Awaken To Pleasure. Nalini Singh
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his pleased shock, one fine-boned hand fluttered to rest on his bare chest. Heat engulfed his body but he ruthlessly caged the fire, aware of the fragility of her faith in his goodness.
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” Her answer didn’t satisfy him, but then she said, “I wanted to talk to you about the phone call.”
He was placated by that evidence of her trust. For this night, it was enough. “Who was on the other end?”
“Why didn’t you press for more information before?”
“I figured I had no right to know.” Her face was so solemn, so lovely in the frame of midnight-dark hair. He loved Taylor’s thick, curling mane. Dreams of the silky strands spread over his arm as she slept beside him had tormented him since their first meeting. “Do I?”
Taylor knew what he was really asking. “I don’t know if I’m ready to let you into my world.”
He was silent for a moment. “Why?”
“You’re…” How could she admit that she was scared of what he made her feel, what he made her ache for?
“You trust me, don’t you?”
The answer came easily because he’d always been far more than just her boss, no matter what she’d tried to convince herself. “I’m here.” And she wouldn’t be if she didn’t trust him on a deep, unshakable level.
That trust was rooted in the knowledge that he’d never coerce her to do anything against her will. Jackson was a protector. And she needed his protection from Lance. More importantly, Nick needed his protection. “Nick is the most precious part of my world,” she whispered, making a decision.
“I know.”
“He’s returning from camp in a couple of days,” she told him. “Do you want to come pick him up with me?”
“Yes.”
Taylor felt something change in their relationship at that moment. With her invitation, she’d accepted Jackson’s claim over her and made a claim of her own. But did she have any right to him when her whole being was wracked with fear over Lance’s threats to take her brother away?
“You only ever speak of Nick.” One big hand stroked her hair. Instead of fear at the intimacy, she felt a shy sense of pleasure because this was annoyingly protective Jackson. “Do you have no other family?”
“Not in truth.”
“Tell me what that means, piccola.” It was a masculine demand disguised as a request.
Taylor found that she wanted to tell him. He’d never been given any privacy with his life and it seemed only fair that he should know something of her as well. And the truth was, she needed to tell someone and aside from Jackson, who was there?
The first words took time, but he didn’t hurry her. Standing in the hallway with her toes digging into the carpet and Jackson’s heat surrounding her, she’d never felt safer. He might want her, but he would never force her—she’d stake her life on that. “My mother brought us up, well, she brought me up anyway. She died when Nick was six.” Keeping her voice steady was an effort. “I was twenty and her death wasn’t a surprise. She was an alcoholic.”
To her shock, right then, Jackson picked her up and walked into his bedroom. The only light came from the full moon outside. She remained absolutely silent as he pulled a blanket off the bed and then sat down in a window seat similar to others about the house. He slung the blanket around her shoulders and held her in his lap like she belonged to him, while he leaned against the wall. She sat up but his body surrounded her. Protected her.
“Why am I telling you?” she asked, wondering how it was that she felt so safe with him. And whether she should be frightened at the reason behind the feeling.
“Because you obviously need to talk. Did that phone call have anything do with your brother?”
“How…” She gasped at his perception.
“It terrified you. You only react like that when Nick’s hurt.”
Her nod was jerky. “It was Nick’s father, Lance.”
“Your father?”
Her blood seemed to turn ice-cold. Taking a deep breath, she told Jackson the reason why Lance cared nothing if he destroyed her. “He’s not my father.”
Jackson looked down at the flat sound of Taylor’s voice. “What?” The urge to wrap her up in his arms and press her against his chest was almost irresistible. He fought the urge because he needed to see her face.
“My mother, Helena, was pregnant by another man when she married Lance.” She stared fixedly at the dark square of the bedroom doorway. “My biological father was already married. He didn’t want his mistress after she became pregnant and refused to get rid of me. She was destitute.”
“That wasn’t your fault.” He was shocked at the self-recrimination in her tone.
“Lance never let her forget,” she continued. “Almost every week, he’d say something to remind her that I wasn’t his, that he’d taken her in when she was ‘knocked up.’ He didn’t even give me his name.”
Jackson felt his hands curl into fists but forced himself to remain silent, aware that she needed to talk. It humbled him that she trusted him enough to share something so painful. He’d had no choice when his secrets had been ripped from him and used to sell newspapers, but he knew just how much courage it took to deliberately entrust another person with such private pain.
“And she never stopped reminding me that it was because of me that she was stuck with a man who beat her when he was bored, and…and used her.” Her slim shoulder shifted as she took a deep breath that hitched. “While I was growing up, Lance used to disappear without explanation for weeks, and then return like nothing had happened.
“My mother used to wait for him, as if he’d come back and rescue us from poverty. Then one time, he didn’t come back. They divorced when Nick was barely two.” She stopped speaking, staring down at her hands.
Jackson wanted to strangle her parents. Instead, he gave in to the urge to touch her and closed one of his hands over hers, not certain that she’d tolerate any further contact while mired in the past.
Her eyes were confused when she finally turned to look at him. “Why did she love him for such a long time? Why did she? We both knew he had other women. Was she that grateful that he took her in when she was pregnant?”
Jackson could imagine her mother’s befuddlement at this child of hers who was so without deceit, a child who wouldn’t allow her to forget grim reality in useless illusions. “She sounds like a woman who lost her way.”
“Yes.” Poignant sadness colored that acknowledgement.
“Where does Nick’s father fit in?”
Fear clouded her gaze. “Lance didn’t return for him after our mother died. Even before her death, I was the one who took care of Nick. But now he’s back.”
Encouraged by her lack of resistance to their linked fingers, he reached out with his free hand and stroked her hair off her face, shifting his body closer to hers at the same time. “What exactly does he want?”
“Nick.” Pain devastated the pure blue of her eyes to a dull shade. “I’ll fight him ’til I have nothing left, but I’m afraid. He’s Nick’s father. I’m only his half sister.” She leaned just a little into his stroking hand.
He was pleased that she saw him as a source of strength. “You’ve raised him.”
“You don’t understand. Lance isn’t some riffraff—he’s rich. He always was, though he never gave us a cent. I suppose he married my mother because she was so very beautiful and he wanted her. But, then, he threw her away. He didn’t care about Nick then.” Desperation was apparent in