On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,54

creeping up on me as well.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.”

“I think Jackson doled out the most care tonight.”

“Not tonight. Forever. For being my best friend.”

I smile, touched. “Yeah, well, it’s a little self-serving. I get a great best friend in return.”

“Aren’t we lucky?”

“We are,” I say. “We really are.”

My eyes are closed, and I wait for Cass to say something else. But there is just silence, and after a few moments, the rhythm of her breathing changes and I feel the steady rise and fall of her chest against my back.

I tell myself to open my eyes and get up, but then I tell myself that if I just lay here quietly for another minute or two I’ll be all re-energized. Since that sounds like a fabulous plan, I keep my eyes closed and just let myself drift and drift and drift. …

I startle awake, gasping a bit, and then immediately relax when I see Jackson sitting in the room’s single chair opposite me. “Oh, hell,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I guess I fell asleep.”

“You needed it.”

I start to sit up.

“No. Don’t wake her.”

He stands and crosses to me. I shift enough so that I can look up at him as he reaches down to brush my cheek with the oddest expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “I was just thinking about the look on your face.”

“What about it?”

“Peaceful. Content.” He pauses. Just for a heartbeat. “I don’t like seeing it when you’re in anyone’s arms but mine.”

I frown and start to push up out of the bed. “Jackson, I—”

“No, no.” He gently holds me in place. “I just want you all to myself. But I’m a big boy and I’d never begrudge you your friends. Stay,” he says. “She needs you.”

“Jackson …”

But he just presses a kiss to his fingertips and then brushes them over my lips. “Good night, sweetheart.”

I try to fall back asleep after he’s gone, but I can’t seem to manage it. And so I very carefully slide out of Cass’s embrace and go across the little hall to Jackson’s room. He’s not there, but I find him on deck in one of the oversized lounge chairs, asleep under the stars.

I slide in next to him, then pull up the blanket from the foot of the lounger to protect us from the cool night air.

He rolls over, then pulls me against him, enveloping me with his warmth. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs sleepily. “She needs you. You could have stayed.”

“I did stay,” I say. “And then I came here. Because you need me, too.”

He is silent for a moment. Then the arm that he has swung around my waist tightens just slightly. “Yes,” he says. “I do.”

fifteen

I’m pretty sure the items on my to-do list are breeding.

There’s no other explanation as to how I can spend the entire day tackling task after task after task and still have no end in sight.

Even so, I love it.

One of the Stark International drivers drove Jackson and me in to work together, and I spent this entire Friday morning on a conference call soliciting requests for proposals from five of the largest food service companies in the country. I’ve got an intern pulling the names of the top twenty chefs across the country, each of whom I intend to contact about the possibility of opening a signature restaurant on-site at the resort.

I’ve negotiated a tentative deal with the FAA to allow a short airstrip on the island, and I have even scheduled a meeting with the local EPA office to discuss my most favorite topic in the world—endangered cave crickets.

More specifically, endangered cave crickets that might actually hold up construction if we don’t get the little buggers squared away quickly.

All in all, I’m feeling pretty damn smug when Trent Leiter eases around my cubicle wall and leans against my filing cabinet.

“Heard the news,” he says. “Jackson’s back on the project. What did you do? Bribe Stark?” He frowns. “No, wait. Hard to bribe the man who owns half the world.”

“I think Mr. Stark just realized that the press from the assault doesn’t have to negatively impact the project.”

His brows lift as he grins. “Negatively impact? What, did public relations send around a memo?”

“Actually, yes.” The PR department had circulated a memo that morning addressing how anyone on staff who is not me, Damien, or Aiden should respond if approached about Jackson’s arrest. “The proper responses are ‘no comment,’ ‘no comment,’ and ‘no comment.’ I came