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“No. You are the first person to cook for me. Ever. It threw me off guard. That’s all.”
Jane had always presumed that his life had been perfect. Despite his parents’ divorce, he had such an air of confidence that it had been easy to imagine he had waltzed through childhood without a blemish on his emotional soul.
“I wanted to make you something,” she said with a shrug. “I like to cook. I don’t like takeout. But I won’t do it again.”
He lifted a hand to her hair, and hooked a thick section through his fingers. “You are a very good cook.”
“I know.” She knitted her brows together. “Carter, it wasn’t a declaration of love. I just wanted to make something that was better for us than Chinese.”
It was a lie. She knew, the second she said the words, that there was more to it than that. But Carter didn’t need to know that. She shrugged. “You’re really weird about this stuff.”
He nodded, his head ringing with something like panic. “Apparently.”
She reached over and ran the water again, but once more, he switched it off.
He didn’t know why he kept reacting as he did around her. He only knew that in one way, they made perfect, indescribable sense.
“Leave the dishes and come with me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Three whole weeks.
Jane lifted her knees to her chin, the sheet draped across them, as she watched Carter showering. His body was covered in lather and the warm water was creating steam in the bathroom. She would have to go, soon. But leaving in the middle of th
e night was getting harder and harder.
She toyed with the sheet, running her fingers over the crisp white fabric.
“You know,” she called out waspishly. “I would have thought you’d be sick of me by now…”
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower without reaching for a towel. He stalked across the bedroom, dripping wet, and jumped on the bed beside her. She let out a squawk as he tackled her backwards, covering her with his wet, slippery body.
“Actually, so would I,” he grinned. “But I’ve got news for you, Jane. I’m not even close.”
“Huh. Fascinating.” She stared up at him, her dark eyes like melted chocolate. She couldn’t imagine leaving him. She was clinging to the certainty that she would have to, though. That this wonderful, shiny feeling of being adored and desired and wanted would not last forever.
“Unfortunately, I can’t see you tomorrow night though.”
“Oh.” She nodded, hating the way she felt like she could almost cry. “That’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. It’s damned annoying. I know you have your rule about days, but I was hoping you’d stay over tonight and spend tomorrow with me.”
She shook her head. “I really can’t.” She plastered a smile onto her face. “But I’ll see you the next night.”
He lowered his head, so that his lips were poised just above hers. “Perhaps I can work out a way to change your mind. I want you here, Jane.”
“I know. If there was any way I could be persuaded, then you would have done it by now. But I can’t.”
“What do you do in the days? I know you don’t run around to beauty appointments all day. So what is it?” He asked darkly, kissing the soft skin to the side of her mouth. “And why are you so secretive about it?”
“It’s my life.” She shrugged. “I don’t care what you do in your days.” It was a lie, but she hoped he couldn’t tell that.
“I sit in a very boring office, fantasising about you.”
She rolled her eyes. “What’s the go tomorrow night?”
“I have a network cocktail party at the Studio. I go every year.”
