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Chapter Twenty-Four
Lena
Ihesitated, not sure what to do. Jackson stood too close to me, his voice a whisper next to my ear, and maybe sort of sexy. I wasn’t sure what sexy sounded like, and I wasn’t sure why I even had that thought. I wasn’t feeling sexy. I still felt ugly, and I wasn’t used to the tenderness. My eye was healing and not entirely black and blue anymore. More greenish now, but makeup didn’t cover much, so I’m sure I looked very plain and unattractive.
My heart pounded in my chest as he stared into my eyes. I couldn’t move or didn’t want to move. Afraid to breathe, I stood still, not wanting the moment to end. I didn’t want him to think I wanted him that way. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t want him that way. My mind became a jumble of confusion.
I did want him.
I wanted to be in his arms, to feel his lips on mine. I wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked. I wanted to know if he would taste sweet, like the red wine we were drinking. I wanted his touch on my skin, to feel his fingers graze up my arm, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that intimacy.
As though he could sense my thoughts, he ran his thumb down my forearm and turned my hand over. Taking my hand into his, he seemed to study the lines in my palm. His thumb made little circles over them, and his eyes flicked to mine.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. Though I didn’t know what he meant. I swallowed hard, wondering what was about to happen. Then, all of a sudden, Troy’s scary and dangerous eyes flooded my mind. My splayed hand looked dwarfed against Jackson’s broad chest as I shoved him out of my way and ran from the room.
I stood in the kitchen for a moment, not understanding why I was even there. I glanced around at the gold and black speckled granite counter, searching for a reason. The opened bottle of wine we’d been drinking stood right next to a small picture frame holding a photo of Jackson and Brodie and another man I guessed might be their uncle. The family resemblance was strong. It might have been their father. Jackson never told me what happened to his parents. He and Brodie didn’t appear to be much younger than they were now in the snapshot, the scene around them festively adorned with a Christmas tree behind them and other decorations. Their arms casually draped around each other as they all stood grinning at whoever snapped the picture. They looked so … normal. I sucked in the sob that wanted so badly to escape, and took a deep breath. Not like Troy.
Jackson was not Troy.
Jackson was not Troy.
I silently repeated that simple little sentence several times as I breathed in slowly through my nose, out through my mouth, praying Jackson wouldn’t come in and find me so unhinged.
I managed to pull myself back together as Jackson entered the kitchen, and the horror on his face almost undid me again. No, not horror … pity. He pitied me, and that made me sick to my stomach. Only needy people were pitied, and I never wanted to be placed in that category.
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked, standing inside the doorjamb, acting reluctant about entering his own kitchen. God, I hated myself right then.
I managed a nod and stood, wringing my hands in front of me. I didn’t know what to do with them.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I let him into my head. The way I keep talking about him, you’d think …” my words trailed off. I didn’t know how I wanted to finish that sentence. I had talked so casually about Troy to Jackson like he was a long-lost friend or something, and that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
And now my desire for Jackson had me confused. I glanced toward the sink, finally remembering the water I’d originally come into the kitchen for.
