have a chance to grab my plate from the table, his hand wraps around my wrist. “Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse and husky. Reacting to his touch and this one simple word, my heart pounds tersely a few times, warning me it’s reacting once again to this man who I don’t want to be attracted to. Since I’m standing and he’s sitting, I look down at him, waiting for him to continue his drawn-out silent thought. “Thank you for making me dinner. I’ve been eating diner food for more than a year now. I had forgotten what real food tastes like, and I don’t really remember the last home-cooked meal I’ve had.” This kind of breaks my heart.
“You don’t know how to cook?” I ask.
“I can fix missing limbs but not a steak,” he says through a shameful chuckle. “I’m sort of inept in the kitchen.”
“Well,” I say, exhaling through my shaky breaths. “I’m happy to cook a meal for you whenever you’d like. I love to cook.”
His hand is still around my wrist, and he squeezes a little tighter. All the while, I’m still looking at him, and he’s still looking at me with this endearing look in his eyes like he wants to thank me again or something. Maybe just the something. “Also,” he says, releasing his grip. “I’m sorry about that picture earlier. I was just trying to tease you but…that backfired.”
I nod my head, feeling very uncomfortable talking about this again. “Don’t mention it.” I really mean that as I walk into the kitchen with a handful of plates. Who sincerely apologizes for sending a woman a…dick picture, or whatever it’s called?
Jags silently follows me into the kitchen with another handful of plates and grabs a dish rag to dry the dishes I’m now cleaning.
Thirty minutes of scrubbing and drying goes by without a word shared between the two of us, and it might be the most comfortable I’ve felt with him since the first time we met. Now that all of the dishes are clean, though, something has to be said. “I’ll take the couch tonight. You can have the bed,” I tell him.
“Nah, I’d rather have the couch, but thank you,” he says.
I wipe my hands off on the dish towel and place it down on the counter. “Well, okay, I’m going to go wash up unless you need the bathroom first.”
Why is my heart beating so fast right now? Why does my stomach hurt? What is happening? I want to push away the feelings running through me. Jags’s hand sweeps across my lower back, and I just don’t know what’s going on right now. I’m having a hard time looking up at him, but curiosity forces my gaze up to his face.
There is no expression on his face, however. No tell-all sign of what’s going on in his head. With the silence acting as a building pressure between the two of us, a loud blast of thunder rumbles through the house, and the lights follow with a flicker.
Another flicker.
And another flicker.
Then darkness.
The entire house has gone pitch black, and Jags’s hand tightens around me. “Are you scared of the dark?” he whispers into my ear.
“I haven’t been before this moment,” I respond.
CHAPTER NINE
JAGS
WHAT I WANT to do in this obviously perfect situation can’t happen. Sasha can only handle me in small doses, and I don’t know how many sweet glances I need to give her before it will cover up the grime coming out of my mouth every other minute of the day. She’s shaking beneath my grip, and I don’t know if it’s because I scare her or if she’s scared of feeling something she doesn’t want to feel for me. Usually, the women I have in a dark room are half in the bag or so drugged, they think I look like some hot celebrity. It happened more in Boston than anywhere else I’ve ever been, but regardless, Sasha is neither here nor there in that department, which means I’m probably just scaring her.
“Do you know where any of their flashlights are?” I ask her.
Sasha reaches around me, forcing her body up against mine, forcing a part of my body to poke out against hers. Oops. I feel her body stiffen, probably with shock. I can’t control this thing, sorry. She’s probably sorry right now too. I hear the drawer behind me slide open and maybe I could be a gentleman and move out of the way to let her