Angelic

“Angelic, was this weekend simply about getting nailed by the famous womanizer Jackson Naile?”

I could hear the bitterness in his voice. He wanted an answer I couldn’t give him. I gave him the answer he was expecting. This way we could both move on. I had my answer to that eleven year old question. There was definitely more to that kiss.

That was what scared the hell out of me. That fear was going to keep me from finding out if there was more to Jackson than what everyone saw on the surface. I couldn’t risk my heart or my sanity to find out.

“Yes, Jackson, when I found out you might be here in person, I planned to seduce you. My plan was to get nailed, then walk away before I got burned. That’s what I’m doing. You are free to take advantage of any of the single bridesmaids without hurting my feelings.”

I couldn’t make myself more clear. I left no room for misinterpretation. I got up and attempted to put my empty glass in the sink. He gently held my wrist, stopping me. I couldn’t face him.

“Are you telling me you’re walking away satisfied? You had your fill, now it’s done?” I was too emotionally raw to read his tone. I didn’t know if he was hurt or amused that I could walk away from the great Jackson Naile.

Then he hit it home.

“Then why were you crying, if you were so sure you could walk away?”

I had to face this head on or he was not going to stop. I glared into those piercing blue eyes. I couldn’t let them sway me. It was those piercing blue eyes that started all this. That and that one amazing knock-my-socks-off kiss.

I stepped closer to him and planted my mouth on his. I let him take what he wanted. I let him run his fingers through my hair. The moment he moaned into my mouth, I pulled back.

“See, no tears,” I mockingly told him. “Goodnight, Jackson.” I left him sitting in the kitchen bewildered.

He would get over it the minute he got someone else under him.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. I tossed and turned and woke in a cold sweat. The memories of that kiss were not the only ones that haunted my dreams, though. Old wounds, old nightmares and old regrets came flooding back.

I was going to spend the day doing what I had originally planned. I would spend the morning in town. I wanted to get some shots of the coffee shop and other places I talked about with Mackenzie. Places that meant something to her.

The afternoon was dedicated to the ladies, along with an invitation to attend the bachelorette party.

I wanted to get some excellent shots of everything leading up to the wedding. I was hoping some of those shots would impress Jackson enough for him to want to buy some for his firm. It was my original plan and I wanted to stay on track.

Hopefully my decision to go to him last night wouldn’t impede his opinion of me as a professional. I didn’t want him to think I only slept with him to get him to consider using some of my photos. I would have to address the situation carefully.

I managed to avoid him this morning by going into town. Once I returned, I took a walk along one of the trails to gauge how far each inn was from each other. I deduced walking to the bachelorette party would be a wise decision. How far a walk it was would determine how much I would partake in the festivities.

By the time I made my way back to the south side, Jackson’s crew had arrived. I was pleased that there would be other people around as a distraction. If Jackson was concentrating on work, that left little time for him to concentrate on what happened last night.

I wasn’t ready to face him. I decided to get some pictures of the cabin where Richard’s and Mackenzie’s love affair began. I strolled along the path to the lighthouse and stopped in front of the cabin.

It looked small from the outside. Not as small as a closet, so I’d be fine. I closed my eyes and opened the old wooden door.

I opened my eyes and looked inside the small room. “Jackson, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Damn, was it going to be impossible to hide anywhere from him on this blessed island?

“Good afternoon to you, too.” His eyes laughed that he caught me off guard.

“You’re not going to make a habit out of scaring the hell of me, are you?” It was an amusing coincidence.

He was gazing at me quizzically with those piercing blue eyes. I noticed I was standing outside the door. I hadn’t attempted to go inside. I took a survey of the interior. It looked bigger than it seemed from the outside, even with the larger than life enigmatic man sitting at the small table.

“How bad is this claustrophobia?” He understood my hesitation in entering the cabin.

“Not that bad,” I stepped into the entry. I took a deep breath. The space really was a lot bigger than I had envisioned. “It has more to do with really tight spaces, like elevators.”

“Trapped in a falling elevator?” I didn’t know if he was trying to make mundane conversation or looking for an explanation.

“Something like that.” This was a conversation I couldn’t start. I wasn’t ready to talk about that, not with him, not with anyone.

“Not ready to talk?” He met my gaze.

“Can we call a truce?” I looked away.

“I didn’t know we were at war.” His low sultry voice cut through me.

I opened my camera bag to pull out my equipment. I could hide behind the camera. Hide my feelings, hide my reactions.

I started laughing.

“Did I say something amusing?” His eyebrow raised.

“No.” I grabbed the paper bag I shoved into my camera bag earlier that morning. I tossed it to Jackson.

“I was in town earlier, taking pictures, and I bought you something.”

He opened the bag, looked up at me, then peeked back in the bag.

“You said you weren’t going to spend the weekend in my bed, but you bought me condoms?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t help myself.” I snickered. “These won’t give you an issue in the shower.

Consider them a peace offering.”

“A woman who claims she is never going to sleep with me again buys me condoms as a peace offering.” His face was unreadable, somber.

I walked over and took the bag from his hands. I set the first box on the table. “This one's for maximum flexibility, for the shower.” I took out another, “This one has maximum lube, in case you don’t get the lady there before you’re ready.” From his expertise last night, I doubted that one was necessary.

He took the bag back and removed the last box. “This one heats up with friction!” He tossed the boxes inside the bag and handed it to me. “I won’t need these.”

“It amazes me that you can fuck a different woman every night, but you are loyal as hell to the brand of condoms you’ve used since high school.” There was a lightness to my tone. I wanted him to be aware that I was joking.

“It’s just,” he paused, “I’ve always thought of my shower as a place to get clean after sex, not to get dirty after sex.” His piercing blue eyes were dancing with mischief.

I closed my mouth to avoid gawking. The great womanizer Jackson Naile didn’t do shower sex.

He grabbed the bag from my hands. “Now, maybe if I remodelled my shower like Richard’s, I think I would quite enjoy getting dirty in the shower.”

“It’s also kind of a bribe gift.” I took another deep breath. “I would like to borrow your photographer tomorrow.” I waited for him to respond. He sat quietly with a blank expression on his face. I bet Jackson was an excellent poker player.

I explained myself. “The wedding day is usually all about the bride. And it should be. I’ll be spending the day following the bride and her entourage from place to place. Hair, makeup, you get it.” He nodded, acknowledging he understood.

“I would like your photographer to do the same with the men. It’s not the norm, I know, but I don’t want to do the traditional wedding photos. I want to be different. I want my work to stand out.”

“What’s in it for me?” He gave me that sheepish grin that went straight to my core. I wanted to slam the door closed and drag him to the small double bed taking up most of the cabin. I had to push those urges deep, somewhere they wouldn’t resurface.

Not while he was here, within reach.

I smiled. “I’ll share all my wedding photos with your photographer. There might be something you could use in the campaign. Deal?” I held my hand out for a handshake.

He remained unreadable.

“Only the wedding photos? Not the ones you took last night of the sunset? Or the ones you took this morning in town?”

“That’s right. There’s no reason your photographer can’t go into town and take his own shots. Or one of the sunset tonight if you want some for the campaign. But then, of course, you are always welcome to make me an offer for my shots.”

There it was, the offer on the table. I waited to see if he took the bait.

“An interesting proposition.” He stood; I couldn’t breathe, he was too close. I could smell the musky scent of the body wash we used in the shower last night. My body reacted instinctively. My eyes closed as my nostrils took in the scent of him.

I wanted to rip my clothes off and beg him to take me. My eyes flew open; there was that word again. Beg. The one that always brought me back to reality. He was staring down at me, his piercing blue eyes lustful and confused.

I backed away.

“I just thought we could help each other out. I understand if I’m stepping over professional boundaries.” I turned to leave; I had to get as far away from Jackson as my short little legs would allow.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, but I couldn’t turn around to look at him. “I’ll even bring him to the bachelor party tonight. Get you some real nice shots.”

He walked up behind me and laid his hands on my shoulders. “Truce?”

“I didn’t know we were at war.” I mimicked his previous tone.

It was a lie, my body was at war with the need to have him touch me the way he did last night. My brain was at war with these uncontrollable urges burning under my skin. And I was at war with what I was feeling for Jackson Naile.

What was I feeling for Mr. Jackson Naile?