Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (18 page)

“I didn’t do it, I swear,” I choked out, horrified to realize I was close to tears. “I was working late last night and then Freyda cornered me in the parking lot and wanted to talk, but then they shot her, right through my windshield—”

“Wait, what? What did you say?” he interrupted. “Someone shot at you?”

“Yes. I’m okay, but Freyda’s dead,” I blubbered. I quickly swiped the back of my hand across my wet cheeks.

“I’m at the house. Come here.”

I was only a few minutes away from Jackson’s place. “O-okay,” I croaked out, trying not to outright sob. My life was falling apart in the span of a week. It was insane. This shouldn’t be happening to me.

When I pulled into Jackson’s driveway, Lance had one of the five garage doors open and motioned me to park inside. Duh. Of course. If anyone was looking for me, my boss was sure to be questioned and having my car in his driveway was pretty much a dead giveaway.

“I’ll take care of it,” Lance said with a smile as he took my keys.

I handed them over and headed inside, where Jackson was waiting for me.

I’d had time on my way over to get control of myself so I wasn’t crying anymore. But my eyes were swollen and I was still sniffling.

He was standing there, wearing black on black again, his cuffs turned back and a Rolex gleaming on his wrist. His shoes were polished to a gleaming shine and his hair was perfect, the wave in front beckoning a woman’s fingers to run through it.

All of which made me feel like a complete frump. My
X-Files
T-shirt, long-sleeved flannel on top of that, jeans, ponytail, and glasses were woefully out of place next to him. I felt too young, too dumb, and too awkward.

Suck it up, China
, I told myself.
You’re no model and never will be. But you’re smarter than ten of them put together.
No, not a nice thought toward other women, but sometimes you had to tell yourself what you had to in order to keep your chin up.

“Start at the beginning,” he said.

I took a deep breath, then told him about how Freyda was waiting for me in the lot last night and what she had said.

“She was so scared,” I said, remembering the fear lining her face. “And then . . . she was dead.” As hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop my eyes from filling again. Embarrassed, I rubbed my eyes underneath my glasses, which was why I jumped when I felt arms around me. I hadn’t seen him coming.

“Jesus, China,” Jackson said, pulling me into his arms. “Thank God you’re okay.”

I had no idea why he wanted to hug me, but I wasn’t about to complain. It was the safest I’d felt in two days. Clark’s words and suspicions whispered inside my head, but I’d worked for Jackson for four years—had been infatuated with him for six. I couldn’t just toss away the trust and loyalty I had for him. The USB drive seemed to burn a hole through my pocket and I had no idea if I was actually going to do what Clark wanted me to.

Jackson held me tight, his arms wrapping around me, and I could smell his cologne and the scent of his skin. It was heaven. For the hell I’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, this was almost worth it all.

But I was fooling myself. And it would only be a huge disappointment later when I came crashing down to reality. Jackson didn’t want me. He was being supportive, that was all. I needed to remember that. Guys like him didn’t fall for geeky, awkward girls like me. Jackson Cooper may be a geek, too, but he was a
cool, rich
geek. Even if he
had
said he’d thought about sleeping with me, which was just confusing.

Clearing my throat, I pushed away from him. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like Jackson resisted for a split second before letting me go.

“Um, anyway,” I said, stepping back, “Lana told me this morning that the software was remotely uploaded last night using Freyda’s account, which is impossible, because she was dead. All the files have been deleted and the virus unleashed into their network is wreaking havoc. And apparently, Wyndemere suspects . . . me.” I swallowed. Hard.

“Lana told me that to clear my name, I needed to find the software
and
the person who stole it.”

I’d been looking steadily at about the middle of Jackson’s chest, but now I took a deep breath and raised my eyes to meet his.

“Please tell me the truth,” I said. “Was it you?”

Jackson’s gaze was steady on mine. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because I saw,” I said. “On your computer. You were writing code that you had no business writing.”

“You told me you
didn’t
see anything.”

“Yeah, well. I lied.”

Jackson let out a sigh. “Of course you did.”

“Tell me,” I repeated. “I deserve to know the truth.”

“The truth is that I never should have brought you on this project,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

I followed in hot pursuit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, having to walk double time to keep up with his long strides. “It’s not my fault that Wyndemere is involved in something shady and dangerous.”

“I didn’t say it was,” he replied, stopping so suddenly I nearly ran into him. He’d led us to a room I hadn’t been to before and held the door open for me to enter.

I walked inside and found a media room with a huge flat-screen television and leather furniture that looked very heavy, very plush, and very expensive. The carpet felt as though it swallowed my feet. But my attention was on the television screen. It was the reporter I’d seen at Wyndemere, and she was live on the air.

“. . . haven’t confirmed whether this was a terrorist cyber-attack or an act of corporate espionage,” she was saying. “The company spokesman declined to answer any questions at this time. Anonymous sources, however, are telling us that employees of Cysnet—the company owned by entrepreneur Jackson Cooper—are thought to be behind it. There has been no word on whether the death of Freyda Jain, found this morning in her car, is somehow related.”

Jackson muted the television. “See what I mean? The lawyers have already been calling.”

“You didn’t answer me,” I said, ignoring his comment. “Did you steal the software?”

“If I did, why do you think I’d tell you?”

Ouch. Burn.

I pushed aside my injured pride and got right up in his space. I had to tip my head back pretty far, but still. “Because my ass is on the line,” I gritted out, poking my finger hard into his chest. “That’s why.”

Jackson snatched my hand in his and jerked me closer. “Don’t you think I know that?” he hissed. “It’s precisely why I can’t tell you anything.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re too young, China. Naive. Like that neighbor of yours that you’re so willing to invite into your home and into your bed. His identity is a complete sham. Granted, they put some work into it, but track him back a few years and he disappears.”

Oh no. He knew about Clark. “What are you saying?”

“He’s not who he says he is,” Jackson repeated. “His trail disappears. He’s either law enforcement, or a spy.”

“But he said he’s in HR,” I bluffed, frantically thinking of what to do.

“He lied.” Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was an awful liar and I’d already lied twice today. It wasn’t something I usually did. Jackson’s dark eyes stared into mine, as if he could read my mind. What would he do if he found out Clark was threatening me into enabling a hack into Jackson’s network?

“You already know, don’t you,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“I . . . guessed.” Which was true.

“Please tell me you didn’t confront him,” he said.

“Um . . . well . . .”

He dropped my arm, turning away and cursing under his breath. Shoving his fingers roughly through his hair, he rounded on me again. “Do you have any idea what he could have done to you? How easily he could make you just disappear?”

Yes, Clark could, actually, and no . . . I hadn’t considered that. I winced at the thought.

“What did he say?” he asked.

I panicked. There was no other word for it. And I did the first thing that came to mind.

I kissed him.

Not just any kiss. Nope. Not me. I
threw
myself at him, locking my lips to his and wrapping my arms around his neck. This had the unfortunate effect of causing him to stumble backward, unbalanced by my sudden attack. For once, luck was actually on my side because his leg hit the couch and he abruptly sat. Since I was attached to him like a barnacle to a sinking ship, I went down, too.

Recover recover recover.
The mantra went through my head as I scrambled, straddling his lap. I tossed my glasses aside and smooshed my mouth to his again. I had no plan for what I’d say when I was done trying to distract him. I’d just wing it.

His lips were warm and soft, so it wasn’t as though kissing him was a hardship. Add in the fact that he smelled better than a fresh server right out of the box, and I wasn’t faking my enthusiasm.

Jackson’s hands wrapped around my upper arms, forcibly pushing me away until I had no choice but to break our kiss. I sat back and our eyes locked.

Oh shit. He was so pissed, I just knew it. What was a graceful face-saving way out of this?

Um, yeah, that ship had sailed.

I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. I’d made an utter fool of myself.

Just as I was trying to figure out how to climb off his lap without falling on the floor, Jackson lifted his hands from my arms to cup either side of my head. Surprised, I lifted my eyes. His gaze was intense, his brow furrowed. Then he was kissing me.

It wasn’t like when I kissed him. It was much, much better.

His lips moved over mine, insistent and firm. For a moment, I did nothing, then it was as if my brain finally connected with my body.
Jackson was kissing me. REALLY kissing me.

Opening my mouth, I pressed closer to him, wanting him to deepen the kiss, which he did. His tongue brushed mine, sending a wave of desire through me.

Reaching back, I tugged out my ponytail. I had good hair. Mia had said so. Maybe Jackson would like it.

That had been a good move because no sooner had my hair settled around my shoulders and down my back than Jackson was pushing his fingers through it. His hand cradled the nape of my neck, pulling me closer. The other hand went to my hip.

I’d been in this position with Clark not two nights ago and it had ended in disaster.
I couldn’t help the thought running through my head. If Jackson did that to me, I didn’t know if I’d ever find the courage to kiss another man.

But even those dark thoughts faded away as the moments ticked by and Jackson continued to kiss me, his mouth becoming more demanding. Not that I needed encouraging. I was plastered to him, my breasts smashed against his chest, my fingers in his hair, and my hips pushing down into his. Not that it seemed he minded.

Both his hands moved to clutch my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh through the denim. He pushed up, pulling me down so that the hard length of him pressed between my thighs.

Blood pounded in my ears, heading south. I tore my mouth from his, dragging in a breath. His fingers trailed through my hair, then closed into a fist, pulling my head back and exposing my throat to his lips and tongue.

I felt on fire. Both his hands had my hair and tugged gently, keeping my back arched toward him.

He tugged at my shirt, pulling the sleeves down my arms. I unwound my arms from around his neck long enough to shove the fabric off, letting it fall to the floor.

The world spun and suddenly I was on my back on the couch, Jackson braced on his elbows above me. I was breathless, my eyes wide as they stared into his. The look on his face was one I knew I’d never forget.

He wanted me.

I knew it in an instant, in the instinctual way women have known for centuries when they’re wanted. Built into my DNA was something deeply feminine that recognized the hunger in his gaze, in the set of his jaw, the line of his lips.

The knowledge sent a curl of pleasure through me. I smiled. It was amazing, how having the man I wanted look at me like that could make me feel . . . sexy. I’d never felt sexy in my life. Ever. Never ever. But man, did it feel good.

I threaded my fingers through his hair and up his scalp and his eyes slid shut. I pressed him toward me, delighted when he readily complied. His kiss devoured me, sending my lucid thoughts shattering into a heady fog of want and heat and desire.

Jackson tugged on the hem of my T-shirt and I lifted up long enough for him to pull it over my head. He froze with the fabric still tangled in my fingers.

I looked at him, but he was looking at my chest. Suddenly, I was superglad I’d worn my Dream Angels champagne lace push-up with matching boyshort lace panties.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice a rasp of sound that went right through me.

He sat back on his knees, which is when I noticed my legs were wrapped around his hips. Hmm. When had that happened?

I was distracted by his hands at the fastening of my jeans. The brush of his fingers against my bare stomach sent tremors through me. I was mesmerized by his face as he unzipped my jeans and dragged them down my legs. I really hoped he took my socks with the jeans because they
so
did not go with my bra and panty set.

I was in luck because he did take the socks. But that wasn’t the luckiest part. That was when he looked at me as if I were birthday cake and ice cream . . . and it wasn’t even his birthday.

All of my grandma’s Harlequins didn’t prepare me for how it felt when he slid his fingers underneath the lace of my panties and between my legs.

I sucked in a sharp breath when he touched me. He was looking at me, watching my face, as his hand moved. My thighs were spread and I felt like that word they used in the novels . . . wanton. The lights were on and Jackson was watching my reaction to his touch.

“Are you still a virgin, China?” he asked, his fingers sliding between my folds.

Words were beyond me. My heart was racing and my mouth was utterly dry. I could only nod.