Chapter 8 #2
The pizza would be there in thirty minutes, so he packed up the last items in the dining room area.
He was working on the hutch, filled with china and figurines.
He wasn’t an expert, but the items looked old and he suspected they’d been in her family for generations, just as the house had.
A stack of papers and a scrapbook sat on the counter of the hutch.
He rifled through the papers, realizing they were her bills.
He felt guilty looking at them. People’s finances were extremely personal.
But his part of the deal was to pay them.
As he studied each, he realized that the deal only paid off her mortgages and student loans.
These statements included bills for medical care and credit cards.
He looked over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t watching, then he put the remaining bills under his coat, which was lying on a nearby chair.
He’d move them to his coat pocket when he left.
Then he readjusted the stack of papers on the hutch.
Next to the papers sat a scrapbook. He opened it to determine if it was something he could pack up too.
Instead of family pictures as he expected, he saw magazine cut-outs of furniture and decorative items, paint chips, and drawings of rooms. He studied the pages and realized they were the rooms in her home and the book contained her ideas for how to fix up the place.
Chelsea’s home had good bones and great potential, but he suspected the house needed much more than floor refinishing and a paint job.
Some of the lights in the house flickered, suggesting it could use new wiring.
The moaning in the walls when the water was running indicated the home could probably use new plumbing.
Living only on a teacher’s salary, even without debt, it would probably be a challenge to fix it all.
He put the book in the box with the photos and made plans to talk to Denny, the foreman at the farm, about hiring a reliable contractor.
The house was going to be empty, making it the perfect time to deal with some of these projects.
The stairs squeaked, letting him know Chelsea was coming. She hefted a large suitcase that looked older than his father. He rushed toward her. “Let me help you.”
“Thanks.”
He lifted the case and nearly toppled over. “What do you have in here? Rocks?”
She laughed and he took it in; she didn’t laugh very often. “Close. It’s books.” Her smile stayed on her face, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and once again he could feel her hesitate.
He set the suitcase by the door and turned to her, setting his hands on his waist. “Are you going to be okay with this?”
Her brows drew together. “Great day, Jagger, are you annoying. You’ve asked that a million times and I’ve told you yes.”
He nodded. “Your mouth says yes, but everything else about you says no.”
She turned away, heading to the kitchen. “What I say is what matters.”
“The hell it does.” He reached out, wanting to stop her so they could talk.
She worked her arm free from his hand, and stepped back, confirmation that while she said yes to this arrangement, everything else about her was saying no to him.
“I’m sorry.” He held his arms up in surrender. “In order for this to work, people need to believe we’re in love.”
“I know.”
“Every time I touch you, you pull away. Granted, it might be my arrogance talking here, because I’ve usually had pretty good luck with women, but your reaction to me is a real ego killer. It’s almost like I repulse you, which makes me feel like I’m forcing myself on you each time I touch you.”
Her eyes widened and then she scoffed. “I’m not repulsed by you, Jagger.” She turned away again and continued to the kitchen.
“Then what is it? Because I’m pretty good at reading women, and your reaction says you don’t like me.”
“I like you fine.”
“You always pull away when I touch you.”
She waved his comment away over her shoulder. “It’s just weird because it’s not like that between us.”
Jagger let out a curse under his breath. The truth was, usually there was a moment when he first touched or kissed her, that he thought she liked it.
“I promised I wouldn’t touch you when we’re alone and I won’t. But I have to touch you in public if people are going to think we’re really in love. It would help if you didn’t act like I was a grotesque troll.”
She turned to him with a slight shake of her head and roll of her eyes that made him feel even more pathetic than he already did. “You’re not a grotesque troll. You know you’re God’s gift to women.”
“You’re a woman and you don’t think so.”
There was a flash of heat in her eyes one instant, and then the next, she had her fingers through his hair and her lips were searing his.
His arms wrapped around her as the momentum of her crashing into him knocked him back.
Once her taste penetrated his lips, he wasn’t steadying her, he was holding her to him in a desperate attempt to keep her from getting away.
Her lips slanted over his, nibbling and unable to help himself, he slid his tongue out.
She opened and allowed him in. His blood pounded in his ears, making him a little dizzy.
He picked her up and pushed her back until she sat on the counter, and he maneuvered himself between her thighs.
Her body cradled his erection, which grew from the moment her fingers laced through his hair, and he couldn’t stop himself from groaning as he rubbed against her.
His brain worked only enough to wonder what was going on.
She wasn’t repulsed after all, but what did this mean?
Why was she all of a sudden open to his touch, and in private, of all places?
His libido told his brain to shut up and just go with it.
So he did, his hands sliding under her T-shirt, along smooth, silky skin he longed to run his lips over.
Her hands slid under his shirt, her fingers scraping over his nipples, eliciting a hiss from him.
While one hand remained under her shirt, he brought the other to her neck, his thumb tilting her head back so he could dive deeper into the kiss.
Need consumed him. He burned from the inside out, and only she could contain the fire.
He ground against her again, tasting her groan, and, was thrilled by her response to him.
It ratcheted up his need. He put both his hands on her backside, squeezed, and pulled her against him, wishing more than anything their clothes would evaporate and he could bury himself in her sweetness.
The desire was so acute, he swore he heard ringing in his ears.
“Jagger.”
Don’t talk. He ground against her again, and he thought he might just come right there. He hadn’t come from a dry hump since he was a teenager, but he was quickly veering toward a release he couldn’t control.
“Jagger. The doorbell.” Chelsea’s hands cupped his face and pushed him back. Her breath was harsh, her eyes a bit dazed. “Someone’s at the door.”
It took him a minute to register what was happening; then he heard it too. The doorbell. He let out an expletive. “It’s the pizza.” He didn’t move. Didn’t dare move. If he did, the spell might be broken.
She was the one who moved. She pushed him back again and slid from the counter, not looking at him. He swore and pulled his wallet from his jeans’ back pocket. He put his hand on Chelsea’s shoulder as she took the pizza from the young man, and passed him thirty dollars.
“Keep it.”
“Thanks, sir.” With a grin, the delivery boy ambled back to his car.
Jagger kept his hand on her shoulder, as if the contact would somehow maintain their connection.
She dipped her shoulder and maneuvered around him toward the dining area. “This smells delicious.”
Jagger took a calming breath. “Chelsea.” He followed her to the dining area. She set the pizza on the table and disappeared into the kitchen. He thought about following her and resuming their interlude, but the distance between them was already back in place.
She returned, setting a stack of napkins on the table. “If we use these, we don’t have to wash plates.”
He nodded but stood, glowering.
She sat and finally looked at him. He didn’t say anything. Why should he have to? It had to be clear to her that she needed to tell him what the hell was going on.
She sighed. “I don’t think you’re a grotesque troll.”
“I got that much when you kissed me and ran your hands over my chest.”
She winced and he figured she wished she hadn’t done those things. “You’re attracted to me but don’t want to be. Why?”
She took a deep breath. When she looked at him again, her expression was serious. “This is a business relationship. Adding sex just confuses that.”
He frowned. “Or makes it more fun.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then why are we here? I’ve been very clear about what’s expected.”
“Sleeping together isn’t expected. I’ll do better when we’re in public to be more accepting of your affection, but that’s as far as it can go.”
He couldn’t wrap his brain around it. He was attracted to her and she to him. What was the big deal? “It would be easier to pull off the idea we’re in love if you didn’t have an on/off button.”
She sighed. “I need the on/off button or I can’t do it. Can you respect that?”
It was disappointing, but he’d already agreed to it. It would mean a lot of cold showers or maybe hot showers alone with just him and his hand. But ultimately, this was about Kaden. So he nodded. “I can respect that.”
She opened the pizza box. “Let’s enjoy the last supper in my house.” She frowned. “That sounds daunting, doesn’t it?”
He nodded and sat across from her. “Perhaps we can use the Yankee term and call it ‘the last dinner.’”
She managed a smile. “Last dinner.”