Stark International: Under My Skin Part 30

I don't actually know how I got here, but instead of going home after leaving my father, I went to Van Nuys and to the warehouse where Reed ran one of the studios where he so often photographed me.

Now I'm sitting in the parking lot in my Nissan, just staring at those nondescript, weathered walls that seem so dull. And I can't help but wonder what is going on behind them now. For that matter, who knows what's really going on behind any walls? Or inside anyone's head?

I don't know what my father was thinking back then, but I believe him now. His regret is real, his overture legitimate. I will never be as close to him as Jackson will be to Ronnie, but despite the fact that I never would have believed it before, I really do want to try and heal. To take his apology and his retreat and turn it around, box it up, and move past it.

I slide the car back into drive, not entirely certain why I came at all. Closure? Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that this wasn't actually h.e.l.l. That there was no fire and brimstone, and that any of the demons who live here are in my mindand I can defeat them.

I get back on the highway and head toward Santa Monica, but I take a detour into Brentwood and the house we lived in when I was a kid. This was where I started my hobby of photographing houses, because I couldn't believe that a house with such a perfect exterior held such horrible secrets. It was nothing but a facade, and I wondered if the rest of the houses I saw around the city were as well.

The house Jackson will build in the Palisades won't be, though. There will be loveand honesty. And I think that's what's most important.

I think about waking up there with Jackson beside me. About Ronnie rushing in and bouncing on the bed. About sitting on a long balcony and sipping coffee in the morning and wine in the evening and watching the ocean that is spread out to infinity.

I think about a little girl and a puppy and the man that I love.

I want that. Oh, G.o.d, how I want it.

I'm still scared, but I'll learn what to do. I won't be like my mom who checks out when it gets tough. Or my dad who waits decades to try to remedy a mistake or to protect a child.

It won't be easy. I'll stumble.

But with Jackson to catch me it will be okay.

Jackson.

Suddenly, I can't wait even one more second to see him, and I turn the car around and head the opposite direction, back downtown to the Tower apartment.

Traffic is a mess, and every moment is like torture. But I finally careen into my parking place and race to the penthouse. I burst into the foyer and call for him, for Ronnie, for Stella.

But there is only silence that greets me. And in that moment I am certain that I destroyed everything. That I convinced him that I wasn't worth the risk. That my stumbling efforts would come between him and his daughter.

That it was best for Ronnie not to have me in their lives.

Oh, G.o.d, what the h.e.l.l have I done?

I look blankly around the apartment, not understanding where everyone could be. I call his phone, but there is no answer, and I feel even more lost. Even more lonely.

In the back of my mind, I know that an empty apartment does not mean all those things. But I'm so tired. And I fought so hard to break away that I am having a difficult time believing that now that I've seen my mistake, things will turn out okay. In my experience, it's usually the opposite.

Right now, I tell myself not to think about it. I tell myself it's time to just sleep.

Going home, I don't even bother to get in the left lane. I drive slowly, like a drunk who shouldn't even be on the road but is trying desperately to focus. I sleepwalk up the stairs to my apartment. All I want to do is crawl into bed. Tomorrow, I will try again. And if Jackson is still gone I will go to Ca.s.s and get another tattoo, because this is a pain that I must both fight and remember.

My apartment is dark when I get in, and I curse myself for not leaving a light on the way that I usually do. I kick off my shoes, then stumble through the dark toward my bedroom, stripping off my T-shirt and bra as I go, then tossing my jeans over the back of the couch before I finish crossing the short distance to my bedroom doorway.

I'm still there when I hear his voice. Just one wordjust my namebut it means everything.

"Sylvia."

I stop in the doorway, entirely naked, and though I have never felt vulnerable in front of Jackson, I do right now. My eyes adjust to the light, and I see him get off the bed and come to me. He stands just inches from me, and suddenly I am very aware of my breathing. Of every hair on my body. Of his proximity. And, yes, of my need.

I lick my lips. "I looked for you at the apartment."

"Funny," he says, his voice gentle. "I looked for you here."

He moves a few feet to the left to the chair that sits next to the door. My robe is there, and he picks it up and then hands it to me. And that simple gesture, so seemingly polite, terrifies me.

My breath hitches, and I make a little gasping sound. I hold the robe clutched to my body, but I don't put it on. "JacksonII'm sorry." I try to read the expression on his face, but I can't. "Did I ruin everything by walking away? I don't want to lose you or Ronnie because I was afraid."

"Was? You're not afraid anymore?"

I look down. "No," I say. "I still am. But it's a fear of what-ifs, and I don't want to live like that. I'm still terrified of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up, but I'd rather risk s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up with you than not even try." I lift my head and meet his eyes. "I love you, Jackson, and I'm so scared that I've lost you."

I see the break in his expression. The glow of tenderness and relief. And when he steps closer to me, I can't help but notice the way his jeans are tight over the bulge of his erection.

"Don't you know you can never lose me?" He reaches out and strokes my cheek. "Do you think I don't understand fear? Being a parenth.e.l.l, being in loveit's about making scary choices. But choosing youchoosing us? That one's not scary at all."

My heart twists with emotion at his words, and I can't wait any more. I need his touch to match his words. I need to know that we're truly back, that the world has righted itself.

I drop my robe and without warning, I pull him tight against me, claiming him with my mouth, pressing my b.r.e.a.s.t.s hard against him.

I slide my hands down and cup the firm curve of his a.s.s, pulling him toward me until I can feel him beneath the denim. He groans, the sound full of need, and it rolls through me, battering my senses. I'm naked, my skin on fire, and there's no denying the reaction of my body as his pelvis crushes against mine.

One of his hands is on my hips, and I reach for it, stepping back enough so that I can slide our joined hands between my thighs. I'm wet and slippery.

"I'm yours," I say huskily, my words stuttering as a small, unexpected o.r.g.a.s.m sends electric sparks fluttering through me. "And you're mine."

"h.e.l.l, yes I am."

He holds my gaze long enough for me to see pa.s.sion and promise. And, yes, understanding. Then he draws his hand away, the sensation making me melt a little more. He licks his fingers clean and my c.u.n.t clenches in response to that simple, erotic action.

He takes a single step backward and pulls his T-shirt over his head. Then he reaches for his jeans.

"No," I say, then go to him. I unb.u.t.ton his jeans and ease them over his hips, taking his briefs with them. His c.o.c.k hardens as I do, and I bite back a satisfied smile.

I slide down his body until I'm on my knees, and his c.o.c.k is stiff and magnificent in front of me. I tilt my head back to look at him. I meet his eyes, and I can tell he knows exactly what this is. It's more than desire and need. It's my apology, my submission, my promise.

I tease him first, licking the length of his shaft and teasing the crown. But I want more than that. I want to get him off. I want to give him that moment when everything disappears and he is reduced to sweet sensation. I want to wash away the pain I caused.

I cup his b.a.l.l.s with one hand and take his c.o.c.k into my mouth, and the taste of him, so very male, so very Jackson, slices through me, making my nipples hard and my own body demand attention. But I keep my focus on Jackson. On the way he's thrust one arm out for balance. On the low moans he is making as pa.s.sion builds.

Andoh yeson the way he holds my head and guides me as he gets closer and closer and then finally explodes in my mouth.

He is holding me in place, and I have no choice but to swallow. And after I do, I stand up and kiss him, sharing the taste of him as he slides his hand between my legs to stroke my slick c.u.n.t. "Your turn now."

I squeal as he scoops me up, then lays me on the bed. Then slowly, he strokes his hands over me, his touch driving me wild because there is no part of me to which he doesn't minister. I squirm and writhe under his attention, my skin sensitive, my body needy. He doesn't relent. Not until every tiny nerve ending is tied to my core, and when he thrusts inside mewhen he strokes my c.l.i.t and sends me reelingit is like the sun is rising inside me, illuminating my entire body, turning me brighter and brighter until I can't contain it any longer and I explode into golden rays of sunshine.

I come down slowly, trembling, then curl up in his arms. "Is it this way for everybody?" I ask. "This intensity. This feeling that I'll shrivel up if I can't touch you?" I tilt my head up to look at him. "You know what I mean, right?"

"You know I do."

"Is it because we're a little bit lost, you and I?"

He kisses the top of my head. "Lost? Oh, no, sweetheart. Not anymore. We're found."

After a moment, he eases us both up off the bed so that we can get under the covers. After we're settled again, he turns to get something off the bedside table. I recognize it immediatelyit's his grandmother's ring. My ring. The one I'd left behind.

"You asked me to marry you once before. Now it's my turn."

He slides out of bed, and to my delight, drops to one knee as he holds out the ring. "Sylvia Brooks, will you marry me?"

I look at him, and cannot hide my smile.

Second chances. That seems to be the way it is with Jackson and me.

And there's no way am I s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g this one up.

"Yes," I say, and as I tug him back onto the bed and kiss him sweetly, only one thing goes through my head. Wife, I think.

And I really can't wait.

epilogue.

I stand on the main beach at Santa Cortez with Jackson beside me and the world that we have built rising up behind us, fresh and clean and so intertwined with the landscape that it is hard to believe that the buildings didn't burst up with the formation of the island.

Everything is ready. The guest rooms are primped and polished and made up with fresh linens. The restaurants are stocked. The gift stores overflow with merchandise. The pools sparkle. Not a detail has been spared, and every magazine and newspaper and blog that has covered the resort has called it one of Stark Real Estate Development's crowning achievements.

The guest list is already overflowing, and we are booked up for the next two years.

The official opening is over a month away, but already the island is bustling with administration, maintenance, and service staff. Most have moved permanently to their quarters on the island, but today there are about a dozen more people on the island who do not live here full-time.

They've come for our wedding.

The judge who stands before us has already read most of the vows, but I've barely heard a word. It's hard to hear from up here where I'm floating above the earth.

But when he asks if we have the rings and Ronnie bounces and squeals, "I do! I do!" I know that it is real.

I take Jackson's ring from the little pillow that she holds out to me, then gently slide it onto his finger, his eyes never leaving mine.

He does the same, and I swear that I can feel the shock of this moment, this new reality, settle through me as the ring encircles my finger, just as Jackson has encircled my life.

"You may kiss the bride," the judge says, and Jackson wastes no time. He pulls me to him, leans me back, and kisses me thoroughly, all to the applause and catcalls of our small audience.

"Well, h.e.l.lo, wife," Jackson says, when he rights me.

"h.e.l.lo, husband," I reply, then wrap my arms around him and sigh.

"We'll leave you two alone soon," Nikki promises as she and Damien approach. "But we have a little reception set up in the main restaurant."

I glance at Jackson, who just shakes his head. We'd not intended a reception. Just a quick wedding squeezed in before my work life got crazy with the opening.

And, of course, a long weekend for a honeymoon.

The resort was designed so that a dozen bungalows on the north side of the island are actually for sale. And Nikki and Damiennow otherwise known as my sister- and brother-in-lawgave us one for a wedding gift.

"Just a little something for the happy couple," Damien had said to Jackson, obviously trying to hold back a smile. "I figured if you designed it, then it must be to your taste."

Jackson had laughed. And though I'd feared he'd turn down the gift as too extravagant, he'd only said, "h.e.l.l, yeah."

Now, he bends down so that Ronnienow officially Veronica Amelia Steelecan ride piggyback as he and I hold hands on our walk to the reception.

He's barefoot in deference to the sand, but he'd told me that he wasn't going to get married if he wasn't wearing a suit. It's black and perfectly tailored, the gloss of the fine material gleaming in the sun. His only nod to the casual nature of our wedding is the fact that he's not wearing a tie. Instead, his collar is open, and when he turns to grin at me, wide and happy, I see the indentation at the base of his neck.

I'm struck with the overwhelming urge to kiss him there. To lick him and taste him. Because he is truly mine now. Every delicious inch of him.

I manage to control myself; after all, we now have all the time in the world.

Unlike my husband, I'd taken the beachside nature of our wedding into consideration. I'm wearing a white silk tank top embroidered with delicate silver threads and a flowing white skirt. It's not sheer, but gives the illusion that it is, and the layers of gauzy material flicker in the breeze as we walk.

One of the resort's bands is playing when we arrive at the restaurant, and there is a beautiful three-tiered wedding cake standing in the middle of the dance floor. Ronnie takes off running for it, and when she turns back, her eyes are big. "Mommy! Daddy! Cake!" She claps her hands, delighted, and everyone around begins to laugh. I, however, am about to cry.

Because today, finally, I really am Mommy. And next month it will be even more official, because that's when my adoption of Ronnie will be finalized.

I know that I'm not a perfect mother, and there are times when I still look at Ronnie and wonder what the h.e.l.l I'm doing, but at the same time, I know that I'm doing my best. And I know that Jackson has my back.

More than that, I'm not scared anymore because I know that Ronnie is growing up healthy and happy and loved, and that's what matters most.

I take Jackson's hand and squeeze. He looks down at me, then gently kisses my forehead. "I know," he said softly. "Me, too."

We dance, Jackson and me, then Jackson and Ronnie, then me and Ethan who has been grinning like a fool through the whole wedding. He pa.s.ses me off to Ca.s.s, who whispers that I've given her ideas as she glances over at Siobhan who is sitting at one of the tables having what appears to be a very serious conversation with Ronnie. I even dance with Damien once, while Jackson spins Nikki on the floor.

Betty and Stella are here, too, along with Megan, who is looking happy and healthy in a flowing yellow sundress. Jackson takes both her and Ronnie onto the floor when the band starts playing "The Twist." It doesn't last long; the little girl keeps dissolving into giggles before shouting "Daddy! Meggie! I twisting!"

Of everyone in our lives, only our fathers and my mother are notably absent. My father, because he still has months to go on his negotiated sentence. My mom because that's who she is, and I have come to terms with that. And Jeremiah because he is not welcome.

Jackson told me about what happened with Graham Elliott, of course. And though Jeremiah had later sworn to Jackson that he would never have pursued the movie if he'd known about Ronnie, to Jackson that was too little, too late.

Because the betrayal that Jeremiah perpetrated wasn't about Ronnie. It wasn't even about the movie. It was about Jeremiah playing off Jackson's life for personal gain. And Jackson told his father firmly and finally to stay away from his life, and also away from his wedding.

But I am not thinking about Jeremiah Stark today. Not when it's my wedding day and all around us is food and laughter and fun. Most of all, there is love. And when the festivities endwhen Damien and Nikki scoop Ronnie up to take her back to the Malibu house for a long weekendI hold Jackson close as we say goodbye to our friends, then kiss our little girl goodbye.