Oh, no. Did I fuck up?
“Wait, you’re not allergic or anything, are you?” My voice is slightly higher than normal, laced with worry. I try to replay any meals in my mind where he might have declined seafood but am coming up empty. I’m berating myself for not paying attention more. Back then, though, had I learned that information, I might have used it more as information to use against him than thinking one day I might cook him dinner.
He barks out a laugh. “I’m only kidding. I love all seafood, and no known allergies.” He walks up behind me and wraps his arms around me. It’s strange not fighting with him, but I definitely don’t hate it. His arms bring a comfort I wasn’t sure I would ever find.
“While I can’t wait to eat it, I’m not sure my picky little eater will.” He twists his lips in apprehension.
I nudge him with my hip and point toward the oven. “I already got that covered. There’s fish sticks for him.”
“Look at you, being prepared and shit.”
“Hey, Girl Scouts are always prepared.”
Jaxon leans back against the counter, crossing his arms and ankles. “Were you a Girl Scout?”
I grin. “No, but Lauren was.” Turning back to the stove, I drop the noodles into the pot of boiling water.
“What can I do to help?” His fingers fidget as if he needs to keep them occupied to keep from touching me. Not that I mind, but Andy is just in the other room, and I don’t want to burn dinner. On Saturday, we didn’t go further than kissing—lots and lots of kissing—but the heat in Jaxon’s eyes right now has desire building in my core, and if we started something right now, I’m not sure I’d have the strength to stop.
“You can open that bottle of wine.”
“You got it.” He presses a quick kiss to my shoulder before backing away. “Where do you keep the opener?”
I point to the drawer in the corner. I watch as Jaxon moves with ease around my kitchen. Almost as if he was meant to be here.
I don’t drink wine often, so I don’t have the fancy wine openers like everyone else—just an old-fashioned corkscrew style. Now, I’m thanking all things Christmas presents that I never got one because I glance up after checking on Andy’s dinner to find the corded muscles in Jaxon’s forearms taut. I think the temperature in the kitchen just raised a few degrees.
“You’re gawking,” he teases playfully.
“What?” I gasp. The smirk on his face tells me I’ve been caught red-handed. I can feel my cheeks heat.
“I said you’re gawking,” he repeats, bringing over two glasses and handing one to me.
“No, I wasn’t.” I accept the glass and look away as I take a rather large swig of wine.
Jaxon tips my chin upward. “For the record, feel free to gawk at me anytime. But just know that if you look at me with those heated stares, I’m not responsible for what kind of savage it might turn me into.” It’s clear we’re both on the same page. I kind of want to see the savage side of Jaxon McAdams. Would he hold me down? Would he fuck me ruthlessly?
A shiver runs down my spine at the combination of his proximity and his own heated gaze as he professes dirty promises.
He closes the distance and presses his lips gently against mine. I taste the lingering wine flavors on his tongue as it slips into my mouth. The dry tannins of the wine already make my mouth water, but with each swipe of his tongue, I’m craving more.
“Miss Kate, is dinner ready yet?”
We pull apart from Andy’s voice ringing from the other room.
“Just about, kiddo,” I shout over my shoulder. “Why don’t you go in and keep him company so I can finish this? Otherwise, you might be too distracting.”
He salutes me with a “Yes, ma’am” and swats me on the ass as he passes by.
After finishing our plates, Andy dramatically leans back and places his hands on his stomach before sighing, “I am stuffed.”
We laugh at his exaggeration, but I feel the same way.
“Miss Kate, can we show Daddy what we made today?” Andy’s smile is contagious.
“Umm, sure. Let’s carry these dishes into the kitchen first.” I back up from my seat to stand, but Jaxon holds out his hand.
“Let us clear this up. You cooked, so the least I can do is clean up.”
I sit back down. “Won’t see me complaining.”
After he clears the table and loads the dishwasher, Jaxon follows us up to my studio. Andy rushes into the room, grabbing the canvas off the shelf where we left it to dry.
“Look, Daddy. Look what I did.” Andy jumps up and down, shoving the canvas up and nearly hitting his dad in his face.
“You did this?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Yup, today Miss Kate and I painted together. I did this.” He walks over the unfinished canvas on the easel. “And she worked on that.”
“Wow, I could never do anything like that. I don’t have the talent to draw.”
“You’re an architect that can’t draw?”
He tilts his head side to side as if disagreeing with me. “Well, I can draw buildings and stuff. Those are precise lines and a concrete idea. This stuff, though—wow, it’s fantastic, Kate.”
I’ve received compliments on my art for years. Hell, I make a living off my artwork, but that simple compliment coming from him means more than any commission I’ve ever made.
“Did you always want to be an artist?” he asks, walking around the room, looking at the various pieces I have in there.
“For as long as I can remember. I’ve always loved art. My mom told me I’ve always had a pencil or paintbrush in my hand.” My sister has been the same way but with books. I’m surprised she didn’t become an author or a librarian, but she loves teaching too much to ever give it up.