Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(62)

He catches my head and kisses me again, his eyes simmering with warmth as he releases me, holds my gaze, and answers the call. “Hey, Pops. Or Mother. How are you?”

There is an instant pinch in my chest at the reminder that I’m lucky to hear from my mother once a month. Hiding my reaction, irritated I’ve let my mother’s behavior invade my thoughts, I quickly step back to the coffeemaker to place a new pod in the machine. Pressing the brew button, I force myself back to the present, an effort made easier when I hear Jason say, “I’m aware that I need to eat healthy, Mother. Yes. I know. Yes, I will get my cholesterol checked.”

Officially charmed by this man’s relationship with his mother, I laugh and turn to face Jason, who points at the phone and grins. “I’m still single, Mother.” I blush and cover my face, looking at him again as he adds, “Yes, I know I’m getting old. You keep reminding me.”

Laughing, I walk to the fridge to grab the creamer, freezing as he says, “No, Mother, my nonexistent wife is not pregnant.” My cheeks are now burning hot. “And yes,” Jason continues, “I know that if I’m gay, you are perfectly fine with it, and I could adopt because I’d be a great father just like Dad. And if I were gay, I’d consider that. But I’m still not any more gay than six months ago when you asked me this.” A silence as he listens. “Why what? Why am I not gay, or why am I not married?”

This exchange continues, and at this point all of my embarrassment has faded into outright laughter until my coffee is sweetened, the creamer is back in the fridge, and Jason is saying, “I love you too, Mother, and yes, I’m ready for Dad.” He winks at me, takes a sip of my coffee, then says, “Hi, Pops,” and the poker talk begins.

I step into the living room and cross to the window, staring out at the skyline, picking up little pieces of his conversation with his father. I love that he’s this way with his family. I love that I can already tell he’s a good man. Jason’s laughter lifts in the air and it makes me smile. He makes me smile.

I think too of my own father, who’s been gone for so many years. Why, why, why am I still clearly affected by how he treated my mother and me? Why do I let him, or my mother now, get to me?

Deciding that I need a hot shower, and to shake off the past, I head into the bedroom, and the instant I see my phone on the nightstand, I realize I could have missed Ella’s call. I rush forward and look, but there’s no call or text. I glance at the clock, and it’s only eight. I need to let her sleep at least another hour. Leaving my cup on the nightstand, I take my phone into the bathroom, where I strip off Jason’s T-shirt and step into the fancy white-tiled shower with a bench in the back.

The hot water flows over me, but my mind hasn’t had time to chase the past or the present. The door opens and Jason stands there still in his sweats, his eyes on mine, not my naked body. “The shower doesn’t make you claustrophobic?”

“Actually, no,” I say, kind of stunned by my own admission, “but I didn’t realize that until now.”

“If I join you, will that change?”

“No,” I say quickly. “God no, Jason. You aren’t the problem. I promise you that.”

He studies me several long, unreadable moments, in which I feel naked inside and out, yet remarkably, I have no desire to hide. I want this man deeply, passionately, in ways I didn’t know I could ever want another human being. Wordlessly, he strips away his pants, joining me in the shower. And while I’m aware of his naked body, which is just as impressively long, lean, and hard as I remember, and I am aware that he’s aroused, his shaft thick and jutted forward, I’m not thinking about sex right now. I’m thinking about him feeling that he had to ask to get into his own shower. “Jason—”

“Skye,” he says, already backing me into the corner. “I said I wouldn’t ask about the hallway or the elevator, but I really f*cking want to ask right now. Did Greg—”

“It’s not because of Greg. He was just an arrogant ass who thought he was better than everyone, including me. He f*cked his secretary on his desk, on a night I stopped by the office. Which was a good thing, because I got the hell away from him. I felt trapped with him, and I don’t even know why. It was like some sort of manifestation of my claustrophobia, which . . . It’s a result of something that happened when I was a kid, Jason. That’s how screwed up I am. It’s still messing with me.”

His hands settle on my shoulders. “You’re not screwed up, baby. You’re human, and I find that sexier than you can possibly imagine. And I didn’t mean to push you, but the idea that this guy hurt you was clawing at me the entire time I was talking to my father.”

“You were worried about me when you were talking to your father?”

“Hell yes. I was, and he would have been, too, if the roles were reversed.”

“And while that means so very much to me, Jason, I hate it, too. I don’t want my problems to interrupt you and your father. I feel horrible, and—”

He kisses me, a slow caress of lips and tongue, before he says, “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m glad you’re here.”

Emotions, crazy, wild emotions, tighten my chest. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

“Everything about you intrigues me, Skye. But those ghosts of your past challenge me.”