Page 55 of The Heart Shot
I gave an absurd giggle. “Oh, fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I had never related to that meme of the dog surrounded by fire so much in my life.
Jameson extended his hand, and because of the frazzled state of my mind, I thought he wanted a handshake. It was weird, but I went with it, placing my hand in his and giving it a firm shake.
Jameson laughed. “Thanks for the handshake, but I was offering to take your coat.”
“Oh.” I forced out a laugh that kind of sounded like a hyena cackling, and my cheeks turned to flames. Was it too late to leave and pretend none of this happened? Jameson probably thought I was an absolute lunatic.
Instead of releasing my hand, Jameson used it to pull me toward him, wrapping me in a hug. It was the first time anyone had ever used a handshake to lure me into a hug.
Was this the allure of those bro shake hugs?
If so, I could see the appeal.
Jameson’s arms circled tighter around my waist, my face pressing into his chest. His cologne filled my nose, and his fingers were like little lightning bolts on my low back, despite the fabric between them.
I expected him to release me, keeping it quick so he could go back to whatever he was doing before I arrived, but he continued to hold me. One by one each of my muscles relaxed, his fingers trailing calming lines across my back.
After several moments, he whispered, “Better?”
He loosened his grip as I leaned back to look at him. How had he known I was falling apart and a simple hug would hold me together? How did he know that his soothing touch was what I needed?Ididn’t even know that’s what I needed.
His hand released my waist to brush my hair out of my eyes, his fingertips skimming my cheek. Jameson really needed to stop setting me on fire.He glanced once, twice, at my lips and I knew if I didn’t move that he would kiss me. It was written in the way he held me, in the way his fingers roved across my skin, in the way his dilated pupils betrayed his desire.
Almostevery part of me wanted to lean in, to see what he tasted like, to experience what it would be like to kiss Jameson Beck.Every part except for Smart Elsie, who swooped in and took control, forcing me to pull out of his arms.
“So, what’s for dinner?”
I wasn’t sure if it was hurt or amusement, or a strange combination of the two that flickered across his face, but as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by that dimple that pierced my heart like it pierced his cheek.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said, helping me out of my coat, his fingers lingering a little too long against my neck, then my arms. “I made rosemary-garlic chicken with potatoes, veggies, and buttered rolls.” At my gaping mouth, he added, “And chocolate cheesecake for dessert.”
“Fancy. Do you have a secret degree in the culinary arts I should know about?”
He laughed and the sound was like seeing the sun after a severe storm—like I could finally breathe again because the danger had passed.
“Not quite. My mom loved to cook, and she spent many nights when I was a child teaching me what she knew, much to my chagrin.”
The thought of a little version of Jameson helping his mom in the kitchen had a smile spreading over my face.
I followed him toward the kitchen, not bothering to hide my perusal of his house. It had bachelor pad vibes with lots of leather furniture, dark wood tones, and the general smell of cologne and that familiar woodsy scent hanging in the air. Luna lounged in the corner, content to watch our every move.
Despite the obvious lack of a woman’s touch in the décor, I had to admit the house was cozy. I could envision myself napping on that couch, or watching a movie on his giant TV, cuddled in the huge thing that looked like a modern version of a bean bag chair. Or even—
No.I stopped that train of thought, smothering it with an imaginary pillow. I couldn’t fantasize about being here with Jameson. There would be no cuddling or movies or napping. I would appreciate his house for the evening and that would be that. I would never come back here again.
I was firm in that decision until I walked into the kitchen of all kitchens.
If you took my Pinterest board full of dream kitchens and combined them all into one, you’d get this glorious room in Jameson’s home.
It was a wide galley kitchen; the entire left wall was made of floor-to-ceiling cabinets painted in a subtle sage-green color with matte-gold hardware. On the back wall was a black stainless steel gas stove with an epic wooden hood hanging over it, and glass subway tiles for the backsplash. A giant farmhouse sink sat on the right, surrounded by floating shelves. Everything was tones of black, sage, and gold, and it was perfect.
On top of it all, it smelled like garlic and fresh bread, and I had to press my lips together to keep from drooling.
Jameson noticed my obvious gaping and chuckled. “Like the kitchen?”
“That’s an understatement,” I muttered.
“My mom helped pick out the finishes. She said if the rest of the house was going to feel manly, at least the kitchen could feel like a breath of fresh air.”
