So Far Away (California Dreamers #2) Read online

That might explain why he almost had a cow when he saw the delivery man hitting on me. He seems to already think I’m his after just a few kisses.

  If that is true, what will he think after we’ve had sex? That he owns me?

  I’m actually a little scared to find out. “I’m an Aries,” I tell him. “We’re stubborn and driven.”

  He nods. “Good to know.”

  I notice a small photo he has of him and the woman I assume is his mom. She’s the same woman who was in the photo with Jackson that I found in his bottom desk drawer.

  “Your mom?” I ask as I pull the photo from his wallet to inspect it further.

  He nods. “She went back to the Bahamas. That’s where she’s from. Her mom is sick and she’s taking care of her.”

  “Have you been there?” I ask.

  “The Bahamas? Many times.”

  “Is it nice?”

  He nods. “I like it, but I like California better.”

  “Is that why you’re staying with your dad for Spring break?” I ask.

  He takes my hand in his. “My family situation isn’t really something I talk about.”

  “Ever?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Why?”

  When his eyes meet mine there’s a sadness there that I haven’t seen before. It tugs on my heartstrings a bit.

  “Did you know my dad had a son?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “That’s my point. I’m the secret love child and I’m supposed to stay that way.” As he says the words secret love child he puts them in air quotes.

  I’m not sure what to say. My family situation is so much different than his. My dad died when I was 10 and my mom has been a serial wife ever since. I’ve had so many step-dads over the years I’ve lost count.

  “I’m not saying that my pop doesn’t love me,” Emerson continues. “I know I’m the most important person in the world to him. But his advisors told him that if he ever admitted publically that he had a child out-of-wedlock, a black son no less, it would ruin his career. His advisors told him that I wouldn’t play to his fan base. I know that’s his livelihood and he didn’t want to take any chances, but I’m not sure he ever stopped to think about how much it hurt for him to deny me publically. And if I’m being honest, it still does hurt. A lot. I always wonder if the reason he doesn’t acknowledge me publically is because I’m a bastard, or because I’m black. Most likely it’s both.”

  I swipe at a teardrop that has escaped down my cheek. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to be in his shoes. But I can see how much it hurts him, and that hurts me.

  That’s when I realize I’m starting to have feelings for this man.

  Not just lust, which I’ve felt since I met him, but real feelings.

  And that scares the ever-loving crap out of me.

  It’s way too soon. And nothing is supposed to be happening between us.

  I came into his room to have sex, not to start falling in love with him.

  “Have you ever had a conversation about this with your dad?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve never had a conversation about this with anyone.” He looks into my eyes. “Except you.”

  Why me? I want to scream. But I already know why. I can see it in his dark eyes. He’s falling for me too.

  I place the photo back in his wallet and hand it back to him. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

  When he kisses me this time it’s soft and tender, but it still takes my breath away.

  “Do you still want to be with me?” he whispers in my ear.

  I place my hand on his cheek. “I do.”

  We look into each other’s eyes for a long moment. We’re so different in so many ways, yet we’re still inexplicably drawn together. Our attraction to each other is so powerful, almost magnetic. I seem incapable of resisting him.

  And right now I don’t want to.

  Whatever this is that’s going on between us, I want to see where it leads.

  I know I’ll be risking my job, and my livelihood, to be with Emerson, but I think he’s worth it.

  I’m willing to give it a shot anyway.

  I hold up the condom. The package is worn. It does look like it’s been in his wallet awhile.

  “I’m on the pill,” I tell him. “So even if this fails we have backup.”

  He grins. “Good to know.”

  “If we’re going to do this,” I tell him. “Let’s get to it.”

  “I definitely don’t want to keep you waiting,” he teases.

  He kisses me again. This time his kiss is filled with desire.

  And that sparks a yearning deep inside of me as well.

  He slowly unbuttons my shirt like he’s unwrapping a precious package. His eyes are twinkling like a kid who has just been handed a present he’s waited for a long time.

  When he removes my shirt his eyes land on my white lace bra. If I had known I’d be in Emerson’s bedroom about to have sex with him I would have worn something much sexier. This bra makes me feel prissy.

  “This is hot,” he remarks as he moves his hand over my nipples jutting out through the thin material.

  “Much too prissy,” I tell him.

  “Thinking about being inside the prissy vanilla girl is really turning me on.” He guides my hand between his legs.

  He really doesn’t need to prove how turned on he is. I can see it in his eyes. But there’s absolutely no doubt when I feel his erection straining the material of his jeans.

  “I thought you didn’t care for vanilla,” I tease.

  “It’s growing on me.”

  He removes my bra and takes in the naked top half of my body.

  “Take your shirt off,” I suggest.

  I’ve already seen his unclothed chest when we were swimming, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it again.

  “You’re a little bossy,” he tells me as he slips off his pullover sweater.

  “Does that bother you?”

  He grins. “It’s hot.”

  “Are you just going to say everything about me is hot?”

  He nods. “It is.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  I sneak a peek at his muscular chest. He’s pretty hot too, especially for a physics geek.

  Who am I kidding? The guy is totally hot. All I can think about is having him inside of me.

  He runs his fingers ever-so-lightly along my arm. I tremble in response.

  Then his hands explore my breasts. I’m so turned on I feel like I could explode.

  He eases his index finger down the length of my body until he hits the edge of my jeans. As he unbuttons them he looks into my eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I want to be with you,” I tell him. “I know it’s impulsive. I know it’s reckless. I know there’s a strong possibility I’ll get fired. But I still want to, which isn’t like me at all. I can’t remember ever feeling so strongly about anything, or anyone, in my life. I don’t really understand it. I’m not sure why it’s happening, but right now I don’t even want to try to figure it out. I just want to go with it.”

  He grins. I love that his eyes twinkle when he smiles. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m all in.”

  I stand up so I can squirm out of my jeans. Emerson doesn’t take his eyes off of me. Then I slowly remove my panties and allow them to drop to the floor.

  “What about those?” I indicate his jeans.

  He hops from the bed and removes his pants. He pulls off his boxer briefs just as quickly.

  Then he puts his arms around me and holds me tight. Normally I don’t like it when guys do that. I feel like I’m being smothered and can’t breathe.

  But I like how I feel in Emerson’s arms. In a weird way I feel like it’s where I’m supposed to be.

  As the daughter of a mother who married a different man every few years I was constantly moving. I never really had a house I considered a home. When I went east for college and grad schoo
l everyone called me the California Girl. I never felt like I truly fit in with the East Coast crowd.

  Now here I am, in the arms of a guy who couldn’t be more different than I am, and it’s the first time ever I feel like I truly belong somewhere.

  I feel at home in Emerson’s arms.

  “Let’s get in bed,” he whispers in my ear.

  Then he takes my hand and pulls me into the bed with him.

  As he sinks his tongue into my mouth I taste a hint of mint. Maybe his mouthwash?

  His hands roam my body like a prospector out to stake his claim on new territory. There’s little doubt in my mind that Emerson is possessive and that what he wants to possess right now is me.

  I’ve never been the type of girl who wanted to be taken by a man the way you read about in romance novels. But right now I feel an overwhelming urge to be taken fully by Emerson.

  “I need you inside of me,” I whisper, my body craving release.

  “I aim to please,” he tells me as he reaches for the condom.

  He opens the package in record time and quickly sheaths himself.

  As he pushes inside of me his eyes never leave mine. It’s as if he wants to penetrate my soul as deeply as he’s penetrating my body.

  I moan with satisfaction at his first thrust. Like scratching an itch that you could never quite reach, having Emerson inside of me is supremely satisfying.

  My last sexual encounter with the guy from high school was so awkward and inadequate it wasn’t even worth spreading my legs.

  Emerson is the opposite of that in every way imaginable. It’s not only because our bodies fit together so well. We also seem to be completely in tune with each other.

  He already knows how to play my body like a fine instrument.

  It’s not long before we’re both ready to climax, and when we come together it’s like pure magic.

  As ridiculous and clichéd as it probably sounds I feel like I was momentarily transported from Earth. I saw the moon, stars, and even other planets.

  By the content expression on Emerson’s face I’d say he enjoyed the experience too.

  He places a light kiss on my lips before he withdraws from me.

  “Just give me a minute to get rid of this.” He points to the condom.

  “I should probably get going,” I tell him.

  “No!” he practically shouts.

  I’m a little taken aback by his reaction.

  He seems to sense my surprise. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I just thought you’d stay a while.”

  “Do you want to cuddle?” I tease.

  He quickly removes the condom and wipes up with some tissues before he hops back into bed with me.

  “I love to cuddle.” He does his best to bite back a grin. “I’m the world’s best cuddler. If they had a contest for cuddling I’d be the champion.”

  That makes me laugh. “I didn’t realize you took your cuddling so seriously.”

  “Seriously, I just want to spend more time with you.”

  “I should probably get back to work,” I remind him.

  “I heard you in the office really early this morning. There’s nothing wrong with taking a break.”

  “You heard me, huh? Were you spying on me?”

  He shakes his head. “I would never spy on you. I was up early because I needed to work on my dissertation and I happened to hear you. I’m in the final stretch. I’m supposed to be doing the last edit so I can graduate in May. Don’t tell my pop. He thinks I’m actually here for a break. Right now I can’t afford to take a break, but I was worried about him. So here I am.”

  “Are you worried about his drinking?” I ask.

  A wave of sadness seems to come over him. “I’m worried about a lot of things. He doesn’t socialize at all anymore. He stays holed up in this house. He hasn’t even been able to write, despite the fact that he’s been contracted to write a new Blake Knox novel. There’s even a major studio waiting to develop a new movie based upon the story. He hasn’t even started work on it. He keeps blaming it on being overwhelmed with everything else that goes along with being an author. That’s why his manager keeps sending him personal assistants, who he promptly fires. I don’t think he truly wants to get out from under all of the other stuff because then he’ll be out of excuses for not writing.”

  “And that’s why I really need to go,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be the next causality in the long line of assistants your dad has fired.”

  “Guess where I’m going today?”

  I shrug. “I have no idea.”

  “I’m going to make a trip to the drugstore to buy more condoms.” He gives me a sly smile.

  “Aren’t you sure of yourself.” I tease.

  He raises an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you don’t want a repeat performance?”

  “I never said that. We just need to be careful. I want to preserve this employment opportunity for as long as I can.”

  “I’m not going to lie and tell you that I have any control over what my pop does,” he tells me. “He’s pretty hardheaded, especially when it comes to his rules. But I may be able to exert some influence on him if it ever came to that.”

  I shake my head. “I would never come between you and your dad. And I would never ask you to do anything like that.”

  Even though he nods in agreement I can see his mind is racing.

  “Do you want me to sneak into the guesthouse tonight?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I affirm before I have a chance to stop myself.

  I just keep digging myself deeper into a huge hole, don’t I? I just hope I don’t get buried if Jackson finds out what’s going on.

  “Now I really have to get back to work. Seriously.”

  ***

  The file cabinets are a lifesaver. Once the office is cleared out and cleaned up I finally feel like I can think and breathe.

  And I have room to set up my laptop and the printer, which I’ll need in order to start responding to the fan mail.

  I’ve got five years’ worth of letters ahead of me.

  I developed a system and organized the fan mail into three different categories: fans who want advice about writing; fans who wrote to express their appreciation for Jackson’s work; and crazy love letters.

  Surprisingly there is very little hate mail. Most of the less than flattering correspondence is related to specific things Jackson did with Blake Knox’s character or with a particular storyline: like having Blake’s beloved dog die. Jackson had been writing the character for fifteen years before his hiatus. The dog had to die at some point. Furry creatures don’t live forever.

  I create some standard responses on my laptop to the most common types of letters and print them out. Luckily in the back of his desk I found a signature stamp and some ink that surprisingly hasn’t dried up yet.

  I print out 50 letters to start, just to see how long it will take me to stamp Jackson’s signature on the letters, fold them, stuff them into envelopes, address them and label them with a return address.

  I don’t want to get too bored with such a repetitive task, and I can intersperse other duties, like responding to emails, and posting to social media sites.

  I get so caught up in my work that I’m surprised when my stomach starts to grumble. Only then do I realize that I’ve forgotten to eat all day.

  In my defense Emerson did distract me during what was supposed to be my lunch hour.

  Why did I have to think about him again? I was doing so well for the last few hours keeping myself focused on things other than having him inside of me again.

  Despite all of the reasons I can think of why we shouldn’t be together at all, I can’t wait to be with him again.

  But first I need some food.

  I shut down my laptop then head out of the office and down the hallway towards the kitchen.

  I momentarily panic when I see Jackson and Emerson seated at the table together eating dinner.

  Now what? Should I just skip
dinner altogether and make my escape before they notice me?

  I could probably get away with skipping the evening meal if I had eaten lunch, but I’m starving.

  I don’t even have a stick on gum in the guesthouse.

  Before I have a chance to flee the kitchen I see Jackson wave at me.

  Reluctantly I make my way over to the table.

  I can’t even look at Emerson. I know if I so much as glance in his direction it will be all over. Jackson will know that I’ve slept with his son. As it is I feel like I have a blinking neon whore sign over my head.

  I lost my virginity when I was sixteen. It was the night of Homecoming and I was dating the captain of the football team. To this day I have no idea how she could tell, but my mom knew right away that it had happened.

  I hope whatever parental extrasensory perception my mom has when it comes to stuff like that is unique to her and not something that’s instinctual for all parents.

  Otherwise Jackson will know right away that Emerson and I did the nasty.

  “Have dinner with us,” he offers.

  I gulp. Would it be worse for me to refuse his offer, or to actually sit down and have dinner with them? I have no idea which is the lesser of those two evils.

  “Pop,” Emerson says. “Seriously?”

  Jackson frowns at him. “Don’t be a privileged snob. There’s nothing wrong with Maddie having dinner with us.”

  “It’s okay,” I reply. “I don’t mind grabbing something and taking it back to the guesthouse.”

  “Nonsense,” Jackson says. “I insist. It will give me a chance to get to know you a little better.”

  I don’t think there’s any way out of it so I agree to have dinner with the guy I’m secretly fucking behind his dad’s back.

  And his dad.

  “Just grab a plate and a fork,” Jackson tells me. “There’s plenty of pasta and salad.”

  I take a plate from the cupboard and a fork from the drawer and make my way over to the table.

  I take a few scoops of the bowtie pasta and a scoop of salad.

  I notice Jackson staring at my plate. “I hope that’s just the appetizer. You have to eat more than that.”

  I take another small scoop of pasta and add it to my plate just to make him happy.

  I’m still not able to look directly at Emerson, but I can feel his eyes on me. I know he’s looking right at me.