4. Jack

CHAPTER 4

JACK

F or a moment there, I thought Leah might actually say no. That she might walk out the door and I would never see her again.

And, as fucking crazy as it is, I was worried.

Because people hardly ever say no to me. All I have to do is walk into a room and women fall at my feet.

But not this woman.

And maybe that's what's so intriguing about Leah. She doesn't seem to give a shit about who I am.

I gesture for our waiter. "Let's order," I tell Leah. "The ravioli is amazing, by the way."

We place our orders and though everything seems good on the surface, I can feel the tension between us.

"So, tell me about how you came up with the idea for GourmetGlobal," I say, trying not to stare at her full lips and soft curves. God, she's even more beautiful in person.

She looks surprised for a moment but then smiles. "It was inspired by my grandmother. She loves food and taught me how to cook."

A gentle smile tugs at her lips, and I can tell she's lost in a long-ago memory. "My grandparents raised me, and we used to spend hours on the weekends in the kitchen, my grandma and me. It was how we connected. When I had my hands in dough, it was easier to talk somehow, you know? It's like having something to do helped me open up… about school, boys… anything."

She seems to realize how much she's talking, and her cheeks turn pink.

"That's a wonderful story," I tell her. "It's amazing how food has the power to bring people together."

She nods, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, exactly. It's not just about the taste, but the memories and emotions that come with it."

"You must be an amazing cook."

"Oh." She waves her hand. "I don't cook much anymore. I don't really have time for it."

I raise an eyebrow. "That's a shame. I bet you could make some amazing dishes."

A soft laugh escapes her lips. "Maybe one day I'll get back into it."

"So you're too busy to cook…" I lean in. "What do you do on your time off?"

Her lips twist in a grin. "What time off?"

I chuckle. "You sound just like me."

"And what about you?" She cocks her head, a strand of hair sliding along her bare shoulder.

"What about me? Anything you want to know can be found online." I sip my wine.

"I doubt that. There's always more to a person than what's on the surface." She leans in closer, her eyes locking onto mine. "Tell me something that's not out there for everyone to see."

Her gaze is intense, pulling me in. Maybe it's the way she's not afraid to challenge me, or the way her body language screams confidence despite her shy smile. The woman is dynamic, and that makes it hard to look away from her.

"Okay," I say, setting my glass down. "Here's something. I'm not afraid to try new things, even if they may not be socially acceptable."

Her eyes widen as she takes in my words, and I can see the curiosity and excitement building in her. "And what kind of things are we talking about?"

My lips curl up in a smirk. "That's for me to know and for you to find out."

I expect her to take the bait, but she just nods and moves along. "And have these things ever gotten you in jail?"

I bark out a laugh. "Nope. And don't worry, they're not illegal. I do like to push the envelope, though."

She doesn't look surprised. "Of course you do. You're Jack Leadsom."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means you're a bit of a rebel," she replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Someone who doesn't always follow the rules. Like you said, you push the envelope. It's how you got to where you are today."

"For sure." I lean in closer, our faces inches apart. "But I'm a lot for some people. So is that a problem for you?"

Leah shakes her head, her breath hot on my skin. "No, not at all."

Her perfume tickles my nose, and I want nothing more than to press my lips to hers. I'm tempted to, but suddenly the waiter walks through the doorway with our plates.

In an instant, the moment is over.

I lean back in my chair and adjust my posture, playing it cool as a cucumber as the waiter puts the plates in front of us.

But my mind is already racing, imagining what it would be like to kiss her. I try to focus on the food in front of me, but my appetite has disappeared.

This isn't good. I know better than to mix work with pleasure, but Leah is just too damn tantalizing.

"Tell me more about you." She bats her eyelashes at me as she takes a bite of the ravioli.

"There's not much else to tell." I study her. "I live for my work, but I think you can relate."

She smiles at her lap. "Yes, I definitely can. It's like there's this fire inside of me that just never goes out. I love what I do more than anything else in the world."

"I know that feeling." I take a sip of my wine, feeling the alcohol start to warm my insides. "But there has to be more to life than work, right? What do you do for fun?"

Her grin is mischievous. "You want to know what I do for fun?"

"Of course."

She sits there for a moment, like she has to really think about it. "I'm kind of a stick in the mud. My friend Taylor — my only friend, really — she's so outgoing. She's always going to different clubs, meeting new people."

"I don't want to hear about Taylor. I want to hear about you." I give her a pointed look.

Again, she looks like she doesn't quite know what to say. Maybe she's not used to talking about herself.

"You don't go with her?" I prompt.

"Not usually, no. I like being at home." She shrugs.

It doesn't make sense to me. A woman this beautiful and captivating shouldn't be stuck at home on the couch.

"Let's imagine that you have a week off." I point at the ceiling. "No work, no responsibilities. Nothing. What would you do?"

Her eyes light up at the question, and I can see her mind working as she contemplates the possibilities. "Hmm, a week off. I think I'd like to go somewhere I've never been before. Maybe a tropical island or a big city like Paris. And I'd want to stay in a fancy hotel with a rooftop pool and room service."

"That sounds like a great plan." I chuckle. "But what about adventure? Don't you want to explore and try new things?"

"I'm not really much of a thrill-seeker," she admits. "But I love trying new foods and experiencing different cultures."

I nod. "Of course you do."

"And I would cook." A new fire enters her eyes.

"What would you cook?" I finally eat some of my dinner. I'm still not really hungry, but the wine is getting to my head.

"Something exotic. Maybe some traditional dishes from a country I'm visiting. Or I would revisit one of my grandma's recipes." She grins.

I can't help but imagine her in my own kitchen, cooking up a storm while she shakes her hips to the music coming out of my speakers. The image is so vivid that I have to shake my head to clear it.

"What about you?" she asks, breaking me out of my reverie. "What would you do with a week off?"

I smirk. That one is easy.

"I would have to agree with you on the tropical island and fancy hotel with room service. But I would definitely want to try some adrenaline-pumping activities. Skydiving, bungee jumping, maybe some shark diving."

Leah's eyes go wide, and I can see the excitement and fear mingled together. "Wow, you really are a thrill-seeker."

I shrug. "Life is too short to not take risks. You never know what's ahead."

"Yeah." She looks into her wineglass, which is nearly empty.

I refill her glass, and we sit there in silence for a few moments. It's not uncomfortable, though. It feels easy. Right.

"I've always known that's the case," Leah says. "I guess that's why I've thrown so much of myself into work and neglected other things. My mom, she wanted to be an artist. Her paintings were great, too. I have a couple."

"So why didn't she go for it?"

Leah looks up. "She never got the chance. She was busy with school first, and then with me when I came along. She died when I was seven months old, so… that was it for her."

A chill strikes me. After looking into her, I knew Leah was raised by her grandparents, but I didn't know it was because her mother had died so early.

"I'm sorry," I rasp. "My, uh, my mother died when I was three. I don't have any memory of her."

Leah's eyes find mine in an unexpected moment of understanding.

"It's tough, isn't it?" she whispers. "Growing up without a mother."

A lump forms in my throat, and I nod. This is the last conversation I expected to have walking into this restaurant.

Hell, I never talk about this with anyone. Yet here we are, baring our damn souls.

"What about your father?" I ask, eager to shift the attention off of myself.

Leah shrugs. "I never knew him. I have a name, but I don't have any interest in finding him. He took off before I was born, so good riddance."

"Hm."

I won't be saying this, but maybe his leaving was for the best. Obviously, he didn't want to be a father — or couldn't deal with the responsibilities.

And I know from personal experience that a father who is around but doesn't want to be there is a particularly soul-crushing experience. I would rather my father have bowed out of the position than spend years begrudgingly raising me, acting like I was a constant burden.

"What about your father?" Leah asks.

Great. The question I most don't want to answer.

For her, though, I'll bite the bullet.

"He died years ago."

Her eyelashes flutter. "I'm sorry."

"He wasn't exactly Father of the Year," I answer. "You don't need to be sorry. I'm sure he expected my mother to do all the child-rearing. With her gone, he turned me over to a revolving door of nannies."

Leah's face falls.

"Don't feel sorry for me." I quickly take another bite of my food. "My needs were met."

The waiter appears to take away our plates, and it's a welcome break in talking. Hopefully, I can now pivot the conversation to something more fun.

Before I can speak, though, Leah beats me to the punch by reaching across the table and touching my hand. "I know we only just met, but thank you for sharing that with me."

I nod in response, not trusting myself to speak. The air between us is heavy with a mixed bag of emotions, and I'm not sure what to do or say to ease the tension. It's not like me to share about things like this, and I'm a little unnerved.

"Would you like to get out of here?" I ask Leah. "We could go to a bar, or…"

I turn my hand over so that our fingertips are brushing. "I would love to have you over to my place."

Normally, such an invitation goes over very well with the ladies. Leah is hard to read, however. And as much as I like the challenge, it also scares me.

Because she might turn me down.

And I'm not freaked out because that's unusual for me. I'm freaked out because there's something special about this woman, and I need her in my arms so badly I think I might combust if it doesn't happen.

The longest moment goes by, and she finally grins at me. "Your place sounds good."