Love Left Behind (52 page)

"You're
right," he said grimly, meeting my gaze. "You don't think I don't
know that?" He glanced down at my body, not with desire but with sadness.
"You've lost weight."

"I appreciate your
concern," I said in a scathing tone. "It's so kind of you to strip me
naked and comment on my body."

"You're still the
most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Jackson said huskily as he released
my wrist, gliding both his hands up my back and pulling me against him. His
voice was muffled against my hair but I heard his next two words. "Love
me."

My body jerked in
response, in a combination of desire, fear and self-loathing. I hated myself
for still wanting Jackson despite everything he had done to me. He had betrayed
me, stripped me naked, humiliated me, yet I still hungered for him. I was as
sick as he was. I needed to end this.

"Whatever I felt
for you died last week. If I can't trust you, I can never be with you. And I've
learned that I can't trust you. I'm a slow learner, but it’s finally sunk in.
Please just leave me alone."

Jackson didn't move,
his face still buried in the crook of my neck. We stayed in the awkward embrace
for a long time, my hands hanging loose at my sides as Jackson burrowed himself
into me. I had to fight the urge to raise my arms and hold him close, to let
myself believe this man actually cared about me. I believed Jackson had some
sick obsession with me, but it had nothing to do with love. Love didn't feel
this wrong.

Jackson finally
released me, reaching down to pick up my clothes from the floor. I was
speechless as he tenderly dressed me, his hands gliding against my skin
reverently as he pulled my shirt over my head gently and steadied me as I
stepped into my shorts and panties. He then embraced me again.

"Goodbye,
Emma," Jackson whispered against my neck and I had to stop myself from
clutching him to me. "Don't forget me."

I watched in silence as
Jackson pulled away, his expression wistful as he gave me a small sad smile. As
he walked out of my apartment, turning to give me one last glance before
shutting the door behind him, I had the sudden fear that this was the last time
I would see Jackson Reynard.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I told myself I should
be satisfied that Jackson had finally given me what I had asked for when I
didn't hear from him the next few days. But it didn't make things any easier.
Eventually the days turned into weeks until I woke up one day, surprised that
it had been two months since I had last seen Jackson. There had been a few
rumors about Jackson and me breaking up in the gossip rags since we hadn't been
seen together for a while, but they were half-hearted and I didn't have the
paparazzi hounding me. Craig had disappeared the day Jackson left my apartment and
I stopped checking for him behind me.

Winter was a welcome
change, and I embraced the chilly air, the bitter weather matching my mood.
Work was in full swing and I buried myself in it, not finding much satisfaction
in my boss's vocal approval when I landed a huge textiles company as a client.

I was walking home one
cold November night from the subway station after work when Jackson's picture
on the front cover of a magazine caught my eye at a newsstand. I had avoided
any magazine or television show that had the risk of mentioning Jackson, but
his picture was unavoidable now on the front of Vanity Fair, his expression
grim and serious. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't resist grabbing the
magazine, paying the man behind the newsstand. The magazine was burning in my
hands as I rushed home, knowing that I was breaking the promise I had made to
myself to avoid anything that mentioned Jackson. I was feeling weak and I
wanted to devour any information about him.

When I got home, I
didn't bother taking off my coat as I rifled through the pages to get to the
article about Jackson. My heart stopped at the pictures of him, posed
thoughtfully in a sleek suit, looking sophisticated, urbane and untouchable.
His expression was impossibly bleak in one picture, affecting me more than I
wanted to admit. I wondered if he had been forced to do this interview because
of the one I had backed out of, the one we were supposed to do together.

I hungrily read the
article as it discussed Jackson's meteoric rise to fame and how each role he
played was a reflection of him. Most of the article was about his career and
what he was hoping to achieve in future roles, but the interviewer made
comments throughout the article about Jackson seeming somber and almost grim.
My breath caught in my throat when I read the last part of the article

Jackson Reynard seems almost solemn for most of the interview and I
venture to ask him the one question that I have been reluctant to ask since
Reynard is well known for shying away from questions about his personal life.
But I decide to take the plunge. I ask about all the publicity concerning his
relationship with Emma Mills, the woman who supposedly got away whom he
rekindled a romance with. Reynard pauses, looking even more somber than he had
throughout the interview. His words are measured but I hear a tinge of sadness
in his voice.

"Emma is the love of my life. Always has been. Always will be. But
we all know that happy endings happen more often in movies than in real
life."

When I ask Reynard to explain his cryptic statement, he refuses
politely. "It's a private matter and I prefer not to speak about it."

Reynard is charming for the rest of the interview, but I can't miss the
glimmer of bleakness I see in his eyes. Reynard is a man of few words when it comes
to his personal life, but his expressive face makes me think that there may be
trouble in his relationship with Mills. We loved the story of a famous movie
star falling for the girl-next-door and we can only hope that this story has a
happy ending.

The magazine slid from
my fingers, my emotions making my throat feel tight. I cursed myself for
reading the article as desolation pierced my soul, making me feel more alone
than ever. How could Jackson say that I was the love of his life, yet betray
me? A slither of doubt ran through me. Maybe I had overreacted. Maybe Jackson
had been telling the truth and he had just wanted answers from Claire.

I shook my head,
wanting to rid myself of these thoughts. They did nothing but make the pain
sharper, more pronounced. I promised myself that I would avoid anything about
Jackson Reynard from now on.

It was hard not to
think about him the next day. I had a meeting with one of my clients whose
office was near his apartment and I had to force myself not to walk past it afterwards.
Instead, I decided to eat lunch at Andrews before I returned to work, not being
able to dismiss my thoughts of Jackson completely. The Vanity Fair interviewer
had mentioned meeting Jackson at a restaurant in L.A. so it was safe to assume
that I was in no danger of bumping into him.

That was why my heart
did a somersault when I saw Jackson on the sidewalk when I left Andrews,
looking larger than life. I was caught totally off guard and was in danger of
throwing up the grilled cheese and tomato soup I had just wolfed down. Jackson
looked as surprised as I did. He also looked utterly gorgeous in a grey suit
and a long black coat. His hair was still shaggy, which made him seemed less
untouchable, but just by a fraction.

"Emma! I didn't
expect to see you here." His breath misted in the cold air as his eyes
seemed to drink me in.

"I guess it's a
surprise for both of us," I replied with an uncomfortable smile. "I
was in the neighborhood for a meeting, so I decided to stop by Andrews for
lunch."

I blinked in surprise
when I saw a flash go off, blinding me temporarily. Even though it was in the
afternoon, the winter sky was dark as if there was an impending storm and the
flash made my vision cloud.

"Crap."
Jackson moved to block me from the photographer, but it proved to be futile
when a few more men joined him, their cameras taking pictures frantically. It
had been a while since I had paparazzi take my picture and I wondered if it had
anything to do with the article in Vanity Fair.

"Come on,"
Jackson said, grabbing my hand and steering me away from the photographers. I
followed him blindly, the panic of being followed by the photographers
overtaking any reservations I had about being with Jackson. We ducked into a
building and I noticed too late that we were in the lobby of Jackson's
apartment building.

"What are we doing
here?" I asked warily.

"I'm trying to
evade the paparazzi. They know better than to try and come in here."
Jackson raised his brows at me. "Unless you want to take your chances with
them outside. Be my guest."

I sighed, spotting Sam
smiling widely at us. "Emma! Good to see you!"

"It's good to see
you too, Sam," I said with a half-hearted smile. Sam walked over to the
elevators and pressed the button to call for it. He waved us in when the doors
opened.

"We're not going
up, Sam," I said, shaking my head. "We're just trying to wait out the
photographers."

"It's going to be
a while," Jackson interjected with a shrug of his shoulders. "We
might as well wait it out being comfortable."

I didn't know what
possessed me to follow him into the elevator. I cursed myself for falling right
back into the same pattern of letting Jackson dictate our actions, but he was
right. The photographers were foaming at the mouth in front of the lobby,
waiting for us to leave. Maybe waiting them out was the answer.

I glanced at Jackson
sideways as we rode up to the sixteenth floor. "You look nice."

Jackson quirked his
mouth as he looked over at me. "I had a meeting."

I nodded my head, not
asking for a further explanation. The strained civility was taxing and I didn't
want to continue our stilted conversation. I followed Jackson silently to his
apartment when we arrived on his floor, and my speechlessness continued when I
stepped inside. The apartment looked completely different. The utilitarian
furniture had been changed to furnishings that were more modern and the walls
were now a light grey instead of stark white. I noticed that the small changes
Jackson and I had previously made were still intact, at least in the living room.
The apartment still looked comfortable but much more updated.

"You've
redecorated," I commented offhandedly, not wanting Jackson to see how
taken aback I was.

"This was the
surprise you were supposed to see when I asked you to come over in my
letter."

I nodded my head, not
knowing what to say as I walked around his living room, my fingers trailing on
the back of the black couch. "I would've been surprised."

"Do you want
something to drink?" Jackson looked as awkward as I felt standing next to
the breakfast table, which was now made of glass and chrome instead of the
scarred wooden table we had eaten countless meals on.

"No. I probably
won't be here long." The corners of Jackson's mouth turned down at my
words but he didn't protest. Instead, he took off his coat, draping it on the
back of a chair, and walked towards me. I resisted the urge to back away, but
he just sat down on the sofa, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the
ankles. He looked up at me standing next to the sofa.

"Make yourself comfortable."

I gingerly sat down on
the sofa, leaving plenty of space between us, but I didn't take off my coat.
Jackson looked amused but didn't comment. I cleared my throat after a few
beats, the silence becoming too strained.

"How have you
been?"

"I've been
surviving. You?"

I nodded my head.
"Me too."

"How's work?"

"It's going well.
I just landed a new client." I couldn't believe we were having this banal
conversation, but it was better than screaming at each other.

"Congratulations.
I always knew you'd succeed at anything you chose to do."

"Thanks." I
nervously played with the buttons on my coat. "How about you?"

"I just flew in
from L.A. this morning. I have a few meetings in town before I leave
again."

"That's
good."

Jackson sat up suddenly
and I suppressed a gasp at his abrupt movement. I was relieved when all he did
was ask me another question. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

"Going home to
Maryland. What about you?"

"Same. Going home
to Westchester."

"Tell your mother
I said hello."

"My mother's not
too happy with you at the moment."

I sputtered at
Jackson's statement. "What do you mean, she's not happy with me?"

Jackson smiled at me,
looking wistful. "I told her you broke my heart, so she's holding a
grudge. She's actually taking my side this time."

I shook my head, not
wanting to talk about our failed relationship. I was done arguing about who was
right and who was wrong. All that mattered now was that it was over.
"Okay, never mind then."

We sat in silence
again, both jumping when Jackson's apartment phone rang. Jackson got up with a
bemused look on his face, hitting a button on the phone instead of picking up
the receiver.

"Mr. Reynard,
Claire Ranson is here to see you," said Sam's disembodied voice on the
speakerphone.

I had thought
"seeing red" was just an expression, but in that moment, I knew it
could literally happen. I shot up from the couch, seeing a haze of red as I
glared at Jackson, unable to speak through my rage. Jackson watched me warily
as he spoke to Sam.

"Sam, hold
on." Jackson pressed a button before turning back to me, his expression
enigmatic. "Do you know what this is about?"

I finally found my
voice, although it was difficult to speak past the lump in my throat.
"What the hell do you mean? You're the one that lured me into your
apartment! Is this some kind of setup to humiliate me?"