I wanted to end all of this by jumping him again, to dilute the heavy emotions with soul-drenching sex. I resisted the urge. ‘Don’t you need to look after the food?’
He shook his head. ‘We’re good for another ten minutes or so. Enough time for you to answer one question.’
I met his gaze with a deliberately sceptical one. ‘Just the one question, is it?’
‘Satisfy my curiosity. Just one innocent question.’
‘I can order you to shut up. You know that, don’t you?’ I taunted softly.
His nostrils flared, but despite the mournful look in his eyes, he nodded. ‘I’m aware of that. Do you want to?’
Emotion, thick and charged, arced between us, tugging tight and pulling me towards him. Several feet away from him, I stopped, bracing my hip against the centre aisle, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Why my heart raced with alarm and anticipation of what his question would be. Why I was even considering answering in the first place. ‘Ask.’
‘Who’s your favourite person in the world?’
I blinked in surprise. ‘That’s what you want to know?’
‘I find the company one keeps says a lot about a person.’
‘What if my person is not a person but a cat?’
His lips twisted and he shook his head. ‘I’m willing to bet my favourite camera it’s not. You don’t strike me as a cat person.’
He was right. I actually preferred dogs, but I was a little miffed he could read me so easily. He continued to watch me in expectant silence, his hand casually twirling his glass.
We were straying into forbidden territory.
Heartache territory.
The branch slapped against the window once more, pushing me to answer.
‘When I was younger it was my brother, Bryce, but then...shit happened.’ I shrugged, attempted to lighten the mood, alleviate the heaviness around my heart that reminded me of my inability to sustain relationships. My own brothers barely spoke to me, and when they did it was only to discuss Mortimer Group business. ‘Right now, I’d say my aunt Flo is it for me. She doesn’t take any shit, doesn’t mince her words. She can be funny as hell with it, but she shoots from the hip and I...like that.’
Jensen nodded, his eyes locked on me as he took another sip. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’
Technically, he’d used up his free pass. I wanted to tell him to stop. Opened my mouth to do exactly that. ‘Why? What does it matter?’ I asked instead.
‘Humour me,’ he replied.
I didn’t see where he was headed with this, couldn’t spot any real danger, so I responded. ‘On her birthday, a few months ago.’
‘So you’re birthday, Christmas and anniversary friends?’
‘How is this relevant to anything?’
‘Is she a good person?’
A shaky sensation filled my chest. Aunt Flo was as close to love as I could manage, considering my issues. ‘She’s the best,’ I said, my voice strangely tight.
Jensen smiled. ‘She’s your emotional compass. You go to her when you need centring. That means you hurt when someone causes you pain. You act spoilt when it suits you, but it’s just that, an act. It means you may take life by the balls, but you’ll never break them. Am I right?’
I set the glass down with a sharp click. ‘What the hell is this?’
He shrugged, setting down his own glass to walk past me to the stove. ‘Simply getting to know you, min elskerinde.’
He lifted the lid on the sauce, bent forward to stir it. As he did, thick strands of his hair parted at his nape. The glimpse of ink drew me to him.
‘What is this?’ I asked, parting his hair to reveal a dark blue tattoo etched into the skin between his shoulder blades.
Given our conversation just now, I gasped at the sight of an elaborate compass. It wasn’t a common one. For starters, the lettering that should’ve clearly indicated correct points were different. Instead of N, S, E and W there was A where south should’ve been, D for east, M for west and the space for north left blank.
He stirred the pots for another few minutes before setting down the ladle. Then he faced me. ‘We all have our ways for centring ourselves. This is mine.’
‘What does the lettering stand for?’
‘Family, for the most part,’ he said a little tightly, reiterating my suspicion that things weren’t warm and cosy on the family front for him either.
Nevertheless, his family seemed to be his guiding light. A compass guiding him when he needed it. I couldn’t help the searing jealousy that lit through me before the curious burst of joy that immediately followed.
Even more confused by my jarring emotions, I let his hair fall back into place. ‘Are we done with the interrogation? I’m hungry.’ I was aware that my voice was several shades cooler, but couldn’t seem to help myself.
The glance he sent me over his shoulder held empathy I didn’t want.
‘I don’t want to risk being ordered to shut up so, yes, min elskerinde, we’re done. And the food is ready.’ His voice was even, bordering on gentle, which absurdly riled me up even further.
Feeling out of sorts, I busied myself gathering plates, cutlery, and setting the table. In silence, we dished out the food, took stools on opposite sides at the far end of the island that doubled up as a dining area.
I poured more wine while Jensen spooned mouth-watering fettuccine, sauce and lashings of grated cheese.
He stared, not touching his food, as I took the first mouthful. Grateful that we’d moved on from emotional subjects, I happily gave my verdict. ‘This is good. Really good.’
He smiled, picking up his cutlery to dig into his own food. By mutual agreement, we stayed on safe subjects.
Why anyone would choose
