Corinne Michaels - Beloved

“Cute is for babies and puppies. I can think of at least ten other words to better describe me,” he says against my ear. A shiver races over my body and I have to consciously work to steady my breathing.

I close my eyes and smother the desire burning through me. “Really?” I ask breathily.

“Hot, sexy, buff, handsome, fucking amazing, God’s idea of perfect … I could go on, but any of those would be acceptable,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

I turn to face him. We’re so close physically, but in any other way we’re miles apart. Still, I’m battling every cell in my body not to give in to him.

“Jackson,” I warn.

He takes a small step forward. “I know you’re taken, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

My brows furrow in confusion. “Taken?”

He looks down at my left hand and brings it up between us. “Aren’t you engaged?” He looks from my eyes back down to my hand where my ring used to sit.

“Oh. Ummm, no. Not anymore. We’re over and have been for a while.” I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell him the guy was Neil. I start to feel panic rising at how ridiculously screwed-up my life is and how all of this can come crumbling so easily.

“That certainly changes things.” His eyes blaze with unspoken promises.

“Changes things? No. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re my client.” Or how I’m a mess over the constant screw-ups from the men in my life. And it definitely doesn’t change how I know with every ounce of my being that Jackson would ruin me if I let him in.

“Catherine, I can’t stay away from you.” His voice penetrates through my thoughts, straight to my heart, and it takes me a second to find my resolve.

He cups my face in his hands, holding me, forcing me to look at him. “Jackson, I’m not with anyone, but this isn’t a good—”

Before I can finish my sentence his mouth is on mine. All at once, I’m surrounded by heat, strength, and power—all that is Jackson. The sparks I felt previously are nothing compared to the inferno raging between us right now. I close my eyes and lose myself in the feel of his mouth on mine. My chest presses against him as he pushes me back against the wall and tilts my head to the side. His tongue is against my lips, begging for entrance. I sigh, which is all the permission he needs. Our tongues swirl together as we kiss with fervor. Lifting my hands, I grip his hips and pull him closer. Wanting to touch his body, I trace my hands across the muscles of his taut back, over his hard arms, across the ridges of his abs. The way he feels against my lips, against my body, against my fingers … it’s incredible. I could kiss him forever—his mouth is heaven. Never have I been kissed like this. Jackson shifts and lifts my head to gain better access, and I willingly give it to him. Pushing and pulling each other, trying to get closer and closer, I moan, causing Jackson to break the kiss.

He rests his head against my forehead as we both struggle to catch our breath. I can feel the shift in him as he sighs loudly. “Fuck! I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” He leans back and looks over toward his desk.

I snap my head up, wounded and embarrassed by his sudden rejection. His words, the regret in his voice, and his now distant behavior has me in knots. My stomach flops and I feel sick. He kissed me, and now he’s acting like it was a mistake. I don’t want to want him, but I do. As much as I want to fight what I feel for him, I’m not sure I’m strong enough. But maybe I don’t need to be after all. Maybe my concern was all for nothing. His aloof attitude stings, but I shove down my feelings. I can’t let him know he’s hurt me. I won’t let another man destroy me.

I move over to the side of the room and take a deep breath. “Jackson, it’s fine. I should never have crossed that line.” I don’t know what line I actually crossed, but I’ll take the blame. He’s my client, and the last thing I need is for him to fire me. Besides, it will only be a matter of time before he sees the real me and decides he’s better off. My mind is spinning as the pain of his rejection swells. My God, how many times will I do this to myself? You’d think by now I’d realize that every man in my life leaves. They take and take and then I’m left cleaning up the pieces, praying next time will be different.

He moves toward me and stops suddenly. He swallows hard and rubs his hand over his face. He looks sad and angry. “You did nothing wrong!” he snaps and I take a step back. He lifts his head to the ceiling and shakes his head. “You’ve had a lot of shit happen today. I didn’t mean to …” He takes a step forward with his hands by his side, clenched into tight fists. I’m not sure why he’s so angry about it. I thought he enjoyed it, but I guess not.

I put my hands up to stop him—I don’t want to hear it. “Please, just stop. Let’s forget about it, okay? I’m a lot stronger than you think. I’ve dealt with a lifetime of this.” I turn away and look out the window. I don’t trust myself to say any more right now.

“Catherine, please …” he pleads. I hear him step forward but he doesn’t say anything else. It feels like five minutes have passed when I feel his hands on my shoulders. I shrug him off and turn to face him. The look in his eyes stops the hostility I was feeling. He looks devastated, torn. He swallows and his voice is soft, laced with pain. “I’ve wanted and yet not wanted to kiss you for the last two weeks. It isn’t you, I promise. I don’t want to take advantage of the grief you’re feeling.”

I don’t know what to believe. “Okay, let’s just call it what it was—a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m not sure about that—”

“I am. It won’t happen aga—”

“It won’t happen again on the day you lost a parent,” he says with a small smile. “Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I’ve been there. I know the pain you’re feeling. Okay?” He takes a deep breath and looks at the wall of pictures, staring at one in particular. There are so many, I’m not sure which one he’s looking at. However, he was a SEAL—maybe he’s lost friends? My heart breaks for him at the thought, and I want to soothe his pain.

“I’m sorry you’ve lost someone.”

“That’s not for today. Let’s get out of here.” He smiles and walks over to his desk, grabbing some papers. I walk back over to the wall, looking at the photo of Jackson—so strong and lethal. A chill runs down my spine. Jackson comes around to where I’m standing and looks at the photo. He’s close enough that his arm and chest are touching my back, and I know he positioned himself there on purpose. Every time he touches me I lose the ability to think clearly. I step away from him, trying to keep some space between us.

“You done ogling my picture?” he asks.

My jaw drops at his sudden teasing. “I wasn’t ogling. Maybe I was staring at Mark’s picture.” I lift my eyebrows and challenge him.

“I’m sure he would love that.” He smirks and turns to head out of the office.

Before we can leave, Jackson’s called over to handle an issue. I meet a few more people in the office as he’s dealing with things. Once he finishes, we say our good-byes and Jackson assures them that he’ll be back in the office a few times this trip to work over some contracts. Mark and a guy named Ski joke with him, telling him he can only come back if I come with him. He laughs and tells them he’ll think about it. I’m captivated by the way he handles two companies—companies that are on such opposite spectrums. It’s obvious the security company is his passion and evidently he’s good at it, considering some of what I’ve heard here today.

Once we’re back in the car, it appears all the joking and normalcy is gone. He seems distracted. I give him the quiet I assume he’s seeking and try to focus on my own emotions. I press my hands to my lips. I swear I can still feel him. I can smell his cologne on my skin. The car is filled with tense energy. I want to say something but I can’t. I know what his mouth tastes like, feels like. I’m fighting every part of my self-control to kiss him again. But his small rejection reminds me of the ability he has to hurt me. I don’t know if I could handle that again. I promised myself I wouldn’t go there until I was sure the guy was worth it. And right now I’m not sure if Jackson is.

We check into the upscale Ocean View Hotel. It’s chic. The concierge informs us that we both have rooms on the fifteenth floor—right next to each other. Thoughts of how close he’ll be float through my mind. I enter my room and the sheer beauty of it takes my breath away. There’s a four-poster king size bed that faces the ocean. It’s adorned with a fluffy white down comforter and luxurious soft blue linens. However, nothing is as beautiful as the wall of windows that opens to a balcony overlooking the waves. I put my bags down and explore the rest of the room. The bathroom is contemporary but still has the beach feel to it with blue and white accents that match the bedroom area. A huge two-person shower all done in marble is on the left, and in front of it is a square white soaker tub. Everything about this hotel is picture-perfect.

The sound of the hotel phone startles me. I rush over, picking up the receiver.

“Hello,” I say, a little breathless.

Jackson’s rough voice meets my ear. “Hey, I know we were going to leave right away, but I had something come up at the office that I need to handle.” He sounds frustrated. I picture him pacing the room and rubbing his hands over his face.

“Sure, that’s fine. Take as long as you need.”

“Shouldn’t be more than two hours. Sorry, but I have to go,” he says quickly and hangs up.

I flop onto the king size bed in my beautiful hotel room and stare at the ceiling. I’m dead tired, even after my nap. It’s only 2 p.m. but I feel like it’s 2 a.m. Jackson exhausts me—hell, my life exhausts me. Instead of taking yet another nap, I decide to take this time and call my mother. I’m still beyond pissed that she left a voicemail, but she’s all I have left and I need some answers.

I dial her number and press the send button. After two quick rings, I hear her voice come through the line.

“Oh Cat. Hi, honey.” She sounds so happy to hear from me.

“Mom.” My reply is clipped and full of sadness. I’m trying to control my emotions.

She huffs. “You got my message, I assume.”

“Yes, Mom, it was wonderful hearing that on a voicemail.” I roll my eyes even though she can’t see it. I need to keep calm. I walk over to the balcony overlooking the ocean and stare out at the horizon.

“Catherine, what was I supposed to do? Huh?” she asks and takes a deep breath. “You don’t answer your phone. You don’t call me back. I do the best I can with your attitude toward me. If you answered your damn phone, I wouldn’t have to leave you messages.” She sounds exasperated. I don’t have an answer to that. Talking to her usually ends with one of us upset. We both argue and fight, and most of the time it’s about something I’m doing wrong—according to her.

I’ve always felt second best to my mother. Either I wasn’t smart enough, didn’t try hard enough, or was too much like him. She would cry at night about how I was a constant reminder of my father. My father and I were pretty much identical, so I can understand how looking at me was difficult, but it was even harder having her push me away. The pain of having both parents walk out that day—one physically and one figuratively—was excruciating. I lost every idea I coveted about what my family was like the day he packed and left. He took more than just his belongings with him—he took my childhood. All I’ve wanted was for her to see me without seeing my father.

I let out a deep sigh. “Really, Mom? A voicemail? Why didn’t you call Taylor?” I’m trying to restrain my voice, but I’m growing more and more agitated with her.

“I shouldn’t have to call your damn secretary!” she yells. Then her voice softens. “I’m still your mother. I don’t know why you hate me. You never think of anyone but yourself. I wish just once you cared about what I’m going through.”

I choke back the emotion bubbling up. Once again she makes me feel stupid, as though I’ve done something wrong. I know she means well, but her execution leaves a lot to be desired. “I don’t hate you. God. I love you and I don’t want to fight. I’ve been really busy with work. That’s why I haven’t called.” And it hurts too much.

“Too busy to call me back? Ten times I called!” She gets frustrated again. This is her thing: she gives me guilt trips and somehow I come out feeling inadequate. She hasn’t yet asked me how I’m doing or if I’m okay.