“It was,” he says. “I bought it five years ago. Just a few months after you left Atlanta.”

“You—” I turn, something in his voice halting my words. “But you were living in Georgia.”

“I was staying in Georgia. I’ve always lived in California. And I left not long after you did. Things went downhill with Brighton pretty quickly.”

I know from official biographies that he’d grown up just outside of San Diego. I didn’t know that he’d ever lived in or considered living in Los Angeles. And now to find out that he’d come here—that he’d bought property even. Honestly, I’m not sure what to think about that, and I tell him as much.

“It’s not a trick question and there is no hidden meaning. But I wanted to show you this place because I think it’s special. And I thought of it last night when you told me about wanting the ocean and the stars.”

I look around at the bright blue sky and the blazing sun.

“Not today.”

“No,” he says with a laugh. “Not today.” He holds out his hand for me and I take it. “Will you tell me something?”

“Sure,” I say, but my voice is a little too light, because I’m nervous about where this might be leading. “At least, I will if I can.”

“Last night, when the nightmare came and you ran out on me, why did you go into the hills? Why not just race down Santa Monica or Sunset? Build up some speed? Or cruise down PCH? Or get on the highway and open her up? That time of night you could have gone all the way to the desert without hitting traffic. So why go up?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Usually when I’m upset or need to think I go to the Getty Center. I probably spent half my time in high school there.”

“But not last night.”

“No.” I frown, because the question hadn’t occurred to me. It had just seemed natural to go into the hills. To drive fast. “I was scared. I was running. I wasn’t thinking.”

“And yet you ran to Mulholland. Curves and hills and no guardrails. Sounds pretty scary, too.”

“Your inner psychologist is showing,” I say.

He laughs. “Perhaps. And perhaps I’m right. Maybe you were conquering fear with fear.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I hug myself, not really in the mood to be picked apart. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I think you were being smart.” He cocks his head, his blue eyes just a little devious. “Because we’re going to push you, Syl. Fight fear with fear. Take control by giving control.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me show you.” He steps back, then looks me up and down. “Take off your clothes.”

I see the heat in his eyes and hear the command in his voice and realize that he’s not kidding. Prickles of excitement skitter over me, but I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“No? That’s not the way this works, Sylvia. I tell you to get naked, and you do. I tell you to suck my cock, and you get on your knees.”

His voice is firm, commanding, and I take a step backward, shaking my head in both denial of his words and in defense against the way my body heats in response. “What kind of game are you playing, Jackson?”

“The only kind I ever play. Mine.” He crooks his finger. “Come here, baby. I want to show you something.”

I hesitate, and he laughs.

“Come on,” he urges. “I promise I don’t bite hard.”

I hear the echo from our past—the words he’d teased me with in Atlanta—and I move toward him.

“Good girl,” he says, meeting me, then pulling me into his arms so that my back is pressed to his chest and one of his arms holds me tight around the waist as we look out over the ocean.

“Beautiful,” he says, even as his free hand slowly tugs my skirt up.

“What are you doing?”

“Wait.” He kisses my ear, sending shock waves of pleasure through me at the same time his fingers find my panties. He slides his hand down, cupping my sex, then growling low and deep when he finds me hot and wet and ready.

He slides his fingers deep inside me, and I moan with pleasure even as my knees go weak.

He bends his head to whisper in my ear. “And that, beautiful, proves my point.”

“I—what?”

I turn in his arms. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“You like feeling used, Sylvia,” he says, and I immediately shake my head.