"You're right," he said grimly, meeting my gaze. "You don't think I don't know that?" He glanced down at my body, not with desire but with sadness. "You've lost weight."
"I appreciate your concern," I said in a scathing tone. "It's so kind of you to strip me naked and comment on my body."
"You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Jackson said huskily as he released my wrist, gliding both his hands up my back and pulling me against him. His voice was muffled against my hair but I heard his next two words. "Love me."
My body jerked in response, in a combination of desire, fear and self-loathing. I hated myself for still wanting Jackson despite everything he had done to me. He had betrayed me, stripped me naked, humiliated me, yet I still hungered for him. I was as sick as he was. I needed to end this.
"Whatever I felt for you died last week. If I can't trust you, I can never be with you. And I've learned that I can't trust you. I'm a slow learner, but it’s finally sunk in. Please just leave me alone."
Jackson didn't move, his face still buried in the crook of my neck. We stayed in the awkward embrace for a long time, my hands hanging loose at my sides as Jackson burrowed himself into me. I had to fight the urge to raise my arms and hold him close, to let myself believe this man actually cared about me. I believed Jackson had some sick obsession with me, but it had nothing to do with love. Love didn't feel this wrong.
Jackson finally released me, reaching down to pick up my clothes from the floor. I was speechless as he tenderly dressed me, his hands gliding against my skin reverently as he pulled my shirt over my head gently and steadied me as I stepped into my shorts and panties. He then embraced me again.
"Goodbye, Emma," Jackson whispered against my neck and I had to stop myself from clutching him to me. "Don't forget me."
I watched in silence as Jackson pulled away, his expression wistful as he gave me a small sad smile. As he walked out of my apartment, turning to give me one last glance before shutting the door behind him, I had the sudden fear that this was the last time I would see Jackson Reynard.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I told myself I should be satisfied that Jackson had finally given me what I had asked for when I didn't hear from him the next few days. But it didn't make things any easier. Eventually the days turned into weeks until I woke up one day, surprised that it had been two months since I had last seen Jackson. There had been a few rumors about Jackson and me breaking up in the gossip rags since we hadn't been seen together for a while, but they were half-hearted and I didn't have the paparazzi hounding me. Craig had disappeared the day Jackson left my apartment and I stopped checking for him behind me.
Winter was a welcome change, and I embraced the chilly air, the bitter weather matching my mood. Work was in full swing and I buried myself in it, not finding much satisfaction in my boss's vocal approval when I landed a huge textiles company as a client.
I was walking home one cold November night from the subway station after work when Jackson's picture on the front cover of a magazine caught my eye at a newsstand. I had avoided any magazine or television show that had the risk of mentioning Jackson, but his picture was unavoidable now on the front of Vanity Fair, his expression grim and serious. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't resist grabbing the magazine, paying the man behind the newsstand. The magazine was burning in my hands as I rushed home, knowing that I was breaking the promise I had made to myself to avoid anything that mentioned Jackson. I was feeling weak and I wanted to devour any information about him.
When I got home, I didn't bother taking off my coat as I rifled through the pages to get to the article about Jackson. My heart stopped at the pictures of him, posed thoughtfully in a sleek suit, looking sophisticated, urbane and untouchable. His expression was impossibly bleak in one picture, affecting me more than I wanted to admit. I wondered if he had been forced to do this interview because of the one I had backed out of, the one we were supposed to do together.
I hungrily read the article as it discussed Jackson's meteoric rise to fame and how each role he played was a reflection of him. Most of the article was about his career and what he was hoping to achieve in future roles, but the interviewer made comments throughout the article about Jackson seeming somber and almost grim. My breath caught in my throat when I read the last part of the article
Jackson Reynard seems almost solemn for most of the interview and I venture to ask him the one question that I have been reluctant to ask since Reynard is well known for shying away from questions about his personal life. But I decide to take the plunge. I ask about all the publicity concerning his relationship with Emma Mills, the woman who supposedly got away whom he rekindled a romance with. Reynard pauses, looking even more somber than he had throughout the interview. His words are measured but I hear a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"Emma is the love of my life. Always has been. Always will be. But we all know that happy endings happen more often in movies than in real life."
When I ask Reynard to explain his cryptic statement, he refuses politely. "It's a private matter and I prefer not to speak about it."
Reynard is charming for the rest of the interview, but I can't miss the glimmer of bleakness I see in his eyes. Reynard is a man of few words when it comes to his personal life, but his expressive face makes me think that there may be trouble in his relationship with Mills. We loved the story of a famous movie star falling for the girl-next-door and we can only hope that this story has a happy ending.
The magazine slid from my fingers, my emotions making my throat feel tight. I cursed myself for reading the article as desolation pierced my soul, making me feel more alone than ever. How could Jackson say that I was the love of his life, yet betray me? A slither of doubt ran through me. Maybe I had overreacted. Maybe Jackson had been telling the truth and he had just wanted answers from Claire.
I shook my head, wanting to rid myself of these thoughts. They did nothing but make the pain sharper, more pronounced. I promised myself that I would avoid anything about Jackson Reynard from now on.
It was hard not to think about him the next day. I had a meeting with one of my clients whose office was near his apartment and I had to force myself not to walk past it afterwards. Instead, I decided to eat lunch at Andrews before I returned to work, not being able to dismiss my thoughts of Jackson completely. The Vanity Fair interviewer had mentioned meeting Jackson at a restaurant in L.A. so it was safe to assume that I was in no danger of bumping into him.