Bound for Nirvana: (The Bound Trilogy Book 3) (2 page)

“Give me a minute, Tom.” Ethan’s response was firm, yet polite.

“Yeah, sure. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know that…”

“Tom,” Ethan asserted. “A minute.”

“Sorry, Mr. Wilde, I... Sorry.”

The door closed and the sound of voices and footsteps retreated.

“Shit!” Ethan hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes screwing closed. A few beats passed before he reopened them and focused his piercing blue gaze on me, his face remaining only inches from mine. Although his arousal was still plainly evident in the dark, smoldering depths of his gaze, it was blatantly tainted with anger.

“I’m so s—” I tried again to apologize.

Ethan laid a finger against my lips to silence me. “I have to go,” he whispered, pushing away from the glass and wincing as he attempted to adjust his untamable erection. I watched as he tried to compose himself, running his fingers through his sexy, tousled hair and adjusting the knot of his tie.

All the time, I searched for words inside my muddled mind, my tongue twisting over my urgent need to say the right thing in the mere seconds I had before he left.

Suddenly, he reached out and brushed his fingers over my flushed cheek, his thumb grazing my swollen lower lip. “I will never give up on you, Angel. Not ever.”

And with that, he strode from the room and was gone.

I waited almost a full minute, drawing long, deep breaths in a futile attempt to compose myself. Realizing that my burning cheeks weren’t going anywhere soon, I retrieved the bag of pastries and coffee and followed, striding quickly through the offices, my head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. When I reached the bank of elevators, I dumped the breakfast in the nearest trash can and called for the elevator.

As I waited, I gazed unseeing at some random space on the wall in front of me, trying to figure out what had just happened. We’d both lost control, forgotten where we were for a few minutes—that much was clear—but let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the first time our wild, uncontainable lust for each other had gotten the better of us. Sex for us was much more than a physical release or a way of enjoying each other’s bodies. It was the way we communicated, the way we affirmed our feelings for each other when words simply wouldn’t do.

Was that what just happened? Was our reaction to each other a desperate plea to tear it up and start again? Had Ethan forgiven me? He hadn’t given up on me, he’d said as much, but doubt and anger had still lingered in his eyes. I’d seen it.

A familiar voice startled me from my musings. “Miss Lawson, wait up.”

Turning, I saw Jackson exiting the doors from Wilde Industries, his signature black suit and tie creating a well-groomed finish to his otherwise rugged good looks. I smiled a genuine smile for the first time today as he walked toward me with his sturdy swagger and buzz cut, his responding smile crinkling the edges of his warm brown eyes.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked.

“I’ve finished here for now.” He paused to glance at his wrist watch. “I believe we’ve just time for breakfast before we head to your place.”

The elevator arrived and we boarded. “My place? Why are we going to my place?”

“You want some help packing your shit, don’t you?” Jackson pressed the button for the basement.

Of course! He was talking about my impending move to Ethan’s. I’d forgotten all about it in the haze of the last twelve hours.

“What? Now?” Thoughts of how I was going to spend the day hadn’t crossed my mind yet.

Jackson grinned. “You surely didn’t think he was going to give you time to change your mind, did you?”

After last night, I wasn’t entirely sure whether Ethan might be the one to change his mind. “I’m not sure today is the best day,” I muttered, harboring my thoughts.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “He wants you home, kiddo.” As was now usual, he dropped the formalities as soon as we were out of earshot of others.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did he send you?”

“Like I said, he wants you home. He also wants you fed. Come on.” The doors slid open and I followed him across the parking lot to the waiting Cadillac Escalade, my smile growing wider with every step.

He wants me home
.

After a substantial breakfast at Jackson’s “favorite caff,” and a detour to collect a mass of flat-pack boxes, we made our way to my apartment in the heart of Chelsea.

I stood in the center of the open-plan, loft-like space and looked around. My face crumpled as I pondered whether I really had that much to pack—my DVDs, books, clothes, a couple of boxes worth of shoes. Well, maybe four—five, max.

“Where do you want me to start?” Jackson asked, his jacket and tie already discarded, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

I shrugged.

“Why don’t you do the bathroom and bedroom, and I’ll start in the kitchen, and then make my way in here,” he suggested.

“Okay.” I paused. “But what are we packing?”

He shook his head at me. “Well, are you renting or selling?”

I pulled a face. “Renting. Selling. Renting. I’m not sure yet.”

“Well the place needs to be emptied whatever you decide. Why don’t we pack everything you want to take with you in that corner over there, and everything that you want to go into storage over here?”

I nodded, pointing to a third corner. “Thrift store corner.”

“Thrift store.” He nodded in agreement.

A couple of hours later, all three corners were full. I’d accumulated more stuff than I’d originally thought. Most of it junk, or just a duplication of what we already had at Ethan’s place—
our place
—towels and linen, pots and pans, and the like. The corner with stuff I wanted to take was the least occupied.

Clearing the final few things from the closet in the bedroom, I took down the shoebox bound in the bright red ribbon and laid my hand across the top. The extent of my childhood mementoes. I knew every detail of every item in the box—there wasn’t much to memorize.

The thought took me to the gut-wrenching sight of my mom’s pendant hanging around the scrawny neck of a woman, whose name I didn’t even know until last night. It had looked so… so
wrong
. The mere knowledge that it now belonged to someone else filled me with hatred for my father. I’d wanted to reach out and snatch it from her neck the way my father had to me on the day of Claudia’s wedding. At the time, I assumed it was because he couldn’t bear to look at it—such a stark reminder of my mom after all those years. But that was what I’d chosen to think—the alternative being too painful to consider. Now I knew better.

“Hey! Hope you’re not slacking.” Jackson was a welcome distraction from my pensive thoughts.

A light sheen of sweat had formed on his brow and clear evidence that my apartment wasn’t quite as clean as it should be was smeared on his usually brilliant white shirt.

“No,” I answered, catching the bottle of water he threw to me. “I’m nearly done, actually. You?”

“Last box.” He nodded, twisting the top off his own bottle of water and glugging it down. “Last item for the last box, actually.” He reached behind him and pulled something from his waistband.

A copy of
The Jungle Book.

I rolled my eyes and flushed as he shook the DVD at me. Suddenly, he started to sing—a damningly accurate version of “Bare Necessities,” and despite my low mood, I began to laugh.

“A favorite of yours, Jackson?”

“Hell yes! My absolute, all-time favorite.
And you look under the rocks and plants, and take a glance at the fancy ants
,” he continued to sing as he settled himself on the floor, his back against the wall, legs outstretched in front and crossed at the ankle. Hooking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the lounge, he cocked a brow. “That’s quite a collection you got there, kiddo.”

“My guilty pleasure,” I confessed shyly, moving to sit on the bed and pulling my feet up to sit crossed-legged. “Wouldn’t it be totally fantastic to step out of life and into a cartoon? Something really colorful, full of life and vigor and fun.
Finding Nemo
,” I added with enthusiasm.

He frowned thoughtfully then tapped his finger on the DVD case lying next to him on the floor. “
Jungle Book
, every time.”

I laughed at his sudden boyishness, a side of him I’d never seen before. “How old are you, Jackson?”

“Forty-two.” He watched my eyes widen in surprise. “What? You think I’m too old for Disney?”

“You’re never too old for Disney.” I paused. “You’re just older than I thought you were.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one. You could do with a good woman behind you,” I added, wondering why such an attractive man was still single.

Letting his head fall back against the wall, he moaned as if in pain. “I could do with a good woman
beneath
me. Oh, sorry—inappropriate. Sometimes I forget you’re not just my buddy.”

I laughed at the welcome endearment, but then something hit me. “Are you lonely, Jackson?”

“Lonely? No.” He made an awkward face. “Just in the physical sense, maybe. Everyone needs a bit of… attention sometimes.”

I nodded, wondering whether he’d had any action since the dreaded Rebecca. In a way, pained me as it did to admit it, for Jackson she had at least served a purpose.

“Have you ever heard anything from
her?
”

He looked at me for a beat, allowing the question to sink in, but knowing instantly who I was talking about. “Not a dickey-bird.” He said it like he thought it was hard to believe.

“What? Did you expect to?”

He shrugged. “I sometimes just wonder if she went too quietly.”

“You think there’ll be repercussions?” I asked quickly, the thought filling me with dread.

“Probably not. You did a pretty nifty job on her, to be fair. In fact, I’m not sure which one of you I’d least like to mess with.”

“God, don’t compare me to her. She’s a psycho; I’m not in the least bit tough.”

“You’re a lot tougher than you know, kiddo.”

Nodding toward the DVD lying next to him, I hitched a brow. “You think?”

“Just because you enjoy Disney, it doesn’t make you weak. It’s your escapism.” He paused. “Just make sure you don’t hide behind it.” Picking up the DVD, he held it in front of his face, his eyes peeping over the top. “Not the DVD, obviously.” He lowered the case. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is, retreat into a world of fantasy, by all means, but don’t let it detract from real life. Don’t bury your head in the sand. Unpleasant realities are part of life and you can’t avoid them forever, no matter how much facing them might hurt. You won’t find your answers in Toontown. You’re all grown up now, kiddo. Time to start dealing with your shit.”

Suddenly it dawned on me how much Ethan must confide in Jackson, and that he’d probably be aware of what had happened last night. I’d told him bits about my mom in the past, and the resultant complications with the toxic lot, but only dropped in conversation, not as a means to unburden myself.

I found myself wondering if Ethan had asked him to talk to me. Afraid that if he’d pushed the same advice on me as Jackson just had, that I’d have bitten his head off. The possibility made me feel ashamed.

“You’re right.” I stretched my long legs out in front of me before shuffling to the edge of the bed to stand. “Better shove that lot in the ‘to be stored’ corner then.”

“Are you kidding? You’ll never know where to find them when you eventually need them. You’ll end up having to buy them all again. No, there’s bags of space in the home movie room; you can keep them in there.”

“Why would I need them?” I asked confused.

“When you and Mr. Wilde have a couple of tots of your own of course. Oh, I know there are new movies coming out all the time, but you can’t beat the classics.”

“Children?” I stared at him in utter bewilderment. “I don’t know if I want children. Or if I’ve even taken a moment to consider the possibility, actually.”

“That’s because you’re still stuck with the past. It’s preventing you from seeing the future clearly. Hopes and dreams, kiddo. You have to allow yourself time for those.” He pushed to his feet, pausing briefly. “Besides, I know Mr. Wilde wants kids.”

The comment knocked me for six. “Really? Ethan wants children? With me?”

Jackson started to laugh. “Of course with you. There’ll never be anyone else for him. So you’d better figure stuff out pretty damn quick, kiddo.” He turned to head back to the lounge.

“I guess.” This sudden influx of information had left me feeling quite dazed. “Jackson?” He turned looking over his shoulder. “Thanks. You’re a good friend—to both of us.” He smiled. “Jackson?”

“Angel?” he mocked, turning to face me fully.

“Promise me something?”

“Sure.” His eyes narrowed on me.

“This… distorted future. The one that I can’t… see clearly yet. Wherever it takes me—will you promise to always be my friend?”

His face folded into a pained smile. “I promise.” Then glancing at his watch, he spread his hands in front of him. “We leave in ten minutes.”

Jackson’s sturdy swagger disappeared down the hall, his tough, indomitable exterior a stark contrast to the man who’d been singing “Bare Necessities” only moments ago. Smiling widely, I thanked God for my friend and the privilege it was to know a side of him I was certain few had ever seen.

Ten minutes later, I found him at the kitchen sink, doing his best to rub at the marks on his shirt—the result a mass of wet smudges.

“I’ve got to go back to the office.” He held up his hands helplessly.

“Hold on one sec.” Dashing over to a box in the “taking with me” corner, I pulled out one of Ethan’s shirts. It was pale blue, not Jackson’s usual shade of choice. Holding it up, I announced, “Problem solved.”

His face fell. “Is that one of Mr. Wilde’s?”

“Well, it’s not
mine
.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good—”

“Jackson, it’s just a shirt. You two have shared far more than tomorrow’s laundry. This one or the dirty one—your choice.”

Glancing in exasperation at his watch, he began undoing his buttons. I watched, mesmerized by the unveiling of his toned chest and arms, the muscles flexing and rippling as his fingers moved nimbly down the front and then to the cuffs, finally shrugging the shirt from his shoulders and flinging it to the floor. A tattoo of a serpent made its way from his hipbone and wound up his side and over his rib cage to his shoulder blade, giving the impression that it had simply slithered from beneath the waistband of his pants. I wasn’t really a tatts kinda girl, but this was impressive. Jackson was a hottie.