Under My Skin (Stark International Trilogy 3)

Jackson moves in front of me even before the echo of my scream dies away.

I’m breathing hard, my pulse pounding, my body ready for flight. But that’s just a lingering reaction. My fear has faded.

The man isn’t one of the paparazzi. For that matter, he’s not even an intruder. Or, at least, not the kind I’d imagined.

Then again, this kind might be even more dangerous.

This intruder is Jeremiah Stark.

seven

Jackson stared at his father, trying to convince himself that the man was only an apparition. Some sort of horrible revenant. Not actually Jeremiah Stark.

Not here.

Not today.

“About time, boy. I was just about to give up on you.”

Jackson didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. Instead he just stood there with Sylvia behind him, her scream still lingering in the air.

It took every ounce of Jackson’s willpower to keep his feet planted and his hands at his sides. Because right then he was certain that very little in this world would feel better than wringing Jeremiah’s neck.

When he was certain that he could move without launching himself at his father, he stepped sideways and then back so that he could slide an arm around Syl’s waist and pull her to him. It would look, he knew, as if he was comforting her. But that was only an illusion. He needed her in his arms right now. Needed to hold tight and let the feel of her steady him. Because he’d been pulled tight as a wire all day, and he was dangerously close to snapping.

He focused on his father’s face, his gaze unflinching. “You want to tell me how the hell you got on my boat?”

“Not hard,” Jeremiah said. He held up his phone. “Lot of pictures of me and my sons on the internet today. I just flashed one at your guard, told him it was urgent that I saw my boy, and he let me right through. I’m surprised you didn’t notice my car out there.”

“I’d say I’ll pay more attention next time, but there isn’t going to be a next time. Get the hell off my boat, Dad.”

“We need to talk,” Jeremiah said.

“You need to leave.”

“What I need is to convince my son not to be a goddamned idiot.”

“Your son? Is that what I am today? I’ve never really been able to keep that straight.” His entire life had been structured by the whim of a father whose focus was on another family—Damien’s family. Jackson had been forced to keep the truth of his paternity secret, because god forbid the public should learn that tennis superstar Damien Stark had a secret bastard half-brother squirreled away.

For years, Jackson had resented Damien, channeling the anger and frustration that rightfully belonged to his manipulative, narcissistic father toward the brother he didn’t even know. A brother who seemed to have everything in the world at Jackson’s expense. A brother who, Jackson was only beginning to learn, had also suffered at the hands of their father, and pretty damn brutally, too.

All of which meant that Jackson wasn’t inclined to play the good son simply because Jeremiah was wearing his daddy hat. As Jackson was learning the hard way, being a dad was about one hell of a lot more than biology.

“I did what I had to do so that you could have a good life, and now you’re about to toss it all into the crapper. Ms. Brooks,” Jeremiah said, turning his attention to Sylvia without warning, “you should go inside. Jackson and I have a few things to discuss.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She spoke with such bold finality that Jackson had to bite back a grin. He’d forgotten that she knew his father, of course. Jeremiah Stark might not be close to Damien, but Jeremiah was the kind of man who’d infiltrate himself anyway. And undoubtedly that meant that Sylvia’d had the dubious pleasure of dealing with him on more than one occasion.

“Suit yourself,” Jeremiah said. “I’ll say what I came here for and then I’ll leave. But, boy, you need to get in front of this thing. You need to publicly endorse that movie.”

The words, so out of left field, struck Jackson like a blow.

“What the hell are you talking about?” It was Sylvia who asked the question. Jackson was still reeling from the absurdity. “Why on earth would he do that?”

“Motive,” Jeremiah said. “Do you think I want to see a son of mine behind bars? You need to play this game smart, son. You need to make sure any argument they might have as to motive is soundly shut down.”

“That movie is not getting made.” When it had been a question of movie or blackmail, Jackson had made the choice to protect Sylvia. To stop fighting the movie and protect his little girl with love and care. To hold her close, keep her safe, and try to protect her from the glare of an unwelcome spotlight.