Page 145 of Gilt

“We won’t know until next Wednesday. Actually, probably longer. I’m guessing they don’t have one-step paternity tests on hand.” Given the frequency the topic shows up on daytime talk shows, you’d think you could get a one-prick test at the supermarket that could tell you who your baby-daddy is in less than three minutes.

“If you’d let me finish talking to you, I could explain how I know.”

I need to break the connection sizzling between us before the lightening crackling around us becomes a full-blown storm. I pull my hand away gently, allowing the regret to show on my face. I have a tendency to hide behind my bitchiness like it’s my own feminist fortress, but Jameson hasn’t done anything to hurt me intentionally. The sins that stand between us are those of our parents, and if he can, I’ll allow him to tear them down. But while they’re still up, I need the physical and emotional barriers to remain intact.

“I imagine I found out like you did. My lawyers and researchers were able to uncover the nature of the lawsuit that was settled between our parents when we were both much younger. When I read the details of your sister’s paternity report, I knew what was troubling you. About the same time, a leak came through in Mackey’s team, revealing that my suspicions were correct. The FBI also knew my father was your sister’s father. The source also confirmed that Mackey had been in contact with you, using this information to pressure you into getting the DNA test my lawyers had worked so hard to prevent. It was easy to see why. If my father and your mother had had an affair, who’s to say you also weren’t his daughter?” He clears his throat. It’s a small sign of discomfort, but it’s there. Good to know that the thought bothered him as much as it bothered me. “But I knew you couldn’t’t be.”

“That makes one of us,” I mutter.

“I knew you’d think you were,” he continues. “That’s your biggest weakness. You need to have a little faith.”

“In whom?” I retort. I hadn’t been given a lot of opportunities to have faith in my life. My mom blowing up her marriage to my father hadn’t instilled faith and love. My father’s inability to keep the electricity on for more than six months at a time didn’t instill a lot of faith in authority. But really, watching my sister die because of one stupid decision in a car, that’s when I lost faith in the universe.

“I know you have a lot of reasons not to believe. And I know it might take you a lifetime to heal from all the terrible things that happened to you. But I’m going to be there for that lifetime. I’m going to spend every day reminding you that good things can happen. That it’s okay to believe and to hope and to have faith in other people.”

“What if I can’t?” I ask in a breathless voice. I don’t have a successful track record when it came to blind trust.

“Baby steps, Duchess.” He reaches out and brushes his knuckle under my chin. “Start with me. Have some faith in me. We’ll go from there.”

I had faith in Jameson, and it had been taken away from me. Why can’t he see that my cynicism isn’t rooted in some warped fixation on the past, but in the continued barrage of unfortunate events that had both brought us together and torn us apart?

“I can’t just have faith,” I admit to him in a small voice. I want to, and I want to tell him that. But he’ll take my foolish desires as a sign that I’m capable of this tremendous feat he’s asking of me.

“How about we start with something concrete?” he says softly.

I raise one eyebrow. He’s going to need a miracle if he’s asking me to make this leap. Then again, I’m going to need a miracle if I plan to walk out of here alone tonight. I want him, and I want the picture he’s painting. But is it a future I can ever have?

“Oh Duchess, I’m sorry they broke you.” The light finger on my jaw shifts and his whole palm cups the side of my face. His touch feels warm and comforting and right, so how could it ever be wrong? “But I’m going to fix you.”

“You can’t.” The sooner he figures that out, the better off we’ll both be.

“Look at me,” he demands, and when I open my eyes, his burn into mine. “I’m Jameson West, and I can do anything I want. So, when I say I’ll spend my life teaching you how to have faith—when I say I’m going to fix you—I will.”

I want so badly to trust him, but in my experience, dreams don’t come true.

“I told you that I had proof. We’ll start with one concrete reason why you should believe in us.”

“And what is that?” I snap, as I feel the wounds in my heart begin to crack open.

“Your DNA,” he says. “It doesn’t match my father’s. For good measure, it doesn’t match mine, either. You aren’t related to me, Emma Southerly.”

I can’t process what he’s saying, how he knows this. He takes my silence for exactly what it is, disbelief. Sighing, he reveals the source of his findings. “You were sleeping at my house, remember? I borrowed your hairbrush, your toothbrush. Hell, there was a whole team in the guest bedroom. You could probably be cloned.”

“What does that mean? How can they know so soon? Mackey said...”

“Mackey’s using the resources of a government-funded laboratory. I had labs in New York, Switzerland and London test and send results. Their findings were all quite clear. We’re not related. So, as to your question, what does that mean? It means that you’re going to lock your car, and then you’re going to get into the passenger seat of mine. My jet is waiting on standby. It’s your birthday, Duchess, and I’m taking you wherever you want to go. The registered flight plan has us going to New York, but from there we can go wherever, so long as that place has a bed.”

“A bed?” I choke out the word. My cheeks flush with heat as the memories I’ve done my best to erase flash through my mind. There’s no stopping them now that Jameson has drained the fight from me.

“It’s your birthday.” His voice is low and suggestive. Apparently, he hasn’t forgotten the date or why it is important. He had been the one to set the rule and force me to agree: we wouldn’t sleep together until then. He smirks as if reading my mind. “You’re 18, Duchess, and that means you’re mine.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

My hand stays tightly clutched in Jameson’s until we reach the airfield. The only time I let it go is to send Josie a text that I won’t be back tonight. I spot Maddox’s bulky form waiting by the plane. I guess there’s no way that I’m going anywhere without protection. Jameson gives me an apologetic smile as he releases my hand, but he’s out of the car and around to my door before the heat of his touch has fully dissipated. This time, when his fingers knit through mine, I suspect he won’t be letting go.

We climb the stairs into the main cabin of the jet together. Jameson pauses to whisper instruction to Maddox and the rest of the crew.

I’ve been in the West family private jet before, but that fact does nothing to lessen the excitement I feel now. Luxurious private travel had usually been available to me when it came to one route only: Las Vegas to Palm Springs and back again. Knowing this plane could take me anywhere is the best birthday present I could ever ask for.