12. JACK
12
JACK
I sit back to watch Elly clearing away the mess. The food. Why did she make such a fuck ton of it? Was it an accident? Maybe she meant to leave some for me. Maybe she was thinking about me coming home from work… Hmm .
I like that idea.
Shit . It’s her first night and she’s already messing with my head.
She begins cleaning the surfaces with a cloth and spray she found under the kitchen sink. As she moves, that little mini-skirt flaps around her thighs. It’s so short that I can almost see her underwear as she flounces around, her toned legs flexing with each step. A throb of desire pulses in my groin. Christ, I shouldn’t be staring like this.
How am I going to endure three months of this temptation?
Better aroused than annoyed, though. What with Lydia showing up, and Elly questioning me about Mum’s damned photos and then leaving all her crap all over the kitchen with no intention of clearing up, my mood was on the cusp of souring.
But with a woman as attractive as Elly flitting about my kitchen, making everything tidy again, flicking her mountain of blonde curls off her face as she works, being in a bad mood for long seems impossible.
She bends over to put a pot back in the cupboard, and I catch a glimpse of her underwear. Pink, a little lacy. Heat shoots through me like liquid fire. Damn, that’s a short skirt. I have to force myself to look away, but a second later my eyes are back on her and that tiny skirt.
I love it. The skirt can stay.
She glances over her shoulder at me, shooting me a look as though she knows exactly what I was just thinking. “Are you going to help, or are you just going to watch?”
Just like her to call me out . I take another mouthful of the delicious food and swallow it down, not breaking eye contact as I say, “Watch.”
Her frown deepens, and she turns fully to face me, putting aside the pot she was holding. She's annoyed. “I’m really grateful that you’re letting me live here, but I want to make something very clear too.”
“Okay…” I say, inviting her to continue.
“We’re housemates,” she states in a no nonsense tone that has me sitting a little straighter. “So if I cook, you clean. And vice versa. You’re probably not familiar with the arrangement, but that’s how it works.” She glances at the ceiling, as if she’s considering her words. “Although, if you buy the food, and I do the cooking, then we can clear up together. That’s fair. We share the load.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to make a joke about how much I’d love her to share my load, but I sense it wouldn’t go down well. And I don’t want to piss her off more, because she’s clearly slaved away in this kitchen for hours, and she didn’t have to do that. The least I can do is help.
“All right,” I concede.
She claps her hands, seemingly satisfied with this outcome. “Good. Because I’m not your slave.”
My slave? Why does that sound so good? And also, did she read my fucking mind?
I huff a laugh, but she leans back against the kitchen counter, which makes her breasts pop in that little jumper she’s wearing, and suddenly nothing seems funny anymore.
I’m too distracted to give her an answer. There’s a fire behind her eyes, and she shakes her head at me, as if to say, ‘ what are you looking at? ’ She’s waiting for some response, but I can’t remember what she said.
I gather my now-empty plate and approach her at the counter until I’m an arm’s length away. Her gaze drifts up my torso, her head tipping back a little to look up at me. When her eyes lock onto mine, electricity sparks through me like she’s lightning and I’m made of metal. Every cell in my body brightens, and suddenly, we’re a high-voltage circuit. Connected .
I know she feels it too because her eyes widen, and she tries to shift back as if she can snap whatever force has us bound, but she’s already pressed up against the counter and has nowhere to go.
I reach around her to put my plate in the sink, but the movement brings us even closer until I can smell that citrus scent of hers.
She stiffens, and every scrap of my awareness is focused on that motion, and for some incomprehensible reason, I freeze too.
We’re locked in, our faces far too close, my forehead almost tipped to meet hers, our breaths mingling by the sink. Romantic’s not the word for it. Fucked up and sexually charged might be somewhere in the right ballpark.
“Jack?” She breathes my name as though she’s trying to call my awareness back, but it doesn’t work. I’m too busy staring at her, my gaze skimming over her face like I’m taking an inventory. Eyes, light blue. Chin, angular. Delicate. Like a pixie. The cupid’s bow on her pink upper lip; her nose, small, pointed; cutest nose I’ve ever seen, with a little piercing on the side that, on anyone else, I’d fucking hate, but on her it looks perfect . And all that curly blonde hair. I want to tug on it. I’m taking it all in at a million miles an hour. I must look half-deranged.
She’s so pretty. Beautiful, even.
“What are you doing?” Her voice is so soft I can hardly hear it.
The question brings me back. What am I doing? Having some kind of dick-and-brain meltdown because we stood a fraction too close?
“Helping you clean up.” It sounds like bullshit, but it’s why I came over here in the first place.
I take a step back, trying to collect myself, but all I can see are her feet, which are bare. Naked. All ten toes, perfectly fucking naked on my kitchen floor. “Your slippers. Where are they? You need to wear them.” This feels crucial, because if Elly doesn’t put those damn slippers on her feet, I’m going to shove her against the wall and kiss her, and the fact that I want to makes me mad. Teasing and flirting is fine, but this is something else. This feels compulsive… a raging desire that has me by the balls. I’m not in charge, and I don’t like it.
Get your fucking shit together, Lansen.
“What’s the obsession with my slippers?” she whispers. “Forget about them. They were a joke.”
“I’m not laughing.”
Blood pulses through my upper chest and down my arms. My palms start to buzz.
All I’m aware of is her beautiful face staring up at me, and those pink lips. Fuck, I want to kiss them.
I am in so much trouble here, and my breathing is all out of whack. I hit the gym a lot… I’m fit. Athletic . There is no logical reason why I’m breathing like I just ran a marathon.
Elly cocks her head, looking me up and down, and something about her expression—how alert it is, and the sharpness in her gaze—lets me know she’s no longer sharing this out-of-this-world-nothing-exists-but-you moment with me. She’s retreated to some place where she can be rational… where she can see what’s happening from an objective distance.
“Why are you all riled up? Is this what a messy kitchen does to you? A few dirty dishes and you’re losing your shit? Bloody hell.” She turns her back to me and starts filling the sink. “Let’s clean up before you give yourself a coronary.”
A coronary? I’m not that worked up… Am I?
I’m about to respond when Elly lets out a squeal.
The bottle of pomegranate molasses slides out of her grip, hits the surface with a bang, and splatters the remaining contents all over my shirt. Shit . I need to soak it now, or it’ll stain. Without thinking, I start unbuttoning it, undoing the cuffs and pulling the whole thing off.
It takes a second or two for me to notice that the kitchen is very, very quiet. I look up to find Elly staring at me, a tea towel dangling from one hand, the almost empty pomegranate molasses bottle, which miraculously didn’t smash, in the other. Her eyes are drifting over my pecs, my abs, and I’m suddenly thanking God for all those hours I spend in the gym because I know I look good. It would appear that Elly agrees, because her gaze is all admiration as she pins her bottom lip with her teeth, then lets it roll slowly outward again.
“You all right?” I ask, because I can’t let this moment pass without drawing attention to her reaction.
She nods as though she’s in a daze. She’s still not meeting my eye, keeping her gaze fully trained on my chest instead.
“Okay, then…” I say, letting my words trail off, but still Elly says nothing. I can’t remember my bare chest having shocked a woman into silence, especially not one as vivacious as Elly, but I’m feeling pretty proud of myself right now. A little puffed up, even, and it’s a bloody good feeling, especially given how out of control I felt only moments ago.
Leaving Elly drooling by the sink, I cross the kitchen and enter the utility room, where I grab the stain remover out of the cupboard and start spraying the sauce splashes on my shirt.
I’ve nearly got them all when I’m aware of a presence behind me. I put the bottle down, settling both hands on the countertop.
“What?” I ask, without turning around.
“If I have to wear slippers, you have to wear a shirt,” she says, so quietly I’m not sure I heard her correctly.
I turn to find her standing in the doorway, looking more unsure than I’ve ever seen her. Elly’s all brash jokes and laughter. But right now, she looks really unnerved. “Why?”
She flaps the tea towel in the air. “Because—”
“Because now you want to fuck me?”
Elly stands a little straighter. “Are you trying to make this the most awkward housemate situation ever?”
Well, that wasn’t a complete denial.
“No. I’m just saying what I see. You’ve followed me in here like I have something you want and you’ve barely looked at my face since I took my shirt off.”
Elly hisses dismissively, but two spots of red appear on her cheekbones. “I’m not here to fill the gap in your sex schedule because you sent Lydia away. I have no interest in sleeping with you.”
My mind whirrs. Elly’s shown more resistance to my advances than any other woman I’ve come across, and damn if it doesn’t make her all the more appealing. But right now, it’s clear as fucking daylight that she wants me, and I’m not going to let this opportunity escape. I can’t let her walk away without roping her into… something . Something that will bring whatever the hell I’m feeling for her under control. Quick as a flash, an idea occurs to me. “You willing to bet on it?”
She tilts away from me. “Huh?”
“Let’s scrap the clothes rules. You don’t have to wear the slippers, and I don’t have to wear a shirt. Wear whatever the hell you want. Let’s turn this into a game. A competition, if you will. And then we can see which of us breaks first.”
Her brow crinkles as though I’ve said something incomprehensible. “Breaks?” She breathes the word like it’s a dirty secret.
“Yeah. Breaks. Which of us gives in first.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You want me, and I want you.” Her pretty pink lips part, but either she doesn’t know what to say or she’s lost the ability to formulate words because she doesn't object, so I keep talking. “The fact that we’re going to end up in bed together is as inevitable as the sunrise. So let’s make it fun. Who’s going to be the last one standing? Who can resist the longest? Who can—”
“No.” She rears back, holding both hands up as though she expects me to rush her. “No, no, no. Absolutely not.” She clenches her teeth and an aggravated groan escapes between them. “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to live with you.”
I assess her annoyance, weighing it up. Is there still room to play? “I’ll make it worth your while.” She halts at this, and I know there’s definitely room. “If you can get me to break first, I’ll refund all your rental payments. You can live here for free. In fact, I’ll reimburse you for all of last year too, at market value. So what’s that? Twenty-five thousand?”
A look crosses her face as though she’s checking it adds up. “Twenty-five thousand?” she repeats.
Got her. “Yup.”
“And all I have to do is resist your advances?”
“You resist and seduce. I’ll do the same. Whoever caves and begs for sex first, loses. Whoever can hold out, wins.”
“That’s perverse. I don’t want to sleep with you.”
I shrug. “Okay, so you’ll definitely win. What do you have to lose? If there’s really no hope that I can seduce you—”
“There isn’t.”
“I disagree, but whatever. Let’s play the game.”
She draws her chin right in, staring at me like I’m a madman. “If I get free rent, what do you win?” She waves her hand at me. “What do you get out of it?”
A smile threatens to break across my face. “I get to see you beg.”
She begins to laugh, not in amusement, but in disbelief. “Wow. You’re unbelievably arrogant. And fucking crazy.”
“Not at all. I’ve always found that when I want something, the getting of it is that much sweeter if I’ve had to wait. When we fuck, it’ll be better because of the game. It’s going to be so good it’ll blow your mind.”
Elly splutters, her mouth wide, before she collects herself enough to say, “We aren’t going to fuck.”
“Yeah, we are.”
A mask of fury comes down like a shutter. “You are a total arsehole. You know that?”
She backs off into the kitchen, leaving me chuckling to myself in the utility room.
She is definitely going to break. And she definitely wants to fuck me .
“It’s a win-win, El,” I shout after her. “Even if you lose, you get to have sex with me, because when you beg, I’ll say yes.”
A crash, as though pots are being slammed together, sounds from the other room, and Elly shouts, “Does your sister know what a douchebag you are?”
“I think she has a fair idea,” I shout back.
Elly’s clattering noises continue with renewed vigor, and I picture her out there washing up, all worked up and furious. It has me laughing to myself. I’m far more amused by this whole thing than I should be, which is a good result, seeing as I was pretty worked up earlier. I put my shirt in the sink to soak and fill the basin with warm water. When I’m finished, I come back out into the kitchen but Elly is gone, and everything is clean.
In the silence, my phone buzzes against the kitchen counter, Elly’s name flashing up.
Elly: 25k is not enough to engage in this dumbass game with you.
Me: What amount would convince you to play?
Elly: 100k.
Me: Done.
Elly: Ha! You’re crazy. Prepare to lose, Lansen. I will never beg, and I will never sleep with you.
Me: We’ll see about that.
Elly: Game on.