Deathless

Chapter 25: Millie

"Are you ever going to let me cook?"

I lean over the back of the settee, watching Jackson as he moves with ease around the kitchen, the steam from a bubbling pan filling the room with white. I'm not really noticing him cook though. I'm more fascinated by the way his broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his white T-shirt.

"After what happened last time?"

"I burnt some toast!"

"The whole building had to be evacuated." Jackson turns to look at me with a mischievous smirk.

"I think that says more about the sensitivity of your smoke alarms than my cookery skills. In my defence, you were distracting me..." he chuckles and raises an eyebrow in my direction.

"And how was I doing that again?" He turns away from the stove, his eyes on me, all thoughts of food gone. Like me, he's remembering the way our mouths burned as they moved together, that control of his slipping as his hands had found their way under my clothes. How he'd lifted me onto the counter, his fingers pressing into my hips, how my resolve had melted away. How waiting had gone from a sensible idea to a crazy one, as my fingers had sought the buckle on his belt.

And then the damn alarm had gone off.

I'm still lost in that memory when Jackson cuts across the room and leaps over the back of the settee in a move as swift as a gazelle. I'm giggling, happy and light as he covers me with his body.

"Remind me." He mutters, those silver eyes blazing. His lips are full and inviting and I don't wait any longer. I twist my fingers in his thick hair and pull his mouth down to meet mine. My legs wrap around his hips and he moans. I groan as his lips travel lower, seeking the sensitive skin of my neck. I want more, so much more, but we haven't gone further than that fleeting moment in his office. Jackson is waiting for me to take the lead on when I'm ready for sex. The truth is, I am more than ready. What I'm waiting for is those small niggles in my stomach to flutter away. To feel certain, in my heart and in my gut Jackson isn't keeping any more secrets from me. And I'm not there yet.

Water splashes and steam hisses as risotto rice over-boils and slaps against the counter.

"Shit!" Jackson yelps and launches off me and I can't help but giggle. His face is flushed and crimson is creeping up his neck. I sit up and lean over the top, watching him again. He swears under his breath as he lifts the pan. Boiling water spits across his skin.

"You better appreciate this, Nightingale." I laugh loudly at the gruff annoyance in his voice.

"Always, Mort," I yell in response and twist back around. I let my gaze wander to the glass walls that make up the front of Jackson's flat. It's early evening. The skyline has turned a rich shade of pink with golden-tinged clouds breaking up the expanse of sky. I feel peaceful, the soft fabric of a cushion under my cheek, the reassuring sound of Jackson nearby and the last of the day's sunlight caressing my face.

Jackson walks over and drops down next to me. He puts a couple of bowls of steaming risotto in front of us on the coffee table.

"Better than burnt toast." He laughs when I roll my eyes at him. Picking up the bowl, I fork the delicious-smelling rice into my mouth.

"Mmmm, I love it when you make this." Jackson smiles and starts eating from his own bowl.

"I know. Why do you think I cook it so often? I've never eaten so much risotto in my life."

"Well, you're earning those good boyfriend points," I mumble through a mouthful of rice.

"And I'm looking forward to cashing those." I nudge Jackson with my elbow, as he flicks through the channels before settling on a grainy black and white film I don't recognise.