by Emma Hart
Jake winced, rubbing his hand down his face. “Yeah, it sounded a lot smoother in my head. Can we try that again?”
“No!” I laughed, slamming my pen down. “My God. You’re a weak, weak man! We have a deal, and no matter what you say, we’re sticking to it. No kissing, no being friends, and…” I glanced at the donut bag.
“You were about to tell me not to buy donuts again, weren’t you?”
“I believe I already asked that.”
“I can stop if you really want me to.”
“Woah, woah. Let’s not be too hasty in making that decision now.” I paused. “You really should continue in the interest of boss-employee relations.”
He raised his eyebrows, lips pulling into a sexy little smirk like the one I saw the very first night we met. “There are a lot of things we can do in the interest of boss-employee relations, but since almost all of them start with kissing, you’ve vetoed that.”
“You did a veto, too!”
“I was being a gentleman.”
“Oh, so our conversation yesterday was a waste of both our time? Well, thank God for that. I love meaningless conversations with people who don’t listen to me.”
“Hey, spitfire. I listened to you. Every word.”
I glared at him. “You forgot the part where we’re not friends and not kissing!” I finished on a hiss.
Jake paused, his gaze flitting across my face before he glanced down at where I’d picked the pen back up and was squeezing it tightly. “I don’t know,” he started. “This is an awful lot like not friends, and definitely not even close to kissing.”
I threw my pen at him.
He was quick. His hand shot out, and he snatched the pen from the air before it could make contact with him. “Your aim is dreadful.”
“Good. It’s probably friends with your self-control!”
He looked like he was going to say something, but instead, he burst out laughing. I glared at him while he laughed at me, seemingly not caring he was winding me up more and more by the minute.
I crossed my arms over my chest and kept staring at him. Unfortunately for me, the longer I did it, the harder he laughed.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “My self-control is dreadful. And it doesn’t help when your top button is undone.”
I jerked my head down, and damn it, he was right. The stupid thing must have worked its way free while I was working. I quickly did it back up and then placed my hand there just in case.
“That’s not an excuse for your weakness,” I told him. “You haven’t even tried.”
“I don’t want to try.”
“So, you’re going to spend our working hours trying to seduce me while I have to resist you? Won’t that be bad for your ego?”
His eyebrows raised again. “Who said it was limited to just our working hours?”
I sat back and, flicking my pen against the desk, said, “I don’t know if you’re messing with me or if you’re serious. Or if you’re just testing me to see if I’ll give in or not.”
“Well, if you give in, I’m gonna give in, so you can nix that last one.”
“Oh, well, that narrows it down,” I said dryly. “Thanks for the help.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned. The same grin that always sent butterflies through me. This time, it sent a shiver down my spine. “Look, the reason I buy you donuts is because if food is the way to your heart, I’m screwed. I can’t cook.”
I stilled.
Oh, my God.
That was it.
“Why are you looking at me like I just kicked your puppy?” Jake asked.
I met his gaze. “You can’t cook?”
“I can’t cook,” he replied slowly, fidgeting. “Why?”
“Oh my God. That’s what’s wrong with you.”
He blinked at me, confusion clouding his eyes. “I’m so confused.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth. I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. That thought was supposed to stay firmly inside my head.
Oh no.
“The fact I can’t cook means there’s something wrong with me?”
I met his eyes. Thankfully, he was halfway between confusion and all-out amusement. “I, um, never mind. Oh, look at that. It’s my lunch break.”
“It’s ten-thirty.”
“Brunch break! Same thing!” I got up and grabbed my purse.
The single flaw in my plan was that he was between me and the door.
Fine. Not the single plan, but the major one.
Jake stood, sending the chair flying back to the wall, and blocked my path to the door. “Tell me what you mean.”
I mimed zipping my lips.
“Mellie.”
I shook my head, clutching my purse to my stomach to put a barrier stronger than thin air between us.
“Melanie…” His voice took on a rougher, darker edge, and his eyes hardened, too. But not in a scary way. A weirdly sexy way.
I swallowed and took a step back. “I can take my brunch at lunch.”
He grabbed me before I had a chance to escape back around to my side of the desk. In one swift movement, he snatched my purse from me, throwing it onto his chair, then spun me so my ass bumped into the desk.
Leaning forward, he planted his hands either side of me on the desk.
I was trapped.
We both knew it.
And so did the boom-boom-boom beat of my heart as it went wild.
“Tell me what you mean by what you said,” he said in a low voice, his face only inches from mine.
Well, I’d fucked up this much, so what was a little more honesty?
“I, um…” I reached up and pushed my hair from my face before I clasped my hands against my lower stomach. Making sure not to look him in the eye, I picked a spot on the wall behind him and said, “I was thinking earlier that something had to be wrong with you, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because, um, well…” Spit it out, woman, God. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”
“How can I not take this the wrong way?”
“You’re not letting me finish!”
He looked at me flatly. “Spitfire, you haven’t even started explaining yet.”
The man…had a point.
Damn it.
I hated it when that happened.
“Okay, fine.” I huffed out a breath and retrained my gaze on that spot on the wall. “It works like this. You’re handsome—”
“Am I, now?”
“—You’re successful.”
“Working on it.”
“And you’re incredibly humble,” I added dryly, snapping my gaze to him. “Shut up and let me finish.”
His lips tugged to the side. “Now, she looks at me. Go again. From the top. I’m enjoying this.”
I licked my lips, bit back a smartass retort, and started again. “You’re handsome. You’re successful. You’re a gentleman. And as far as kissing goes, you’re not too bad at it. So, there had to be something wrong with you, and now I know. You can’t cook. That’s your negative.”
He stared at me for a moment. “All I hear from that is that you’ve been thinking about me when I’m not around.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it.
Closed it.
Did anyone need help finding Nemo? I was apparently a new breed of fish with this mouth.
“You’re not denying it.” He grinned.
“I literally just admitted I was,” I finally managed to get out. “But, there you go. There’s your explanation. Can you let me go now, please?”
He put one finger against my lips but quickly returned his hand to the desk so I couldn’t move. “Is not being able to cook a bad thing? Can you cook?”
“Of course, I can cook. I’m not carrying an extra ten pounds on my ass from starving, am I?” I rolled my eyes. “How do you eat if you can’t cook?”
“Take-out.”
“You live o
ff take-out?”
“If you want to be judgmental, the reason you have an extra ten pounds on your ass is because your daily breakfast is donuts.”
“Why you—” I stopped. This was another one of those situations where you couldn’t argue with the truth. “I hate it when you’re right.”
He blinked in shock. “Holy shit. I thought you’d go right for the balls for that asshole comment.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s true. Although the yoga probably balances it out at this point.” At least, that’s what I was telling myself. “I can’t believe you live off take-out. Or that you’re still trapping me against this desk.”
“You’re lucky that trapping you is all I’m doing, spitfire.” A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. “And I don’t live off take-out. Only mostly. Sometimes, I’m a real adult who eats in restaurants.”
“Or you could learn to cook.”
“I make mean scrambled eggs.”
“My eight-year-old cousin can make scrambled eggs.” I raised my eyebrows. “You’re not convincing me, Jake.”
He sighed, dropping his head to the side. “Then, teach me.”
“Oh no. No. I’m not falling for this.” I jabbed him in the shoulder. “You’re doing everything you can to break the rules we set—”
“You’re doing a stellar job of following them right now.”
“—And I’m not falling for your shit. Let me go.”
His eyes shone with mirth, the laughter practically dancing in his gaze. “I’ll let you go if you teach me how to cook.”
“I’m not falling for this!”
He shrugged a shoulder, taking a step back until he was more comfortable. “Then, I guess we’ll just stay here all day long, even if someone needs to come in here. That’ll be some real awkward explaining…”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not doing it. You told me I had to be the one who’d resist, so that’s what I’m doing. Resisting.”
“All right. You sit there against the desk. Resisting.” He moved his face an inch closer to mine. “And I’ll stand here thinking about how many times I’d have to kiss your neck to make you turn and bend over it. Fair?”
No. That wasn’t fair. That was playing dirty, and he knew it.
I clenched my thighs together. “More times than you’d be able to before I punched you right in the dick,” I snapped.
“Since we’ll be here a while, I should get started.” His eyes flashed almost in a challenge, but…
He wouldn’t, would he?
He wouldn’t actually—
His lips brushed the base of my neck, just above where it curved down to my collarbone. A jolt of pleasure went skittering across my skin, and I inhaled sharply.
He smiled against my skin, then kissed me again.
“Fine!” I shoved him away from me and managed to actually break away from him. “Fine!” I dragged my hand through my hair and took a deep breath. “I will teach you to cook if you never do that again!”
Because goddamn it, he’d kissed my neck twice and my vagina was clenching in desire like it was Kegel time.
The smile that covered his face was triumphant and sexy and a little bit cocky. “Tonight.”
I hesitated.
“I’ll do it again,” he warned.
I scooted back. “I hate you.”
He smirked.
“Tonight,” I agreed. “Six o’clock at my house. And it’s nothing more than to get you off my back, do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
I shuffled back around to my side of the desk and sat down. “Now, go away and let me finish my work. Pain in the ass,” I finished on a mutter.
“This is my office, too.”
“Goddamn it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Upside #16: Cooking for one is easy. It’s when you have to make pasta for two people that you realize you have the cooking skills to feed a small army…and have leftovers.
“You didn’t stir it, did you?”
Jake looked at the now-burned pasta stuck to the bottom and sides of the pan. “I stirred it. Once.”
“How long ago did you stir it?”
He made an awkward face, bearing his perfectly straight teeth in such a way that he looked like the grimacing emoji.
I patted his arm and took the pan away from him. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” I put the pan in the sink and mentally patted myself on the back for deciding that he needed a test run.
Good thing pasta was cheap.
I got a clean pan from the rack hanging inside the cupboard and passed it to him. “Fill it up with water and boil it. Do you think you can manage that without ruining something?”
“How can the clumsiest person in the world cook as smoothly as you can?” he grumbled, filling the pan.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“As opposed to the limited amount of practice at being a human being.”
I poked my tongue out at him behind his back. “At least I can cook pasta, arguably the easiest thing in the world to do.”
“I’m culinary-challenged, just like you’re life-challenged.”
“But I’ll never starve.” I handed him the salt. “Put a little of that into the water. It helps to stop the pasta sticking.”
“You couldn’t have told me that a minute ago?” Jake tipped the salt container and—
“I said a little bit, Jake! Why don’t you just run to the coast and get me a pan full of seawater?”
He stopped, tipped the container upright, and looked at the foggy mess that would make the Gulf of Mexico cry with saltiness. “Well, shit.”
“Move out of the way.” I nudged—shoved—him out of my way, grabbed the pan and emptied it, then rinsed it out before going through filling it for the third time. I put the salt in my hand before adding two pinches and washing my palm off.
“Oh, well if you’d told me to do that…”
“You’d have still done it wrong.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you think you can dice the chicken, or should I do it just in case?”
He stared at the knife on the board. “Honestly, everything in me says you aren’t to be trusted with that knife.”
Emotionless, I said, “Why? Because you’re within stabbing distance?”
“I was going to say because you’d cut yourself, but now you’re definitely right.” He picked up the knife, then knocked on my head. “Hello? Satan? Are you in there?”
Despite myself, I laughed, batting his hand away. “Shut up. Dice it, but not too big, and not too small.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re an excellent teacher? Your ability to give instructions is out of this world.”
“There are other knives in this kitchen I can stab you with, Jake.”
He peered back at me over his shoulder. “You look pretty today.”
“I’m wearing yoga pants, a shirt with a sauce stain on it, and I think my socks have a hole in. Try again, Romeo.” I paused. “In fact, don’t. You’re not supposed to even be here, let alone compliment me.”
“A boss can’t be nice to his employee?” He put on a look of faux-shock.
I pulled the mushrooms from the fridge and hit him with a hard look. “Not when the only reason the boss is in the employee’s house is because he crossed a line.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment and cut the chicken breast in half. “And then, you let me over the line.”
“We aren’t talking about this anymore. Shut up and cut the chicken.”
“Should you be talking to your boss like that?”
I slammed the mushroom packet on the side. “When you’re in my kitchen, there’s only one boss, and I’m it. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me ma’am again, and I will slice you like a tomato.”
He fought a laugh just long enough for me to narrow my eyes and convey with my gaze that I was deadly serious. He quickly stopped laughing and went straight back to cutting the chicken and
throwing the diced cubes into the pot.
I turned away, biting my lip to hide my smile, and reached for the pasta. Luckily for me, I’d bought two packets on impulse.
Clearly, my spidey-senses had shown up today.
I put the pasta in the now-boiling pan and threw a splash of oil in with the chicken. Miraculously, Jake managed to make it through cutting it all up without screwing it all up or cutting himself.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now, you clean the board, so nobody gets food poisoning.” I slid it off the counter and over to the sink. He followed me, watching as I ran the water until it was hot and rinsed the board off with some soap. “You do the knife and yourself, and I’ll dry this.”
“Yes, boss.”
Cocky bastard.
I dried the board, then grabbed a new knife and sliced the onion in two, making sure to cut off the end. “Are you done?” I asked Jake.
“Yep.” He came back over, wiping his hands on a towel. “What’s next?”
“Slice the onion. I’ll do the first half. Watch this.” I peeled the layers of skin off the onion, checked the top layer of it, then set it down on the board. “Dice it like this,” I said, making the first cut into the onion.
“How?” He moved closer.
“Pay attention.”
He came even closer. He was all in my personal space, consuming every last bit of the air around me and filling it with his presence. My left arm brushed against his body every time I sliced, and I swallowed hard as the warmth from him seemed to radiate onto me.
“Ah. I see.” He leaned right against the side of the counter. “Seems simple enough.”
I turned the onion and diced the other way. My eyes were barely stinging, so either this onion was weak, or the general sensation of being around Jacob Creed was way more overwhelming than onion.
Probably not the best compliment I’d ever paid anyone.
I’d keep that gem to myself.
“Then you just…scoop it up…” I said, doing just that. “And throw it in the pot with the chicken.” I blinked and stepped back, clasping my hands together. My eyes flitted from meeting his gaze to the onion until I said, “You do the other half.”