Page 36 of His Secret Obsession
Thirty minutes later, I’m pushing my bare feet into his lap. Jax is muttering about pergolas and lost opportunities under his breath, and I’m unable to hold my laughter in. My amusement fades as his rough, calloused fingers dig into my muscles. And I can’t help but notice the way he grows quiet as he works along the soles of my feet, or the slight jut of his bottom lip as he concentrates on his task. Nor do I miss the mischievous glint in his eyes as the massage lingers a little bit longer than strictly necessary and the fact that he doesn’t seem to be displeased by the turn of events at all.
Luckily, I have the next two days off work because the skies dump more snow through the valley than expected. And because I really don’t want to drive in it again, I’m effectively trapped in Jax’s house. But honestly, I don’t mind. I’m actually relishing the extra time alone with him. Something has definitely shifted between us. Although he doesn’t try to touch me again, he’s more… attentive. Less surly.
We pass the time by lounging on the couch with a mountain of blankets and cups of steaming hot chocolate while Hallmark movies play on the TV. During commercial breaks, we share happy memories from our childhood or speculate about who’s hooking up with who around town. I tell him what my parents were like, and he tells me what it was like to raise an eleven-year-old Luke. My heart hurts for him to hear how much pressure he felt after suddenly becoming his guardian at the age of twenty-one. When we aren’t watching movies, we’re hanging around the kitchen cooking together or drinking wine.
On the second evening, he shrugs on a thick coat and gloves to clear snow off the porch and sidewalk. When I bundle up intosome warm clothes of my own, he sends me a reproachful look and practically growls at me to stay inside where it’s warm. I scoff at him before bopping him on the nose and racing outside. He gives chase, wrapping his arms around my waist and tackling me to the ground. That somehow evolves into a snowball fight. We laugh until our bellies ache, our eyes prickling with tears of mirth.
When I finally go to bed that night, I’m floating on cloud nine. Even when things were good between Luke and me, it was never this good. But despite having so much alone time, neither one of us makes a move on the other. There’s plenty of tension in the air between us—heated looks and bated breaths—but we don’t touch each other.
It’s for the best.
On the third morning, I hum a light-hearted tune as I bound down the staircase. Thetip-tapof my heels catches Jax’s attention as I walk into the kitchen, and he frowns at my feet.
“Good morning,” I chime. “Something sure does smell good.” My mouth practically waters as I eyeball the two plates of fried ham, scrambled eggs, and toast. The smokey, salty scent of the ham lingers in the air, and my stomach lets out a needy growl. I bypass him to make a pot of coffee while he sets our plates on the kitchen table.
“Good morning.” It doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.
“What’s wrong? Not ready to return to real life?” Underneath the table, I playfully kick at his shin. But I get no response. My brows knit together as I tilt my head.
He eyes my work outfit before pointing a fork at me. “You’ll need to call out today. It’s not safe for you to drive yet, and I don’t have time to take you before I open my shop.”
“What? I thought the roads were mostly clear now.” I pull out my phone, my fingers tapping on my local weather app.
He shrugs before shoveling another mouthful of food past his lips. “The county didn’t do a very good job of clearing the roads. Temperatures dropped below freezing again last night, and there are still some icy spots.”
“Oh.” A sinking sensation lands in my stomach as I stare down at my food, half-heartedly pushing it around with my fork. “Well, I can’t call in. Irene is really strict about that sort of thing, so I think it’s best if I go.” My anxiety spikes at the thought of driving. When there’s a long pause of silence between us, I peer up to find his mouth set in a hard line.
“You will not be driving today.” His low, gravelly voice takes on that authoritative edge, the one that sends shivers down my spine. Part of me wants to melt onto the floor and roll belly-up.
To obey.
Wait. What the hell did he say?
“Excuse me?” I narrow my eyes, my fingers tightening on my fork.
The bastard has the audacity to smirk. “You heard me the first time.”
I suck in a sharp, stilted breath. A low heat pulses through my veins, my heart rate spiking. I give into my rising irritation, my fork clattering to the table as I purse my lips. “You are not my boss.”
Scooting back from the table, I’m more determined than ever to go to work now. Marching over to the trash can, I scrape the rest of my food into it before placing the empty dish into the dishwasher.
“You could sure fucking use one,” he mutters dryly, scraping the last of his food off the plate and into his mouth.
My eyebrows shoot up. “What the hell has gotten into you this morning? If you think I’m going to do something just because you told me to, then you have a wake-up call coming your way.”
His derisive laughter only serves to further spike my anger. “Sweetheart, I’m not messing around when it comes to your safety.” He leans back in his chair, two arms resting casually along the table as he gives me a challenging stare. “And I don’t care who I have to piss off. Neither you nor Irene Johnson scare me.”
My mouth drops open. “You are—I’m—” My face heats, and I’m fuming now. His lips quirk into an infuriatingly sexy smirk. “You think you can keep me here?” I give him a challenging look.
His answer is immediate. “I know I can.”
“We’ll see about that,” I snap. My fingers curl around the car keys sitting on the kitchen island, holding them up and letting them dangle from my finger where he can see.
Jax heaves out a long-suffering sigh, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t bite off your own nose just to spite me, Maddie.”
I give him a falsely sweet smile, fluttering my lashes at him. His mouth twitches. He thinks this is funny. He’s getting some sick sense of amusement out of this.
“You are an arrogant, conceited asshat.”
