CHAPTER 004
1550 Words
CHAPTER 004
You are not able to recollect what happened after that since you struck your head on the bar counter. You dropped your phone as you tried calling it, and as you bended to collect it, you hit your head. You passed out right there."
The voice of Jackson Ray was even, stable, as though he wished to tell you everything slowly.
Lily crosses her arms. "Then why did you bring me here? Why not phone up my friend and send her over to get me?
"I did." His jaw tightened. "I called her three times. She never picked up. I could not abandon you there, on the ground, in the middle of the club, unconscious. That would have been rash. So I brought you here."
His words sank gradually into her breast.
He had not left her behind. He had swept her out of peril.
No man would be concerned to do that; he would not attempt to abuse her.
But she needed to be sure.
The possibility flamed in her throat. Her lips pressed together. What if he got offended? Nevertheless, she said in a low tone. So, anything between us happen?
His eyes were as steady as steel, staring at her. "No. Nothing happened. You were out cold. This could only be done to a woman by a monster. You slept through the night. I stayed in my own room."
Comfort ran in her bones. He had not scoffed at her for doubting him. Instead, he had replied with forbearance.
Her patience turned her chest tight.
Why was it that he could look so well and remain so restrained? All the men she had known who were the same sort of look had been proud or greedy. But Jackson Ray appeared different and like a breath of air; she had been missing it without realizing.
"Thank you," she whispered.
There was a little smile on his lips, and with it the little dip of his dimple.
Her hands shivered with the dumb need to extend and to poke it.
You are welcome, he responded in a mutter. "You should freshen up. In the bathroom is a new toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink. There are clean clothes in the wardrobe that you can use. Your purse is on that chair." He waved to the chair by the window. I am going to be down making breakfast. Join me when you are ready.
Her stomach twisted.
A man who cooks.
Her heart had no chance.
But he was out of her league.
Or was he?
He had called her hot. That had to mean something.
"Thank you, Mr. Ray."
He smiled once more, and those dimples deepened.
"Call me Jackson."
Her chest skipped. She wanted to answer yes, sir. She had a desire to continue uttering his name to a point that it would become hers.
She walked into the bathroom. The tiles were icy beneath her naked feet. The toothbrush and toothpaste were lying there in the sink, still wrapped. He had thought of everything.
She washed, rinsed, and got into the shower. Warm water stood over her, cooling the final boring ache in her head.
And she leaned her head, and the steam cleared her roving thoughts.
As she opened the wardrobe, she discovered loose sky-blue trousers and a white polo. They were both too large, smelt clean. Now comfort was more important than style.
She tied her hair into a bun. Her naked face looked back at her in the glass, depilated of the makeup of the night before, clean in its candour.
She breathed and trailed the scent.
There were creaking stairs on which she walked.
The kitchen was opened, spacious, and clean. Each space was well trimmed and tidy. But she barely noticed.
She continued to stare at the man at the stove.
His sweater was lost, and his back was only covered with a black tank top. With every motion, his shoulders changed. There was an apron floating about his neck.
Without turning, he spoke. "You smell clean."
Her steps faltered. What kind of comment was that?
Thank you, I don't know, she thought.
There was a scrawny chuckle out of his chest. Warm and rough it was, and it sent her chills.
All people smell after taking a shower, he said, and remained attentive to the pan on his table.
Before I never thought of the way people smell, she said to herself, nearly.
It is that which makes us different, he answered, and picked up a ceramic plate.
Different. The word hung heavy. She did not know whether she wanted to know what he meant.
Her stomach growled loudly. Food first, questions later.
"I guess you also showered. You probably smell clean too."
"I did earlier. It is also staying sharp by keeping clean and hydrated.
Her brow lifted. She had been bathing and had drunk water day by day, but she was not keen. He perhaps had other keys that he was not revealing to her.
Yet in his words, that is what made them different.
He glanced over his shoulder. "How is your head now?"
The pain had soothed in the warm water, as he had said. "Better. Thank you. That tea you gave me worked. Just in case I do not go, perhaps you could give me the recipe. I may have it again because I am not likely to have my last night at the bar last night.
His mouth tugged upward. "Sure. I will write it out for you."
The crack of eggs was cutting through the air. Her stomach was twisting with hunger.
Omelettes. He was making omelettes.
Her heart fluttered. Then she would request him to give her something after he had this breakfast. Not money. Not a ride. Something else entirely. Something her body had been whispering whilst she opened her eyes.
He turned off the stove and took off the apron, and took plates to the table. He placed one in front of her. Golden omelette. Crisp chips. She could mouth her water at the odor alone.
He took out a can of orange juice and two glasses, which were in the fridge. He poured and set them down.
"Thank you," she said quickly. She took the fork and tasted the first bite. Warm, soft, perfect.
Her lashes fluttered. There was a touch of sound in her throat, powerless.
The next time her eyes opened, she caught it. A flicker. His eyes glowed red, and then went back to hazel.
Her fork froze.
Had she imagined it?
"You like it?" he asked.
She did not say anything, but nodded. "It is delicious. In the city, you ought to have a restaurant.
She would come to see him every day, she added in her head.
He gave a tiny blush and chucked.
She had gotten to him.
Finally.
"I cannot. To my pack, I have a duty. A restaurant would come between the way.
Pack? The term was lodged like a pebble in her shoe. But she let it slide. Not now.
Whatever this is, it is amazing.
"Thank you, Lily."
Her name in his mouth. Her chest ached. It was a secret his voice wrapped around.
Her mind slipped. She would have liked to get up into his lap. She desired to have him more than she wanted to have food.
Stop, Lily.
Her fork stabbed another chip. She was gnashing her teeth, as though to get the storm within to hush.
Jackson ate across the table from her in silence. His jaw flexed with each bite. And his eyes now and then shifted to her.
With every glance he made, the load heavier.
She finished too quickly. He got up, took their dishes, and put them into the sink.
Help with those? she said.
He shook his head. "No. Incidentally, sit there and look pretty.
Then he winked.
Heat rushed up her neck.
This was not one-sided.
He wanted her too.
His words, his looks, his smile--all this said the same thing.
She had never been dragged to a person like this. Owens had tried for years in vain. Just a word, just a glance had the lady Jackson spinning round.
He cleaned the dishes, arranged them in a pile, and wiped off his hands. With which he turned and looked at her.
It is time you called your friend, think you, I guess.
His brow lifted. His eyes held hers steady.
Her breath caught.
Was he… pushing her away?
Her mind answered bitterly. This was not her house. She was not his girlfriend. The reason he had helped her was that he was a decent person, not because he had any interest in her being here.
Perhaps she had already castles in her head. Castles where he was beside her. Yet in his thought, those castles may not be at all.
Her eyes dropped. Her throat tightened.
Nevertheless, her voice emerged very sharp. "Oh, yeah. You are right. I will do that now."
She swiveled her head around, yet her heart was aching.
One of the questions shouted more than the others, and would not be hushed.
Did he really desire her to go, or had he a fear of the consequences that might ensue had she remained?
- Writer
