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younger.” She hadn’t meant to admit that much but couldn’t bring herself to regret the confidence.
    Jackson’s protective instincts were jolted awake. “Who?” he demanded, his tone barely above a growl. Closing the distance between them, he put one hand on her hip. He’d expected her to recoil but to his pleased shock, one fine-boned hand fluttered to rest on his bare chest. Heat engulfed his body but he ruthlessly caged the fire, aware of the fragility of her faith in his goodness.
    “I don’t want to talk about that right now.” Her answer didn’t satisfy him, but then she said, “I wanted to talk to you about the phone call.”
    He was placated by that evidence of her trust. For this night, it was enough. “Who was on the other end?”
    “Why didn’t you press for more information before?”
    “I figured I had no right to know.” Her face was so solemn, so lovely in the frame of midnight-dark hair. He loved Taylor’s thick, curling mane. Dreams of the silky strands spread over his arm as she slept beside him had tormented him since their first meeting. “Do I?”
    Taylor knew what he was really asking. “I don’t know if I’m ready to let you into my world.”
    He was silent for a moment. “Why?”
    “You’re…” How could she admit that she was scared of what he made her feel, what he made her ache for?
    “You trust me, don’t you?”
    The answer came easily because he’d always been far more than just her boss, no matter what she’d tried to convince herself. “I’m here.” And she wouldn’t be if she didn’t trust him on a deep, unshakable level.
    That trust was rooted in the knowledge that he’d never coerce her to do anything against her will. Jackson was a protector. And she needed his protection from Lance. More importantly, Nick needed his protection. “Nick is the most precious part of my world,” she whispered, making a decision.
    “I know.”
    “He’s returning from camp in a couple of days,” she told him. “Do you want to come pick him up with me?”
    “Yes.”
    Taylor felt something change in their relationship at that moment. With her invitation, she’d accepted Jackson’s claim over her and made a claim of her own. But did she have any right to him when her whole being was wracked with fear over Lance’s threats to take her brother away?
    “You only ever speak of Nick.” One big hand stroked her hair. Instead of fear at the intimacy, she felt a shy sense of pleasure because this was annoyingly protective Jackson. “Do you have no other family?”
    “Not in truth.”
    “Tell me what that means, piccola.” It was a masculine demand disguised as a request.
    Taylor found that she wanted to tell him. He’d never been given any privacy with his life and it seemed only fair that he should know something of her as well. And the truth was, she needed to tell someone and aside from Jackson, who was there?
    The first words took time, but he didn’t hurry her. Standing in the hallway with her toes digging into the carpet and Jackson’s heat surrounding her, she’d never felt safer. He might want her, but he would never force her—she’d stake her life on that. “My mother brought us up, well, she brought me up anyway. She died when Nick was six.” Keeping her voice steady was an effort. “I was twenty and her death wasn’t a surprise. She was an alcoholic.”
    To her shock, right then, Jackson picked her up and walked into his bedroom. The only light came from the full moon outside. She remained absolutely silent as he pulled a blanket off the bed and then sat down in a window seat similar to others about the house. He slung the blanket around her shoulders and held her in his lap like she belonged to him, while he leaned against the wall. She sat up but his body surrounded her. Protected her.
    “Why am I telling you?” she asked, wondering how it was that she felt so safe with him. And whether she should be frightened at the reason behind the