Tears start to fall down my cheeks, but he wipes them away. “I do remember. I could hear you crying. I thought you were having a nightmare, so I went inside to check on you.”
“I never have nightmares when you’re with me, Matilda,” he says.
“I….” My throat catches. “I have so many questions.”
His eyes go sad, and for a second I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing. The sadness vanishes quickly, though, and he tugs me farther onto the couch to sit on his lap.
“Ask me, then.”
We stay there for hours, and he tells me everything. How it took him years to conceive of his plan. How in the beginning he never actually thought he’d go through with it, but just the idea of revenge, of relief, was soothing to him. The possibility that he would one day make things right. He’d pace each night before bed, reciting his plan, sometimes adding on new bits, and it helped him to sleep.
Then came the hard part. He knew that some of the things he needed to do would require the help of some questionable individuals, so he sought to make a connection with a man named Seamus Crowley, a powerful crime lord in the city. This was the same man I’d seen him meet up with that night at the docklands with the shifty-looking bodyguards. The one who came to me in the park.
Jay paid Seamus to help him forge the documents he needed to make it look like David Murphy had died. He also helped Jay ensure those documents went missing before the case got to trial. And that’s why he took something from Brian Scott that day outside The Daily Post offices. It was his access card, and Jay needed it to get into the newspaper’s file rooms. The idea of Jay having associations with a crime boss makes me worry, but he assures me that his debt to Seamus has been paid in full. Seamus threatening me that day was him flexing his muscles, ensuring that Jay paid his debt to him.
Both David Murphy and the cameraman, Blake, who was acting as Una Harris’ informant, were in on the plan. Like Jessie, they had been good friends of Jay’s for years, owed him for many favours he’d done for them, and so they agreed to help him. Blake started working as Una’s informer long before they started filming, gaining her trust in order to ensure she’d believe him about the death.
In regards to the TV show, Jay had only a small number of people working on it with him, people he knew he could trust with the secret that David Murphy wasn’t dead. The television executives only put a pause on the show after Una Harris’ article had come out, and Jay let them believe her, simply never correcting them that David was, in fact, still alive. Since it was mostly his own money invested in creating the show in the first place, the channel didn’t lose much in finally cancelling it several months before the trial.
So, how did he know Una would even pick up the story in the first place? Now, that I’m under strict instructions not to reveal. But I will say this:
My dad’s sudden interest in renovating our spare bedroom and renting it out was NOT his own decision. Neither was it the decision of the three volunteers at Jay’s show to write down the band, book and painting that they did. It’s all very clever and the power of subconscious suggestion is a fascinating thing. So no, Jay is not actually magic, nor does he possess “godlike super minding-reading skills.” (Jerry Burke, 2013, Hotmail.) Let’s just say, if you could crack open the man’s brain and take a look inside, it would be a truly illuminating experience.
My head actually hurts by the time he’s finished telling me everything.
“I can’t believe how much time you invested in all of this,” I tell him. “How much effort. I feel unworthy.”
Jay’s arm rests along the back of the couch. He runs his hand through my hair. “Never doubt your worth to me, Matilda. My whole life, my entire career, is investing vast amounts of time for one single result, a result that sometimes only lasts a moment. Every illusion takes hours, weeks, months of planning, and each one is worth the time. In a lot of ways, what I did to get justice for our families was a mirror of that process, and I don’t regret a single moment. You know why?”
“Why?” I whisper.
He locks eyes with me. “Because every step brought me here. To you.”
His mouth is so close to mine I can practically taste him. Our breaths mingle, full of need that we’ve been suppressing for months. I lick my lips, and he watches the movement hungrily. Between that second and the next, his mouth descends on mine, and he’s kissing me with a fiery passion. My body melds to his, my hands grasping for his belt, wanting his pants gone.
“Been a real long fucking time,” he murmurs as he sucks on my neck. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you, taste you, these past few months?”
I moan. “A lot.”
“Yeah, a lot,” he rasps. “So much I’ve now got a master’s in masturbation.”
Giggles burst forth. “Jason, please never use ‘master’s in masturbation’ ever again.”
“Why not? It’s got a good ring to it.” His hand goes between my legs, up under my skirt, and straight past my underwear. I whimper when he slides his fingers deep inside me and swears loudly.
“I don’t like it.”
“You love it.” One pump.
“Do not.” Another one.
“Yeah, ya do.” His fingers move fast now, in and out, and I don’t want to be talking anymore. Still, I can’t let him have the last word.
“Don’t.”
“You do. You fucking love it, and you love me, too.”
I gasp, and our eyes lock. He stares at me, still finger-fucking me. “Try to deny it. I dare you,” he goes on with a dark, sexy look.
“I do….”
He puts his other hand to my lips to shush me, then picks me up and carries me into his room. I’ve only been in his bedroom here a handful of times, and it thrills me when he lays me down on the bed before stripping off every last item of clothing I have on.
I lie there, chest heaving, as he moves away from me. Seconds later, he’s gloriously naked and crawling back up my body. He spreads my legs, his mouth going straight for my sex. I cry out the second his tongue makes contact with my clit.
Jay’s right. It has been way too long.
He works on me in a frenzy, the both of us desperate for each other. He looks up at me, his eyes smouldering, and my cheeks heat. I love how quickly he can strip me bare, literally and figuratively. I brush my fingers through his hair in adoration, my heart so full it could burst. My body coils tight, and I know I’m going to come soon.
The orgasm hits me hard and quick, and as the pleasure is shattering through me, I blurt out a fervent declaration, “I love you, Jay. I love you so much.”
He smiles up at me, a crooked, dashing smile, and replies, “Yeah, ya do. Love you, too, Watson.”
“Come here,” I murmur, and pull him up my body, dragging his mouth to mine.
Our tongues collide as his erection teases between my legs. With one swift, hard thrust of his hips, he’s deep inside me. We break the kiss, and our gazes lock.
His hand cups one side of my face, his eyes reverent. “You’re my home, Matilda,” he breathes, his words a vow. “I feel at peace now. You’re mine.”
I moan as goose bumps break out all over my body. “Say it,” he demands.
“I’m yours,” I choke out, feeling like I’m fit to burst with the love that runs through me for this man. “I’m yours.”
A glorious smile splits his lips as a sheen of sweat forms at his temples. His mouth is over mine as he whispers, “Yeah, you are, and I’m yours.”
For hours he consumes me with his body, his passion overwhelming, his soul the perfect match for mine. He makes love to me until the sky starts to brighten, marking a brand-new day.
Thirty