Page 63 of Jackson's Redemption
“I didn’t know I was supposed to be somewhere at a certain time. Because you never told me when exactly you were coming. And yes, I lock my door. I’m single woman living alone in a town filled with a lot of lonely men.”
He frowned at that. “You’re not protected.”
I tapped the gun holstered at my hip. “I’m protected enough. But that’s no reason not to take precautions. You should have told me you would be here tonight.”
“I told you I would be back in two weeks. It’s two weeks.”
I huffed and the bag in my hand rattled. Mrs. Aponi gave away her meals in glass dishes. She didn’t believe in plastic containers. Said it ruined the taste of a good casserole. As long as her customers brought back the dish cleaned, she kept filling them up.
“You have to give a person a heads-up, Jackson,” I told him. “I understand you want to make this just about sex, but I’m not going to be some convenient booty call.”
He stood then and, standing as he was a few steps above me, he towered over me like this ominous beast. I hate that I loved it as much as I did.
“I didn’t make this about sex. You did. Are we going to fight about it or fuck?”
I sighed. There really was no winning with Jackson. The man was implacable.
“I’m hungry,” I said snippily. “Am I allowed to eat first? Or do I just get ravished once we’re behind the door until you decide to leave again?”
He snorted. But as I unlocked the door and he followed me, I had to say I was a little disappointed there, apparently, wasn’t going to be any ravishing.
Which was probably messed up, but I’d already copped to Jackson being my drug of choice, so it would seem hypocritical to lie about it. I made my way to the kitchen and dropped off the bag.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Pasta with sausages and peppers.”
He grunted, and I immediately translated that to mean he was hungry, too.
“Sit here,” I told him. “There is some wine and beer in the fridge if you want a drink. I want to get out of my uniform.”
“Come back naked.”
“Yeah. Not going to happen.”
He didn’t press the issue. Instead, he took off the wool-lined, denim coat he’d worn. Underneath, he wore a black, thermal Henley and some jeans that had seen a lot of years. I wanted to crawl into his lap and lick his face like a puppy in love until he smiled.
But that wasn’t what this was between us, so I didn’t. I left the room and changed into a pair of leggings, heavy wool socks and a sweatshirt. The weather had turned today, and it was colder than it had been since I got here. Turning up the heat wasn’t an option as my electric bill was already insanely crazy, so layers of clothes were my only option.
When I walked into the kitchen, he looked at me.
“That’s the opposite of naked.”
I whirled to look at him still sitting at the table. “That was a joke. You made a joke.”
He grunted. Translated:not really.
But it was and for some reason, it made me strangely happy. I took the casserole dish out of the bag and took a pot out from underneath the stove. I transferred the food. Enough for both of us. This I could do. I was highly competent at warming.
I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and joined Jackson at the table while we waited.
“I know we’re not supposed to do the laughing stuff as it’s too personal for you—”
His eyebrow shot up reminding me I was the one who had put up the boundaries between us.
“Fine. For me, too,” I offered. “But that shouldn’t mean we can’t talk.”
Another grunt. Translated:as much of it as I’m willing to do.
