had known of the tiny life growing inside of her. She’d known that his child was in her womb when she’d taken her final lover, and she’d known that his child was in her womb when she’d ingested the fatal drug cocktail.
At that moment of understanding, hate had spread through his body like a virus, decimating his ability to feel tender emotions.
Two
“She could be nice sometimes,” Taylor said, betraying the soft heart behind that tough exterior.
“When she wasn’t drugged to the gills.” He knew too much about the kind of pain “nice” Bonnie could inflict.
“I wonder why she did all those things.”
He knew she was talking about the drugs and that final affair, unearthed by the press and gleefully announced to the world. What would she say if he told her that Bonnie’s famous lover had been the last in a string of men?
He’d stopped touching Bonnie as soon as he’d discovered the infidelities. His love for her had died long before. After a lonely, barren childhood, her joyful charm had drawn him, only to teach him an even deeper sense of isolation. They hadn’t shared a bed again, except for that day four months before her death. After hours spent at work in Taylor’s company, aching for things he had no right to demand, his defenses had been at an all-time low. Seeing Bonnie smile after weeks of depression, he’d desperately wanted to believe that they could salvage their marriage.
As the forgotten child of an impulsive celebrity union, he’d promised himself that he would not repeat the cycle of divorce and remarriage that characterized his parents, and which had already spread to his three younger half siblings. Even the youngest, Valetta, had a broken marriage under her belt.
Driven by that promise, he’d kept trying to glue together his and Bonnie’s shattered relationship. He’d even let Taylor go without a single touch, stifling the hungry need her presence always aroused.
But even his most precious vows had a breaking point—he hated Bonnie for teaching him that lesson. The final straw had come the day she’d flaunted her faithlessness, meeting her newest lover in a place haunted by the paparazzi. That humiliating betrayal had forever severed any remaining loyalty he’d had toward the girl he’d married, and he’d immediately filed for divorce.
He still remembered her reaction.
“Oh please,” she’d mocked, cocktail in hand. It had been barely 10:00 a.m. “As if you’ve been faithful.”
The tragedy was, he had. The only infidelity he could be accused of was of the mind. In his bleakest moments, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Taylor, but he would’ve never touched her while a wedding band encircled his finger. Never. She deserved better than that.
After he’d walked out on Bonnie, a cautious hope had taken root in his heart. Once the divorce was final, he’d intended to seek out Taylor and see if someone so young and untouched could find something to love in him.
Then all of his dreams had crumbled to dust. Bonnie’s death hadn’t shocked him; she’d been trying to kill herself for years. It was discovering the murder of his child that had destroyed his hope. He’d been bleeding too badly to do anything but merely function.
Taylor’s voice broke into the nightmarish memories. “I mean, Bonnie had beauty, talent, wealth and you. What was missing in her life?”
Jackson’s heart slammed hard into his rib cage at her befuddled tone. “Maybe I’m not such a prize.”
“I know you’re incredibly loyal and generous. Your protectiveness might annoy your wife but she’d know it sprang from deep caring. That would make it bearable.”
Her naive belief in his goodness rocked him to the deepest recesses of his misbegotten soul. “I wish you were a reporter.” They’d savaged him after Bonnie’s last affair, taken his humiliation and broadcast it to the world. Jackson Santorini’s private pain sold a lot of papers.
When Bonnie had overdosed, they’d turned on him again, like a pack of wild dogs, vicious and unfeeling. But, they’d done such a good job the first time around, he couldn’t give them any more rage or any more anguish.
“Plus, you’re gorgeous.” Taylor wondered what she was doing. Her words were true. What was also true was that she could never deliver on the promise implied in the flirtatious tone. And even if she could have, she was nowhere near Jackson’s league. The man was linked with superstar actresses whose beauty shone from the silver screen and glittered on red carpets.
Just last week, she’d read an article where a titian-haired actress had stated that the reclusive head of Santorini Studios was her dream man. Though the megastar couldn’t understand why such an important man chose to live in so small a country, it made him all the more interesting to her. All the more desirable.
“I don’t think anyone would describe me as gorgeous.” Jackson’s response was dry. “But thank you.”
She scowled. “You’re not pretty, not like the actors. There’s nothing soft about you. Your face is strong, interesting…gorgeous.” She wasn’t going to back down. Just like the world-famous actress, dark-eyed, dark-haired Jackson Santorini was her dream man.
Some people might say that he was a little too muscular, but on Jackson, the bulk looked good. Very, very good. She wanted to reach over and squeeze one of those taut arm muscles to see if there was any give at all. Then she wanted to bite down on that firm, golden flesh.
And therein lay her problem.
Jackson had been the best employer she’d ever had. The most demanding but also the most appreciative. A permanent job with him would’ve been perfect…if she hadn’t stupidly gone and fallen in lust with her married boss.
Until she’d met him, she’d thought of lust as something frightening and dirty. Given her childhood, she knew that was understandable. But, the moment she’d seen Jackson Santorini in the flesh, it had hit her like a thunderbolt. She’d been flabbergasted, having no idea what to do about the heat that pooled in her stomach like high-octane fuel whenever he so much as glanced at her.
Even more disturbing were the other emotions that had crept in while she wasn’t guarding her back. Dangerous emotions like trust. And hope.
Not that she’d ever followed up on the attraction. Touching another woman’s husband was an unbreakable taboo. Even if her morals hadn’t stopped her, practicality would have—she’d seen firsthand what happened to discarded mistresses. But she hadn’t been able to stop fantasizing about her sexy Italian boss, even as she adamantly refused to open the door to any other feeling.
When the media storm had broken over Bonnie’s lover, she’d wanted to slap the other woman for throwing away a man of Jackson’s worth. Though she’d had no right, she’d ached to go to him, and try and soothe his unbearable pain. How dare that woman hurt Jackson where he was most vulnerable—in that proud heart of his?
It had been over a year since their last meeting but her feelings hadn’t changed. Even her upsetting experience at Donald’s hands couldn’t alter that, because she trusted Jackson on a gut level. She’d never felt safe with a man until he’d started bullying her with his protectiveness, walking her to her car and more than once following her home late at night to ensure
