Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy 1)

“You’re the strongest person I know, Sylvia. You walked away from us and managed to survive, didn’t you?”

I know his words are a tease to make me feel better, but there is truth there, too, and I can’t help but think that after surviving the past, this present is my reward.

“And now we need to get dressed because there’s someplace I want to show you on the way, and if we don’t hurry, we really will be late.”

He runs the comb through his hair once more, then relinquishes the bathroom so that I can do my hair and makeup.

I hurry, but it still takes me ten minutes. My hair may be short, but I need various gels and goops to get it the way I want it to look, and then spray to ensure it stays that way. As for my makeup, I’ve never worn a lot, but even my minimal face routine takes time. Finally, I have to find something to wear, a decision I would normally have made last night considering that most of my hanging outfits are still wrinkled from the move or are still folded in random boxes.

I’m staring in the closet debating, when I suddenly realize that I have the perfect outfit tucked away. I go to the box from which I’d pulled the lingerie last night, take a deep breath, and then pull out the yellow dress. I’d folded it carefully, and that combined with the light material has kept it pretty much wrinkle-free.

I grab fresh underthings and skip the stockings altogether. I glance at myself in the full-length mirror I’ve propped next to the closet door, and I can’t deny that the dress is flattering. But that’s not why I’m wearing it. The day that Jackson gave me this dress stands as one of the best in my life. He’d filled every moment with heat and wonder, and though I know that he now understands why I left, I want him to realize how much Atlanta meant to me. That despite everything, I’d clung to those memories and my souvenirs of our time together.

When I’m finally dressed with shoes and jewelry, I step out into the living room to find him fully dressed in the clothes he wore last night. He smells clean, all soap and shampoo and male. And he looks positively gorgeous, tall and lean and sexy as he stands by my back wall and looks out at the bright, crisp afternoon.

“How the hell do men do that?” I ask, as he turns to look at me. “Just five lousy seconds in the bathroom and you look hot as sin.”

“And just how hot is sin?”

“Very.”

“In that case, thank you for the compliment. And even though you took longer than five minutes, I have to say that it was worth every second. You look incredible. And I especially like the dress,” he adds, just when I think he’s not going to mention it at all.

He crosses to me, and kisses me lightly. “You saved it.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Friday I would have been. Today, I’m not.”

My smile blooms, and I hook my arms around his neck. “Kiss me now,” I say. “And take me to bed later.”

He laughs. “How can I resist?” he asks, then closes his mouth over mine.

sixteen

I have driven up the Pacific Coast Highway from Santa Monica to Malibu more times than I can count, and yet in Jackson’s Porsche it feels as though this is the very first time.

“It’s like flying,” I say, my head back in the seat and my eyes closed. “It’s like being free.” I open my eyes long enough to grin at him. “Or at least it is the way you drive.”

“Vixen,” he retorts, making me laugh.

“What did you want to show me on the way?” I ask.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Fair enough.” I lean my head back and breathe deeply, and realize that for the first time in a very long time I feel completely content. “You know we need to talk about the resort.”

“I want to see the island first. Then you can tell me your basic concept.”

“And Glau’s sketches.”

“Not interested,” he says, and I bite back a smile. I’d been expecting that answer.

“You still need to look,” I say. “Aiden or Damien might want your thoughts.”

I expect another protest, but then he nods. “But not before I see the island. I don’t want anyone else’s vision in my head when I see the raw space. Certainly not Stark’s.”

I shoot him an annoyed glance. “What is it that bugs you so much about him?”

“He’s arrogant, for one thing,” Jackson says.

“So are you.”

The words are undeniably true, but he only smiles. “Maybe. But I’m also not a man who forgets or forgives easily. Especially when someone skirts the law to get what they want.”