Page 71 of The Devil's Detail
Jackson.
An image of him looking up at me—sitting outside with Ash at the table at my house, before the shit hit the fan—stops me in my tracks. I know I have no breath left from the walk, but this is a punch to my gut. I can’t fuckin’ breathe. I need to call him.
I’ve tried so fuckin’ hard not to. Everyday, my fingers have hovered over his name. It’s taken my iron will not to do it. To give him the time he’s asking me for. But I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to carry this on. I’m about at the end of my tether.
It may be Christmas, the holiday, my mother… who the fuck knows. But I need to hear his voice.
As soon as I get in and have a drink in my hand, I’m FaceTiming him. And I’ll keep on calling until he picks up.
I put my foot on the bottom step and move slowly towards the house. As I open the door with the code, I freeze when I hear a noise inside. Clearly Baz is already here. But what if he isn’t. What if it’s intruders? I heard some gossip on set about places being robbed if the chalets are not filled over the holidays.
Shucking off my boots so I don’t make a noise, I drop my coat and scarf at the door. I know my ski pants rustle, so I drop them as well. Edging into the hallway in my boxers and thermal T-shirt, I make my way around towards the lounge. I pick up a bronze statue from one of the tables, and step gingerly towards what I can now see as a really dim light.
I’ve lived here long enough to know where the light switches are, and which boards creak. Stepping over creaky boards, and shimmying around the edges of the room, I hit the light switch and bound into the large open-plan lounge, my arm raised, ready to swing.
And drop the statue with a scream.
Dark locks hang over one eye, the hair mussed to perfection. Two day old stubble gives him a dangerous feel. Long lashes sweep down onto cut cheekbones. Full pouty lips are parted, andI watch enraptured as his tongue runs the length of the seam of his lips. There is a Greek god of a man lounging buck-ass naked in the chair, merely looking at me curiously. His legs are crossed, showcasing muscular thighs. His abs are on full display. But it’s his fingers that attract my attention.
A black, silk scrap of fabric hangs from his fingertips, and he’s spinning it lazily around and around. It’s a blindfold.
My heart has stopped beating, and it may never start again in the same way.
The salacious smirk that overtakes his beautiful lips makes my knees weak.
“Well, hello Mr Bonney. As you can see, I’ve been expecting you.”
In a sentence, he tells me he’s mine. In one sentence he tells me I’m his. And I better get fuckin’ ready.
EPILOGUE
Carter
Never again shallChristmas be a heartbreaker of a holiday for me. It’s a time for celebration. For love.
For family.
It always was, but I never had any family left to share it with.
Now, I’m overrun.
Greystones everywhere.
Jackson stays with me in Italy, and not as my security, but as my lover. My boyfriend. The man I want to spend my life with.
The moment Jackson lays those gorgeous, firm lips on me in a cosy restaurant, we’re besieged by the paparazzi. I panic, of course. I don’t want him to leave.
And he doesn’t.
We manage to carve out our time together. Finding places, spaces, and reasons to retreat without attention, while also giving the paps enough to leave us alone occasionally. Of course it helps that my man is built, packing serious security muscle, and has unlimited resources to keep people away.
All I ever seem to do is apologise for being famous, when it really isn’t all my fault. But I can see he’s all in. And he doesn’t give a flying fuck who knows it.
I propose to him in a karaoke bar. In front of a whole host of drunk, crazy skiers. Who, like the rest of the world, all shoutyesat me. Along with the only man I’ve ever wanted to hear that word from.
Then he simply plucks me off the stage, lugs my ass all the way home in a honeymoon carry, and takes me straight to bed. The next morning, over copious cups of coffee, he points out in the recording—that is already circulating on every social media platform and gossip site—where he agreed. In case I forgot.
As if.
