For the second time tonight, Jackson has rendered me speechless, but this silence isn’t at all welcome. I was already aware that his father was a terrible son-of-a-bitch from my encounters with him at my dad’s restaurant. After Jackson’s story about how Alexander had treated his mother on her death bed, nothing about the man should have surprised me, but I’m stunned. Parents are supposed to protect their children, not screw them over by not only bedding but marrying their exes.

Hell, I hadn’t even realized Jackson had an ex.

The whole situation is like something off a Jerry Springer episode and it makes my skin crawl.

After his revelation about Jessica and Alexander, Jackson is frighteningly quiet. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when he zooms the Jaguar past the exit to The Brighton and his penthouse. He’s taking me home. A couple of weeks ago, I would have never believed that I would be so disappointed at Jackson Cade for avoiding me, but my chest aches at the thought of him shutting me out. I don’t want him to spend the night alone, angry about people who are toxic and undeserving of him. I want him with me. I don’t care if it’s inside of me, beside me, across from me—I just want Jackson with me.

Stealing a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, I swallow hard when I see a muscle tic in his jaw.

The sad part is, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry your skeevy father hooked up with your wife, but please don’t take me home without talking first doesn’t exactly seem like the right words. So, I sit quietly, staring at the back of my hands. When he pulls up to the curb in front of my apartment, I touch his shoulder.

Flinching, he looks at me. “I’m sorry, Flick.”

“Come upstairs with me,” I say huskily. He starts to shake his head, but I lean over the center console, holding his face between my hands. “Please, Jackson.”

He takes in my expression for a long time, but I challenge him, daring him to say no, praying that he won’t. Finally, he nods. “All right, sweet. For you.” He pulls around the building to park, kills the ignition and stuffs his keys into the pocket of his dress pants. “I’m not sure I can stay long.”

I bob my head even though my heart and brain simultaneously scream at me not to let him go.

Entering my apartment, I’m relieved to find a short, sweet note from Wendy—If by some chance you come home from playing with the pussy pumper tonight, I’m spending the night with Erik! I toss the note in the trash, then find the ingredients for my best friend’s signature Coke and rum. While I prepare one for both of us, I hear him on his phone in the other room, speaking to someone in a hushed voice. He’s wrapping up the call by the time I’m done mixing our drinks, but I hang out in the kitchen an extra couple of minutes before I approach him.

“This is for you, Jax.” His head snaps around from staring at the lush floral watercolor he’d given me. For the first time in nearly an hour, a slow smile spreads across his features. “What?” I ask hoarsely as he takes his glass from my outstretched hand, sending electric through my fingers with his touch.

“For starters, you hung the gift I had to fuck you into taking on your living room wall. And then you just called me Jax. You never call me that,” he points out. I rest one hand on my hip and shrug. “It’s usually Mr. Cade, Jackson, dear god.”

“Asshole,” I say with a little smile, letting boldness take over me.

“Yes, that too.”

Crawling onto the couch, I straddle him. He sinks deeper into the cushions and stretches his long legs out in front of him. His blue-green eyes burn into mine for a long time before I murmur, “I’m sorry they hurt you, Jackson.”

He sets his drink to on the side table and twists his fingers through my hair, bringing our faces close together. My throat tightens as his minty breath warms my face, and I shift until my knees are pressed to the back of the couch. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I don’t like seeing you hurt. Because I think it’s pretty fucking awful that a father would marry his son’s wife. I mean, I knew your dad was a shithead after that stunt he pulled with me at York’s but—”

“What stunt?” he demands, darkness clouding his features. Nervously, I lick my lips. I had assumed that Alexander had let it be known what an “ungrateful little bitch” I was for spurning his advances, but Jackson looks utterly confused. When I tell him what happened before Alexander gave up on personally collecting money from my father, that tic from the car ride is back, more violent than ever. “I wanted to strangle him before but now I want to fucking murder him. He put his hands on you, Felicity?”

An anxious laugh pushes past my lips. “Calm down. I didn’t say he tried to attack me in an alley, Jax. He just...” He had made me feel cheap. I’ve always hated dealing with customers who believe that if they throw down a few twenties, I might be willing to climb into bed with them. That experience with Alexander, though, was the worst. Putting on a bright smile, I tell Jackson, “He just touched me.”

“Just touched you,” he spits out.

“If it makes you feel any better, I knocked his drink on his lap. I’m surprised he didn’t remember me from that.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better,” Jackson growls. Dropping my dark hair, he circles my waist possessively, resting his hands on my ass. “I don’t want any man touching you. I don’t even want to think about another man looking at you, Flick. You’re good, sweet. Good and pure and so perfect. I wanted to break that motherfucker’s hand the day I caught him with his hand on your ass at York’s. I should have.”

“Jax,” I whisper softly, but his eyes hold mine captive as he continues.

“If you think I wouldn’t feel the same way about my father, you’re wrong.”

My stomach flutters at his words. When I dated Justin, he hadn’t given two shits about where I was or who I was with. There were so many times one of his friends would make an inappropriate comment about my boobs or ass in front of him, and he’d let it roll right off like he hadn’t heard a thing. But the man sitting in front of me—this beautiful man with his strong hands and his incredible tongue and his ferociously sexy voice—he wants to protect me. To make me his.

“I’ve never been with anyone like you,” I murmur against his lips. I bounce against him, smiling into our kiss when I feel him hardening beneath me.

“You haven’t been with anyone at all, Little Flick.” His reminder sends a tremor through me. “Why couldn’t I have met you before her?”

Oh, my heart can’t take this. Looking for a distraction so I won’t give myself away for feeling too much, too soon, I slide my hand beneath his shirt. I splay my hands over his chiseled chest, spreading them so wide I send buttons flying all over the couch and my living room floor. He never stops looking at me.

“You have me now,” I whisper.

He goes quiet, letting the uneven sound of our breathing and the throb of my heart in my eardrums whisper around me. His lips twitch, like he has more to say, but after a while, he merely shakes his head. Instead of talking, he kisses me. It’s gentle, the kind of kiss I’ve seen in movies during lovemaking, and I fall all over myself for him. Hooking his hands under my thighs, he picks me up, twisting our bodies around so that he’s on top of me.

“You really are mine, Flick,” he says in a voice that breathes new life into my body before he crushes his mouth to mine.

* * *

You really are mine.

I’ve heard a lot of sexy words fall from that man’s mouth—and he’s told me before that I belong to me—but nothing compared to the way he said it in my apartment. It was vulnerable, stripped down and raw. Somehow, Jackson Cade had not only claimed my body but he’d captured my heart.

His words are still playing in my head four days later when I’m at work. I’m in the middle of my shift when his fancy gift—the safe for work one—vibrates in the front pocket of my apron. I know it’s him because he’s the only one with this number, and I smile like an idiot while I check the message.

4:34 PM: We’re having a retirement party for the vice-CFO tonight at The Brighton. Since you’ll already be there, I want you to come with me.

Jabbing my tongue in my cheek, I lean against the table I was wiping down. I type and retype my reply a few times before I settle on a simple message that I know will inspire one of those low growls that always make my sex tighten and pulse with desire: Are you asking or telling me? He responds a few seconds later, and my laugh draws attention from Ziggy and Sabrina—who’d decided to finally come into work.

4:35 PM: I’m asking you to come to the party. I’m telling you you’re going to come one way or another. Happy, Little Flick?

Clenching my thighs, I bob my head as I type my message to him. What time?

4:36 PM: Eight. Wear white. And for fuck’s sake, Flick, wear panties. I’ll have to bend you over the open bar and fuck you where you stand if you come around me without panties again.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brooke asks, bumping my hip with hers as she walks by carrying a tray of drinks. “I’d swear you have a new boyfriend, but I haven’t seen any available men around here.” She pivots on the heels of her tennis shoes to give me a wink. “Well, not many.”

She knows. It’s so obvious she knows what Jackson and I were doing that day in my father’s office. And the scariest part is, I don’t really care anymore who figures it out.

* * *

Just like the hotel, the retirement party for Brad Gustafson is an upscale affair. In my white dress I’d picked up from one of those teen-centric stores at the mall, and Wendy’s floral pumps, I feel like an imposter. Thankfully, Jackson is attentive, keeping an overprotective hand on the small of my back most of the night as he introduces me to his employees. By the time he has to excuse himself to speak to one of his business partners, I’ve managed to relax slightly. I sit at a table with Nate Boyer, Jackson’s head of security, laughing at his stories about their time in boarding school.

Though this bald, giant of a man probably knows everything about me from my blood type to my last meal to the fact I wouldn’t be here if Jackson hadn’t bid a small fortune on me, I can’t help but like him. He’s funny and fiercely loyal to Jackson.

“You know, I’ve never seen him look so happy,” he points out, and we both turn our heads in Jax’s direction. Like always, I’m struck by how goddamn gorgeous he is, and my chest constricts when he grins at me. “Ever,” Nate adds.

“Did his … did Jessica make him happy?” Nate spins toward me, his brow shooting up.

“He told you about Jessica?” He lets out a low whistle. “Fuck, he never talks about that greedy bitch.”

“We ran into her and Alexander at a restaurant.” Jackson’s friend winces and grasps his chest like he’s just been wounded.

“She didn’t make him happy, but she made him a hell of a lot more pissed off when she moved in on his dad after he gave her the boot.” I nod in understanding and Nate shrugs. “I’m sure you can tell I don’t like her.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know her and—”

“Miss York!” Frowning over the rim of my drink, I turn to look at whoever is calling my name. My scowl quickly relaxes into a smile when I spot Elaine. While I haven’t spoken to her much, I’ve been in his office enough times to know that she takes Jax’s shit with a cheery smile and a calm attitude. I swallow my drink as she slides into an empty seat at our table. “I didn’t realize you’d be here,” she says.

“Jax asked me to come at the last minute, and you know how he is.”

“Out celebrating the big offer, I see,” she says giddily, and my frown returns. Though I hate him knowing about it, it was kind of obvious that Nate would be aware of my auction on V-Bay. I’m not too sure I appreciate the idea of Elaine knowing too. I love being with Jackson—god, I’ve never felt so alive—but I don’t want her to think I’m a gold digger. I don’t want her to see me in the same light as his ex.

I clear my throat and focus on the ice cubes melting in my glass. “I don’t really like to talk about it.”

“Of course not,” Elaine croons. “I know your father was so happy to get out from under it, but I can understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about it. You put so much work into it.”

A painfully cold chill winds its way around my stomach, and I take a second to catch my breath before I look Elaine in the eye. “My father?”

“Selling the restaurant to Mr. Cade. Your father was—” But she stops herself when she takes in my expression. The blood drains from my face, and I shake so hard I have to grip the table for support. Elaine’s face is a mask of confusion as Nate hisses her name. She stares helplessly between the two of us, then her mouth drops open. “Oh. Oh. Miss York, I’m so sorry, I—”

But I can’t hear her as I push away from the table and storm out the exit door. I can’t breathe. Can’t think clearly. And this is how Jackson finds me, pacing angrily outside the ballroom door, red-faced and panting and ready to explode.

“Flick, what the hell is—” He freezes in place, taking in the fury on my face as I stalk toward him. We’re attracting attention again, but this time I don’t care. I just want answers.

“What did Elaine mean about my dad selling York’s.”

He sucks in his cheeks and pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake—”

“What. Did. She. Mean?”

I shove his hand away when he touches my shoulder, and his own slump a little. “Your father came to see me early this week. He knew I was buying properties on that block and he wanted to sell.”

Oh, god. Oh, god. I stumble away from him, nearly tripping on my heels as I grip the first thing I can find—an ornate pedestal with a vase of fresh flowers on it. “Did you accept? God, Jackson, please tell me you didn’t accept.”

His gaze hardens and I know his answer before he speaks it. “Yes, I did.”

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to vomit all over his expensive shoes and the floor of his fancy hotel. I wrap my arms around my stomach and swallow down the nausea in the back of my throat.

“Was that your plan all along?” I choke out. “Is that why you were so goddamn awful about cutting us any slack when I asked you for an extension? Because you knew all along that you’d get the place somehow.” Again, he’s quiet, and I have my answer. I press my hand to my mouth, staring up at him with new eyes as he comes closer to me.

“Please don’t touch me,” I whimper, shaking my head.

“Felicity, everything has—” His fingers skim my cheek, and I slap him. Hard. The sound makes a terrible noise, a loud crack, and my heart sinks to my stomach. I’ve never hit anyone in my life and now everything burns—my hand, my body, my fucking heart. He jerks his head back in shock. I doubt I did any damage, but he still touches his face as he glares down at me.

When he speaks, his voice is dangerously low. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

I fist my hand to stop it from shaking. “Right? Is that before or after you fucked me? You must have gotten a good laugh, huh? Get the business, fuck the daughter at any cost. Jesus, how much should we thank you, Jackson? How much are we up to now?”

“It’s not like that anymore, Felicity,” he grinds out, pulling me to him and holding me by my wrists. He’s not gripping me hard, but my skin still aches from the contact. “He was going to sell to someone else and I wouldn’t let that shit happen. I couldn’t.”

“Because you’re so goddamn caring,” I snark back. I’m furious. So angry I could scream, and hot tears stream down my cheeks, dripping from my chin onto the white dress he had me wear so he could parade me around as his virgin conquest. “Congratulations, you won. I’m sure whatever you’ve spent on my father and me is just a tiny blip on your bank account.”

“Goddammit, Flick, stop it and just listen.”

“No!”

Struggling away from him, I take off toward the lobby of the hotel, a sob hitching in my throat. He calls my name, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. Right now, I hate him too much—love him too hard—to let him feed me more lies.