Page 49 of Don't Game Me
Movement in the kitchen. Now wasn’t her moment.
“That you, Becca?” he called out.
“Yeah.” If she had this kitchen with its marble countertops and dark wood cabinets, she’d die happy, especially with its gas range. How she’d dreamed of cooking with gas instead of the electric POS in her California apartment. Electric never held temperature quite right. Her eye caught on an old-fashioned apple timer on the stove, so out of place in this kitchen. Perhaps it was a carryover from his childhood?
Jake remained absorbed in his laptop computer screen, scrolling as he leaned into a counter, shirtless, wearing only PJ bottoms.
Her fingers wrapped the phone from Pascal. The laptop probably wasn’t connected, although he might be connected right now.
Bile churned in her stomach. She didn’t want to hurt Jake or her brother or sabotage the company they’d slaved to make an international success.
To do or not do—either way led to someone getting hurt because of her.
Jake wasn’t paying attention.
She clicked to turn on the phone and pretended absorption.
A swipe over the appropriate app. The right sequence of clicks keyed in, and she was into his system. The cool part about this tech, even though it was scary invasive, was that the user actually on the computer had no clue she was probing around. Jake was already online, in his mainframe and looking at some document. Took a bit, but she found financial information. Not much, but something. A swipe and it’d been copied onto the phone. Later, she’d send it to Pascal.
Oh God. She shouldn’t have.
But she had. Phase one, breaking into NJ Legacy mainframe and stealing files, was done.
“You okay?” He glanced up.
She dropped the phone. With a swipe, she picked it up off the floor and closed its home screen. She swallowed hard against bile working itself up her throat and swiped sweat off her forehead. “You working?”
“Mmhm.”
She peeked over his shoulder at the screen. A document. In German. “How’d you learn German?”
“My grandmother was German. I spent a fair bit of time with her while my parents…worked through issues when I was a kid.”
He twisted and kissed her. She didn’t deserve this kiss, not after what she’d just done. As if picking up on her stress, he smoothed a hand down her spine, the act both soothing and sexy.
Daggone, this man could kiss. His hands roamed her sides and slid into the shirt and around her naked waist. The kiss deepened, and he lifted her onto the counter.
He broke the kiss, frowned, and lifted her down. “We need to talk.”
“Talk?” Did he know what she’d just done? No, he couldn’t. She prayed he wouldn’t quiz her on why she was freaked out.
“Yes, now.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Chaste. Odd.
He moved to a barstool height chair at the counter and pulled out the other one. “Now, I can concentrate. Have a seat.”
She moved on autopilot to the designated stool.
Tension lined his face.
She rushed to say, “Let’s not talk.”
His face went into emotional lockdown. “I want you again. Don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. There’s not. That wasn’t easy to stop. I want you naked for the next twenty-four hours, but we have other activities scheduled for today.”
“Okay.” Where was this going?
“You want me too.” His lips curved up at the corners.
“Not denying it.” She wanted this talking done so they could get back to being naked, so he could make her forget the rest of the world for another few hours.
