Undeniable Page 3

  For a moment, I contemplate telling him to stop the car. I want to go back to the station and back to my apartment, because right now, I’d rather lose all my credibility as a professional photographer, I’d rather never get a job again, than face Jackson Lockewood.

  If I go there now, I won’t be able to avoid seeing him. Even if I insist on staying at the hotel, which I really can’t, not when everyone else is probably excited about spending a couple of days in a historic house that’s been home to two presidents and three senators and has a spectacular cook, as long as I go on to Foster, I won’t be able to avoid him. And with just his proximity, he would remind me of everything we had, and everything I lost.

  Then there’s also Aunt Constance. I remember the last time I saw her, and the familiar, almost constant pain is like blades tearing at my heart.

  “Hello… earth to Liv Wilder.”

  I realize that Nick is waiting for me to say something.

  “I’d have preferred a hotel.” I say weakly.

  He spares me a quick glance, brows raised questioningly. “I have no idea why,” He remarks, “Especially when Jackson Lockewood mentioned that he was looking forward to seeing you again. For someone that hot, I’d expect you to be tearing down the gates.” He smiles and gives me another quick look. “You didn’t mention that you knew him. Is he my competition? The reason you’re keeping me locked up in the friend zone?”

  “My friend zone is a very comfortable place.” I say lightly, even though my stomach is in knots. I still want to be a coward and turn back, but I know I can’t do that. Grace Conlin would probably blacklist me, and even my friendship with Nick wouldn’t be able to save me then. No, Jackson has taken too much from me for me to surrender my career to him too. “You should be glad I let you in there at all," I tell Nick, “with your bad reputation.”

  “Well deserved.” He laughs. “But still the women can’t resist."

  “They want to tame you,” I tell him. “But I pity the one who succeeds more than the ones who fail. Imagine being stuck with you for a lifetime."

  He looks hurt. “So what’s the history with Jackson Lockewood?”

  “Nothing,” I shake my head. “I just knew him, them, the Lockewoods, when I was growing up.”

  “Really?” He gives me a quizzical look. “I didn’t know you grew up around here.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “Through no fault of mine.” He gives me another serious glance, and I find myself wondering again, if there’s something else in his flirting. "So was he always that commanding.” He asks of Jackson. “I literally felt myself fade into the background whenever he walked into the room. I think Elaine is half in love with him already, poor me. I was making some progress there before he arrived.’

  I’m not really listening to him. My head is assailed with images of Jackson. Yes, he has always been commanding, and intense, and incredibly attractive, I think silently, he has always had the power to make everything, everyone else, seem unimportant, and not just because I was hopelessly in love with him.

  “I doubt anybody can make you fade into the background.” I say instead.

  “Then I’m sure you haven’t seen your childhood friend in a while.”

  “No, I haven’t.” I reply softly. It is true. I have only seen Jackson once in the years after leaving Foster. It was my senior year in college, and I was working part time as an assistant to a popular photographer. For some reason, she’d decided I spent too much time on my own and set me up on a date with her cousin, a hotshot lawyer, who according to her, was hot, rich, and interesting.

  I’d still been battling depression at the time, and still crippled by the painful memories that had made me almost drop out in my freshman year. Even though, with May and Chace’s help, I had managed to catch up with my studies, get a job doing something I loved, and have a life, some days I still woke up wanting nothing more than to lie in bed forever.

  I decided to go on the date as a way to fight the feelings of depression. I forced myself to take pleasure in dressing up for a man, I forced myself to care that my hair was perfect, that my clothes were perfect too. I employed every trick I’d learned about enhancing my assets, and by the time I was dressed, it was impossible for me not to take pleasure in how good I looked.

  I’d been in a good mood when I walked into the restaurant. Maybe, I’d thought, I could finally forget. Maybe I could finally let go of the pain I’d been carrying around. If I liked my boss’s cousin, then maybe I could have some fun. Maybe for once, I could put aside the shadow of grief and loss that had hung over me like a cloud for far too long.

  I recognized my date from his picture. He was as good-looking in real life, and he looked happy to see me.

  Then like a bad omen, something had changed in the air in the restaurant. I’d felt it like a tingle in my spine, a tensing of my whole body, and I’d instinctively turned my gaze, only a little, and across a table from a silky head of wavy blonde hair, staring at me with a gaze like cold steel, was Jackson.

  The combination of yearning and panic was overwhelming, erasing all the thoughts I’d been having with only one. How much I missed him still, and how ashamed I was of the fact that I couldn’t get over him. I had to fight the urge to go to him, tell him how much I’d missed him, to touch him, and stare forever at his face, more matured now, but still as achingly handsome as I remembered. But the disdain I saw in his eyes, the way they felt like they were stripping me of everything, my clothes, even my dignity, was too much for me. I turned and left, and I was never able to give my boss a satisfactory explanation as to why I stood her cousin up.

  Even though there is a thick knot of tension in my stomach now, I doubt that seeing Jackson again would have as strong an effect as to make me run out of any room. I’m a long way from the girl who stood up her date because of one look from him. I’m a very long way from the girl who left Halcyon seven years ago, right before my eighteenth birthday. Time has healed me in many ways. I’m far from the days when I used to wish Jackson would come to find me. I’m far from the days of waking up with tears on my pillow. Years of study and work has given me some level of sophistication and thickened my skin a little. If I’m going to be in the same house with Jackson, then I’m going to smile, be cool, let him know that the past is past, and that he no longer means anything to me.

  Despite my decision, I still find myself surreptitiously checking my appearance in the side mirror as we pass the gates and glide down the long driveway into Halcyon. My appearance hasn’t changed a lot since I left. My dark hair has a few highlights in it courtesy of the hairdresser May drags me to once a month. Right now, it’s in the high ponytail I favor when I travel. Briefly, I wonder if I should bring it down and maybe brush it, but I resist the temptation, and not just because Nick doesn’t miss a thing, and I don’t want to answer his questions later, but also because I’m too proud to allow myself to care about my appearance because of Jackson.

  Thankfully, I’m well dressed. High-heeled black boots and perfectly fitting light blue jeans, flatter my long legs, and a dark blue cashmere top shows off my slim figure without being too clingy. I may not be wearing couture, but at least I wouldn’t be facing Jackson looking like something the cat dragged in.

  Nick clears the driveway, leaving the shield of the trees behind, and for the first time in seven years, I come face to face with the house I fell in love with when I was a teenager. It hasn’t changed. It’s still as beautiful, with the white stone walls gleaming in the sun. A little moisture gathers in my eyes and I quickly blink it away.

  “I can’t get over how beautiful it is,” Nick is saying, uncharacteristically sober as we climb out of the car. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to actually live here, can you?”

  I turn from my contemplation of the house and stare at him. Before I can attempt to answer his question though, I hear the sound of the front door opening. I turn towards the sound, and immediately, my heart explodes,
slamming into my ribs with a painful force as I take in the sight of Jackson Lockewood standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on me.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from him. His face is chiseled, perfect, and even with his impassive expression, he’s still the best thing I’ve seen all day.

  He looks older, of course. There’s no boyishness in his features now, but somehow, he looks better, every inch the handsome man he was always going to be. His shoulders are broader, and the sleeves of his pale blue shirt are folded all the way to the elbow, so I can see the strong, lean muscle of his arms. Dark gray trousers show off his narrow hips and the length of his legs. He could be a model, I think breathlessly, one of the more perfect ones, if not for the contempt in his familiar gray eyes as he looks at me.

  I swallow, and tear my eyes away from him, turning to Nick, who seems unaware that even the air seems to be crackling.

  “I brought her back in one piece,” he says drolly, gesturing towards the car, “and Liv too,” he adds with a grin. He looks from me to Jackson, as if wondering if the situation warrants an introduction. “You two have met,” he states with a frown.

  “Yes, of course.” Jackson steps out of the doorway and walks down the stairs into the sun. His walk is a long, loose, and devastatingly sexy stride. He saunters right up to me, and smiles, momentarily disorienting me. “Welcome back Olivia,” he murmurs. “How long has it been?”

  He hasn’t even touched me, and I can feel him, I can feel him in every cell of my body, in every inch of my skin. I pull in a breath. “Seven years,” I say steadily, unwilling to acknowledge that time, three years ago in the New York restaurant.

  He raises a brow, and there’s a small smile playing on his beautiful lips. “Seven years then,” He says. “Much too long, isn’t it?” He pauses and reaches for me, and I stiffen, bracing myself for his touch, but his hand only goes up to my hair to tuck a stray strand behind my ear.

  I look up at his face, searching for a clue to what he’s thinking, because I’m not fooled by his apparent friendliness. I know what he thinks about me. I know that, underneath his smile and welcoming speech, he despises me.

  “You look wonderful,” he says, confusing me further. Of all the welcomes I had allowed myself to expect, I hadn’t expected compliments.

  “Thank you,” I say, stepping away from him as I try to get a handle on the chaotic emotions he’s awakened in just these few moments. Nick is watching us, eyebrows raised in a questioning expression. I shrug and move towards the rear door of the car, not really listening as Jackson and Nick talk about the merits of the car. I open the door and reach for my cases.

  “Leave them.” It’s Jackson voice. So close, I almost jump out of my skin. He’s right beside me, one hand resting on the roof of the car, the expanse of his chest right on a level with my eyes. “I’m sure we can have someone bring them to your room.”

  Even as he speaks, I can already see someone hurrying around the side of the house, coming towards us, a servant, no doubt. Someone to lift, carry, unpack, and ensure that the Lockewoods never have to lift a finger to do anything menial.

  I ignore Jackson and pull out the case with my camera equipment. “I’d rather carry this myself.” I say. “It’s my equipment.”

  The next moment his fingers close over mine on the handle, sending an unbearable shock of sexual awareness coursing through me.

  I pull my hand away, leaving him holding the case, and move as far away from him as I can manage without looking too skittish. My heart is pounding, and I can feel the blood rushing to my face. This is such a bad way to start my short stay in Halcyon.

  “Then I’ll take it.” He smiles, reminding me of a wolf who knows he has his prey cornered. “You don’t think I’ll damage your equipment, do you?”

  I shake my head, but he’s already turned towards the door, leaving Nick and me to follow. I refuse to look at Nick as we take the steps up to the front door of the house, and as I pass the very spot where I first met Jackson, I find myself wondering how on earth I’ll survive a week of this.

  Chapter Four

  Past

  “DID you know Jackson’s in town?” Blythe asks, adding pink stripes to the red coat she already applied on my nails. My parents dropped me over at Halcyon for a sleepover a few hours ago, glad for an excuse to have a date night, sex on the kitchen table, or whatever they do when I’m not around. I hold my finger steady as Blythe adds a coat of glitter. I’ve already done hers, with red glossy polish and black half-moons at the tips. We’ll clean all the colorful manicures up and go back to our sheer nail polish before we go to sleep, but it’s the experimentation that counts.

  “No.” I reply to her question, trying to keep my fingers from trembling as hope flutters in my chest. It’s been a year since I first saw Jackson, but time has not diminished my reaction to him. Instead, my feelings have grown in intensity, so much that just the mention of his name is enough to start a bittersweet flutter in my chest. Even being in the same room with him is almost unbearable, and yet sweet at the same time.

  I’m always happy to come over to Halcyon to hang out with Blythe, and to lose myself in the treasure of books in the library. I love to visit Mrs. Shannon, the cook, in the kitchen or the staff apartments at the end of the garden, where she allows Blythe and me to read her gossip magazines, and watch all the trash TV and reality shows we don’t get to watch usually. But Jackson being around raises a visit to Halcyon from merely enjoyable to downright blissfulness.

  “Is he home?” I ask, keeping my face and voice cool, “I didn’t see him when I came in.”

  “No, he’s out with Lindsay Gorman,” Blythe replies matter-of-factly, unaware that the thought of Jackson with any other girl, especially one like Lindsay Gorman, with her bouncy blonde curls, perfect figure, perfect cars, and perfect clothes is like torture to me.

  I swallow, and concentrate on my nails, until the colors Blythe is applying begin to fade into each other. “Is she his girlfriend?” I hear myself ask, knowing that the answer to my question may likely hurt me, but unable to stop myself.

  Blythe shrugs, totally bored with the idea of her sibling’s love life. “Maybe. He hangs out with her a lot,” she says, unknowingly driving a knife through my chest. "But Lindsay’s a first class bitch. Sometimes, I just want to wash all the makeup off her face and watch her melt like the wicked witch of the west.”

  I try to laugh, but there’s an acute pain in my chest, so I only manage a weak chuckle.

  “Her step-brother though… ” Blythe continues, totally oblivious to my pain, “Carter Felton.” She sighs. “I’m so in love with him, Livvie, he’s just so perfect.”

  I listen as she tells me all the reasons why she thinks Carter might like her too, but I’m more concerned with what Jackson is doing. I torture myself with images of him with Lindsay Gorman, with the thought that they wouldn’t just kiss and make out. They are both in college, practically adults, so they’ll probably end their date with sex, and just the thought makes me want to cry.

  “I’m going to tell him I like him.” Blythe finishes, looking up at me. “I mean… I’m a modern woman, and I shouldn’t wait around for a guy, right?”

  “No, you shouldn’t,” I agree, feeling like a big hypocrite, because I know there’s no way I’ll ever have the guts to tell Jackson how I feel.

  I wait for my nails to dry as Blythe goes to the mirror and puts on a newly acquired pair of cosmetic contacts. “How do you like my ‘amber eyes’?" she asks, turning around to face me.

  I’m prevented from answering by the sound of a car coming up the drive. “That’s Jackson,” Blythe says excitedly, “I’m going to ask him if he saw Carter.” She starts towards the door. “Come on, Livvie.”

  As if I need an invitation. Being around Jackson, hearing his voice, and seeing that smile turned towards me turns me to a trembling, dreaming mess, but I wouldn’t miss those feelings for anything else in the world.

  I follow Blythe downstairs, descending th
e majestic curving stairs into the foyer, just as Jackson closes the front door behind him.

  I take one look at him, and my stomach drops as it always does. He is breathtaking. As usual, my eagerness to see him quickly gives way to the confusion and uncertainty I always feel when he’s actually around. When he looks at me, his gray eyes seem to draw me in, swallowing me. My feet fail me. My words fail me. Everything fails but my eyes, which I can't take off him.

  “Did you go to Lindsay’s house?” Blythe asks him, almost jumping up and down in her eagerness, and causing him to look away from me and turn towards her.

  He chuckles. The sound is deep and smooth and perfect to my ears. “No, Blythy,” he replies, with a teasing note in his voice, “I didn’t go to Lindsay’s house, I didn’t see Carter, and he didn’t say anything about you."

  She folds her arms. “I wasn’t even asking that,” she protests weakly.

  He laughs and leans closer to peer at her face. “…and what happened to your eyes, Mystique?” He turns back to me. “Your eyes are lovely Olivia, no matter what Blythe does to hers, don’t change yours.”

  Your eyes are lovely. “I won’t,” I manage, ignoring Blythe as she rolls the fake amber eyes. Jackson is smiling at me, igniting a sweet feeling in my belly.

  “Good.” He ruffles Blythe’s hair playfully. “Don’t let this little monster corrupt you.” She ducks away with a complaint, but he ignores her. “So what have you been reading, Olivia? Have you discovered any new treasures in our underutilized library?"

  I blush. Ever since he first found me in the library poring over a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets, he’s been teasing me about my obsession with books, even though he reads as much, if not more than I do.