Say My Name (27 page)

I say nothing; he’s hit just a little too close to the truth.

“You get off on submitting. On giving up control to a man. But you remember the shit that sick fuck did to you—how he took control, how he made you do things against your will—and it makes you ashamed when you get turned on, and that’s when the nightmares come.”

I hug my arms tight around myself, not liking his words and not understanding how he can be so damn perceptive. But so far he’s not saying a thing that I can argue with.

“But it’s not the same with me, baby. Bob stole your control. I haven’t. I’m calling it being used because that’s how you see it, but that’s not really true. It’s giving yourself over in trust. He took from you, baby. You didn’t give him a goddamn thing. But when you submit to me, you give me everything.”

I do not move. I do not speak. I just stand there as he peels apart the layers of my life, hoping that he truly understands what he’s seeing.

“So we’re going to do exactly what I told you yesterday. You’re mine, Sylvia. Wholly and completely. You’re ready for me when I say and how I say. You’re mine to pleasure. To take. To fuck. Do you understand me?”

“You said we were breaking that deal.”

“And we did. The first time around I was taking. This time, I want you to give control to me. Willingly, sweetheart. Hell, even enthusiastically. Because I promise you, I will make it worthwhile.”

I lick my lips. I am undeniably aroused—he’s definitely nailed that much. But I’m scared, too. “What will you do?”

“All sorts of things, baby. Because the more you give, the less scared you’ll be.”

“You’re talking kink? Bondage? Toys?”

“All of the above. But we’ll start slow.” He brushes my lips with his fingertip. “Is that panic in your eyes, or excitement?”

“A little of both,” I admit.

“You ran from me in Atlanta because I didn’t know what you were battling. But I do now, and we’re going to fight it together. And, sweetheart, I think this is one battle we’re both going to enjoy.”

I am breathing hard, my body tight with anticipation and wonder. Could he really be right? Can I really beat back my fears by giving in to Jackson’s desires? Hell, to my own desires?

“Will you let me help you?” His voice is tight. Earnest. “Will you give yourself to me and let me fight this battle for you?”

I draw a breath, seeing him now as the knight from my fantasies. “Yes. Oh, god, Jackson. Yes.”

“Good.” His grin is slow and very, very wicked. “Now take off your clothes.”

I want to protest that we are outside on a vacant lot, but the words won’t come. I have just agreed to submit, and damn me, I do not want to take back what I have given him.

And, truth be told, the idea of standing naked on this hilltop with Jackson is undeniably exciting.

I strip, then lay my clothes on the jacket he has taken off. Once I’m naked, he steps behind me, then cups my breasts and slides his hands over me. “You’re mine now,” he says. “These breasts, this body. This cunt.” His fingers tease me, and I tilt my head back, losing myself in the sensation of being stroked, aroused. “No touching without permission, sweetheart. I find out you got yourself off, and there will be a price to pay. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“This is how I want you always,” he adds, stroking my sex and teasing me to the brink. “Wet and hot and open for me. So close to the edge that the stroke of my finger over the palm of your hand makes you explode. I want you ready for me. Wild for me. Not because I demand it, but because you want it. Not because I’m taking, but because you’re giving.”

He’s been stroking me in time with his words, teasing my clit with tight circles that are building and building until I am quite certain that I will come so hard and so fast that I could fly all the way to the Pacific.

“Tell me you want that,” he demands.

“Yes,” I say as he turns me in his arms, then gasp as his mouth closes over mine. The kiss is deep and wild and deliciously intimate, and I cling to him, afraid that I will fall to the ground if I don’t.

When he breaks the kiss, he breaks all contact, and I whimper, because I was so very close to breaking apart in his arms.

“Please,” I say, but he only shakes his head and tells me to get dressed.

“But—”

“You don’t want to be late, do you?” he asks, and I grimace, because I have entirely forgotten that we are supposed to be in Malibu.

I slip on the dress then bend for my panties, but Jackson gets them first, and tucks them in his pocket. “You don’t need those.”

“Are you insane?”

“Possibly,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean you get the panties back.”

“Mr. Steele,” Nikki says, holding out her hand to greet Jackson at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again. And, Syl, I love the dress.”

“Thanks. You look amazing as usual.” Nikki is blessed with the kind of girl-next-door good looks that win beauty pageants but still keep us lesser mortals from hating her. Today, she’s in a flowing blue dress that pulls off both elegant and casual. Her shoulder-length blond hair frames her face, and she seems to glow with happiness.

“Let’s get you both a drink,” she says, moving between us so she can take both me and Jackson by the arm as we walk toward the stunning staircase that leads to the Starks’ third-floor living room. “I was thrilled when Damien told me you’d agreed to do the resort. I think you’ll bring something very special to the project.”

“I’m happy to be on board,” Jackson says, and I can’t help but wonder if Nikki notices the way his eyes go to me. “Sorry we’re a bit late.”

“Traffic on PCH was a bitch,” I add, hoping Nikki can’t tell the way my cheeks are heating. Because the truth is, I don’t really want to be here. Not now. Not when I’ve got nothing on under this dress and all I want to do is feel Jackson’s hands on me.

“Not a problem,” Nikki continues easily, and I’m grateful that she cannot hear my thoughts. “Like I said, we want to keep this casual.” We pause at the base of the stairs. “Let me run through who’s here so you’ll know. It’s a small list. Just you two, me and Damien, of course. Then there’s Trent and Aiden—they’re in the real estate division,” she explains to Jackson.

“I’ve met Aiden,” Jackson says. “He was in Damien’s office when I agreed to work on the project.”

“Oh, good,” Nikki says.

“I feel like I should apologize for turning down the Bahamas project. I hope you didn’t think me unforgivably rude.”

She laughs. “Not rude, just honest. And I totally get where you were coming from. Damien’s offered to help me with my own business dozens of times, and I keep saying no. Maybe when I’m more established I’ll think about partnering with one of his subsidiaries, but right now, I want to prove that I can do it on my own. Unlike me, though, you’ve already proven yourself in spades.”

“He has,” I agree, feeling as proud of Jackson’s accomplishments as if I had designed his buildings myself.

“I appreciate the compliment,” he says as we start to climb the stairs. “What is it you do?”

“Software,” she says. “Primarily for portable devices, though I do some web-based apps, too. I’m rolling out one very soon that Damien has his eye on. It’s driving him crazy that I’m not willing to license it to the company just yet,” she adds, aiming a grin at me.

“It’s true,” I say, because Damien has mentioned her software to me on more than one occasion, noting how much it could ease workflow around the office. And every time Nikki says no, I silently applaud her and their marriage. Because in all my experience as Damien’s assistant, I think Nikki is the only person who’s ever successfully told Damien Stark no.

Her and Jackson, I amend, thinking of the Bahamas.

“—since he designed this house,” Nikki is saying.

“Sorry, I zoned out. Nathan Dean’s here?”

“He is. I thought Jackson might enjoy talking to another architect. And Evelyn wraps up the guest list.” She shrugs. “So that’s the lineup. Just a small group of people connected to the resort or Stark Real Estate or Damien personally. I didn’t want it to be overwhelming.”

“Nathan’s a little bit quiet, but a nice guy,” I tell Jackson. I spent a great deal of time on the phone and at meetings with Damien and Nathan during the design and construction process.

“And talented,” Jackson says. “At least if this house is any indication. It’s stunning,” he says to Nikki.

I know he found the outside impressive, because he commented on it as we drove up. The way the house seemed to belong to the hills, enhancing rather than overshadowing the view of the ocean in the distance. The entrance is equally awe inspiring, with a doorway that opens onto a formal living area backed by a wall of glass that reveals the infinity pool beyond. And the broad expanse of stairs acts as a second focal point, directing those staying inside to the third floor where guests are routinely entertained.

“Thanks,” Nikki says. “It was almost complete when I met Damien. I’ll take credit for the furniture and some of the paint colors. But that’s pretty much it.”

“The paint colors are stunning,” Jackson says, making her laugh. And making me smile. I like Nikki a lot. So far, I think, she likes Jackson.

We reach the third floor landing and pause there. To be honest, it’s impossible to climb these stairs and not pause at the top, because what you see upon arrival is so incredible that it takes a moment to catch your breath. The area is huge and designed for entertaining, and from where we stand we can see both the patio—the glass doors are now open to allow a stunning view of the ocean—and the stone fireplace that sits at an angle to the stairs so that it, too, faces the ocean.

That fireplace is the room’s centerpiece, and on it hangs a lifesized nude portrait, the woman’s face turned away to hide her identity. Now, though, thanks to press leaks, most of the world knows that the portrait is of Nikki.

I don’t know the entire story, but I do know that Damien paid a million dollars in exchange for Nikki’s agreement to pose nude. I have my suspicions that there were more terms to their agreement—quite possibly very sensual terms—but unless I ask Nikki outright, I’ll never know for certain.

Even so, I can’t help but see parallels between her relationship with Damien and mine with Jackson. It gives me hope, actually. Because despite all they’ve had to go through, the two of them are the strongest couple I know.

“It’s lovely,” Jackson says, still looking at the portrait. “You should be very proud of it.”

“I am,” she says. “I always was. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t pissed off when the press took my secrets and ran with them.”

“I understand exactly what you mean,” Jackson says, and I know that he is thinking about the movie. “I’d love to meet the artist.”

“That’s Blaine.” I look at Nikki. “Is he here with Evelyn?”

“He’s not. He’s up in Vancouver for a show. But I’m sure he’d love to talk to you when he gets back. Wyatt’s here, though. I forgot to mention him earlier.”

“Our photographer,” I tell Jackson. “I’ve got a portfolio of images of the island to show you. I want to include them in a marketing brochure, and I thought they’d also make cool artwork for the public areas, maybe the individual rooms. I haven’t chosen a designer yet. But I’d like your thoughts on that. I want to make sure that we hire someone who knows how to work with your design and not against it.”

He meets my eyes. “Absolutely.”

I nod, satisfied and, I realize, happy. Because it’s not just our personal relationship that’s come together, it’s our professional one, too. And the idea of working with someone as talented as Jackson Steele thrills me even more than working with a man like Damien. Not that I don’t love my job and think that Damien is freaking brilliant at what he does, but it’s what Jackson does—designing buildings, changing the face of the world—that has always been my passion. And now to be able to share that core of him—well, the thought makes me a little bit giddy.

His smile widens, and I am absolutely certain he knows what I am thinking.

“Come on,” I say with a smirk. “Let’s go say hello to Damien.”

“Actually, he asked if I’d apologize to you,” Nikki said. “There’s been a crisis at one of his production facilities in Malaysia. He had to take the call. In the meantime, let’s get you both a drink and make the introductions. Wine or something harder?” she asks Jackson as she leads us toward the kitchen area tucked away behind a stone wall on the opposite side of the floor.

As far as this house is concerned, it’s a small kitchen designed to service parties. In fact, it puts most residential kitchens to shame, and the main kitchen for this ten-thousand-square-foot Malibu dream house is on the first floor, decked out with more commercial appliances than most five-star restaurants.

What impresses me most isn’t the setup or the luxury, it’s that Nikki and Damien haven’t hired any help for the party. Even Damien’s valet, Gregory, who doubles as a sort of butler, is nowhere to be seen. Because despite Damien’s billions and the helipad in the backyard, at the core these two people are pretty down-to-earth.

I know that Jackson has issues with Damien, but I don’t understand them. And I hope that whatever is at the heart of them can be resolved, because I both like and respect my boss, and I truly value the friendship I’ve developed with Nikki.

Once Jackson and I are armed with scotch for him and wine for me, we head back into the main area to do the mingle thing. I’m a little nervous in light of our new arrangement. And for the first fifteen or so minutes I feel jittery and on edge, afraid—and, yes,
hoping
—that he’ll pull me aside and slide his hand under my skirt.

He doesn’t, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed that he hasn’t tried to push my boundaries here, or pleased that he’s in full-on professional mode.

And he is, too. Jackson is cool and confident with everyone he meets. He greets Aiden enthusiastically and once again thanks him for the opportunity to work on such a cutting-edge project. He compliments my skill as a project manager and elicits effusive praise from Aiden on my behalf, which is a perk of having Jackson at my side that I hadn’t anticipated.