Page 65 of Love Wells Kept

“Kate.” His voice is muffled by the pillow. He gives my shoulder a gentle shake and my limp-wristed slap against his hand makes him hiss.

Still, the relentless bastard tries again, muttering my name a couple more times.

I drag the pillow from my head. Pieces of my hair stick to the still-tacky moisturizer on my face, and I paw at it with an exasperated grunt. Suddenly there’s the rough feel of Jackson’s callused fingers delicately plucking each individual strand from my cheek.

“Thank you,” I whisper, blinking to make out his face in the inky night. “Why are we awake?”

“Date night.”

The words don’t immediately compute.

Giving me a curious look, he adds context. “In the kitchen…with tea.”

I yawn. “You were serious about that?”

“Yes.”

His thumb scrapes along his jaw as he seems to consider whether this was a bad idea. It wasn’t a bad idea. It’s just that sharing a bed with him was working better than the sleeping pills, and I’m woefully overtired these days.

He’s trying to connect, and anyway, it was my comment about bonding over our insomnia that led him to this date suggestion, so woozy as I am, I let him take my hand. Pull me from the bed. Lead me down the dark hallway to the kitchen.

I find a spot in the middle of the kitchen island, sitting with my legs crisscrossed on the cool quartzite countertop, lit only by the small light above the stove. The unrelenting yawns make my eyes wet. And the sight of him wearing only a pair of boxers, meticulously crafting two cups of chamomile tea, sends a wave of heat cresting and crashing in my core.

“Do you usually sit on the island?” He leans against the counter opposite me, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“I usually come strolling in after the tea has already been made and you’re sitting at the kitchen table.” I rest my elbows on my thighs. “Thought I’d try this new vantage point out.”

I wanted to sit but couldn’t stand the thought of the entire island—or more—between us. My insides are giddy, and I feel like a damn teenager, nervous and excited and desperate to be close to him. I watch the flexion of his back muscles when he turns to reach for two mugs, and the two perfectly round dimples in his lower back. The slope of his Adonis belt dipping below the waistband. I know what’s underneath, too, and that’s not helping the deep-seated want low in my belly.

“And how is it?”

“The view is ten out of ten, but I think that would be the case regardless of where I sat.” I gesture at him. “I basically have a male model in front of me.”

A splash of red colors his cheeks, highlighting the myriad freckles splashed across his face and down onto his kissable chest and shoulders.

“I love making you blush,” I admit.

“You certainly have a knack for it.”

“I have a lot of practice, and it got so much harder over the years. I’m sure if you scrolled far enough back in our text message history, you’d find some incredibly raunchy texts from me.” I smirk. “Maybe even some titty pictures.”

Jackson’s quick to avert his eyes then, and he’s so red he looks as though he might spontaneously combust. The kettle whistles in a saved by the bell type moment, and Jackson hurries to shut it off. Water gurgles into each cup with his slow steady pour, and by the time he’s delivering my tea to me, his complexion is almost back to its normal shade.

I relish the mug’s radiant heat in my hands. Jackson takes a careful sip, then sets his own mug down and hops onto the counter next to me, awkwardly crossing his long legs so our knees bump. With a deep breath, his stomach tightens, defining the curves of his toned musculature.

“So, uh, what do I usually call you?” Jackson asks. “Like…a nickname. I was informed that I call Odessa ‘Princess’—though maybe she was pulling my leg.”

“You’ve always called her Princess,” I confirm. “It’s done wonders for her ego. Not that I’m sure she needs any help believing she’s the most important person on this entire ranch.”

“She has everybody wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?”

I nod, taking a swig of tea that singes the tip of my tongue. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re the first baby in the family…and she was the only one for a long time. A lot of uncles and honorary uncles who have never been able to say no to her.”

“I think it has more to do with what type of person you are than you’re admitting to.” He gives me a look. “You had almost everyone in that hospital unable to say no to you. Hell, I can’t say no to you. Bully.”

“I told you, it’s love. Not bullying.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” he says over the rim of his charcoal Wells Ranch Cattle Company mug. “So, if Odessa is princess, do I call you queen?”