Love Left Behind (44 page)

"Let's just hope
the food is the same," Jackson said as he guided me to the hostess station
with a light hand on the small of my back. The hostess' mouth dropped with
recognition as she stared at Jackson. She glanced at me, her eyes widening even
more, and then turned back to Jackson.

"Hi. I have a
reservation for Jack Reynolds for six-thirty."

"Of course,"
the hostess tittered, still looking awed. I wondered why Jackson bothered using
a pseudonym when he obviously wasn't trying to disguise himself.

Heads were turning to
look at us as the hostess guided us to our table. I was dismayed when I saw her
lead us to a table in the center of the restaurant, but I didn't see any others
available.

"Enjoy your
dinner. Please let me know if you need anything," the hostess said
breathily as she handed us our menus. Jackson nodded, not seeming to even
notice her come-hither look.

"Why did you use a
fake name?" I asked as I opened my menu, happy to see that at least the
food looked the same.

"Habit,"
Jackson said shrugging. "I'm so used to giving out fake names when booking
things that it's second nature. I prefer that people not know I'm frequenting
their establishments beforehand. It prevents unwanted attention." He
smiled slightly at me. "Although tonight I don't mind the world knowing
that you're mine."

I smiled back at
Jackson, my cheeks flushing. I had been prepared to ask Jackson about Claire
tonight, about why he had cheated on me, but I decided to save it for another
time. I just wanted to enjoy being with Jackson tonight.

I tried to ignore the
glances of the other diners, grateful that at least no one seemed to whipping
out their phones to take pictures. Fortunately, our waiter was a consummate
professional and didn't bat an eye at Jackson, providing excellent service
without fawning over him.

"I'm glad to see
you didn't order the squid ink pasta," Jackson said with a grin after the
waiter left. "I don't think I can stomach it tonight."

"I learned my
lesson." I looked around the restaurant out of the corner of my eye.
"Doesn't it bother you that everyone is looking at us? I feel like we're
on display at a zoo. I keep expecting someone to throw bananas at us."

"You get used to
it. Pretty soon you won't even notice it."

I didn't think that was
possible, but I did my best to block it out. I was grateful that at least the
tables were far enough apart so that we could have a private conversation.

"Does your
publicist have plans for what to do next?"

"I have a few more
interviews lined up," Jackson replied, pausing as the waiter set down our
glasses of white wine before quickly disappearing. "She thinks it's a good
idea if we give an interview together for a print magazine. We can manage
what's published in a magazine better than a televised interview."

"I don't know,
Jackson," I said nervously. "I've never done anything like that
before. What if I say the wrong thing?"

"Don't
worry." Jackson reached over and grasped my hand that was resting on the table.
"I'll be right there with you, and Marcie will brief you before the actual
interview to help you with what to say."

"Did she do that
with you?" I asked, wondering how much of Jackson's public declaration had
been his own words. I felt a bubble of happiness when he shook his head.

"Marcie knows
better than to try and guide me on what to say. She might be helpful for you
though, make you feel more prepared. But I have no doubt you'll do fine."

"Let me think
about it. I'm not sure if I'm ready to say things on the record yet."

Jackson nodded,
accepting my answer. "We have time. Candace's people haven't released a
response yet to my interview last night. They're probably scrambling to try and
find a way to spin this to their advantage."

I sighed, taking a sip
of my wine. "I never thought these things were so deliberate, so planned
out. It's so calculated."

"You'd be
surprised at how many Hollywood relationships are business arrangements.
Celebrity relationships bring a lot of attention, perfect for when you're
releasing a new project. Even the breakups are negotiated and planned."

The whole thing was
disenchanting but I dismissed it from my thoughts. I had a more pressing topic
of conversation.

"Do you mind if I
ask you a question about your apartment?" My tone was hesitant, cautious.
Jackson grimaced but he nodded stiffly. I continued even though it was an
uncomfortable topic. "You already told me why you made it look exactly the
way it was while we were dating, but I don't understand why you kept it like that
all these years."

Jackson's grasp on my
hand tightened as he looked at me grimly. "It would be easy to just claim
that I left it like that because I was too busy to change it. But I'm not going
to lie to you." He looked slightly embarrassed but continued. "These
years apart have been...difficult for me. I had a hard time coping with us not
being together, even as time passed. I spent a lot of time in that apartment.
Whenever I had time off, I would come to New York and stay there. It made me
feel connected to you." His lips twisted bitterly. "That must sound
pretty sick."

I shook my head, not
wanting him to feel alone in not having been able to get past our failed
relationship. "No, I understand. It was a way to cope."

Jackson laughed
harshly. "You probably wouldn't think that if you knew what I did in that
apartment. How many times I jerked myself off with your skirt, imagining that I
was inside you. You saw all those pictures I had of you, how I placed all your
things as if you were going to walk through the damn door any minute. Sometimes
I would believe it. Sometimes I thought if I waited long enough, you'd appear.
When you didn't, I would talk to you like you were there. Even though I was
fucking alone." Jackson's eyes were glittering with self-loathing.
"Not the healthiest coping mechanism."

I was shocked by how
much Jackson had been suffering all these years, but I was also a little
disturbed by what he had revealed. It sounded mentally unstable, as if he had
created a fictional world where we were still together.

"It sounds a
little unbalanced," I admitted. "I understand the pain you were going
through, but not facing reality probably just made it worse."

Jackson's grip on my
hand tightened almost painfully. "Promise me you'll never leave me
again," he said urgently in a low voice. "Promise me, Emma."

"How can I make
that kind of promise, Jackson? We don't know what the future holds."

"Emma, I'll never
do anything to hurt you again. I swear. Promise that you'll never leave me as
long as I don't do anything to hurt you." Jackson sounded desperate and my
heart ached for him. I couldn't help but give him what he wanted. I also wanted
him to know that even though his confession had unsettled me, he wasn't alone
in clinging to the past.

"I promise,
Jackson. You're not the only one who's been holding onto the past." I
reached underneath my shirt, pulling out the diamond pendant. Jackson stared at
it, and then his eyes shot up to mine.

"I was afraid to
ask what you had done with the necklace I had given you."

I smiled sadly at
Jackson. "It seems like we've both had problems moving on. You were honest
with me. I'll be honest with you. I can't count how many nights I lay in bed,
clutching this necklace and wishing you were beside me." I lowered my gaze,
embarrassed by my next confession but needing to share it with Jackson.
"That night when you came over to my apartment for the first time and I
got upset when you tried to kiss me...I put on the necklace after you left. I
lay in bed and pretended you were with me, that my fingers touching myself
belonged to you." I looked back up at Jackson with a grimace. "I did
that these past five years more often than I'd like to admit. So you weren't
the only one that had an unhealthy coping mechanism."

Jackson eyes darkened
as he lifted our joined hands, softly kissing my knuckles as he gazed at me
intensely. "Thank you for telling me that." He smiled ruefully,
dispelling the somber mood. "It makes me feel a little less crazy."

I was relieved when the
waiter arrived with our food. It signaled a shift in the conversation as we
moved to lighter topics.

"The ravioli is as
good as I remember. Although it might have tasted a little bit better before
when I took yours."

Jackson grinned as he
twirled some linguine with clams onto his fork. "I'm just glad I'm not
stuck eating a plate of squid ink." He paused before putting the forkful
of food in his mouth. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Nothing much
besides a pressing date with my laundry. Why?"

"I have to go to a
party tomorrow night. A friend is opening a lounge downtown and I promised to
go to the launch party. I would love for you to come with me."

I hesitated, not sure
if I felt up to a swanky party, especially since there was bound to be press
there. "Who's the friend?"

"Marc Bradley."

I frowned, now
realizing that it would be a media circus. Only Jackson's offhand mention of a
friend would be an A-list celebrity. Marc Bradley was a megastar and had
recently been nominated for an Oscar for his portrayal as a prisoner of war. I
knew most people would jump at the opportunity to go to a celebrity party, but
most normal people didn't have men wielding cameras and yelling questions about
their personal life at them.

"I'm not sure if
I'm up for something so high-profile."

"Please, Emma. I would
really appreciate it if you came. I'm not looking forward to this party any
more than you are, but I promised Marc I'd make an appearance. It would be so
much bearable if you were with me. We don't have to stay long."

"I guess it
wouldn't kill me to rub elbows with the rich and famous," I said ruefully.
I had a feeling I was going to have to make a lot of concessions in the future
if I was going to have a relationship with a celebrity.

Jackson looked relieved
when I relented. "So the only question left is whether to stay at your
place or mine tonight."

"Don't you think
we're overdoing it a bit? It might be a good idea not to spend so much time
together, to give each other some breathing room. Besides, aren't you supposed
to be trying to win me back in the eyes of the media? Being together all the
time takes away the mystery of whether you'll succeed."

"Despite giving
the media what they want, I'm not going to let them dictate how we handle our
relationship. We've had five years of breathing room. I plan on making up for
lost time." Jackson's jaw tightened. "Unless you object to
that."

I shook my head, not
wanting him to misunderstand. "It's not that I don't want to spend time
with you. It's just...our relationship was so intense five years ago. We spent
practically every waking moment together. Actually, we spent every moment
together, both awake and asleep. Maybe that was unhealthy."
And maybe that was one of the reasons why
you turned to Claire,
I thought.
Because you wanted something less intense.

"No," Jackson
said implacably. "I'm not taking time apart because of some notion of
what's healthy." Jackson raised an eyebrow self-deprecatingly. "As
I've told you, I'm not exactly the model for healthy behavior. We'll stay at
your place. Less ghosts."

I was exasperated at
Jackson's autocratic demeanor again, but I had to admit that I wanted to spend
the night together as well. I decided not to push it.

We finished dinner with
crème brulee and bread pudding. I hadn't planned on ordering dessert but the
waiter had insisted that it was on the house, compliments of the chef. Jackson
didn't seem surprised by the offering, and I wondered if one just got used to
the special treatment that came along with being famous.

When we exited the
restaurant, Craig was in his normal stance by the SUV and I had to admit that
it was nice never having to worry about catching a taxi or taking the subway.

"Do you need to
stop by your apartment and pick up some clothes?"

"No, it's okay. I
have a few things with me already." He nodded his head towards a black
overnight bag behind us in the trunk.

"I guess you
staying over was a foregone conclusion," I said with a smirk.

Jackson smiled at me
seductively, raising his hand to cup the back of my head, kneading my scalp
gently with his fingers. I shivered, feeling the sensation all the way down my
spine. "I can be very convincing when I want to be."

My gaze shot to Craig
in the driver's seat, but he was staring resolutely ahead, pretending not to
hear anything. It didn't make me any less self-conscious. I was surprised when
Jackson reached over to press a button and a tinted partition rose between the
front and back seats. We were effectively closed off from the entire world
since the windows on the sides were tinted as well.

"Well, that's convenient.
Is there somewhere to put quarters in so that the backseat starts
vibrating?"

Jackson's green eyes
gleamed as he continued massaging my scalp. "No, but I can do my best to
replicate the sensation with my mouth."

I laughed but I
couldn't deny the clenching of my lower body in anticipation. "Behave!
Even though Craig can't see us, I'm sure it's not soundproof back here. I would
be too mortified to ever leave this car if he heard me panting back here."

Jackson's hand drifted
down from my scalp to the small of my back, just above the crease of my
buttocks. He massaged the area gently, rubbing one long finger between the
crease, and I felt my hips involuntarily tilt towards him.

"For your sake, I
hope we don't encounter too much traffic, because I plan on having you panting
in a few moments, whether it's here in the backseat or in your apartment."