24. Jack

CHAPTER 24

JACK

A week after first showing Leah the house, I pull into its driveway, a bag of crackers and artisan cheese sitting on the seat next to me.

The whole drive over here, I've been talking myself out of this. Coming to her house for dinner has to be one of the worst ideas ever.

We've been doing so well keeping to a strictly professional relationship, and my buying her a house was supposed to be about a job well done at work.

So dinner together? Yeah, definitely a bad idea.

Yet here I am, getting out of the car… walking to the front door… ringing the bell.

Moments later, the door opens, and there she is. More gorgeous than ever.

The whole pregnancy-glow thing is real, and Leah shines like the sun. Her red hair falls in soft waves down her shoulders, and her top hugs her swollen belly and growing breasts.

An ache forms between my legs, and it takes all my strength to not drop the bag right here and now, take her into my arms, and kiss her senseless.

"Hi," she breathes.

I try to speak, but there's a frog in my throat. "H— hello."

"Come on in." She opens the door wider.

As I follow her to the kitchen, I can't help but glance at her curves, at her ass swaying as she walks. I clear my throat, willing my body to cool down and act professional.

The smell of roast chicken fills the air, and some kind of broth or gravy bubbles on the stove. Just from the smells alone, I can tell that she's a seriously good cook.

"I brought these." I pull the crackers and cheese from the bag, suddenly feeling like they aren't enough.

I should have brought something bigger. Something to impress her with.

But she smiles, taking the bag from me. "Thank you, Jack. That's really sweet of you."

I try to ignore the way my heart flutters at the sound of my name on her lips.

God, what is wrong with me? The last week, I've been feeling so satisfied with myself. Even though the last year has been one of multiple million-dollar deals, I count finding this house for her to be my greatest accomplishment.

I want her to feel safe. Taken care of.

Which is fucking confusing because I don't want to be here for any of that. I just want to make sure it's happening.

And I also want to have another taste of her. Pregnancy has only made her sexier, and I want to explore every inch of her new body.

I know how ridiculous it is, but it's not like I can give my dick directives. I've tried.

"So, how are you feeling?" I ask, trying to start a conversation that doesn't involve how much I want to kiss her.

"I'm good. A bit tired, but that's to be expected." She places the crackers and cheese on the kitchen counter before turning to me. "My doctor is encouraging me to take it easy. Triplets almost always come early, and she suggests a cesarean just to be safe, and…"

She shakes her head. "Sorry. You don't want to hear about any of this. I almost forgot. Baby stuff goes through your lawyers."

I wince. Shit. I should have never done that.

But I don't want to talk about the legal stuff. I want to know everything about her pregnancy, about her.

"No, it's okay. I want to hear about it. How are you feeling about the possibility of a cesarean?"

Leah shrugs. "I'm a little nervous, but ultimately I just want my babies to be okay. And if that means a cesarean, then I'm all for it."

I nod, trying to imagine what she must be going through but falling short. Being there at the ultrasound was so amazing, but I doubt she wants me anywhere close when the babies are being born, so I won't even ask.

Leah turns back to the stove, stirring the bubbling broth. "Would you like a drink? I have some wine open."

I nod, grateful for the distraction. "Sure, thanks."

She pours me a glass and hands it to me. As I take a sip, I watch her move around the kitchen with ease. It's like she was born to cook and take care of a home.

It's not something I've ever been interested in, but seeing her do it, it's… sexy. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be together like this on other nights, chatting and cooking in the kitchen.

I shouldn't be thinking this way, but I can't seem to help myself. My thoughts keep wandering back to her, to us. To what it would be like to have her in my bed again.

"What can I help with?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory. "Is there anything I can chop? Stir? Sauté?"

She grins. "It's pretty much done."

"I'll set the table." I put the wine down, determined to not sit on my hands while a pregnant woman does all the work.

As we sit down at the dining room table, I offer her a glass of water. "Thank you," she says softly, her fingers brushing against mine as she takes it from me.

A shiver runs down my spine at her touch. It's been months since we were together, but the attraction between us is still as strong as ever. And now, with the added bonus of her pregnancy, it's like a whole new level of desire has been unlocked.

I turn my gaze to the meal she's placed in front of me. Roast chicken with gravy. A medley of veggies. Mashed sweet potatoes. It seems like a simple meal, but I can already tell it will be anything but.

And I'm correct. Every bite explodes with complex flavors that, somehow, work perfectly together.

"Damn." I have to speak around my food. I can't stop shoveling it into my mouth. "This is amazing."

She laughs in a way that says she enjoys the compliment.

"I mean it." I shake my head. "I've never had a home-cooked meal this good."

Her hand moves to her belly, rubbing gently. "I'm glad you like it. I've been craving these flavors lately, so I thought I'd try them out together."

I watch her hand, imagining the life growing inside her. It's incredible to think that we made these babies together. That they are a part of both of us. Even if I never meet them, it will always be that way.

We eat in silence for a minute, and I wonder if she's feeling as weird as I am but in her own way. Does she regret inviting me to dinner? I get the impression that it was a whim or maybe that she didn't expect me to say yes.

"I was looking at GourmetGlobal reviews today," she starts, and just like that we're back to talking about work.

And it's good. It's a safe topic, something that's familiar.

For the rest of the meal, we discuss the app — where it's at, our hopes for it. With Leah, someone who loves her job with every fiber of her being, it feels more like we're talking about the most exciting hobby in the world.

The meal passes too quickly. Our plates cleaned, I put them into a stack. "I'll load the dishwasher."

"Thank you." She lets out a soft groan as she stands.

"How are you feeling?" I know I just asked her the same thing a little while ago, but it's like I can't hold my tongue. I need to know she's okay. Need to make her so.

She shrugs. "My back aches, but not as much as my feet." She laughs. "They're so swollen I had to get new shoes."

I wince, hating this. "How about a foot massage?"

"Oh." Her eyes widen in surprise.

"Come on." Before I can question myself, I take her hand in mine.

The touch is intense, sending a flash of forbidden desire through my body. I lead her to the couch, where we take seats on opposite ends of it.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Yes." All I know right now is that I need to make sure she's good. I need to please her and make her happy.

Forget about everything else that's happened between us. Forget about how we want different things in life, and forget about the shade that's been thrown in both directions.

This quiet evening with Leah has awoken something in me. I need to care for her like I need to breathe air.

Drawing her feet into my lap, I begin to rub her heel, enjoying the softness of her skin.

"Oh, wow." She closes her eyes and leans back as if she's soaking in the quiet bliss of my ministrations. As if my touch has pushed the tension right out of her.

"Feel good?" I ask.

A soft moan of pleasure is all I get in response, but it makes me smile with pride.

I push my fingers up the soft, round curve of her foot, and Leah sighs happily. Moving to the other foot, I repeat the motion.

Her eyes are closed, her face calm. The tension has disappeared, replaced by serenity.

I move higher. She gasps as I work the balls of her feet, my fingers pushing into her flesh, kneading the muscles.

I gently work my way up her calf, sinews hard beneath my fingers.

"Oh, yes," she whispers, her eyes closed.

I do the same to the other leg, going back and forth between the two. I massage her arches, then her heels, then the toes.

She's not the only one enjoying it. It feels good for me too, in a way I can't quite put words to.

Time must pass, but I'm barely aware of it. We're lost in this moment, shut away from the rest of the world. After I'm not sure how long, Leah's eyes open, her gaze warm with gratitude.

Our eyes meet, and I stare at her, wondering how I can care so deeply for this woman who offers me nothing that I planned for.

"How are you feeling now?" I ask, hopeful.

"Better." Her voice is gentle. "Much better."

"Good."

Her gaze softens, and heat enters it. The air between us becomes charged, and I feel magnetically drawn to her.

I need to be closer. Pressed against her body close. Her lips soft on mine.

Suddenly, she breaks eye contact. "It's getting late."

My stomach drops. "Right. I should go."

She doesn't look at me but nods.

My insides twist into knots. God, what the hell was I just thinking? That the two of us would get freaky right here on the couch?

And then what? Everything would magically no longer be complicated? We would wake up the next morning and be on the same page?

Putting her feet down, I go into the kitchen to load the dishwasher, but she follows me there.

"I can do that." She lingers in the doorway.

"No, let me." I don't look at her. "You cooked an amazing dinner. I want to clean up."

"But—"

"Let me." Irritation washes through me, but I'm not annoyed at her.

I'm angry at this whole situation. I'm angry at myself. I took things too far tonight, and I probably look like such a desperate loser.

As I stack the dishes carefully, I feel her presence behind me. I brace myself for the inevitable rejection.

"Thank you," she says softly.

I turn to face her. "For what?"

"For being here. For helping me relax." She takes a step closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off her body. "For being a good friend."

I study her eyes. Is it possible she wants more from me? Is there some way we can make this work?

I swallow hard. How do I broach the topic? Especially when all of this feels so new?

I know I want Leah in my life. And now I also know I want to see these babies. I still don't want to settle down. Marriage isn't for me, and being a typical dad isn't either.

But maybe there's something else, another option I haven't considered.

"What are you doing this weekend?" I ask.

She looks surprised. "Oh. Uh, some shopping for nursery things. And planning my baby shower with Taylor."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "Do you want some help with that? With the shopping or the planning? And maybe we could grab lunch afterwards?"

She looks shocked, and I'm about to tell her never mind and make up some lie about how I forgot I'm out of town this weekend, when she speaks.

"I would like that." She smiles softly.

My heart leaps. "Good. Great. I'll pick you up at, say, ten on Saturday?"

"Sure," she agrees with a nod.

As I finish loading the dishwasher, I can't help but wonder where this thing between us will go. Maybe there's a chance for something more, but I'm not going to rush it. All I know is that I want to be here for Leah, and I want to know her better.

As far as what the details look like, I have no fucking clue, but I'll be diving in headfirst anyway.