Page 68 of Burn With Me

Earlier, I would have been elated to hear him say that instead ofmy place. Right now, though, I’m irritated and can’t get past what just happened.

When we get into the car, he raises the partition that separates the front of the vehicle from the back. Rubbing at his eyes, he lazily drapes his arm over the back of the seat behind me. “She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

Girlfriend?

“I thought you didn’t date,” I reply lamely. There’s never been any talk of him ever having a girlfriend that I know of.

“I don’t. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever come to a real relationship.” His knee starts to bounce as he loosens the tie around his neck.

“What happened?” My voice is small as I ask. His eyes dart to the side as he notices me lean away a little before he turns to look out the window.

“When I imagined a life with her, it wasn’t what I wanted. I wasn’t ready to settle down—this was almost ten years ago. We were too young. I was too wild, and she was desperate toget her hands on my money. It would have never worked out. So, I ended things before they got messy.”

Snorting, I turn to look out my window as his gaze turns to me. “Seems like she’s still desperate to get her hands on you. Takeherto dinner tonight if you’d prefer.”

Jackson shifts. When he speaks again, his voice sounds right against my ear as he whispers, “I’m right where I want to be tonight, Red.”

Our noses nearly collide from how close he is when I whip my head around. I try to keep the anger out of my tone as I ask, “Why did you introduce me that way?”

His brow furrows as confusion seeps into his expression. “What other way should I introduce you, Ginny? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I think we’re more than friends, Jackson. You’ve spent the last three nights in my bed, making me come with everything but your dick. I think that deserves a title stronger thanfriend.”

Studying my face, he lifts a hand to brush an errant strand that has fallen from my messy bun out of my eyes. “You told me you didn’t think I was capable of being exclusive. I thought calling you my girlfriend would be presumptuous of me.”

Softening at his words—because he’s right—I think about how I’m being. I’d been so intimidated by Viktoriya that I was acting threatened when it wasn’t my place. Did I want him to see her for dinner?Fuck no.But did I have a right to ask that of him after telling him I didn’t think he could be monogamous?

Also, a big fat no.

I really need to get my shit together and sort out my feelings. Today istheday. Today marks a month since we made the deal—well twenty-eight days anyways—close enough. Neither of us has brought it up since he picked me up at The Bryant once I’d gone home and showered after work.

I spent an abhorrent amount of time meticulously shavingand plucking, picking out a sexy bra and underwear set, and making sure everything was perfect because, in my mind, tonight is the night we finally sleep together. But Jackson hasn’t so much as made one crude comment about it since we’ve been together.

At my silence, something hardens in Jackson’s hazelnut orbs before he pulls back. “Right.”

Words fail me, and I spend the rest of the drive to his place gazing out the window while he taps away on his phone. Lead fills my stomach at the possibility of him messaging Viktoriya. Perhaps he is already setting something up for after he fucks me.

Does that change my mind?

As much as I want to say yes, the answer is undoubtedly no. I’m ready to be with him. I’m ready to feel something other than his fingers and his tongue filling me. And if it means I only get it this once, if it means he forgets about me after it's happened, I’ll just have to find a way to deal with it.

Jackson is an experience I want to have, even if we part ways afterward.

Looking at him across the car, Jackson looks irritated, and my anger melts away, wanting to comfort him instead of being mad at him.

No, parting ways isn’t what I want, I have to stop lying to myself. Even though I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me, Iwantto be his.

“Here, try this.” Jackson lifts a spoon to my lips after blowing on it to cool the homemade Alfredo down.

“Feeding me now? Is this your idea of foreplay?” I laugh.

“Try it and tell me if it's working.” The smile he sends me is enough to make me melt into a puddle on the floor. All mysenses are in overdrive, wondering when—if—he’s going to make a move.

He’s still in his work clothes, sans jacket, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A sight I’ve been salivating over for the last thirty minutes while I sip white wine and watch him from where I’m perched on the counter next to the stove.

As soon as we made it into the kitchen, he’d forbidden me from even so much as lifting a finger to help. Telling me my job was just to enjoy my wine and let him do all the cooking. It seemed like as soon as he was within his own four walls—well, a figurative four, not literal because I’m not sure exactly how many walls this place has—all his tension dissolved away because he was back to acting normal.

In the last half hour, he’s boiled pasta, baked garlic bread, and pan-fried chicken for the Alfredo he’s now finished.

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