Without You

No matter. He’d dug his heels in and had no intention of budging.

He wondered suddenly if his implication in Roberta’s murder wasn’t Mafia related. They had the resources and connections to frame him. Having reached that conclusion, shouldn’t he tell Hallie?

Not yet. He had no intention of involving her in a dangerous game with the mob. Besides, she had enough to do looking after his legal worries. Too, handling this crisis was a responsibility he wasn’t about to put off on anyone else. He would take care of things himself. He always had.

None of the success he had obtained had come easy. Life had dealt him some cruel blows, beginning with the death of his mother in an auto accident when he was eleven years old.

Left with his father, an alcoholic who owned two bars, Jackson had very little home life and virtually no parental love or supervision. He spent most of his out-of-school time hanging around bars, until he met Roberta’s mother, Ruby.

In the evenings, she often frequented one of his father’s clubs, yet Ruby had used restraint in her drinking. Jackson had met her one evening when she had approached him to play a game of pool.

From then on, she had taken pity on him, and often invited him to her house to share pot roast dinners with her family. Ruby had a son, Edgar, who was never there, and Roberta, who was several years Jackson’s senior. He, Ruby and Roberta, three misfits, had become firm friends. He would never forget the fond times he’d spent at their home, even though the environment was certainly no June Cleaver haven.

At the time, however, he was grateful for any crumb of womanly compassion he could get. Ruby and Roberta had helped buffer his acute loneliness and build his self-esteem.

Once he graduated from college with a degree in business, he was determined to make something of himself away from the nightlife. But when his dad died unexpectedly, he found himself saddled with the responsibility of the bars. After selling one, he had borrowed more money and turned the other into Elan on Beale Street.

He had been successful beyond his wildest expectations. Yet there was something missing from his life—a sense of real belonging, a sense of roots. At one time, he thought he had found the answer to those needs in Hallie, only to lose her by betraying her trust.

Granted, he had been less than honest with her about his relationship with Roberta. After the fact, he rationalized that he and Hallie would not have made it anyway. Her career was going full steam ahead while his was winding down. And she hadn’t been particularly eager to have children, while he was.

Nonetheless, he had never stopped loving her or wanting her. He carried with him every sound, smell and taste of her. Though he hated that weakness, he was powerless to shake it.

“So why ask Hallie for help?” He realized he’d spoken aloud when his voice penetrated the silence in the room.

It was an insane move; he was far too vulnerable where she was concerned. Just seeing her had made him throb with that old intense longing. But a desperate man did desperate things.

And like he’d told her, he trusted her. Even if he hadn’t known her personally, hadn’t had a hot, intimate relationship with her, he would have sought her out. Her reputation as a tough officer of the court was widespread. She was both respected and admired. When it came to her clients, she was feisty and fearless in defending them.

He had met her by accident, or maybe it had been fate. They had both been at a party for the rich and famous at a rival nightclub. He hadn’t wanted to go, but Terrance had insisted, reminding Jackson he needed to get out of his cocoon and see what the competition was up to.

He had agreed, though with no real enthusiasm.

He hadn’t been interested in a permanent relationship with a woman. Nonetheless, he suspected that was what Terrance’s urging was all about. For sure, Jackson had had plenty of women. A man didn’t reach forty without having had his share of affairs.

But that was exactly what they had been—affairs. None of the women he’d been involved with had been what he considered “wife material,” though he wasn’t sure he knew what that meant. He’d been too busy with the club to think in those terms. Besides, tying the knot had scared the hell out of him. He’d been alone too long to take a waltz down the aisle.

The second he had walked into the club, where a band was playing a waltz, he’d felt out of place. Terrance had left him on his own almost immediately, having spotted a woman whom he’d dated. Jackson was about to turn and walk out the same door he’d come in, when he saw her. He’d stopped dead in his tracks.

He thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was tall and thin with spectacular chocolate-colored hair, a lovely face and shapely legs—a Southern beauty in all her glory.

When she smiled, the effect was electric. He had fallen madly in love on the spot.

If she’d been with a man, perhaps he wouldn’t have had the courage to approach her. She appeared to be alone. As though his legs had a will all their own, he moved toward her. Something made her turn and face him directly. He paused for a second and their eyes met. An electric current seemed to instantly connect them. It hadn’t been his imagination, either. That radiant smile on her face had slipped a bit while something unidentifiable jumped into her eyes.

Finally, he reached her and, without mincing words, said, “Would you like to dance?”

“I don’t make a habit of dancing with strangers.”

Her voice was as sexy as her body—husky and warm. He felt himself turn hard and prayed she wouldn’t notice.

“I can take care of that. I’m Jackson Cole.” He held out his hand. At first she appeared reluctant to touch him but then she did. When he grasped her thin hand, that current shot all the way up his arm. He knew she experienced the same sensation—she withdrew her hand immediately, her eyes wide.

“And you are?” he asked into the blistering silence.

“Hallie Hunter.”

He smiled. “Since we’re no longer strangers, shall we dance?”

“Suppose I don’t want to dance with you?”

He peered deeply into her eyes as he lowered his voice. “Only you do, don’t you.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself, Mr. Cole.”

“Jackson,” he corrected.

Before she could answer him, he reached out and pulled her gently into his arms, then onto the dance floor.

Heady stuff.

The feel and smell of her body against him penetrated his skin and went straight to his heart. She was utterly captivating, and he prayed the song would never end, so he wouldn’t have to let her go. Yet when it ended, she made no effort to leave his arms.

“I like your style, Mr. Cole,” she said with a confident smile, displaying her delightful dimple.

“Jackson,” he reminded her.

She laughed. “All right, Jackson.”

“So when can I see you again?”

She gave him a sassy look. “How do you know I’m free?”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” That tiny word came out a whisper.

“So am I, which means we have a green light.”

“For what?”

“To make love,” he whispered. “Tonight.”

She gasped. Then he did something he’d never done spontaneously before. He drew her even closer and lowered his lips to hers with explosive force.

From then on, they were inseparable, and within weeks they were officially engaged. And all was well in paradise, until Roberta reentered his life and ripped the bloom off the rose.

Now, disgusted with the direction his thoughts had taken, Jackson shook himself and walked back to the bar, then poured himself another drink. But he knew that drinking wasn’t the answer.