Page 67 of Burn With Me

A tidal wave of emotion crashes against my skin, and Jackson holds me through it, letting out a quiet, “Fuck,” as he comes, too.

Breathing heavily, neither of us makes a move to get up. He smooths my hair away from my face and kisses the top of my head as I lay my cheek on his chest. “Do you want me to stay?”

Nodding, I squeeze my arms around him tighter. “Yes, please.”

No other words are spoken. Nothing else needs to be said. We fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing, and I feel safe.

I feelsafe.

“I didn’t know you could cook. I assumed Claudia did all that for you.” Picking up a wrapped wheel of Spanish Manchego, I wince at the price and gingerly put it back, giving it a few pats on the top.

Good for you, cheese, knowing your worth.

Jackson laughs as he places a block of parmesan in our cart—the last of the ingredients we need for dinner. “I watched my grandma cook when I was home from boarding school. I picked up on afewthings.”

“Well, I’m excited. Who doesn’t love pasta? And to have Jackson Tailor cooking me dinner, excuse me while I swoon.” Laughing, I place the back of my hand against my forehead and pretend to fall over into the cart.

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or being serious, but Ididoffer to take you out for dinner. You’re the one who said you wanted to stay in but were sick of takeout.” He picks up a jar of spicy fig jam while he waits for me to right myself, then starts to push the cart toward the checkout.

“Jackson!” Both our heads turn in the direction of a rich, sultry feminine voice.

Instantly, my hackles rise as a leggy blonde weaves her way through the stands until she reaches us and throws herarms around his neck. He looks taken aback, and his eyes dart to mine as he half-returns her hug awkwardly.

The blood in my veins heats, and it’s not from pleasure.

“How are you?! It’s been so long. I just moved back. We simply must do dinner,” she gushes as she lets go of him and steps back.

Not nearly enough.

There’s an edge to her voice, an accent of some sort. Russian maybe. Her perfectly curled hair bounces around her shoulders as her sparkly, ice-blue eyes stare up at him adoringly. She completely ignores me, but Jackson takes a step back so that he’s closer to my side. Only then do her eyes focus on me, sharp as an icicle.

“Viktoriya,” Jackson greets as though he’d rather be talking to anyone but her.

Her icy blues bounce between us as her smile goes from saccharine to sour. “Who do we have here? Training a new housekeeper?”

“Excuse me?” My words sound incredulous as they leave my lips, but before I can say anything else, Jackson cuts in.

“No, this is Ginny. She’s my…friend.”

There’s a sharp sensation that zips through my chest. It hurts, and it takes everything in me not to turn my eyes to his. He could have made it clear I wasn’t a staff member in training, and he could have said friend without the pause. He could have said girlfriend, but then again, how can I expect that?

“Oh. Oh, I see. Well then, I’ll let you get back to it.” Viktoriya’s smile is triumphant as she goes back to ignoring me, reaching out to lay a hand on Jackson’s arm. “You have my number, darling. Call me so we can set something up for dinner. Will I be seeing you at the Kennedy’s party?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Is all he says, neither agreeing nor disagreeing to the dinner she keeps trying to push.

“Well, hopefully, I’ll see you before then,” she liltssuggestively. Her eyes drift to mine once more before adding, “If not, I’ll see you there.”

She turns and leaves, without so much as agoodbyeor anice to meet you, hips swaying in jeans that look painted on her modelesque figure, while her Louboutins click loudly on the hard floor in her retreat.

Jackson expels a long breath before he begins to push the cart once more. Our earlier playfulness is forgotten as my mood turns bratty. “Who was that?”

“No one.”

“Jackson, I’m serious.” Folding my arms over my chest, I stop in front of the cart and stand my ground.

His eyes burn into mine. Clearly, this is a conversation he doesn’t want to have, but he eventually sighs. “I’ll tell you in the car on the way home.”

Home.

---