"You never saw her again?" The thought of not having Ximena in her life caused a panic to rattle through Solana. She didn't know what she'd do without her.

He jammed his hands in his pocket. Even drunk, tussled and missing his suit jacket, Jack sparkled in her run down bedroom crowded with its tarnished brass bed, chipped painted dresser and purple crystal encrusted mirror. All dressed with a lifetime's worth of memories in photos, mementos and trinkets.

"We wrote to each other a few times. She sent me a set of watercolour paints for my birthday." Jack looked up at the ceiling. "James found them and threw them in the garbage. Told me the arts were a waste of time. No CEO needs to know how to paint."

The urge to go to him pulled her hips forward, yet her feet didn't move. "Did you want to paint?"

Jack shrugged. "Mrs. Winston thought I was like my mother. She had an art degree and dabbled with oils mostly, painted a few family members portraits. Mrs. Winston said I had talent." He waved a hand in the air. "Drivel you tell a child."

"Maybe you do have talent." Her shoulder followed her hips, angling toward Jack. "Maybe you should take a class or something?"

He cleared his throat, like he was dismissing the past. "Who has time for that?"

"You're the great Jack Blackhorne. I'm sure you could cancel a corporate takeover to take a class at the LA Art Center." Her feet gave up the battle, and she moved closer to him.

"You have no idea what it's like to be me. I can't just run off at every unrealistic whim. People count on me." His elbows flapped like he was trying to fly away. "One false move and the company's reputation could take a hit. That'd cause a dip in the stock price, scare investors. It's a delicate balancing act." Jack spun and his piercing gaze fell on her. "You wouldn't understand."

And the cocky bastard was back.

Solana crossed her arms. "I'm not dumb, you know." She pointed to her head. "The hair is bleached."

"I don't doubt your intelligence." The compliment washed over Solana and settled in her chest. Rarely complimented for her looks, it was a scarcity anyone commented on her smarts. His words dug into the dark spot of doubt she covered with bravado and stuck there like Velcro. A lightness filled her.

Until his mouth pressed into a thin line. "You can't possibly know what it's like to manage multiple personalities for an optimal outcome."

Red-hot pokers slammed into her, and she narrowed her eyes. "How could I? Me being a simple server who night after night has to appease up to fifteen different tables in a busy club. I just ensure every order is correct with the hopes the clientele aren't so drunk at the end of the night that they remember to tip me."

Jack cocked his head to the side. "You're right." The admission hit her like a bucket of ice water. Never in a million years did she think this man from another stratosphere would admit he was wrong to her, of all people. "We have more in common than I thought. Investors are like your customers, fickle and eager to complain to management whenever they think it can benefit them."

She snickered. "And tips are like stock prices. Practically out of our hands in terms of controlling them even though our livelihoods depend on them."

Jack nodded. "Yes. Brilliant analogy."

The lightness returned. She studied him. He's face held no trace of malice or mocking. He meant what he said, and it puzzled her. She expected lies and deception from so many, especially those with wealth and status, who seemed oblivious to the people who made their wealth possible for these rich snobs. The ones who did the actual work. Served their meals, cleaned their offices, turned out their widgets. Yet time and time again Jack's words appeared sincere. Either he spoke the truth, or he was a great actor.

"Thanks. I'm good at boiling down complex quotients to simple concepts" She leaned back against the door. The insatiable draw to Jack seemed to have waned. Or she had more control. Yeah, right. Control was not her specialty. "Especially when you have a boss like Alfonzo."

Jack removed his hands from his pockets and ran a finger across the chipped dresser she and her abuela had dragged home after finding it in abandoned on the side of the road. Ximena had traded baked goods for paint and brushes from the owner of Handy Hardware. And Jack's uncle had thrown away his watercolours without a second thought. She hated the man. Doubly. For wasting good paint and Jack's childhood. Guilt stabbed at her. She shouldn't speak ill of the dead.

"How did you end up working for him, anyhow?" Jack interrupted her thoughts.

The weight of the past, the failures of Vegas, crept into the edges of the room, threatening to suffocate her. No, they were 200 miles away in a desert. She'd escaped them and wasn't going back. "In Vegas, girls like me get two career opportunities. Server or Stripper."

The side of his mouth slid upwards. "More money in stripping."

"More dignity in serving. No slack on those who dance for a living. There are some talented women and men out there. Just not for me." Solana took off her sweater and hung it in the small closet, grateful to escape the piercing stare of Jack. "Bram's family own's a diner and my first job was there. Grew up in bars and restaurants watching my mom do the job."

Jack picked up a photo on her bureau. "Is this her?"

Solana tugged the frame out of his hand and studied the younger version of herself, grinning and holding an ice cream cone in one hand, blissfully unaware that the woman holding her other hand would disappear two weeks later. "Yes. My tenth birthday."

"She's beautiful." The velvety voice tickled her ear, close again. She shivered, but not from the cold.

Setting the picture down, she stepped away. "That's the general consensus."

He surveyed the rest of the room, focused on a collection of photos tucked into the edges of her mirror, the few on the wall. "No photos of your father?"

The question hit the tender nerve everyone who knew her knew not to touch. This was not spoken of. Fists clenched, she breathed through the pain, reminding herself Jack didn't couldn't possibly guess the topic was off limits. "Nope. Died before I was born."

"Oh, sorry." His eyes met hers.

She jutted out her chin. "Don't be. I never knew the man. Nothing to miss."

Jack opened his mouth as if to protest, but seemed to think better of it. His head bobbed and she could have convinced herself silent words passed between them as they regarded each other. He said I gather it hurts. She said yes and I don't want to talk about it. He agreed to change the subject.

"So, Luc?" He stumbled across the room, his hand searching for something to steady him. Too late, she lurched to rescue him, but was too slow. With nothing but air to hold on to, he plopped onto her bed.

Great. How was she going to get him up and out of her room? Surely, Ximena was tucked back in bed by now. One thing she knew for sure, she had to keep him awake, talking. There would be no passing out on her bed. Coffee might help the situation, but she dismissed the idea of making a pot, not wanting to leave Jack alone.

"He's my half brother." She removed her earrings, placing the little white pearls, the only valuable jewellery she owned in the velvet box on her dresser. "His father was deported a few years back. Nando's family live nearby, but Valencia insisted we raise him."

"Valencia is your mother's name?" She nodded. "Where's your mother now?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Jack's eyes narrowed at her words as if he was trying hard to focus on something. On her. "She's not good at staying in one place for very long."

Warm fingers curled around her wrist and pulled Solana toward him. "Why not?"

His blue eyes met hers, and she couldn't look away. "Maybe she doesn't like me?" Solana blinked. She'd never admitted that out loud before. At first, when her mother would show up on her abuela's doorstep, it was like the circus had come to town. An excitement in the air as the house filled with Valencia's voice, singing as she made cupcakes for the birthdays she'd missed, dance parties before bedtime, mother/daughter dates at Sofia's Hair Salon.

"I highly doubt that." His thumb drew slow circled over the back of her hand.

"You don't know her."

She tugged on her hand to escape his grasp but he swayed and to keep him from falling; she moved closer. With the motion, she lost her balance, and he took advantage of her teetering state, drawing her onto his lap. Long limbs encased her, hard angles pressed against her thigh and stomach, not an unpleasant sensation. Her breath hitched, and she squirmed to get out of his grip. Jack didn't let go. Like she'd done earlier when he'd confessed and she'd silently held on to him, he maintained a light but steady grasp. The warmth of his chest eased the needles that always pricked at her when she talked about her mother.

Which was never. Ximena rarely brought up her own daughter and only when Luc asked questions did Valencia's ghost make an appearance, haunting them with what might have been. Unfortunately, Luc was a quick learner and his enquiries on why his mother was gone or when she'd return petered out.

Again, silence sat between them, Jack seeming patient and willing to wait. Solana bit the inside of her cheek. He tilted his head. "Tell me about her."

She broke the staring match and studied the rose design on the curtain over his shoulder. "Not much to tell."

Jack pressed a kiss on her shoulder. "C'mon. I told you about Mrs. Winston. What's your mother like?"

"You saw the picture. She's beautiful. Men flock to her and she laps it up." Jack drew a tender line down her spine and shifted on the bed, leaning his back against the wall her twin bed butted up against. His hand landed on the base of her neck, pressing her to him, and she once again enjoyed the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

His gentle caresses worked their magic, and the words flowed.

"The first time she left, I was too young to remember. Came back six months later. Left again when I was eight and that day I remember." The look on her mother's face as she crammed clothes into a suitcase, like a caged animal desperate to escape. "Over the years, she'd pop in and out. She'd barge through the front door like she'd only been gone for a night, not a year, kiss Abuela on the cheek and wrap me in a hug. Everything would be great for a month or so."

Solana traced the buttons on Jack's shirt as if the smooth circles could distract her from the pain. "Eventually, this sadness would settle in. I'd catch her staring at me and Abuela would tell me to go play outside. Days later, she'd be gone."

"That's terrible." Jack echoed her words from earlier as he entwined his fingers between hers.

Curling into his lap, she rested her head on his sturdy shoulder. "When I was sixteen, she came home pregnant. She'd met Nando on a cruise ship where they were servers in one of the on-board restaurants. He was a prince on the high seas, but not so much on land. Idle hands led to a drinking problem, and she had to get out of the line of fire. Valencia stayed through the pregnancy and made it to Luc's first birthday. The next week she packed and left her infant son."

"And you." Jack's tone was gentle, like he was spilling secrets in a church confessional.

She squeezed her eyes shut. A renegade tear she'd denied for years threatened to break loose. "And me."

"Your mother is a fool." The velvet voice was back, but lower, and it resonated in her head and heart.

She sucked in the warm woodsy smell of Jack, concentrating on his aroma to distract herself from the swirl of emotions jabbing at her heart. Jack brought their entwined fingers to his lips and kissed them. "I'd never want to leave you."

"Oh, you don't know me. I'm very easy to leave." Solana pushed off his lap, crossed the room, and put her ear to the door. With no sound on the other side, she determined her Abuela was back in bed and hopefully off to dreamland. "And it's time you left."

There was no response, no witty comeback. Great. He was sulking. Shoulders squared, she prepared to coddle him into a better mood if only to shuttle him out of the house. She'd call a cab as they waited on the porch.

The sight that greeted her when she turned around sent her plans out the window. Sprawled on her bed, feet dangling off the end of the too small mattress, Jack's eyes were closed. "No, no, no." She ran to him and yanked on his arm. "Don't do this to me."

Jack's eyes fluttered, and he mumbled something resembling her name.

Despite what the word did to her insides, she shook his shoulders. "Jack. You have to get up."

"Can't I stay?" He rolled over on his side, his fingers brushedher hip. "I'll be a good boy."

His words tugged at her heartstrings. Here in the soft light from her bedroom lamp he didn't look the smug bastard who ruled boardrooms and bedded women. His hair mussed, his face relaxed as he drifted to sleep, Solana could see the remnants of the boy who wasn't allowed to paint, was forced to go to boarding school, was alone most of his life. A ridiculous urge to hug him overwhelmed her. Instead, she pushed his jet black hair out of his eyes. "You are a good boy."

"Don't tell anyone," he mumbled.

She bent down and kissed Jack's forehead. "Secret's safe with me."

Solana wondered if the extra blanket her abuela kept for guests was still in the hall closet. Seems she'd be sleeping on the couch tonight. She shifted and Jack's fingers tightened on her hers like she was his lifeline.

"Oh, what the hell." The couch was lumpy, she told herself as she crawled into the cramped bed, lying alongside the towering man.

Jack's arm curled around her waist, pulling her tighter, making Solana regret her impulsive decision. Pressed against him, parts of her body betrayed her, leaping to life. Her fingers longed to explore the chest she'd only had a taste of earlier in the evening. His lips, mere inches away, tempted her, practically begging to be kissed.

Until a rumbling sound emitted from his chest.

Jack's snore dampened the rising heat inside her body.

Hey all. 

Are you still with me?

I swear I am trying to get them out of this bedroom. I know, I know, you want them in the bedroom, just not like this. Maybe soon?

I promise we'll get Jack's perspective on all this in the next chapter.