Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy 1)

I blink to clear my vision, then manage a watery smile. “That’s why I’m not angry.”

He brushes my cheek with his thumb. “I thought you didn’t cry.”

“What?” I am certain I haven’t heard him right, but when I lift my hand to my cheek, it is wet. My breath hitches, and my throat fills with tears. I barely remember the sensation it’s been so long. “I guess—I guess you matter to me.” And those are all the words I can get out before the sobs come in earnest and I shake with the force of them.

Jackson picks me up and carries me to the couch, then holds me as I cry for the past, for him, for the future that I’m suddenly afraid of. Mostly, though, they are tears of relief and joy, because Jackson is back in my arms, and somehow, someway, we’ll figure out the rest of it.

When the tears finally subside and I have emptied an entire box of tissues, I curl up against him, exhausted but happy.

Happy, but also afraid.

“I’m not angry,” I say, my voice raw. “I’d go so far as to say I’m glad. But you shouldn’t have done it. He’ll press charges. That’s the kind of guy he is.”

“I’ll protect your secret, baby. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m not. I didn’t even think of that.” I truly hadn’t. I know with absolute certainty that Jackson will take my secret to the grave if I ask him to, and that sure knowledge warms me. “I was thinking of you.”

He cocks his head, looking at me sharply. “The movie.”

I nod. “If no one knows about me, they’re going to assume you attacked him because of the movie, and everyone is going to start poking into it. And all those secrets are going to be harder to keep. I’ve seen the way the press vultures work with Nikki and Damien. So far you’ve only had good press. Bad press can sting.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, and I can see that the thought troubles him. “I’ll do what I have to do,” he says. “But whatever happens, my promise to you stands.”

“I know. Really.” I draw a breath, because there’s more. And although I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, I have to say it, just in case he hasn’t thought of it already. “This may screw up the resort project, too. When Damien gets back, I promise you he won’t be happy that his architect is now in the gossip rags. Especially when he already isn’t sure he trusts you.”

He says nothing, and so I decide to soldier on. “And you have to tell him the rest of it, too. Or I do. And he may not be too happy about the fact that you didn’t say who you were up front. I’m sorry,” I add. “But that’s not the kind of thing I can keep from him. Not if I expect to keep my job. Or the resort, for that matter.”

“I would never ask you to lie for me,” he says. “And I know the risks. But I will make you a promise—no matter what it takes, you won’t lose the resort. If I have to, I’ll go head-to-head with Damien.”

He looks like he’d enjoy the prospect.

“Do you understand?”

I nod, though I don’t really. Because in a contest between Jackson and Damien over whether or not I keep my job, I can’t imagine a scenario where Damien doesn’t have the final word. He’s the one giving the job, after all.

The rather unpleasant thought that Jackson is Jeremiah Stark’s son slides into my mind. And I am quite certain that Jeremiah knows many things that Damien would want to keep secret. Which means that Jackson may know those things, too.

But the thought that Jackson would blackmail Damien on my behalf is so disagreeable that I shove it aside. He hasn’t said that, and my mind is simply spinning tales. And the truth is that Jackson doesn’t really know Damien at all.

“Your brother’s not such a bad person, you know.”

“Maybe he is, and maybe he isn’t. At the moment I don’t care about Damien or the resort. The only thing I care about is you. The only thing I want is you. Tell me I didn’t fuck this up. Tell me I didn’t lose you.”

“How could you lose me when we just found each other again?”

His eyes stay on mine for a moment, and then he pulls me close and kisses me gently. “I’m going to make love to you now,” he says, then lifts me in his arms and takes me to the bedroom.

He undresses me, tending to me and stroking me as he removes each piece of clothing until I am naked and on fire, wanting nothing more than the feel of this man upon me and inside me.

He doesn’t wait, and we make love slowly and sweetly, but with no less passion than when he has taken me wildly. There’s a tenderness to his movements. A precision in the way he thrusts inside me. And never once do his eyes leave mine.