Awaken to Pleasure (8 page)

“I know all I need to know. You’ll care for me and you’ll care for Nick while we’re yours and afterward, you’ll make sure that we have what we need.” Her words were practical, her tone even. Implicit was an acceptance that this marriage would end in a year. He wanted to shake her out of her blithe
assurance that she could walk away from him, force her to accept his claim. “That’s more than anyone’s ever done for me. It’s enough.”

It wasn’t enough for him. He should have been glad at finding such a sensible woman. Yet he kept thinking that he was being shortchanged, if he accepted that this was all Taylor had to give him. Taylor, who had so much spirit and courage and hope. Taylor, who he’d thought would lead him out of the darkness into which he’d tumbled after years of cold loneliness.

He supposed he deserved it. After all, a practical arrangement was all he’d asked for and she’d promised to deliver—Nick’s safety in exchange for a baby. His eyes narrowed. He had a year to make Taylor pregnant. Once he had her carrying his child, he’d teach her to trust him with her love, even if it took a lifetime. Poor Taylor. She had no idea who she’d struck a bargain with.

“I think we have to at least show up at this party,” he told Taylor later that day. They’d spent most of the previous hours working on legal documents, taking only a short break to explore the nearby coral reef. The excursion had been worth making time for, if only to see the wonder on Taylor’s face as they snorkeled through the reef’s colorful and fearless inhabitants.

Though he was aware that after their return Taylor had spent time on the phone with her therapist, Maggie, he hadn’t asked her about it. It was enough that she’d found someone who was able to help her. “It’s being hosted by the resort owners.” Knowing them was the reason he’d been able to get a spot on the exclusive paparazzi-free island on such short notice.

Scowling, Taylor said, “No, we’re not going.”

He was so used to her sunny nature that he was momentarily stunned by the determined denial. “Why not?”

He heard her gritting her teeth. “I was poor, Jackson. I
won’t know how to fit in there. It’d be different starting out in our home because it would be
my
territory.”

Her response astounded him. She was usually so self-contained and confident that occasionally he wished she’d show a little more need for him, but he’d never wanted her so vulnerable that she was hurting.

“You’ve worked in the industry…” he began, at a loss. And yet, the primitive part of him was exulting that she’d forgotten herself enough to share her fears with him.

“As a secretary!” Her eyes glittered. “They’ll look down on me.”

He walked across the verandah and clamped his hands on her shoulders.
“Cara mia,
I would never let them hurt you.”

She bit her lip. He knew about her lack of trust in men and their promises, and could even understand it, but it still hurt when she didn’t immediately believe in him.

“I won’t let the vultures near you.” He wanted to show her the tenderness she needed, but his voice came out rough, almost a command that she trust him.

To his surprise, she reacted favorably. Her back straightened and she threw him a glare for daring to give her an order. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“We can go shopping in the resort boutiques. Whatever you wear, you’ll knock ’em dead.”

Her smile was brilliant, far more like the woman he was used to. “Thank you. You’re a kind man.”

When she pecked him on the cheek, he grit his teeth against the urge to haul her to the floor and indulge his starving senses.
Kind?
If he’d been a kind man, he’d have tried harder to think of a way to help her without marrying her. The truth was, when the idea had come, he hadn’t looked any further, because he’d wanted sweet Taylor for his very own. And he would fight to keep her.

Santorini men weren’t known for their sharing nature.

Taylor found a long, electric-blue gown in a shimmering fabric that was light enough for the tropical weather, but had a shine to it that meant it would do for an evening gown. It had no sleeves, and the soft curves of material at the neckline emphasized her breasts. The only things holding up the flimsy creation were two small diamante clasps on the shoulders. Up to that point, the dress was lovely. It was the fact that it had practically no back that had her biting her lip in indecision.

Looking over her shoulder into the dressing room mirror, she found the curved line of her spine framed in blue. She knew that if she went out in this dress, her husband’s big hand was going to be on her bare skin for long periods of the night. She’d always known that Jackson would be very, very possessive about his woman. So, he would touch her in public, make his claim, make certain no one had any doubts about the fact that she belonged to him.

She shivered at the image, the tiny hairs on her body standing up. The thought of Jackson’s hands on her didn’t scare her, but it had taken Maggie to make her realize the depth of trust she had in him.

“What are you afraid of?” Maggie had asked earlier that day, deep into the long-distance session.

She’d remembered being pushed against the door in the basement, of the hand over her mouth in that park. “Pain, humiliation…of having my trust broken again.”

“Oh, so Jackson hurts you? Debases you?”

“No! How dare you say that?” she’d yelled, furious.

“If I’m so wrong,” Maggie had paused, “then what are you really afraid of?”

It had taken her long minutes to answer. “My own cowardice. What if I can’t be what he needs?”

“What if you can? Take one step and find out.”

One step. Like having Jackson’s hands all over her. It was a distinctly tantalizing image after the way she’d run her own hands all over
him
and received such pleasure.

Her eyes widened as she slipped out of the dress. In the mirror, her breasts were almost quivering with desire. Oh, yes, the thought of having her husband’s hands all over her wasn’t a reason against buying this dress.

The party wasn’t as harrowing as she’d feared. Though she’d worked hard to climb out from under Lance’s shadow, sometimes his barbs about her worth returned to haunt her. But, it appeared that her panic had been for naught. True to his word, Jackson was by her side throughout the night and once it became clear that she was very much
his,
people treated her with a sort of cautious pleasantness.

Taylor had to hide her smile. She’d never inspired fear in anyone, but her dark and very Italian husband certainly did. She approved. In this world, he needed every advantage. It was enough for his wife to know that he wasn’t a man who would hurt those he’d sworn to protect. No one else needed to be aware of his tenderness.

The only sour point came toward the end of the evening. A buxom blonde sidled up to Jackson, as if Taylor weren’t held firmly by his side, his big hand flat on her lower back. As she’d guessed, he hadn’t stopped touching her for more than a few seconds at a time. On occasion, he’d move his thumb in an idle movement and her breath would catch while the bottom fell out of her stomach.

The heat of him was enticing enough but when he moved his hand…she wanted to beg him to move a little lower. Oh yes, having Jackson’s hands all over her was becoming more and more intriguing. Especially if he touched her whole body the way he’d touched her back tonight. No
pain, extreme possessiveness and a hot, wanting look in his eyes.

She had the feeling that if she’d been an ordinary woman with no hang-ups, they’d have either arrived at the party very late or not at all. The minute she’d walked out of her room, his face had tensed and he’d growled at her to get her “little butt back in there” and change out of that “excuse for a dress.”

Of course she hadn’t, but with any other woman she knew Jackson would’ve probably won the fight by the simple expedient of tearing off the dress, and keeping her in bed until it was too late to make an appearance. The primitive desire that had glittered in his eyes when he first saw her had been an explicit indication of exactly what he wanted to do to her. If they did end up making love, she’d have to watch his tendency to take over her life and she had no illusions that he wouldn’t try.

That was the man he was, difficult to handle, almost impossible to fight, but perhaps, she thought with feminine insight, he could be coaxed, gentled. And if he did allow her to tame him, even just a little, didn’t that mean she had some power in the marriage? Being with him was very definitely a partnership—he expected her to match him.

Trusting Jackson with her body became an even more attractive option when she understood the dynamic of their relationship, so attractive that she was involved in a heated daydream about her big husband and her naked body, when the top-heavy blonde sashayed over.

“Jackson Santorini! I thought it was you.” The twit made the mistake of laying a hand on Jackson’s sleeve.

Eyes narrowed, Taylor reached out and brushed the woman’s hand off. “Oops. I think
my
husband had some…dirt, on his sleeve. You really should watch that, darling.” She glanced up at him, a warning in her eyes.

He was trying not to grin. “Thank you,
mia moglie.”

The sensual glint in his eye told her that he was pleased at her little show of jealousy. She didn’t care. Forget anything she’d ever said about allowing him a mistress. If he touched another woman, she’d gut them both.

“Do I know you?” Jackson hugged Taylor to his side, soothing her with his obvious display of ownership.

A spark of anger appeared in the blonde’s eyes. “Belle Bouvier. We met at the Vanderbilt party last spring.”

“Apologies, Belle. You look a little different.”

“Oh.” The twit dimpled, apparently forgiving him. “I remember! I’d dyed my hair black! Can you imagine?”

“Well, I did see you when it was black.”

Taylor could tell that he was fighting the urge to burst out laughing. “Hello, Belle. I’m Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you.” The poisonous look in her eyes said otherwise. “I just wanted to congratulate Jackson.”

“For what?” Jackson asked.

“My sources tell me that you’ve just been voted
Glitter
magazine’s sexiest bachelor of the year.”

“No longer a bachelor.” He looked down at Taylor, who was fuming. “Thank you, Belle, but you’ll have to excuse me. I believe our hostess is signaling us.”

As they walked, Taylor muttered, “Bouvier, my foot.”

Jackson snickered, hugging her to him. It appeared that while Taylor could talk about him keeping a mistress, reality was another matter. He had a possessive little wife on his hands. Life had just become a lot more interesting.

“Stage name, I would guess.” He moved his hand on the smooth skin of her back, coaxing her back into a good mood. Not that he minded the reason for her temper. He was confident enough of his masculinity to enjoy being considered her personal property.

She made a little feminine noise but before she could re
spond to his physical cajoling, a man slithered to a stop in front of them. Henry Carey. Jackson detested the man. It seemed their night for meeting unwelcome acquaintances.

“Santorini.”

“Carey.” He hugged Taylor closer to him. She complied, a sleek, giving woman who fitted her body to his.

“Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Word travels fast.”

“You know how it is.” Henry smirked and turned to Taylor. “So, it must be…interesting, being married to a man of your husband’s size…and strength.”

The insinuation was clear. The papers had had a field day after Bonnie’s suicide, using Jackson’s face and image to hint at violence and pain. He usually ignored Henry, finding him pitiful, but tonight his pride rebelled against Taylor hearing the lies about him. If she heard them often enough, maybe she’d start to believe, maybe she’d start to fear him. He could bear anything but that. About to move toward Carey, he was stopped by his wife, who stepped protectively in front of him.

“Why you
odious little man,”
Taylor said, her voice hard but low. “My husband is a better man than you’ll ever be, you weedy, pompous creature. I bet you don’t even know what to do with a woman…when you can get some female drunk enough to co-operate.”

Jackson couldn’t believe Taylor was defending him and insulting Henry, and doing it well. The other man wasn’t used to trading barbs with a smart woman who didn’t consider herself bound by the rules of their impolite society, which deemed that nothing must ever be said with blunt force, only covertly implied.

“How dare you…” Henry began, mouth pinched.

“Oh, go away.” She flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You annoy me. And if I ever hear you say anything
against my husband, I’ll tell everyone exactly how you got the funding for your last miserable picture.”

Henry’s face paled. “How do you know?”

Jackson was fascinated. Absolutely and utterly. He stood behind his wife, one hand curved around her body to lie on her stomach, not interfering. Delighted amazement kept him from taking over. No one had ever stood up for him. Not a single person. He was stunned at the feeling that spread through him at seeing Taylor’s protectiveness.