When we’re back at the house, my awareness that it’s just me and Jackson returns.
I’m no longer thinking about the boy in the forest or how I’m going to get him to trust me. I’m remembering that Jackson left his bag in my room.
So, even though it’s still lunchtime, it’s not going to stay that way forever. Soon, it’s going to be night-time, which means time to go to bed.
While Jackson disappeared into the office to call the contractors about the missing tools, I retreated to my happy place and set to work, distracting myself by cooking. Jackson must be paying the contractors double or something because I didn’t think they worked on Sundays. I know Savannah said he was eager to get the house built, but sheesh.
I could put off sleeping for as long as I could, but not forever. Before too long, Jackson and I will wind up sharing that altogether far too small bed. Or if not that bed, then another in the house. It’s not a matter of if, but of when. And we don’t even have anyone to serve as a buffer between us.
When Jackson’s face suddenly appears over my shoulder, I nearly have a heart attack. As it is, I barely keep hold of my wooden spoon. But it’s close. Real close.
“What?” I ask once my heart has stopped pounding.
His gaze is on my face. “There are no trees, but if there were, I’m sure you’d have walked into one.”
I snort and resume stirring the ragu I’m simmering for dinner, trying to hide my relief that I didn’t burn it because I was so distracted. “Did you want something?”
Jackson leans toward the simmering tomato and ground beef stew and inhales deeply. “This. What is it?”
When he moves to stick his finger in the pot, I slap it away. “Can’t. It’s Italian ragu, and it’s for dinner. Have a sandwich.”
He frowns. “It’s one in the afternoon.”
“Yes. The longer ragu has to simmer, the better it is. The refrigerator is over there.” I point my wooden spoon at it in case he needs directions, but Jackson doesn’t go anywhere.
A smile curves his lips. “You’re cooking dinner for us.”
“So?”
I try to ignore the pleasure in his eyes because now that I’m thinking about it, it seems like a romantic date-night kind of thing to do, especially with it being just the two of us in the house.
“You making dessert?” he drawls, stepping closer.
I take a step back. “No.”
As he moves closer, I keep backing up with the wooden spoon held between us until a counter stops me.
Jackson places his hands on either side of my body, caging me in. “Why not? I like sweet.”
I just bet you do.
“But I don’t,” I lie, “and neither should you. Too much of a sweet thing will rot your teeth.”
When Jackson lowers his head, I lean away from him, thinking he’s going to kiss me. Only, he doesn’t. His tongue flicks out, and he licks the sauce from my wooden spoon, his eyes locked on mine.
Immediately, I clamp my legs together because holy Batman was that hot.
“You licked my spoon.” My voice comes out breathy.
His eyes darken. “Did you want me to lick something else instead, darlin’?”
I need Talis or Savannah, or even a random stranger to wander in and distract us because right now, if Jackson were to throw me down on the ground and rip my clothes from my body, I wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.
In fact, I’d be helping him, because if he were to lick me between my legs with the same slow stroke I just watched him do to my wooden spoon, I’d be begging him never to stop.
Jackson lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along my jaw. “You’re not telling me what you’d like me to lick.”
My breathing turns heavy and there is no doubt in my mind that Jackson must be scenting my arousal. There’s no way he wouldn’t with me thinking what I’m thinking which means I have to put a stop to this. Now.
I lean toward him, my eyes on his mouth. “There is something,” I murmur, feeling his sudden tension as I move closer.
“Yes,” he growls.
For a second, I’m sure I feel his fingers in my hair. “I don’t know if I should.” My voice is husky, hesitant.
“Tell me.” His order is all alpha.
This time there’s no doubt I feel Jackson’s hand stroking my hair as I lift my mouth to his ear. “It might get me into trouble,” I admit, as my lips brush against the shell of his ear.
His breath quickens and his hand closes around my hip. “Regan,” he groans.
I lean even closer and whisper in his ear, “A battery.”
He stills against me, and in that second, I make my move.
I duck out of his grip and cross over to the sink. Although I feel Jackson’s gaze on my back as I rinse my wooden spoon, I don’t turn because I’m still trying to calm down my overexcited insides over what just nearly happened.
“I think I changed my mind,” he says.
Until I know there’s not even a hint of arousal in my eyes, I have no intention of looking Jackson in the eye. “About what?” I ask, trying to sound casual, as if we didn’t just come dangerously close to… well, the less said about that, the better.
“Sweet.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t say a word.
Just as I’m gearing up to turn around, his hands close around my hips and he steps into my body.
I suck in a breath because pressing against my ass is evidence that I wasn’t the only one getting all hot and bothered by our little talk.
Jackson lowers his head, and then it’s his lips brushing against my ear. “I think I prefer spicy instead.”
He steps back and takes his hands off my body.
I don’t hear him move, which for such a big guy is impressive, but I know he does because his scent fades, and when I turn around, I’m the only one in the kitchen.
Alone, I slump against the sink and heave out a sigh of relief.