Sexual Games [The Heroes of Silver Springs 8] (Siren Publishing Classic) (18 page)

She blinked at him, surprised he let it go so easily. Had he really come to her apartment at three a.m. to cook for her? She started to say no despite the fact that her hunger had returned with a vengeance once the adrenaline of finding someone in her apartment had worn off. Cooking would lead to other activities she needed to steer clear of until she got her scruples back in line. She needed time. She needed sleep. Both would rejuvenate her resolve. She had gotten what she wanted last night, what she had been after from him for years. She had won the battle. Wasn’t she supposed to feel victorious instead of confused out of her mind?

Her stomach, of course, picked that moment to growl its loudest yet and prevented her from telling the lie.

Jackson’s oh-so-kissable lips spread in a small smile that ruined any idea of a cover-up she might have thought of. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go change, get comfortable, and give me a few minutes. I’ll fix something to eat.”

Pompous ass.

She knew Jackson. She didn’t stand a chance right now of getting him out of her apartment. Apparently, he had slipped into take-care-of-her mode. It wasn’t the first time she had come home from an assignment to find him in her apartment ready to play the doting friend.

The idea of watching him move about her kitchen coupled with the knowledge that the man could cook better than anyone she knew was far too appealing.

So, okay, she would get comfortable. Somewhere in her remained the part that knew how to goad this man, how to turn the tables of discomfort around on him.

She dropped her hand from the light switch and shrugged off the trench coat she wore. Unlike last night, she still wore her Stardust uniform beneath it. It was probably a bad idea since the last place she needed to land was in her own bed with him tonight. Still, seeing the heat, white-hot and full of desire, that darkened his stormy eyes as his gaze fell down her body in a leisurely slide was pretty rewarding.

“Damn.” That single whispered word dripped with male appreciation and unadulterated lust. “You look almost as amazing in that as you do naked.”

“I might as well be naked wearing this, Slick. I’m guessing that’s why you want me to go change.”

“No, I just figured you would want to get out of your work clothes. You’re welcome to stay that way if you like.”

There had been a time, not so long ago, when he would have told her to put something on, when he would have fought to hide the desire clouding his eyes. Not so anymore. It made it harder to poke at him, harder to get all her synapses firing in the right direction again.

“I noticed you got out of your work clothes.”
And did a damn fine job doing it.

She let her gaze skim down the solid gray T-shirt that matched his eyes and accented every stupendous ridge and plane of his torso to pristine perfection. His jeans looked slightly worn, rode low on his narrow hips, and hugged powerful thighs that made her own burn to feel them flexing between her legs as he thrust his body forward, plunging his cock into her pussy.

She wrenched her gaze back up to meet his. “It’s not often I see you dressed down. You lost the tie. It looks good.”

The intensity and seriousness in his stare had her heart pounding fiercely against her breastbone. “You took the tie off last night. I don’t intend to put it back on.”

Shit.
He wasn’t talking about the material tie now. She remembered thinking in Cooper’s office that morning that last night had been enough for him. The way he had acted, how he had appeared unfazed, as if it were just another day, business as usual, had made her wonder.

She had been way wrong, horribly, fantastically, frighteningly wrong.

“Jackson, I—”

“Am going to sit down and relax while I cook us dinner,” he finished for her and glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. “Or breakfast. Which would you like?”

Mallory shook her head. He had done a complete one-eighty on her again. She couldn’t keep up.

Cooking. Food.
Yes, she was hungry, starving actually. Okay, she could do this.

“Have you looked in my refrigerator?” She gave him an incredulous look. “Because, the last time I opened it, there was a half gallon of expired milk, a pack of molded cheese, and a bottle of water.”

“All of which is now in your trashcan, replaced by fresh milk, cheese, eggs, steaks, fresh vegetables, and a few other things. There’s also potatoes and pasta in your cabinets and a loaf of bread in the bread box.”

Mallory laughed, a hot burst of disbelieving air. “You brought groceries when you came over?” She shouldn’t be surprised. He knew her, probably better than she knew herself.

And therein lies your biggest problem with this man. He’s figured out how to get to you, how to work his way inside.

“I knew better than to come here thinking I was going to cook with anything you would have on hand. Your idea of a full, balanced meal comes from whatever takeout restaurant you can find on speed dial.”

He had a point, so she didn’t bother disputing it. “Breakfast, please. Steak, medium-well, and scrambled eggs with cheese and whatever else you can find to throw in them, toast, and a glass of milk.” Her stomach grumbled again as she rattled off food that sounded scrumptious enough to die for.

His lips twitched as he turned his back on her and got to work. “Easy enough. Give me a half an hour. Take a shower. Take a nap if you want to. Whatever you want to do to pass the time.”

“I could help?” The look he shot her over his shoulder was so comical she couldn’t help but laugh. “I know. I know. I’m useless in the kitchen, but I had to offer. And since I got that response, I’ll leave you to it. I think I will go change after all. Honestly, this uniform really makes me uncomfortable.”

“Me, too.”

* * * *

Jackson watched her until she disappeared down the hall. The way her hair fell in waves down the center of her back to flirt her trim waist made his fingers tingle. The way her amazing hips swayed when she walked, her ass cheeks flexing and beckoning his hands to touch, had him fisting said hands at his sides.

Uncomfortable didn’t begin to describe the way seeing her in that uniform made him feel. The denim of his jeans wasn’t pliant enough for the raging hard-on pressing demandingly against his zipper.

He raked his hands down his face in an attempt to rid himself of the image so he could concentrate on what he had come here to do. He had spent the day and much of the night with Cameron, Kell, and other agents at the bureau, combing through information. They worked their butts off looking for leads and evaluating those they already had, attempting to determine if Lexie Stratus’s disappearance really tied in with the on-going Operation Water Down or if they had landed into something entirely different. At midnight, they had called it a day. He had gone home and taken one step into his bedroom when the memories he had been fighting all day to keep in the back of his mind swamped him.

He had seen Mallory on his bed, on top of him, riding his cock and allowing every ounce of pleasure she felt to show on her angelic face. He had felt the guard that surrounded that ecstasy, the wall she had been able to maintain around it all even in those erotically charged moments. He had heard the crack in that foundation he knew he had finally managed to create when he felt that single tear hit his chest.

He had let her take control last night, allowed her do it her way, but he had made progress toward his own goal in the process. If he backed off now, he knew she would repair that cracked foundation and come back at him with a will more determined and a heart harder to penetrate than ever.

Tonight, they would play another game. His game. His way. Cooking for her was the easy part. He liked to cook. He had been whipping up meals before he grew tall enough to reach the stove.

He set to that task now, pulling the ingredients he would need from the fridge and finding the necessary pots and pans in the lower cabinets. He knew his way around Mallory’s kitchen. She had lived in the same apartment for years and rarely rearranged anything.

Rarely cleaned or organized anything either, he mused as he shuffled through drawers of utensils for cooking spoons and spatulas. One thing about it, Mallory Stone was far from the domestic type.

He lightly seasoned two New York strips and placed them in a pan before moving to chop up the vegetables for the omelets he intended to prepare. Soft sounds drifted down the hallway as he worked. He could hear Mallory in her bedroom opening drawers and shuffling about. He heard the light flick on in the bathroom, heard the water run in the sink, heard both turn off again and felt the awareness move over him as she returned to the kitchen.

“Are you sure you don’t want some help? I’m not a total dweeb in the kitchen. I can chop vegetables and boil water and beat eggs.” Her pause sounded thoughtful. “There are probably some other things I can do, too, but I can’t put my finger on them just now.”

Jackson kept his back to her to hide the smile he couldn’t keep from his lips as he reached for the egg carton. “You can sit at the table.” He cracked four eggs into a bowl, pulled a metal fork from the utensil drawer amongst all the plastic disposable ones, and turned as he whisked them. “And you can talk.”

She drew her eyebrows together and frowned. “I gather we’re not playing the silent game tonight.”

“Nope.” Inspiration struck and Jackson rolled with it, remembering something he had read and putting it to use. He set the bowl of whisked eggs on the countertop by the stove and moved to her. Anticipation did an excited boogie with the suspicion in her eyes. He lifted a brow as he raked his gaze over her, noting she had changed into a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. The shirttails stopped at midthigh, leaving her delectable legs exposed to torment him. Her feet were bare, her toes painted a sexy siren red.

The shirt belonged to him. He didn’t know how she had gotten it, but he saw the confirmation in the teasing smile she failed to hide.

“You’re in Chef Jackson’s kitchen tonight.” He stopped close enough to feel her breasts lightly brush his ribs. His body caressed hers as he stepped around her, and he heard her suck in a breath that quivered when she exhaled. He pushed her hair to one side, leaned in, and spoke softly in her ear. “In my restaurant, silence is frowned upon. Conversation is a required if one expects to be served.”

He let the double entendre hang in the air, deciding she could define served however she wanted to. He intended to show her, one baby step at a time.

He eased back, turned slightly, and pulled out a chair at the small kitchen table. She turned her head to watch him, a trace of amusement mingling with the puzzlement in her expression.

He gestured to the chair with a flourish of his arm. “Please have a seat, madam. Your order will be ready shortly.”

She made a soft sound of disbelief, shook her head, and sat, turning sideways in her chair to look at him.

Jackson could almost see the wheels turning in her beautiful head.
Good.
He had her on edge, uncertain of his next move, wondering how he intended to play this out. It was exactly where he wanted her. Giving her time to settle, to find an answer to her current confusion, would return the power to her. He wouldn’t let her have it tonight.

He walked back to the stove, flipped the steaks, and added a teaspoon of butter to a skillet for the eggs. A loud meow briefly drew his attention back to Mallory and down to the cat at her feet.

“She went nuts when I walked into the apartment.”

“She likes you.” Mallory scooped up the cat and cuddled it in her lap. “Don’t you, Sloopsy?” she said, cupping the cat’s face in her hands and kissing the top of its head. Cameron had rescued the cat outside his own apartment when it was a kitten.

Jackson remembered the sheer delight in Mallory’s eyes when her brother pawned it off on her. Once in Mallory’s arms, the kitten had put its paws on either side of Mallory’s face and started playfully nibbling on her chin. Silly things the kitten did after had gifted her with the name Silly Loopy, which Mallory often shortened to Sloopsy or some variation.

“You’re the only person she doesn’t attack when they come over.” Mallory patted the top of the cat’s head and set it back on the floor.

“She meowed at me until I followed her in here. Her food dish was empty.”

“Crap.” Mallory slapped her forehead. “I forgot to fill it when I stopped by here this morning.”

“Yeah, she had a few choice things to say about that, too.”

Mallory laughed then took a dramatic breath. “Mmm, whatever you’re doing over there is starting to smell yummy. Wouldn’t it be easier to see what you’re doing if you turned on the light, though?”

“I hate to break it to you, but Chef Jackson’s is a fledgling restaurant. Unlike our customers, we can’t afford to pay the power bill, so we operate under the guise of romanticism to hide our financial troubles.”

Mallory laughed again. “Good one, except don’t you need power to run the appliances?”

“Details. Details.” And, of course, she never missed any of them. “Stay in character, guest Mallory, and don’t think so much.”

About anything.
If the woman had a single flaw, it was that she thought way too much.