Page 23 of Captured By Fate

With a strangled cry, I slip below the surface, holding my breath until my lungs burn. Emerging with a gasp, I push wet hair from my eyes and stare desperately at my wrinkled fingers. If only pruned skin could so easily dampen desire.

I swallow hard and climb out of the tub on shaky legs. Dressing quickly, I avoid my gaze in the fogged mirror. I know if I look too closely, I'll see the flames still dancing in my eyes. The involuntary hunger Jackson has awakened within me - a ravenous beast I try in vain to tame.

Crawling into bed, I toss and turn beneath the cool sheets. But there is no rest for the weak, and I've never felt more feeble and defenseless than in this moment. When my own body betrays me so sweetly.

I should despise his touch. Should hate the way he toys with me. Yet even now, I find myself craving it. Aching for his hands, his lips...him.

I grind my thighs together beneath the covers, seeking friction, then still myself as realization dawns - I'm already deeply under Jackson's spell. And the most terrifying part is I'm no longer certain I want to break it.

He wields pleasure like a weapon. And no matter how I steel myself, I'm terrified one day I'll shatter under that exquisite barrage. Give in to him completely. The thought keeps me up at night — which only provides more hours for him to invade my thoughts and set my body aflame.

I'm caught in his web and I fear there's no escape. No matter how I rationalize and resist, deep down I know I'm already his.

By the next day, I long to see his face. But his servants will hardly look me in the eye, let alone tell me anything about him.

“Have you seen him this morning?” I ask, strutting around in a fresh shirt and pair of his slacks. I've fashioned them into a high-waisted sleek garment, I can’t wait to see his face. I wonder if he’ll be angry, and if his way of punishing me for this act of defiance will be as fun as last night.

“I’m sorry miss,” the sour-faced attendant sweeping the floor says. Like the butler and the chef, no one has a story to tell about the man they work for. Only loyalty.

I’m hit with the unexpected realization that Jackson is absent, his presence now a conspicuous void that I can't seem to ignore, even as I tell myself his whereabouts are of no concern to me.

The maids move silently through their duties, a vigilant yet unobtrusive presence in the mansion. I watch them with a detached curiosity, my thoughts inadvertently drifting back to Jackson.

Where is he? The question invades my mind like an insistent mosquito. I bat it away, irritated at myself. I should relish these precious hours of solitude, the reprieve from his watchful eye and roaming hands.

Yet as the day unfolds, my awareness of his absence only grows, a nagging sensation I resent yet can't seem to shake off. I wander the cavernous halls aimlessly, suddenly feeling out of place without him here.

In the library, I trail my fingers along the spines of books, unable to focus on the words before me. Memories of our heated kisses in the kitchen haunt me. I linger by the pool, haunted by visions of his powerful strokes cutting through the chlorine-scented water.

At breakfast, I stare numbly at the empty seat at the head of the table, the one he occupies every morning like a throne. The staff maintain their professional facade, but I see the questions swirling behind their eyes.

Where is Mr. Corel? Why is he not home?

I echo their unspoken curiosity, though I plaster on a mask of indifference. I struggle against the rising tide of my thoughts, each recollection of Jackson pushed away with a well-rehearsed litany of denial.

He means nothing to me. I feel nothing for him. His absence brings only relief.

But the words ring hollow even in my head. My carefully crafted defenses are slowly being chiseled away by this place, by him. I'm forced to admit, if only to myself, that I long for his presence. I crave the spark that flashes between us - even when masked by disdain.

I've memorized every sculpted plane of his face, and can perfectly envision the way one corner of his mouth quirks up right before he teases me. My dreams provide no respite, only visions of his lips on mine, his hands claiming my body.

As night falls, I stand alone on the balcony, inhaling the jasmine-scented air. The stars above mirror the pinpricks of light in the surrounding homes. Only this mansion remains dark, cold, and empty. My prison never felt so lonely before.

14

JACKSON

“Good meeting, everyone.”

I exit the boardroom, thinking back on the unforgivable bore I become in these endless meetings. It's the less glamorous aspect to illegal racing, but someone has to keep the ball rolling. In the end, I’m a boss, with quarterly earnings reports to look over and salaries to pay.

“Thanks Mr. Corel.” one of my interns says. “I’ll get those figures up to date for next week.”

“Sounds good.” I say, knowing it’s anything but. Another day, another meeting, another thought of Kelley. It seems the only thing I haven’t had time for, in days, is her. I rise and work without seeing her for days at a time, something I thought wouldn’t bother me in the least.

I was wrong.

Somehow, between our charged encounters and verbal sparring, she has lodged herself into my mind. Her defiant eyes and bold spirit call to me even in her absence. I find myself replaying our conversations, analyzing her expressions. Wondering if behind her hostility, she feels this gravitational pull too.

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