“Yes,” I say, and together we speed up, slamming our bodies into each other until we’re both crying out, feeling the release together.
“God.” Jackson collapses over on my back, both of us sweating in such a short moment. I can feel his breath on my wet skin, instantly drying it. “You are a dangerous woman.”
He pushes himself up and slides out of me. He pulls his pants back up and his face is flushed and he’s smiling and satisfied and so happy. I reach out and put my hand on his cheek, prickly with a growing beard but I know how soft he is beneath. I brush his jaw with my thumb. My feelings for him are going into overdrive—maybe something to do with the fact that we were just intimate, and have been for the last twelve hours or so. Whatever it is, I want to tell him how I feel about him, how much I care for him and want him to be happy. I want to be the one who makes him happy. But I can’t say anything if I don’t truly know what these feelings are, or where they are going.
So I all I say is, “Now where’s the rest of my breakfast?”
He tips his head back and laughs. Me, making him smile. That makes me smile.
He puts on an oven mitt and pulls a tray from the oven. Two white ramekins are filled with spinach and bacon, some kind of white cheese and, on top of each, an egg.
Jackson gently pokes each of the eggs with his finger. “Ha. Only overcooked them a little,” he says proudly.
I finally put on the clothes as well as socks and big jacket and we carry our breakfast up a set of twisting back stairs that lead to the rooftop terrace. Because of course he has a rooftop terrace. With a view of the Charles River.
“Whoa,” I say as we set everything down. The early fall air is cool and crisp, and it’s going to be a sunny day. We can see early-morning rowers out on the river, the water sparkling in the morning light. “This is stunning.”
He looks around the terrace as if he’s inspecting it. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess? This alone is as big as my apartment.”
“Why do you live in a one-room apartment?” he asks.
“Please don’t tell me you’re that out of touch with reality, Jackson,” I say. “I’m a grad student. Working even part time is kicking my butt so it’s all I can afford.”
“Well,” he says. “I have plenty of rooms in this place. You should just move into one of them. Won’t even charge you rent.”
He’s joking, but he doesn’t realize it’s a bit of a cruel joke. But whatever, I just give it back to him.
“Great, I’ll start moving in tomorrow,” I say. Sure, I think. I can see myself living here. “But I’ll expect a breakfast like this every morning.”
We finish up our food—the egg-in-a-dish thing was outstanding. Jackson was right, the eggs were only slightly cooked through but I’m not sure the dish would have been that much better if they’d been running, like he intended. We make it through most of the pancakes and a little of the fruit. Basically, we’re stuffed, feeling full and mellow as the sun warms the day.
He reaches out for me. “Come over here.” I gladly do as he requests, and he pulls me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me. We sit and stare at the view, not speaking, not needing to.
“Excuse me, Mr. Croft,” a woman’s voice says from the terrace door, startling me. Not Jackson. He turns to the woman and says, “Good morning, Eliza.”
She’s wearing a boxy blue dress with buttons down the front. I think it might be a housekeeper’s uniform.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. I guess they tried your cell phone but it’s the office. They’ve called the house phone. Sandra needs you urgently at the office.”
“Oh, Christ,” he mutters. “Okay. Thank you, Eliza. Could you call Sandra back and tell her I’ll be there in twenty minutes?”
“Of course,” she says before heading back down.
I didn’t expect to stay here all day—I wanted to, but didn’t expect to. But Jackson having to leave so suddenly—and still so early—is a bummer to say the least. I begin to get up from his lap but he pulls me back.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he says.
“I don’t want you to go,” I say. “But work calls.” I wonder if work will always call, and if he’ll always go running.
He kisses me softly. Our lips linger, neither of us wanting to break. He caresses my cheek.
“I better get in the shower,” he says. “Sandra can fend those corporate wolves off for a while but I don’t want to leave her hanging.”
“Of course,” I say, getting up from his lap. I begin picking the breakfast dishes but Jackson says, “Leave all that. Eliza will get it.”