I join him, surveying the meal I prepared. Jackson doesn’t hesitate to take a sip of the piping hot coffee first, his eyes widening as he swallows down the delicious liquid.
“Oh my God!” Jackson exclaims. “How did you get this heavenly brew from my ten-year-old coffee maker?”
“I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole,” I answer with a little smirk. Jackson rewards me with a smile, giving meconfidence to continue. “The only way to get rich, full-bodied coffee like this is to use a French press.“
Jackson hums to himself and takes another sip, this time, closing his eyes as if to savor his drink. “Is this the same coffee I keep in my cupboard?”
“No way,” I answer with a little more disgust than I meant. Jackson laughs, and I realize my face must be twisted up into a grimace. “Not to insult your particular… Tastes,” I hedge. “But the key to getting this flavor is to use single-origin coffee beans, coarsely ground, in a French press.”
“Thank you for the crash course in coffee etiquette,” Jackson says. I don’t think he’s being sarcastic, but old insecurities push their way to the surface.
A blush creeps up from my neck, landing in my cheeks and making them glow bright red. I’m sure I sound stuck up and pretentious, which isn’t the impression I want to give my bodyguard.
“Sorry,” I’m quick to say, averting my gaze. “I wanted to do something nice for you, and here I am, lecturing you on the right way to prepare coffee.” I stare at my hands, which are twisting the napkin in a nervous gesture. My racing thoughts come to a halt when Jackson covers both of my hands with one of his.
“Hey,” Jackson says softly. “I wasn’t making fun of you, I promise. I don’t know anything about coffee aside from pouring the cheapest stuff into the top of my coffee maker and splashing whatever amount of water seems sufficient at the time. I love that you take your morning coffee so seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever been that passionate about anything in my life.”
“Sorry. I-I mean, thank you.”God, could I sound any more awkward?
“I should be thanking you,” Jackson says, giving my hand to squeeze before letting it go. “The food looks amazing, and thecoffee is out of this world, but I think the company is my favorite part.”
It takes me a second to realize that bycompany, he meansme. I’m sure he’s just trying to make me feel at ease since he’s my bodyguard, but I allow myself a few seconds to indulge in the fantasy that he actually finds me interesting and worthwhile.
In reality, I’m mousy, shy, and I live a small, lonely life. Not to mention all of my extra curves, and the fact that I’ve never had a relationship, or even a kiss. There’s no way this confident, older, unbelievably sexy, and accomplished man would ever look at me in the same way.
Jackson digs into his breakfast, making obscene noises as he chews and swallows his food. “This is the best omelette I’ve ever had,” he states matter-of-factly.
“Okay, now I know you’re just trying to flatter me. The best cup of coffee, I’ll accept. But the omelette is average, and you know it.”
“To each their own,” he replies cheekily.
Jackson clears his plate in five bites, almost as if to prove it really is the best breakfast he’s ever had. I finish up my meal and carry the dishes to the sink, getting ready to wash and dry them. Jackson steps up behind me, making my skin break out in goosebumps at the warmth of his closeness.
“You cooked, I should be the one to clean,” he says. Jackson is so close, I can feel his breath tickling the back of my neck.
I swallow thickly and get myself under control. “It’ll get done faster if we work together,” I suggest. My bodyguard joins me at the sink, drying off each dish after I scrub it clean. “Oops!” I say when I drop the skillet into the sink. Water and soap bubbles splash onto the counter, along with a healthy dose all over Jackson’s shirt. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
“Trying to get me to take my clothes off already?” Jackson replies with another devastatingly sexy wink. I get the sense I’m the only one to see him like this, which makes me feel special.
“No, I–”
Jackson scoops his hands into the dish water, gathering up a large amount of bubbles. I raise an eyebrow at him in challenge. My bodyguard gives me one last smirk before blowing on the mountain of bubbles. I squeal as the soap foam gets caught in my hair, the bubbles popping on my skin.
“Hey! At least mine was an accident,” I tease, putting my hands on my hips. “You, on the other hand–”
My breath catches in my throat as Jackson peels his wet shirt off, revealing his chiseled chest and perfect abs. I try not to count, but I’m only so strong. As I suspected, he has a freaking eight-pack.
My feet move on their own, carrying me closer to the shirtless, sexy-as-hell bodyguard in charge of my protection. I stop a few inches from his massive chest, my eyes following a droplet of water as it slides down his torso. I can’t stop the intrusive thought of touching him, and before I can get myself under control, I brush my fingertips over the contours of his chest and abs.
Jackson tilts his head back and closes his eyes, a pained sound rising up from the pit of his stomach. This snaps me out of my delusion, and I yank my hand back, absolutely mortified at the line I crossed.
“I’m so sorry,” I rush to say. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Never apologize for touching me, Sage,” he grits out. His words say one thing, but his tone is still teetering on the edge of anger.
When he opens his eyes, they lock onto mine, letting me see the desire and lust swirling in their depths. I realize Jacksonisn’t angry; he’s holding himself back. It’s almost too ridiculous to believe, but I’m standing right here, looking at the evidence myself.
He loops his fingers around my wrist and lifts my hand to his chest. I press it against his warm flesh, fascinated by the way it makes his heart beat faster against my palm.
