Page 87 of Major Love

Jason reaches around me and snags the hand-towel that I’ve been hiding behind my back, chuckling quietly when I try to wrestle it back from him, wanting to dry the kitchenware that he just washed.

“Darn it,” I pant in defeat, when he whips the towel away from my grip. “If you won’t let me wash up, at least let me dry the cutlery. It’s guest etiquette, Jason! And I’m a really good guest.”

A smirk touches his mouth as he starts drying our bowls.

“You’re a real fighter,” he murmurs, twin dimples tightening in his tan cheeks.

“And don’t you forget it,” I tell him breathlessly, hopping down from my stool.

His eyes flick to mine, and I see a flare of heat before he blinks it away.

Then he tosses the towel onto the counter and turns to face me head-on.

“Still wanna hang out?” he asks, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

I pick up the hand-towel and fold it into a neat square on the counter.

Then I smile to myself.I’m such a good guest.

“If you want to,” I tell him, my voice coming out light and gentle.

And I risk a glance up at his face again and find him watching me with a heated expression. His chest rises steadily as he towers over me.

“Yeah, I want to,” he says finally, and I can’t deny the excitement that surges through me.

Jason catches my happy lip-bite and a hint of a grin touches his mouth.

He jerks his chin toward the front of the house, where his construction gear is hung up, along with my winterwear that he washed and dried after he helped me back from Alpine Trail.

“Get wrapped up. Then I’ll show you.”

“Show me?” I repeat, and he pushes himself off the counter, his body right behind mine as we make our way to the front of the house. “We’re going out?” I ask, my brow arching in confusion. Then I blink down at my thermals. “Do I need to get changed?”

Jason lifts his thick black sweater from the rack and, to my surprise, holds it out forme.

He eases it down over my head, his movements gentle so that he doesn’t knock my ponytail.

And when I start wiggling my arms into the sleeves, he carefully scoops the rest of my hair from the neckline of his shirt.

“Jesus, that’s soft,” he rumbles quietly, in that deep gravelly voice of his.

Then he uses one hand to pick up my winter jacket, and the other to gently turn me around to face him.

I glance up at him as he slips my arms into the coat, the furrow of concentration on his brow making intrigue flutter in my stomach.

Then those heated eyes flick down to mine as he grabs his own winterwear.

“Are yousurethat I don’t need to get changed?” I ask, so unconvinced by my outfit that I actually laugh.

He smiles at the sound and looks me over as he zips up his jacket.

“Definitely don’t need to get changed,” he confirms, grabbing my scarf from the rack. He gives the sweater a firm tug and adds huskily, “This suits you.”

Heat spreads through my cheeks as I glance down at the sweater beneath my coat.

Jason’ssweater.

And he likes the way that it looks on me.

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