She shivered at the image, the tiny hairs on her body standing up. The thought ofJackson'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, soJacksonhurts 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 havingJackson'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,Jacksonwas 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.
Taylorhad 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 toJackson, as if Taylorweren'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, havingJackson'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 knewJacksonwould'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.
TrustingJacksonwith 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.
"JacksonSantorini ! I thought it was you." The twit made the mistake of laying a hand onJackson's sleeve.
Eyes narrowed,Taylorreached 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?"JacksonhuggedTaylorto his side, soothing her with his obvious display of ownership.
A spark of anger appeared in the blonde's eyes. "BelleBouvier . 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."
Taylorcould tell that he was fighting the urge to burst out laughing. "Hello, Belle. I'mTaylor."
"Nice to meet you." The poisonous look in her eyes said otherwise. "I just wanted to congratulate Jackson."
"For what?"Jacksonasked.
"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,Taylormuttered, "Bouvier, my foot."
Jacksonsnickered, hugging her to him. It appeared that whileTaylorcould 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 respond to his physical cajoling, a man slithered to a stop in front of them. Henry Carey.Jacksondetested the man. It seemed their night for meeting unwelcome acquaintances.
"Santorini."
"Carey." He huggedTaylorcloser to him. She complied, a sleek, giving woman who fitted her bodyto his.
"Congratulations on your marriage."
"Word travels fast."
"You know how it is." Henry smirked and turned toTaylor. "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 afterBonnie's suicide, usingJackson's face and image to hint at violence and pain. He usually ignored Henry, finding him pitiful, but tonight his pride rebelled againstTaylorhearing 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 ,"Taylorsaid, 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 cooperate."
Jacksoncouldn't believeTaylorwas 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?"
Jacksonwas 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 seeingTaylor's protectiveness.
She raised a brow. "You really should be more discreet. Now, leave." It was a regal order.
Henry left, looking atTaylorwith more fear in his eyes than he'd ever shownJackson.
"Piccola?"
"Yes." She was scowling at Henry's retreating back, her arms folded like some avenging warrior-goddess.
"What do you know?"
"Secretaries hear everything. I keep in touch with my friends in the movie business. Let's just say that Henry participated in a casting couch ... in reverse."
"But, who'd want Henry?" He was flabbergasted.
"Exactly what I said."
Chapter 8
Jacksonhad just started unbuttoning the formal black shirt he'd worn to the party, having eschewed any kind of jacket because of the heat, whenTaylorwandered in from across the hall. She had her face scrunched up in concentration and her hands on the clasp of her necklace.
"Darling, can you..." She turned her back to him and swept aside her hair to bare her nape, creamy white against the electric blue of the dress.
He walked over, hands aching to touch her. "Darling," she'd called him, like they were a normal couple.
Tonight had been an education, exposing bothTaylor's possessiveness and her protectiveness. But, the fact was, they weren't a normal couple and despite those delightful revelations, he was strung taut with desire for his sweet, sexy wife.
He undid the clasp without speaking, afraid he'd give away his frustration if he opened his mouth. Her damn dress was a husband's nightmare. He'd had to have a hand on her throughout the evening to warn off the predators. A lot of the men had had a look in their eyes that said they were just waiting until he was distracted, before they pounced. He hadn't being distracted by anything other than the feel of his wife's sleek body under his palm. She'd seemed perfectly happy to let him stake his claim so publicly, not that he'd given her much choice.