My face overheats.
“If we hadn’t made thatmistake,” he says, and there’s a bite to that word, “then you never would’ve gotten hurt. So it’s the least I can do. And taking care of people has always been my thing, so— What are you doing? Why are you standing?” He hurries over.
“I need to use the restroom. I have a crutch over there, you don’t need to—” Before I can finish, I’m scooped up and carried to the bathroom. I am wearing shorts and a tank top, and the feel of his skin on mine is disorienting.
Because I know he’ll be waiting for me when I’m done, I have to run the faucet to overcome my stage fright. I set aside the novelty of knowing that someone, a male who isn’t Avery, will most definitely be there to lend his assistance.
I reemerge, hopping out like a wounded little flamingo, and Jack again hefts me up like nothing. He carries me back to the sofa, and I rest my hand against his chest, resisting the urge to let it roam over his firm pecs. He deposits me gently on the sofa in front of the lunch tray he evidently prepared while I was in the bathroom.
“Eat. It’s spaghetti Bolognese.”
“You made— Why aren’t you eating?”
“I already ate,” he answers simply.
These short, clipped exchanges are torture. “Listen, I don’t dislike you. Not entirely,” I say. I grab at his hand.
He stares down at me.
I release him.
“You should write for Hallmark.” Jack moves through The Hole to his apartment. I take a bite of his surprisingly good cooking and mentally note that his moving casually through both our places feels somehow intimate. He returns with a tablet and drops down into one of my chairs.
“What are you doing?”
He glances at me. “Reading.”
I shift and swallow my bite. “Here?”
“Would you rather I leave?”
“No, no. I just— What are you reading?” I ask. Something flickers in his eyes, and it’s a break from the impassive reactions I’ve gotten from him the past two days. He looks alert, amused, something else. I double down, eager to draw him out, though I’m not sure why. “Is it good?”
“It’s…very good,” he drawls, the words sliding against me and caressing places they shouldn’t. “Educational.”
I lick my lips, eyes wide. The energy in the room has shifted. What the hell is he reading?
“I can read you a little,” he offers.
“You want to read to me?” I repeat blankly.
“Mm-hmmm. Do you want me to read to you, Penelope?”
I find myself nodding.
“This part I liked a lot:The air between them crackled like an angry sky. Ronan’s hand slid up her leg to her damp core. His teeth captured one perfect pebbled nipple. Bethany arched with a cry.
‘I thought you didn’t want me anymore,’ she panted.
He lifted his head from her breast. ‘Shall I show you how much I don’t want you?’ He slid a finger into the heat of her—”
My mouth has gone dry, because all the moisture my body contains has pooled somewhere else. What. The. Fuck.
“That’s— Why are you readingThe Pirate Duke’s Pleasure?”
He shrugs, his smoky eyes piercing. “I was curious after reading that bit the other day. Wanted to see what you…like.”
Oh my God.
