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Scene #1
Jackson stared at the woman who had destroyed his life years ago. Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose curls. Memories of that hair spreading across his chest made his jaw clench. Hazel eyes held flecks of gold, and her cheeks were perfectly highlighted with blush. Her full lips were a shade too dark for his taste, and her high collared pink polo shirt could not hide the gentle swell of her breasts. The dip of her waist made his hands burn with the need to span its length.
Despite her traitorous heart, she was and always would be a vision of perfection. He hated her for that. Hated her for the ache she could still create in him. He felt his manhood stir and hated her even more for the reaction.
So, he did the only thing he could do.
He fought back.
"Still slumming after all these years?" he bit out gritting his teeth.
Her hands closed into tight fists at her side. "I came to pay my condolences."
He let out a crude snort as he walked back into the house leaving the front door wide open.
Realizing that it was the best invitation she was going to get, she walked in closing the door behind her. She wasn't exactly sure why she had come. She'd told herself that she only wanted to pay her respects, but a part of her knew it was a lie.
All morning she coached herself for a backlash, a tirade of verbal abuse. But nothing could have prepared her for his current state of undress. Whoever said Jackson Hart looked good was clearly insane. He looked amazing. His black hair fell into curls around his face, still wet from the shower she had obviously disturbed. Green eyes widened at her presence causing the faint lines around them to pull tight. His chest was bare, muscles glistening in the light. A ring of hair circled each taut nipple reminding her of how it used to tickle her lips. A thin line of hair seemed to form a path into the waste band of his jeans. Her body burned at the memory of feeling him covering her.
Dear God, why was he still able to affect her like this?
When he came back into the room, he had thankfully pulled on a white cotton t-shirt. She breathed in a sigh of relief as she allowed herself to glance around the room. It had been years since she had been in the house, but oddly it remained just as she remembered.
"So?" he prompted brusquely.
Mallory took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about your mother. I liked her. She was a kind woman," she observed softly.
He glared at her, his continued silence adding to her unease. Realizing that if she was waiting for help she was doing so in vain, she continued.
"I wasn't sure you would come back." She hadn't meant to voice it allowed, but before she could think of something else, it was out there.
"I'm not cold-blooded like you."
She supposed she deserved that, but it still cut deep. Her gaze rose to meet his.
"I wasn't sure if you would want me at the funeral," she corrected.
He ran a hand through his damp hair. "What I wanted never seemed to matter too much to you."
His fierce look was almost her undoing, but she was determined to remain strong.
"It matters now," she replied firmly.
He rolled his eyes letting out a disgruntled groan. "I don't care what you do, Mallory. Your actions haven't concerned me for a long time."
The finality of the statement didn't shock her. She had expected as much after what she had done. Still, she couldn't help but feel intense pain at the verbalization. "Well, if you need anything..." she said trailing off turning to leave.
He let out a harsh chuckle at the mere notion of calling her for help.
"So, how are things with Derrick? Everything you'd hoped it would be?"
When she faced him, guilt clouded her features. "Oh, I guess you haven't heard. We're divorced."
He whistled and his eyebrows arched. "I'll bet daddy had a field day with that one," he remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"Yes, well," she replied.
"So, what now?
Who's next on the chopping block?"
"What?"
"Who's the next victim?"
She knew what he was doing.
But she refused to let him get the rise he was so desparately searching for.
"I don't have any victims," she denied.
"That's not how I remember it. I remember quite a few casualties along the way."
"You seemed to have done okay for yourself," she countered.
"Would you be here if I hadn't?"
The contempt in his eyes was too much, and she was forced to look away. "People change," she answered evenly.
"Not you."
She tried to tell herself that he was just lashing out because of his recent loss. She tried to tell herself that coming to his house to pay her condolences and calling him an ass at the same time would defeat the purpose. But the truth was that she was getting closer and closer to not caring.
"I should go."
When she reached out to grab the doorknob, she heard him say, "Never could stand a fair fight, could you?"
Damn him!
She spun around to face him. "Jackson, I am trying very hard to remember that you are in a lot of pain right now," she said.
"The last person I need pity from is you, Mallory," he bit out furiously.
She shook her head, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath. "I just came to pay my respects, Jackson. That's all. Think of me what you will. You always have."
With that, she walked out on Jackson Hart for the second time.
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