I nodded distractedly as Marc excused himself to make his rounds, disappearing into the crowd. "What did you mean about Marc getting you out of a scrape in Burbank?"
"We were doing a charity event together in Burbank, and an overzealous fan was determined to hide in the backseat of my car. My security was overwhelmed with the amount of fans that showed up since the event was open to anyone who purchased a ticket. Marc saw the woman sneak into the back of my car and escorted her out himself. Turns out, she had duct tape and a knife on her."
"That's insane!" I exclaimed, horrified that there were people that sick and obsessed running loose. "What was she planning on doing?"
"Who knows?" Jackson shrugged, looking unconcerned. "She couldn't explain the duct tape and knife and claimed that she just wanted to meet me in person. She was a small woman. Even if Marc hadn't seen her, nothing would have happened."
"You don't know that," I said fiercely. The thought of some crazed fan attacking Jackson was intolerable. "She could have taken you by surprise and hurt you before you could stop her. I can't stand the thought of you being hurt by some deranged fan. She was lucky I wasn't there."
Jackson smiled at me tenderly, cupping the side of my neck and gently sweeping a thumb against my jawline. "I'm glad I have such an impassioned protector." He leaned down, kissing me softly as his arm tightened around me.
"I never thought I'd live to see the day when Jackson Reynard participated in public displays of affection."
We broke apart at the mocking female voice and I glanced up at a willowy woman with shiny dark brown hair tumbling down her back. I didn't recognize her but that didn't make her any less gorgeous. Hazel cat-shaped eyes assessed me, and I didn't miss the spark of malice in them.
"Leila," Jackson said, nodding in greeting. He didn't seem too excited to see her, his eyes looking flat and dispassionate.
"Hello, Jackson," she said in a lowered voice, as if they were the only two people in the room. She reached out a perfectly manicured hand and grasped the lapel of Jackson's jacket. "It's been a while."
Jackson looked grim as he reached up and removed Leila's hand, dropping it as soon as he succeeded in freeing his jacket from her grasp. "Yes, it's been a while. I scarcely remember the last time we saw each other."
Leila pouted, but her expression turned fuming when Jackson looked down at me with a sweet smile. "Emma, this is Leila." Jackson turned back to Leila, his expression hardening. "This is Emma, my girlfriend."
"Nice to meet you, Leila," I said politely, but Leila was too busy boring holes into Jackson with blazing eyes to respond.
"See you around," Jackson said, clearly dismissing her. He guided me away and I couldn't help cringing at Leila's furious expression.
"Is she an ex-girlfriend or something? Is she going to start sending me dead kittens with threatening letters?" I was trying to sound lighthearted, but I felt a ball of insecurity starting to form in the pit of my stomach.
"I wouldn't call her an ex-girlfriend." Jackson hesitated, looking reluctant to continue. "We...spent some time together in the past."
I nodded, trying to look blasé even though jealousy was coursing through me. "Is she an actress? I don't recognize her."
"No, she's a model."
Of course she was.
Jackson and I spent most of the night by the bar, not needing to mingle since everybody seemed to come up to us. The night felt surreal as I tried to keep track of all the celebrities I met, although I was beginning to realize that the bulk of them seemed perfectly nice and normal. But I was dismayed by the amount of women that came up to Jackson, seemingly unsettled when Jackson introduced me as his girlfriend. I couldn't understand why they were so surprised since Jackson had announced his feelings to the world. I wondered if it was because they didn't want to believe it. None of them were as visibly hostile as Leila, but I could feel their disappointment. I couldn't tell if these women were simply wishing that they had a chance with Jackson, or if they were jealous because they had a history with him. It was all a little too much to take in, and as a result, I drank way too much, the French 75s going down like water.
"Shouldn't you be pacing yourself?" Jackson looked concerned as I drained my latest glass. Chloe Masters, dubbed America's sweetheart for all her charming roles in romantic comedies, had just walked away after a last longing look at Jackson.
"This is a party. Loosen up." The room looked a bit hazy and I knew I was overindulging, but I didn't know how else to deal with the questions battering inside my head about Jackson and all these women.
Jackson frowned and shook his head at a waiter that was passing by with a tray full of drinks. The waiter obliged and changed direction mid-stride, avoiding me completely.
"Are you kidding me?" I protested. "I'm old enough to know when I've had enough to drink."
Jackson's frown deepened. "Is something bothering you?"
"What could be bothering me?" I was well aware of my scathing tone but I couldn't stop myself. "I'm at a fancy party with my famous boyfriend, who apparently has truckloads of women lusting after him." The corners of my lips turned down, as the alcohol coursing through my veins made me much bolder than normal. "Have you slept with all of them?"
Jackson's face hardened and he leaned down so his mouth was next to my ear. "This isn't the place to talk about this."
I leaned my head back, my bravado not flinching under his displeased gaze. "Why not? Afraid to answer my question?"
Jackson's mouth tightened but he didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed my arm and I tried to keep up as he dragged me through the lounge. I smiled, trying to feign enjoyment as heads turned to look at us. The last thing I wanted was tomorrow's gossip rags to be dissecting a fight between us. I was expecting Jackson to pull me outside so I was surprised when he led me onto the dance floor. It was now full of writhing bodies, as the frantic beat of an electronica song vibrated through the dance floor.
"I don't want to dance."
Jackson pulled me close so the front of our bodies were plastered together, his hands pushing against the small of my back so that we were intimately entwined.
The music slowed to a heavier beat, hypnotic and slow as Jackson ignored my protest. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against my ear as one hand drifted up to stroke my back. I felt powerless as I swayed with him, the scent of him filling my senses as the warmth of his body enveloped me. My hands that had been fisted against his chest relaxed and I slid them up around his neck.