“Yes.”
“Touch yourself,” he demands even as he takes my thigh and pushes it forward. Now we are still spooning, but my legs are scissored as his fingers thrust inside me, making me wild with need. And only when I’m so damn wet that I’m sure the sheets must be damp, does he ease his cock into me and fill me with long, slow strokes that make me moan.
Slowly at first, and then harder, so that with each thrust we scoot a bit up the mattress. But I want it harder, deeper, and instead of teasing my clit, I lift my hand over my head and press against the headboard to provide some resistance as he pounds into me, harder and harder, until he finally explodes inside me, and then falls limp against me, his body draped over mine.
I sigh and stretch with pleasure. I’m close, and I know if I touch myself, I will go over, but I do not want that. Not now, when I have the pleasure of being so close that even the touch of the air is a sensual caress. And so when Jackson reaches lazily over me, then starts to ease his fingers down to play with my clit, I close my hand over his and shake my head, just a little.
“I want to stay here,” I say. “I want to stay here on the edge.”
“Why?” he asks.
How can I answer when I don’t really understand myself? All I know is that I want to stay here for a little while, balanced precariously before I fall.
And so I give him the only answer I know. “Because you’re the one who took me there.”
Less than an hour has passed when I slide out of bed and start to get dressed. It feels like an eternity, though. Like I have slept and healed and come out fresh on the other side, renewed and brave.
That fades, though, when I pull a long-sleeved T-shirt over my head, and see the way that Jackson is looking at me, propped up on the bed on one elbow.
“What’s wrong?”
“I spoke with Amy this morning.”
I concentrate on stepping into my shorts—I’m dressing for the island, not the Tower—then look at him again. “Your attorney?” I ask, as if this is all news to me.
“I’m tired of leaving my little girl in limbo. I’ve asked Amy to get a court date. I want to bring Ronnie home.”
I zip up the shorts, then go to sit on the bed. “Good,” I say. “You’re her dad.”
I see the relief on his face, and know that I’ve said the right thing. “There’s more. Do you remember what we talked about at the airport?”
“Sure.” I’m proud of how normal my voice sounds.
“Did you mean what you said? Because I want to make it official.”
“Official?”
He nods. “If something happens to me, I want guardianship of Ronnie to go to you. I want Amy to amend the guardianship papers. You, not Megan, if something happens to me.”
“I—” I swallow, wanting to kick myself for hesitating for even an instant.
He notices, of course. “Yesterday, when I was being an ass about the paparazzi, what you said about believing I’d killed Reed. About staying with me no matter what.”
His words are choppy, and I take his hand.
“That drove it home for me,” he continues, more smoothly, and the knowledge that I’ve given him strength swells inside me. “How much I want you to be the one protecting her. Sticking with her. But I know it’s selfish of me, too, and if you don’t want that—”
“You were an ass about the paparazzi?” The question, voiced as a tease, slips out of me. I regret it immediately, but I’m latching on to anything but the real issue. Anything but the possibility that I will be raising a child alone.
“I was,” he says. “I was pissed and acting stupid and you were right. I need to avoid them, not taunt them. And when we do encounter them, I need to play Evelyn’s game and be polite and friendly. I hate it, but I’ll do it because I know it increases the odds that I won’t end up behind bars. That I’ll stay here with you. With Ronnie.”
Relief flutters through me. That, at least, is one thing I can stop worrying about.
“I’ll call Amy this morning and tell her not to change anything,” he says gently. “It’s too much to ask. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t—”
“No,” I blurt, gripping his hand tighter. “No, I’m sure. Of course I’m sure.”
And I am.
Despite my fears, I am absolutely certain.
Because what other choice do I have?
In Jackson’s world, there is him, there is his daughter, and there is me.
He loves me, I know that he does.
But if he ever has to make a choice, it is Ronnie that he will choose. Because unlike Jeremiah or my parents, Jackson is a good father. And for him, Ronnie’s welfare will always come first.