Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Jake
Fuck, I want this woman.
The longer she’s with me, the harder it is to keep my hands off her.
Every time I look at her, my body screams at me to take her.
To spread her wide on my bed and make her come over and over, with my fingers, my mouth, my cock.
Taking her into town was as much for me as for her.
I don’t know how much longer I can control myself.
Relax, man. And get a grip.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
She looks back at me, her eyes clear and direct. “I’m sure. I’m pretty tough. Normally. Kinda embarrassed my own camera knocked me out. Unless it really was you.” She tilts her head to the side and gives me a mischievous smile. “Are you sure you’re not a psychopath?”
Wriggling my eyebrows at her, I let out a low, melodramatic laugh. “You’ve busted me.”
She laughs, and I grind my teeth to stop myself capturing the amazing sound with a kiss.
I jolt to my feet instead, half turning toward my kitchen. “Are you hungry?” I need to distract my brain. To keep my mind on something else apart from her. “Do you eat meat? I make a mean spinach and beef cannellini.”
“I am.” Her lips curl in a smile that sinks straight to my balls. It’s part shy, part playful. “And I definitely eat meat.”
My cock throbs in my jeans, and I clench my fist. I need to get my head out of the gutter. Snatching up the TV remote, I place it on the side table next to her. “I think you need to relax for a bit. Find something to watch.”
Her eyebrows dip, and she rises from the chair. “I enjoy cooking. Let me help. Please?”
I can’t say no. In fact, I’m pretty fucking certain if she asked me to run butt naked through Hartley Ridge, I’d say yes. Saying yes to her is a future I could willingly be a part of. Whatever it is about her, every part of me likes it.
Chest tight, I nod. “Let’s get you working then.”
She beams. And I’m screwed. Bringing joy to this woman, making her happy, has become my driving reason for breathing.
She follows me to the kitchen and watches me select ingredients and utensils. “So why are you being hounded by the paparazzi? Are you related to someone famous?”
I snort, keeping my focus on meal prep despite being acutely aware she is so close that all I’d need do is snake an arm around her waist to haul her to my body.
Do it!
“I rescued the son of someone famous,” I say, deliberating way too long over which knife to use to chop the vegetables. Focus on the food, Conroy. The food.
“Wait.” Surprise fills her voice. “You’re the firefighter that actress thanked last night at the Oscars.”
My shoulders slump, and I let out a wry laugh, shooting her an askew smile. “If I say I’m not, will you believe me?”
“No.” She laughs, leaning against the counter. “Wow. So you really are a real-life hero.”
“Just being my real self,” I correct.
She studies me, chewing on her bottom lip. What would it be like to feel that lip with my own? Soft. Warm. Inviting? Would she open to me if I sought out her tongue with mine?
“You don’t like the attention,” she states. “Or the fame.”
A warm thread of happiness unfurls through me. She gets it. Or at least she isn’t incredulous or wondering why I’m not interested in the attention like a lot of people are.
“Nope.” I lean my hip against the counter and hand her the knife hilt first. “Now, this is me trusting that you’re not a psychopath.”
Mischief twinkles in her eyes again as she reaches out and takes the knife. “You’re a brave man, Mister…” She frowns. “Um, I have no clue what your surname is.”
“Jake Conroy.” I hold out my hand. “Your friendly neighborhood firefighter.”
“You’re a brave man, Jake Conroy.” She grins and wraps her hand around mine. Electricity tingles up my arm, and I draw in a slow breath. A soft one escapes her, and her stare locks on mine.
It takes all my control to not yank her to my body and crush her lips with mine.
“Mind you,” she says, a huskiness to her voice as she releases my hand, “If I were a psychopath, I’ve done a very bad job of picking a victim. I think you’d win a wrestling match with a grizzly.”
My cock throbs. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
She swallows. “Do.”
I can’t tear my stare from hers. I can’t move. It’s as if I’m trapped in molasses, aching for something that isn’t meant to be. Not this quick, this fast.
I suck in another ragged breath.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, her lips parting, her breasts rising and falling.
Ah, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Waverly,” I rasp.
She jerks her eyes up to mine.
“Do you…” I swallow. How the fuck do I ask this incredibly gorgeous woman, who I’ve known for scarcely an hour, if I can kiss her?
“Like mushrooms?” she whispers, a soft hiccup of a laugh falling from her.
Like me? Do you like me?
“Yeah,” I say, plastering a grin on my face even as my body burns for hers.
“I mean, I don’t, but if you do, I’m more than happy to put them in the cannellini.
I’d have to drive into the Ridge to buy some, given I don’t like them, but I would.
If you want me to. If you like them, I’ll go get them for you and—” I snap my mouth shut, staring at her.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m babbling like a nervous teenage boy.
She gazes up at me, an emotion in her eyes I have no hope of deciphering.
“Umm…” I give her a sheepish grimace and turn back to the kitchen counter, reaching for a tomato. “Just forget that happened, okay? I think my brain just disconnected from my mouth for a moment, and I—”
Warm, firm fingers curl around my wrist, and I turn just as Waverly slips her other hand into the hair at the nape of my neck, tugs my head down to hers, and kisses me.