The Last Mrs. Parrish(60)

When we walked into the grand foyer, with a chandelier that would have been at home in Buckingham Palace, I gave him a strained smile. Did people really live this way? I remember thinking that the excesses surrounding me could pay so many medical bills for the CF families struggling to keep their heads above water.

“It’s very nice.”

“Glad you approve.” He’d looked at me with a puzzled expression, called for the housekeeper to take our coats, and whisked me off to the deck, where a roaring fire awaited in an outdoor fireplace and we could take in the spectacular view of Long Island Sound.

I was attracted to him—how could I not be? Jackson Parrish was undeniably handsome, his dark hair the perfect frame for eyes bluer than the Caribbean. He was the stuff fantasies were made of—thirty-five-year-old CEO of the company he’d built from the ground up, generous and philanthropic, beloved in the community, charming, boyishly handsome—not the sort of man someone like me dated. I’d read all about his reputation as a playboy. The women he went out with were models and socialites, women whose sophistication and allure far outweighed my own. Maybe that was why his interest took me so by surprise.

I was relaxed, enjoying the soothing view of the Sound and the salty smell of the sea air, when he handed me a glass of something pink.

“A Bellini. It will make you feel like it’s summer.” An explosion of fruit filled my mouth, and the combination of tart and sweet was delectable.

“It’s delicious.” I looked out at the sun setting over the water, the sky painted gorgeous shades of pink and purple. “So beautiful. You must never tire of this view.”

He sat back, his thigh next to mine making me more lightheaded than the drink.

“Never. I grew up in the mountains and didn’t realize what an enchantress the sea is until I moved east.”

“You’re from Colorado, right?”

He smiled. “Doing some research on me?”

I took another sip, emboldened by the alcohol. “You’re not exactly a private figure.” It seemed like I couldn’t open a newspaper without reading about wonder boy Jackson Parrish.

“Actually I’m a very private person. When you reach the level of success that I have, it’s hard to know who your real friends are. I have to be careful who I let get close to me.” He took my glass and refilled it. “But enough about me. I want to know more about you.”

“I’m not very interesting, I’m afraid. Just a girl from a small town. Nothing special.”

He gave me a wry smile. “If you call getting published at fourteen nothing special. I loved the piece you did for is magazine about your sister and her brave fight.”

“Wow. You did your research too. How did you even find that?”

He winked at me. “I have my ways. It was very touching. So, you and Julie had both planned on going to Brown?”

“Yes, from the time we were little. After she died, I felt like I had to go. For both of us.”

“That’s rough. How old were you when you lost her?”

“Eighteen.”

He put his hand on mine. “I’m sure she’s very proud of you. Especially what you’re doing, your dedication. The foundation is going to help so many people.”

“I’m so grateful to you. Without your help it would have taken me years to get a space and a staff.”

“I’m happy to do it. You were lucky to have her. I’ve always wondered what it would have been like to grow up with brothers and sisters.”

“It must have been lonely being an only child,” I said.

He had a faraway look. “My father worked all the time, and my mother had her charity duties. I always wished I had a brother to go outside and throw a football with, to go shoot some hoops.” He shrugged. “Oh, well, plenty of people had it much worse.”

“What does your father do?”

“He was the CEO of Boulder Insurance. Pretty big job. He’s retired now. My mother was a stay-at-home mom.”

I didn’t want to pry, but he seemed like he wanted to talk. “Was?”

He suddenly stood up. “She died in a car crash. It’s a bit chilly. Why don’t we go inside?”

I stood, feeling woozy, and put a hand on the chair to steady myself. He turned toward me then, his eyes intense, caressed my cheek, and whispered, “When you’re with me, I don’t feel lonely at all.” I said nothing as he scooped me into his arms and carried me into the house and up to his bed.

Parts of that first night we spent together are still a blur. I hadn’t planned on making love to him—I had felt it was too soon. But before I knew it, we were naked and tangled up in the sheets. He held my eyes the entire time. It was unnerving, like he was staring into my very soul, but I couldn’t look away. When it was over, he was tender and sweet, and he fell asleep wrapped in my arms. I watched his face in the moonlight and traced the outline of his jaw. I wanted to erase all his sad memories and make him feel the love and nurturing he’d missed as a child. This gorgeous, strong, and successful man that everyone looked up to had shared his vulnerabilities with me. He needed me. There is nothing more enticing to me than being needed.

When morning came, I had a pounding headache. I wondered if I’d been simply another conquest, if now that he’d had me, we’d go back to being business associates. Would I join the ranks of his ex-lovers, or was this the start of a new relationship? I worried that he was comparing me to the glamour girls he was used to sleeping with, and that I came up short. He seemed to read my mind. Propping himself up on one elbow, he traced my breast with his right hand.