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For a moment he just stood there, staring at that spot just inside the door. He was still surprised at himself. It hit him every time he thought back over the week that had begun that first night with Nic. He’d never expected it to be so... much. So overpowering, so incredible.
He’d thought he’d feel guilty if he ever had sex again, with someone else, after Leah. Especially if he enjoyed it.
Enjoyed it? Hell, he’d about gone through the roof. Again, and again, as if he’d stored up all the longing and need of those years and let it loose all at once.
Or Nic battered down the walls and freed it.
That was closer to the truth. From the moment she’d stepped inside that first night and kissed him, it had been full speed ahead. It was clear once Nicole Baylor made up her mind, she didn’t second-guess. They hadn’t even made it to the bed until the third time. If she hadn’t had a training session and he hadn’t needed to check on Jeremy, he could have easily and happily spent the entire day in bed with her. Now, after a week of stolen hours together, it was just as hot, just as amazing. More, actually, as they learned each other.
And he still got that tightness in his throat and chest when he watched her with Jeremy. This, at least, he knew Leah would approve of. She would be for anything that was good for their precious little boy. And Nic was very, very good for Jeremy. Even now, when he was used to it, watching his son laugh when Nic got him going, watching his pride in his riding skills as she nurtured them, never failed to reach him, deeply.
So now the boy was no doubt still down in the barn where he’d left him to finish up on his brushing Pie yet one more time, even though the little pinto pony was already gleaming. The last time he’d walked by the stall, Jeremy was talking to the animal about next week’s riding lessons, which Nic had promised him would be outside the corral, learning how to adjust for going up and down steeper hillsides, and fording the creek.
He’d told Jeremy to head up here as soon as he was done, but now realized he should have been more time-specific, because if the kid had his way, he’d never be done with that pony, who seemed to have decided the adoration was mutual. Jackson was pondering going down to get the boy into the house before the storm hit when he heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. His first thought was Nic, but then it usually was. But it wasn’t her truck. No, this had a quieter, more civilized sound to it, and when he looked out the window, he saw why; he hadn’t seen one of those since he’d left L.A. The sleek European sedan looked outof place, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that when he saw who was driving it.
Felix Swiff. Head executive producer and backer ofStonewall. The big guy. The money and power guy. A guy who didn’t make casual trips just to visit. If he was here, it was only for one reason. He was going to put the pressure on.
Damn.
For a moment he actually considered not opening the door. Pretending he wasn’t here. Maybe the big storm heading in would drive the man back to L.A.
Now that’d be a great example for Jeremy, wouldn’t it?
He headed for the door.
“Quaint place you’ve got here,” Swiff said the moment he opened it.
He was sure Swiff thought so, given the sharp-edged, uber-modern mansion in the Hollywood Hills the man lived in. He had nothing really against Swiff, only that he represented the money side of the business that Jackson, perhaps foolishly, didn’t want to get into any more deeply than he had to. Well, that, and his fairly autocratic ways.
Jackson lifted a brow at him. And didn’t move aside for him to come in. “Shouldn’t you be out playing golf or something?”
“I’m not here to talk about where I should be, but where you should be. We’ve stalled and tap-danced around it for as long as we can, Jackson. You need to come home.”
The moment Swiff said it, Jackson felt a jab as if the man had tried to punch him. And the only words that fit the feeling were,I am home.
Somehow that gave him the strength to step aside and—intentionally, rather grandly—wave Swiff inside. “Come on in and say your piece, Felix.”Even though it won’t do you any good.
Swiff started with flattery. “Look, I’ll admit it. The show isn’t doing well without you. The ratings have, frankly, tanked since we had to send Austin Holt away on some fictional mission. Especially when viewers know at least some version of the truth, that you walked away.”
Jackson knew this from Tucker, but Jeremy was his priority, and the change that he’d seen in his son since they’d come here outweighed anything Swiff could possibly say. “I understand and I’m sorry, Felix. But I was losing my son. I had to get him out of there. And this was the only place he wanted to be.”
“And I understand that,” Swiff said, although his total lack of a relationship with his own now-adult children made Jackson doubt if he really did. “But think about all the other people, and their kids, that you’re hurting, Jackson. There are people depending on you, not just the other actors, but the crew, the wranglers, the stunt team, including your friend, Tucker.”
And that was Jackson’s weak point, because those were the people he most didn’t want to hurt. But he had to put Jeremy’s welfare above all else. Right now, painful though the thought of other damage he was doing might be, nothing mattered more than his little boy.
Finally, Swiff went to the big gun, the thing Jackson had been expecting. He suspected it was coming when Swiff started pacing the floor. When he finally stopped—although oddly, Jackson thought he heard another couple of steps even after Swiff had stopped moving—it came out in grim, flat tones. “You’re under contract, Jackson.”
“I know that.”
“That means legal ramifications if you insist on this.”
“You do what you have to do.”
“I don’t want to have to force you. This could cost you a great deal, including your entire future in this business. You have no choice. You have to come back.”
Jackson heard that sound from the porch again, the wind no doubt, as the storm got close. But he ignored it as Swiff delivered the ultimatum in a flat, brook-no-denial kind of tone. And in that moment, Jackson considered yet again what he was giving up. Weighed it against the change in his son, from the child who never even smiled to the joyous boy who grinned widely as he rode that pony. Who even came home from his lessons excited and eager to talk about all he was learning.
The scales leaned so far to one side, there wasn’t really any decision to make.
