Page 24 of Worth Every Game
He scoffs as though a similar thought has occurred to him. “Sure, ask her.”
Okay, fine.“What about one of your other rental properties? I know you have loads. Don’t you own half of London?”
“They’re full,” he replies. “Let me think for a moment.”
The kettle reaches boiling point and clicks off. Jack stands and pours the water into the mugs, allowing it to brew before he pours in the milk. He’s not talking, but he’s soaking up my attention like a giant, hulking sea sponge. A hot one. Even when making tea, he moves with an authoritative purpose that’s incredibly appealing. And the way his navy coat fits his broad frame, sliding over his shoulders and hanging down his back is really…something else.
I need to stop perving over Kate’s brother.Ugh. He’s off-limits. Off-limits.
He uses the teaspoon to squeeze the tea bag against the side of one of the mugs, and then, to my horror, he presses his loafer to the pedal for the bin, and the lid swings up. He takes one look inside and freezes, teaspoon hovering over the abyss.
My heart leaps up my throat, blocking the air to my lungs, because I know what he’s looking at.My slippers.
He lets the bin lid close slowly, resting the teaspoon with the tea bag still squashed into it on the counter. My stomach churns. There’s no way Jack Lansen isn’t going to have something to say about the fact I’ve thrown away my slippers.
Tension fills the air, and with each inhalation it seems to solidify my lungs. The silence sparks, exploding abruptly when Jack spins to face me. “Three months,” he announces.
I lean back from his outburst, both surprised and relieved that he’s ignoring the slippers. “Huh?”
“That’s what’s left on your lease. And you have nowhere else to go.” I wait as he seemingly mulls over his own statement, unsure what he expects me to say. Suddenly, his expression brightens with the lightning strike of an idea. “Move in with me.”
What? Live with Jack?I’m freefalling at the thought.
I want to say no—I should say no—but a frisson of energy is filtering through me. Hope? Excitement? I wouldn’t have felt this way about the prospect of living with Jack Lansen a few weeks ago, but something is different now.
I should never have sung for him.
Living with him would be an inevitable disaster. I know that, and I’m sure he does too. We’re combustible. We shouldn’t be left in close proximity.
But despite all that, I want to say yes.
“No,” I confirm, ignoring the impulse to do the opposite. “I’m not living with you. I bet you snore like a rocket launch.”
Jack’s brows dip over his blue eyes, which gleam as though my protests amuse him. “You’ve got damp in the ceiling, a boiler that’s always breaking, intermittent hot water and fucking asbestos in the roof, and you’re worried about me snoring?”
I glare at him. He must know it’s not the snoring I’m worried about. Not really. It’s him, the way he flirts, his gorgeous smile… the way my heart is beating out of control just because he’s in the same room.
“You can’t stay here,” he says slowly, as though he thinks I don’t understand the issue. He finishes the tea he’s making, putting one of the mugs on the table and pushing it towards me.“Strong. Dash of milk. Two sugars,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. “The way you like it.”
He knows how I take my tea? When did he work that one out?
As he continues staring, making my heart beat fast enough to win one of his damn car races, I realise that he might not feel the same way I do. He flirts witheveryone. There might be nothing special about me. He did kiss Lydia at the racetrack, after all. And for all I know, he took her home after I left and had wild, sweaty sex with her.
Images of Jack, naked and sweat-covered, ambush me, and heat floods my core.Fuck. I can’t live with this man. He’s not even doing anything, and I’m aroused.
I try my best to anchor my unruly imagination to the real-life version of him, wearing his tailored suit and cashmere overcoat. But it doesn’t help because this man is veritable suit-porn.
“You’d be doing me a huge favour,” he adds, eyeing me carefully. I suspect he thinks my silence is reluctance. “But if there is someone else you could live with, I can reimburse your rent.”
I run through my options and come up short. Even if I wanted to live with my parents, which I don’t, I can’t because they don’t live in London, and I need to be here for work. Maybe I could ask my friend Marie, but her new place only has one bedroom. She used to live here with me and Kate until she moved in with her boyfriend, and I can’t see him wanting me hanging around.
A fiery heat rises to my cheeks and worsens with each passing second that I’m not offering an alternative. In my peripheral vision, I can see Jack’s brows rising.
“Just come and live with me, El,” he says so gently that something inside me turns gooey and warm. “I promise I don’t snore.”
The only sound in the flat is our tandem breathing. The moment feels potent, as though anything could happen. Jackcould shove me against the wall and kiss me, and I wouldn't object.
He picks up the tea he made for me, which I still haven’t touched, and holds it out. “You want this?”