Awaken to Pleasure (4 page)

“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.

T
he next morning, Jackson drove Taylor home.

Prior to starting the trip, he’d astounded her by producing her purse. Cole had dropped it off early that morning, while Jackson had been working out. His friend had also indicated that Donald Carson was now so terrified of being labeled a sexual offender by the police, it was a sure thing that he’d never assault a woman ever again.

Because the sleep-deprived detective hadn’t stuck around, Jackson had had to explain to Taylor that he hadn’t left her in the night and done away with Carson. He knew his tone had been edgy, his instincts still raw from being unable to go after the bastard himself. He had a feeling Taylor had seen that all too clearly, because she hadn’t pressed him for anything other than Cole’s name on the drive to her apartment.

Now, while she changed, he made several calls to his legal people. An idea was brewing in his gut, but he wanted to be
certain he was right. As he’d told her the night before, he didn’t want her gratitude. Neither his heart, nor his pride, would ever settle for such a paltry emotion from this strong woman.

He was the child of a broken marriage, reared by nannies and the survivor of a loveless union. It was enough loneliness for a lifetime. This time, he needed a woman capable of endless loyalty and utter devotion. Taylor was the only woman he wanted and he hungered for
everything
she had. He would fight for it, but he wouldn’t steal it. Not when she’d gifted him with her trust.

At Jackson’s request, Taylor packed an overnight bag and accompanied him home after changing into clean clothes. Exhausted from weeks of trying to fight Lance, she couldn’t resist leaning on him.

“I have to go to a meeting. Wait for me. We’ll talk when I come back,” Jackson said after brunch.

She fought her natural instinct to probe, aware that she’d already asked too much. “When will you be back?”

“As soon as I can.” He touched his lips to hers in a light caress. “Stop bristling. I need to talk to some people who won’t appreciate an audience.”

She scowled at his perception. “Don’t be too long.”

“Try and relax. You might want to think about whether you want to work as my secretary again.”

After he left, she did just that, quickly deciding to accept. After all, there was no longer any need for her to hide her desire for her sexy Italian boss.

Jackson didn’t return until it was almost dinnertime.

“Did you find out anything?” she asked.

“I am following something through.”

She could see fatigue in his eyes and decided not to push
for more information before he ate. Her heart, always fascinated by this man, became a little more his at the quiet way he was helping her. Several calls interrupted their meal but finally when there was silence she made some coffee and took it into the living room.

She handed him a cup. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Curiously remote, he walked over to stand facing the window, his gaze on the darkness outside.

Shunning the couch, she perched on the third step of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, her eyes on Jackson. He was such a big man, she thought, with wide shoulders and powerful arms. He’d shoved up the sleeves of his black sweater to bare thick forearms dusted with dark hair.

In the muted light of the room, his skin looked dusky but she knew it was warm golden brown, evidence of his Italian heritage. Jackson was a vibrant presence, powerful even when standing still. Silhouetted against the dark, he looked isolated and she couldn’t bear to see him so alone. She knew what it was like to be separate, to not belong.

“What’re you thinking?” she whispered.

He turned to face her, leaning one shoulder against the glass. “What would you say to marrying me?”

“Marry you?” Her hands clamped around her coffee cup.

“Yes.” Cool and calm, Jackson’s eyes gave her no indication of the tenor of his offer.

“Why?” He was her dream man, but in her life dreams had a nasty way of turning into nightmares.

“I’ve talked to several lawyers and a judge I know. As Nick’s biological father, Lance has strong rights.”

She felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “No!”

“But,” he continued, “to retain custody, you can argue abandonment and show the court your ability to provide a good home. Unfortunately, having a husband will count, especially since Nick will need a male role model.”

Confusion and hope warred within her. “But what’s in it for you?” He was a powerful, handsome man. Why would he want to tie himself to a nobody like her?

“I want a wife—I’ve always known the value of family and loyalty, and I know you, too, understand those things. I need a hostess who I know will be exemplary. If Nick is still basically the same boy I met, we’ll get along fine.” He paused and then added, “Because of your love for Nick, I also don’t have to worry about word of our arrangement ever being splashed across the tabloids, should we part ways.”

And what about me? Taylor wanted to ask, despite the selfishness of such a question. Jackson’s proposal seemed so cold and calculated, disregarding the emotional links already tying them together.

Before she could answer, he said, “You’d have the security and stability you want for Nick. I promise you that whatever it takes, Lance won’t touch him. I can tie this up legally for years, if that’s what it takes.” The hardness in his tone underlined each word.

“But dragging Nick through that type of case…”

He put down his coffee cup before answering. “That’s a worst-case scenario. My gut says it won’t happen. Lance’s reputation is built on professionalism and discretion. He won’t want his dirty laundry aired in public.”

“But he’s already filed a lawsuit against me.” She squeezed her cup, trying to warm suddenly cold hands.

“He saw you as powerless. Family court operates a lot behind closed doors and he was probably counting on that. But once I get involved, he’ll know that the media will sniff out every single detail, including the way he left Nick.” His conviction made her want to believe.

“What happens if we marry?” Being married to Jackson Santorini was almost impossible for her mind to comprehend. She’d barely been able to handle a kiss and now this?

“No judge is going to pick Hegerty’s side over mine, no matter how deep they are in each other’s pockets.” There was a harsh edge to his voice that reminded her of some old-world mobster, at once terrifying and magnificent. “At worst, we’d get a fair hearing. I’m not going to lie to you, if that’s what happens, it’s likely Lance will be granted partial custody at least.”

She respected him for not sugarcoating the truth. The worst-case scenario was still better than the certain failure that she’d been facing until now. “And at best?”

“At best, Hegerty will withdraw. In fact, I’m betting on it. He doesn’t sound like a man who picks on those strong enough to fight back.” His lip curled in disgust.

“I’d do anything for Nick.” She found her way with those words. “Are you sure it’ll work?” For Nick, she’d even chance marrying the one man who threatened to batter down the painstakingly wrought walls around her heart.

“Yes. I protect those who belong to me.” The statement was without compromise. “Nick would have every advantage.”

“So long as we’re together,” she blurted out. “Your family’s track record isn’t so good.” She
would not
put Nick through the pain of gaining a father, only to have that father walk away. Her own experience at Lance’s hands had taught her that sometimes it was better to never have a father at all. “And what if we divorce before he’s eighteen? Lance might try again.”

He nodded, those dark eyes going even more opaque. “I’m willing to make a commitment to a certain number of years together. I was with Bonnie for six.”

“But not happy.”

“No.” A bald truth.

“Why chance that again?” Despite her concern for Nick, she remembered the deep sorrow she’d sometimes glimpsed in Jackson’s eyes. That hidden pain had only deepened since their last meeting.

Something terrible had happened. Something worse than Bonnie’s affair, her suicide and the ensuing media frenzy. Whatever it was, it had wounded him terribly. She couldn’t bear to cause him more pain. Worry for Nick and Jackson collided. How could she buy one’s joy with the other’s unhappiness? She couldn’t. Both her men deserved better.

And so did she.

“I hardly think you’ll take up drugs and spiral into depression. You care too much for Nick.” He spoke of their marriage as if it were only a business arrangement. As if the tender kiss last night had never happened. Perhaps that powerful moment of trust had meant nothing to him, used as he must be to far wilder displays of passion.

“As for Nick having every advantage, I’ll set up a trust fund for him, to be his whether we’re together or not.” He walked over to stand at the foot of the stairs, looking down at her from his considerable height.

She narrowed her eyes, worry about his reasons for the proposal, and confusion over her own feelings, momentarily overridden by irritation. He’d better not offer her money as well or she’d scratch out his eyes. She had no pride where Nick was concerned but for herself, she had plenty.

“I’d make sure you were taken care of,” he began, his hand on the banister.

“Stop right there.” Putting down her cup, she stood up on the second step, level with his face. “The only reason I’m considering this crazy idea is because it will help me keep my brother. I don’t want your money!” In her anger, she didn’t stop to consider why he’d offer to sweeten the deal, when she was the one without options.

“I’d be asking you not to work while you were my wife, even though I’d lose the best secretary I ever had.”

“Why not?” She put her hands on her hips. This reason
able man was not the passionate, wild creature she knew. Where was her Jackson?

“More than half my business is done via social events. Bonnie alienated a large number of people we need to woo back. You’d be working, but in a way that the outside world would never appreciate.” He continued in that calm and practical way, stoking her simmering temper.

“If we separated, it would be difficult for you to get back into the workforce. It’s only fair that I give you something to tide you over. You’d never use Nick’s trust fund and it would hurt him if you were without resources.”

“You really know how to hit the jugular don’t you?” Her tone was sharp.

“It’s a skill.” His voice was uninflected but she knew that she’d hurt him.

Why had she done that? Was it because she was afraid of what he made her feel? She’d vowed to never love a man as much as her mother had, because she knew that in some ways, she was the same as Helena. They both loved with a passion that could be destructive if it wasn’t returned.

Her mother had loved the man she’d had an affair with, and she’d ended up loving Lance, too. Her suffering when they’d both thrown her aside like used tissues had been fatal. Taylor never intended to be in that position—never would she allow herself to be that vulnerable. Except sometimes, Jackson made that ultimate weakness seem tempting.

Unable to bear his hurt, she reached out to touch his cheek, rough with five o’clock shadow. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He didn’t move away from her touch, but neither did he show any reaction.

She pushed her hand into his thick hair while he stood there, letting her do whatever she wanted. “Don’t you ever get angry, Jackson? Flat-out mad?”

“No.” He looked into her eyes, completely cold.

“No, you just go icy,” she whispered. He’d yelled at her in the office but that had been over little things. When it really mattered, he simply shut down. She wondered if he felt too much and had to feel nothing at all to survive. Her heart hurt for him. “Well, guess what?”

He raised a brow at her snappish tone.

“If you marry me, you have to live with a temper.”

“I face tantrums all the time in my line of work.”

“Tantrums?” Leaning across, she put her other hand in his hair. She trusted him to not let her fall from her precarious position. He didn’t let her down. Big, warm male hands clasped her waist tight. “Don’t you ever say I have tantrums, Jackson Santorini, or I’ll show you angry.”

“You wanted to know if I could handle temper.” Despite her deliberate provocation, his tone remained even.

“Okay.” Until this moment, she hadn’t realized the depth of his pain. Just who was Jackson Santorini behind his guise of powerful producer? “How do you deal with the tempers in the business?”

He gave her a humorless smile. “You know we talk money and if the demands are unreasonable, we get hardnosed. Or, we send in people to soothe their famous nerves.”

She stifled a laugh. “So, how’s that going to work for me, Mr. Big Shot Producer-Guy?”

For a second, he looked dumbstruck. Then he said, “Guess I’ll have to learn to soothe your nerves.”

“Nerves!” she cried, before glimpsing the tiny spark of humor in his eyes. Relief at finally getting through to him made her giddy. “Ooooh. You make me so mad.”

The hands on her waist tightened. He lifted her up without visible effort and set her on her feet in front of him. “How mad?”