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"Absolutely anything."
I shake my head and look away from those damn hypnotizing gray eyes. "You are nothing but trouble, Jackson."
"Only the best kind." He grins.
"Come with me." I start walking toward the entrance of the shop, totally unprepared for the feeling of his hand coming to my lower back.
A shiver races through me before I can stop it and his hand presses to me harder.
"Well. I found one more spot," he says low.
We're almost to the elevators when I stop short. "Don't you dare try anything freaky, Jackson. I work here."
"I'm sure I could convince Law to erase footage of anything we might get up to."
"Lord," I murmur as he presses the button for the elevator. We're silent as we wait for it, but I can feel his eyes on me, going up and down my body again and again. Once we're inside I ask, "So why is Lawson called Law, but you're not called Jack?"
His top lip curls. "I hate that name with a passion. I cannot even explain why, but every time someone calls me Jack instead of Jackson, I want to punch them in the face."
A laugh bursts out of me. "A little extreme."
"I know, but..." He shrugs. "I think maybe it's because my mother loved my name so much. It was her father's name. And she always made sure to call me Jackson, not Jack, and wouldn't let anyone else shorten it either. So now, it irks me so much when anyone does."
"But she did shorten Law's name?"
"She never liked Lawson, but my father insisted our names end the same, so that was the negotiation. But she always called him Law. Always, hence why you rarely see Law let anyone call him Lawson outside of anything business related."
"Interesting. Did your father usually get his way?"
Jackson's features take on a look of anger I did not at all expect. "He always got his way. Almost always, anyway."
The doors opens and he quickly exits. I can't take it as anything other than him trying to end that conversation, so I let him.
"So, where to?" he asks as I get out of the elevator.
"Over here. Now I need your word you won't tell a soul about this."
His smile comes back. "Scout's honor."
"Oh, there is nothing about you that screams Boy Scout."
"Sure, there is. I know how to tie a hell of a knot."
My mind instantly flashes to when he had me tied to my bed, and the rope marks I had to hide for days after.
"You are a shameless flirt," I say as we begin walking down the hallway.
"Only with you."
"Do you expect me to believe that? I'm sure, especially with you being a chef and how many people you're around, that there areplenty of women who want you. Are you telling me you don't flirt with them?"
"I don't, actually. One, it would be unprofessional, and I am not that. Two, I don't want any of those women."
It feels like another set of words hangs between us after he stops speaking.I only want you.But I find myself wondering if it's just my want of him that makes me think he feels the same.
"Do they flirt with you?" I ask.
"Some do, but I make sure to make it very clear that the only thing on the menu is my food, not me."
