He says nothing, but I can feel the shift in his body. A different kind of tension forming. And when I drag my teeth over my lower lip, I see the heat build in his eyes.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Ms. Brooks?”
“Me? Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About a man I know.”
His brows raise. “Oh?”
“Mmm. He’s utterly gorgeous. Wildly sexy. The touch of his hands is like magic on my skin.”
The corner of his mouth twitches and a victorious trill runs through me. “I think I’m jealous.”
I slide my hand up, my pinky brushing lightly against his hardening cock. “It’s been one hell of a day. What do you say we go inside, get naked, and help each other forget?”
His eyes are like blue flames. “I think that sounds like an exceptionally good idea.”
The heat in his voice makes me gooey in all the right places.
I reluctantly pull back, then open my door. “In that case, mister, follow me.” We get out of the car, and I take his hand and lead him through the gate then down the dock to his boat. There’s a small gangplank permanently set up; it opens to a door onto the deck. I’ve been here enough to know the routine, and I take charge, leading the way.
I step carefully onto the sometimes slick deck, glance around the familiar area, see the man—and scream.
Jackson moves in front of me even before the echo of my scream dies away.
I’m breathing hard, my pulse pounding, my body ready for flight. But that’s just a lingering reaction. My fear has faded.
The man isn’t one of the paparazzi. For that matter, he’s not even an intruder. Or, at least, not the kind I’d imagined.
Then again, this kind might be even more dangerous.
This intruder is Jeremiah Stark.
seven
Jackson stared at his father, trying to convince himself that the man was only an apparition. Some sort of horrible revenant. Not actually Jeremiah Stark.
Not here.
Not today.
“About time, boy. I was just about to give up on you.”
Jackson didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. Instead he just stood there with Sylvia behind him, her scream still lingering in the air.
It took every ounce of Jackson’s willpower to keep his feet planted and his hands at his sides. Because right then he was certain that very little in this world would feel better than wringing Jeremiah’s neck.
When he was certain that he could move without launching himself at his father, he stepped sideways and then back so that he could slide an arm around Syl’s waist and pull her to him. It would look, he knew, as if he was comforting her. But that was only an illusion. He needed her in his arms right now. Needed to hold tight and let the feel of her steady him. Because he’d been pulled tight as a wire all day, and he was dangerously close to snapping.
He focused on his father’s face, his gaze unflinching. “You want to tell me how the hell you got on my boat?”
“Not hard,” Jeremiah said. He held up his phone. “Lot of pictures of me and my sons on the internet today. I just flashed one at your guard, told him it was urgent that I saw my boy, and he let me right through. I’m surprised you didn’t notice my car out there.”
“I’d say I’ll pay more attention next time, but there isn’t going to be a next time. Get the hell off my boat, Dad.”
“We need to talk,” Jeremiah said.
“You need to leave.”
“What I need is to convince my son not to be a goddamned idiot.”
“Your son? Is that what I am today? I’ve never really been able to keep that straight.” His entire life had been structured by the whim of a father whose focus was on another family—Damien’s family. Jackson had been forced to keep the truth of his paternity secret, because god forbid the public should learn that tennis superstar Damien Stark had a secret bastard half-brother squirreled away.
For years, Jackson had resented Damien, channeling the anger and frustration that rightfully belonged to his manipulative, narcissistic father toward the brother he didn’t even know. A brother who seemed to have everything in the world at Jackson’s expense. A brother who, Jackson was only beginning to learn, had also suffered at the hands of their father, and pretty damn brutally, too.
All of which meant that Jackson wasn’t inclined to play the good son simply because Jeremiah was wearing his daddy hat. As Jackson was learning the hard way, being a dad was about one hell of a lot more than biology.
“I did what I had to do so that you could have a good life, and now you’re about to toss it all into the crapper. Ms. Brooks,” Jeremiah said, turning his attention to Sylvia without warning, “you should go inside. Jackson and I have a few things to discuss.”
