Chapter Twenty-Six ADAM #3
My heart twists painfully. She’s always waiting for the catch. Expecting people to strike her down if she allows herself to be vulnerable for once. It’s not difficult to understand why. The media has been tearing her apart since her father’s name climbed the billionaires list.
She learned the hard way to keep everything close to her chest. To trust only a few people not to spill details about her personal life to the press.
“Can we pretend a little longer?” I have the sinking feeling that once we leave the restaurant and get back to the palazzo, this ease will vanish. We’ll both remember how good we are at hurting each other. “I’ve missed this.”
Jackie’s gaze softens. “Whatever you want.”
I grin. “That’s a loaded offer.”
As dusk drapes the sky in a violet veil, waiters float around the terrace, lighting candles on the white tablecloths. The world shrinks to lowered voices and quiet laughter dancing with the distant sound of a violin, and her sitting across from me.
On the way back, the streets are quieter, canals mirroring the glow of streetlamps. They cast shadows across the stone balconies and white, flowery window frames of the old houses.
This time, the silence between us is comfortable, easy. Safe.
“I wonder,” she says, voice small. “If this is a version of what we could’ve been. If I didn’t…” She trails off.
I just nod. But the weight of it sits like an anchor in my chest.
There’s no point in clinging to lost chances.
“Look, ducks!” Jackie suddenly squeals, darting across a steep cobblestoned bridge with the clear and unhinged intention of climbing the railing for a better look at the little feathered family.
Before I can even open my mouth, her sandal slips on the damp stones. She goes down with a yelp, scattering the birds.
I don’t want to laugh at her. I’m better than this. I truly try. But she went down like one of those viral home-video fails. Her guards come running, but I wave them off, still laughing. Taking a steadying breath, I crouch to pick her up, and help her to the worn steps of a nearby house.
“So graceful,” I swallow a laugh. “Like a swan.”
She glares, inspecting her sandals. “It’s not funny. The strap snapped.”
I gently wrap my fingers around her ankle, resting her foot on my knee. Jackie inhales sharply.
“It doesn’t look swollen,” I say, thumb circling the dainty bone for tenderness.
“I’m fine,” she murmurs. “But I have no idea how I’m supposed to walk back.”
My fingers have a mind of their own, lingering too long, hungry for the feel of her skin.
“I don’t think I can fix it.” My voice drops. “I’ll carry you.”
“Or…you can help a girl out and head over there,” she points to a gap between buildings, leading to an area full of tourist crap, “and grab me a pair of their finest plastic slippers. Preferably, the ones with ice cream cones on them.”
“Jackie Rawlings would never,” I tease, already sliding my arm beneath her knees.
She squeals as I stand. “Are you seriously doing this?”
“Come on. It’s not far.”
I look over my shoulder at the guards on duty. They’re more neutral than the beige swatches at Home Depot. I take the lack of broken hands as permission to carry on.
“Quit squirming,” I mutter, though feeling her pressed against me is the best kind of torture.
“You’re insane,” she huffs.
“To be determined.”
Her arms loop around my neck, fingers threading into the hair at my nape, nails grazing my scalp.
“If you keep doing that,” I warn, “this short trip will take an indecent sharp turn.”
Jackie stretches up, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Do you promise?”
I swallow the need to answer with more than words.
In the green and gray stone foyer, my heart pounds against my ribcage, louder than the silence once the heavy front door closed behind us and everyone else scattered to their posts.
“You can put me down.”
I don’t want to. I want to hold her warmth a little longer, catch her scent on my shirt.
Even if it’s the last thing I want to do, I lower her slowly, her body sliding against me until her feet touch the floor, and my hands stay glued to her waist. Now that I’m touching her again, I’m not ready to let go. Not yet.
“Thank you for tonight.”
The chandelier light plays in her blue eyes and dances across the golden ornaments around the columns.
I crouch to unstrap the other sandal, taking my time. As I hook my palm behind her calf to lift her foot and slide it off, a rush of veneration washes over me. I’ve never been on my knees for someone else like this.
I look up, and her lips part just slightly.
My muddled state of mind should be enough to send me back to my room. Alone. But, yet again, the simple feel of her skin and the heat in her gaze make it impossible to let go.
“The night’s not over yet,” I say, voice gruff.
She tilts her head, curious and cautious. I can see the hunger in her gaze. She heads to the staircase without a word.
I’m pulled by that invisible thread. I realize now it never unwound, only tightened, coiling somewhere deep inside me, waiting for the moment she’d tug again. My body is taut, burning for her.
We pass through the carved wooden doors in silence, and head up the stairs, her steps muffled by the thick carpet.
I take in all the details of her silhouette. The beauty mark above her right elbow, the ends of her tousled blonde hair.
The delicate ankles as she takes each step barefoot.
And the way that light green fabric hugs her ass? Glorious.
Shadows play along the banister’s marble embroidery, bringing the statues and oil paintings to life.
When we reach our floor, we pass the silk wall panels, the same color as the lagoon, and stop between our bedroom doors.
Facing each other in the middle of the hallway, the air is heavy with expectation.
Jackie holds herself back, letting me set the script. Her throat flexes with her swallow, and I can barely stop myself from devouring her right here in the hallway.
Last time we crashed into each other in a tempest of fury, consumed by the current, oblivious to the consequences. Now, it’s a choice.
In this hundred-year-old home, it all feels like a dream, so I reach out, asking for permission. Waiting.
Is she as scared as I am? Of wanting something so badly, it feels like your skin can’t stretch enough to hold it?
And she reaches back. After a moment of hesitation, she places her palm over mine, and I step back, opening the door to my room.
In front of the golden embroidered bed, the room feels like stepping into another world. A place where we can pretend the past isn’t standing between us like a wall.
I pull her close, and she leans in without reserve. Towering over her, I cup her jaw, thumb caressing her lower lip. I follow the line down her throat, my hand gliding to the space between her breasts.
She bites her lip, looking uncertain. “Aren’t you still mad at me?”
I blink. The question slices through the haze of want.
“It was always on your terms.” I exhale, hands still hovering. “Am I still hurt enough that I definitely shouldn’t want to fuck you against every surface in this ridiculous room?” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “I am.”
Her palm rests gently over my chest as she inches closer.
“But I’ve never been able to put myself first when it comes to you. You’re my first and only choice, Jackie. And you always will be.”
A sudden clarity washes over her features, and her breath shudders. After a beat, she whispers, “I miss who I was when I was with you.”
With every layer she peels open for me, I get a glimpse of the girl I fell in love with. My heart twists, aching for the closeness we once shared.
“I want to feel that again,” she whispers over my lips. “I want this. I want you.”
This moment shouldn’t be rushed. But she’s so close. I’m shaking with the effort to hold it all in.
This time, when my lips glide across hers, there’s no anger in it. Instead, every stolen sigh, every stroke, is painted in regret.
For not following her.
For letting go when I should’ve fought harder.
For not noticing that I’d lost her long before she walked away. Because without trust, there was never going to be a future.