother, Helena, was pregnant by another man when she married Lance.” She stared fixedly at the dark square of the bedroom doorway. “My biological father was already married. He didn’t want his mistress after she became pregnant and refused to get rid of me. She was destitute.”

“That wasn’t your fault.” He was shocked at the self-recrimination in her tone.

“Lance never let her forget,” she continued. “Almost every week, he’d say something to remind her that I wasn’t his, that he’d taken her in when she was ‘knocked up.’ He didn’t even give me his name.”

Jackson felt his hands curl into fists but forced himself to remain silent, aware that she needed to talk. It humbled him that she trusted him enough to share something so painful. He’d had no choice when his secrets had been ripped from him and used to sell newspapers, but he knew just how much courage it took to deliberately entrust another person with such private pain.

“And she never stopped reminding me that it was because of me that she was stuck with a man who beat her when he was bored, and…and used her.” Her slim shoulder shifted as she took a deep breath that hitched. “While I was growing up, Lance used to disappear without explanation for weeks, and then return like nothing had happened.

“My mother used to wait for him, as if he’d come back and rescue us from poverty. Then one time, he didn’t come back. They divorced when Nick was barely two.” She stopped speaking, staring down at her hands.

Jackson wanted to strangle her parents. Instead, he gave in to the urge to touch her and closed one of his hands over hers, not certain that she’d tolerate any further contact while mired in the past.

Her eyes were confused when she finally turned to look at him. “Why did she love him for such a long time? Why did she? We both knew he had other women. Was she that grateful that he took her in when she was pregnant?”

Jackson could imagine her mother’s befuddlement at this child of hers who was so without deceit, a child who wouldn’t allow her to forget grim reality in useless illusions. “She sounds like a woman who lost her way.”

“Yes.” Poignant sadness colored that acknowledgement.

“Where does Nick’s father fit in?”

Fear clouded her gaze. “Lance didn’t return for him after our mother died. Even before her death, I was the one who took care of Nick. But now he’s back.”

Encouraged by her lack of resistance to their linked fingers, he reached out with his free hand and stroked her hair off her face, shifting his body closer to hers at the same time. “What exactly does he want?”

“Nick.” Pain devastated the pure blue of her eyes to a dull shade. “I’ll fight him ’til I have nothing left, but I’m afraid. He’s Nick’s father. I’m only his half sister.” She leaned just a little into his stroking hand.

He was pleased that she saw him as a source of strength. “You’ve raised him.”

“You don’t understand. Lance isn’t some riffraff—he’s rich. He always was, though he never gave us a cent. I suppose he married my mother because she was so very beautiful and he wanted her. But, then, he threw her away. He didn’t care about Nick then.” Desperation was apparent in her too-fast speech.

“He told me that he’d remarried and had a stable home for his son. I think he only wants Nick because he can’t have children with his new wife.” She was shaking, as if with rage. “I can’t let that happen! Lance will hurt him. I saw him hit Nick when he was a baby!” Releasing his hand, she clutched at his forearm. “I saw him!”

Gently disengaging her fingers, he took a chance and wrapped his arms around her. After a momentary hesitation, she softened. “You must not worry so, piccola. I am here.” Her pain tore at him. “How rich?”

“He’s a partner at Hegerty Williams. He’s the Hegerty.” She named a prominent law firm. “He knows judges and psychiatrists. He said he’d have me declared unfit if I didn’t give him Nick, and that he’s convinced judges who are friends of his that I have a bad lifestyle.

“I’ve tried to fight it but all my motions to the court keep getting denied and his accepted. I’ve fought every way I can but I don’t know how much longer I can stall him. I’m so scared. I can’t lose Nick. I can’t.”

Jackson felt his instincts growl in warning. How dare anyone threaten this woman? This strong, beautiful woman, who, unbeknownst to anyone, belonged to Jackson Santorini. He pulled back and tilted her face up with a finger under her chin, his anger intensifying when he saw that her eyes were shiny with tears she refused to shed.

“Do you trust me, Taylor?” If she didn’t, he was damn well going to teach her to, even if he had to cuddle her in his lap all night long.

She nodded. “Yes.” Then she scowled. “I don’t think I should’ve admitted that.”

He was pleased with her despite her dark expression. “Then believe me when I say I’ll help you.”

“I’m sorry to ask this of you. I know how people always want things from you. I don’t want to be like them!” Her frustration was clear.

“I know you don’t think like that.” He’d always had to fight her pride to give her the smallest consideration. Stroking the cool smoothness of her cheek, he said, “Come now, piccola. Where is my little tigress?”

Her full lips curved upward in a rueful smile. “I think she’s in hibernation.”

“That’s more like the Taylor I know.” Without stopping to think, he pressed a hard kiss to her lips, withdrawing the instant he remembered what he’d done. “My apologies again…” His gut twisted at the thought that he might’ve broken her fledgling trust in him.

Her fingers on his mouth stopped him. “I…I don’t mind when you touch me.” Her eyes widened, as if she was surprised by her own words.

He was touched by the admission. “A woman should enjoy her man’s kiss, baby, not merely allow it.” With her face bathed in the soft light of the moon streaking in through the window, she looked indefinably vulnerable.

“I’m not sure I know how to enjoy.” Her words were brutally honest. “C-could…you…”

He leaned closer, enclosing her with his body. “What would you like, piccola?”

“A kiss. Like it’s supposed to be,” she whispered.

Her words betrayed that for her, kissing had never been a pleasure. One day soon, he’d find out who had abused her, but for tonight, he would kiss her as an innocent was meant to be kissed—with tenderness and just a stroke of passion. Just enough to tantalize.

While Taylor’s heart pounded so hard that she could feel every beat in her throat, Jackson moved one big hand to cradle her head and lowered his mouth to hers. Braced for pressure, all she felt was a teasing graze of lips on lips that left her with no idea how to react.

“Just feel.” He grazed her lips again but this time, lingered over the caress. “It feels good doesn’t it?”

She nodded, throat dry. There was no pain, no force, nothing but the male scent of Jackson and the burning heat of his almost naked body. Her hands were on his beautiful skin and she could feel the raw power barely contained beneath the surface. Despite the blatant evidence of male muscle, she let her lashes flutter shut. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he could’ve done so long before this moment. All those nights working alone with him, she’d never once felt less than safe. His old-fashioned sense of chivalry had even stopped him from inviting himself in for coffee when he’d followed her home.

“Then just feel. Sweet, sweet, Taylor.” His hand tipped her head back and he dropped a single kiss on her neck. She whimpered in surprise.

“Relax for me, bellissima,” he cajoled, as his lips touched hers again, hot but undemanding. “Feel.”

Seduced by that deep voice, she did as he asked. She just felt. Felt the soft-hard duality of his lips, felt the tenderness with which he was coaxing her to open her mouth for him, felt the shudder that ripped through him when she did. Yet, he didn’t invade her mouth. Instead, he teased her with feather-light strokes of his tongue across her lips. As each slow lick built her desire, he whispered hot promises to her in Italian, his voice darkly smoky, teasing, tempting but not delivering.

At last, she gave a frustrated little moan and pressed closer, her hands clenching in his hair to hold him to her. Only then did he touch tongue to tongue, a quick foray that didn’t remind her of the forceful kisses that had hurt and shamed her as a girl, because he invited rather than took. Curious, heart thudding, she followed. His arms tightened around her, chest muscles tensing as her breasts were crushed between them, barely covered by the shirt. Beneath her bottom, she could feel the hard ridge of his erection. Panic tried to rise but failed, because despite his obvious arousal, his touch remained heartbreakingly gentle.

Their lips parted with a silky wet sound, deeply intimate in the semidarkness of the room. The man holding her nipped at her full lower lip with his teeth. “You taste like you belong to me.”

Instead of inciting fear, his possessiveness heated her blood. “I like touching you. Kissing you.” She was talking with her lips on his, her hands deep in his hair. The pure, sensual pleasure she derived from touching him enthralled her.

“Good.” There was a very satisfied glint in his eye, and the thumb he ran across the lip he’d bitten was nothing less than proprietary. When he pressed her down against his chest, she sighed and gave in.

Remnants of the passion that he’d aroused in her un-awakened body glowed like embers, keeping her warm and relaxed. A new kind of trust took root in her heart, a woman’s trust, a sexual trust, which dared her to take what her sexy ex-boss was offering and not look back to a young girl’s easily bruised sensuality.

“Are you awake, cara?”

“Yes.”

A pause. “Do you wish to tell me why you have such fear of men’s desires?”

“I promise I will, but not tonight.” She couldn’t bear to taint the sweetness of that kiss, the almost unbearable tenderness of it, with such horrible memories.

“You must sleep then.” He stood, with her in his arms.

At her door, he set her on her feet. She put a hand on his arm as he turned away. “Thank you for your help.”

Something dark shaded through his eyes. “I do not want your gratitude, Taylor.”

Somehow, she knew it wasn’t rejection but a question. “It wasn’t gratitude. It was trust.” It took courage to confess that. Before she’d met Jackson Santorini, she’d never trusted a male in the prime of his life.

He touched her hair again, a softer curve to his unsmiling mouth. “Go to sleep, piccola. I will find a way to help you and your brother.”

It was a measure of her trust that she slept the night through, without nightmares. Truth to tell, it scared her a little, this faith she had in Jackson. A woman could be fooled into love with something as powerful as trust to lead her astray. And her love was the one thing that Taylor would never entrust to any man.

Not even Jackson.