“You ok?” Jonas asks, eyes crinkling at the corners. I shake myself, and realize I’m staring at the coat hooks, jacket in hand, and completely frozen.
“Yeah.” I try to laugh off the ugly emotions. “I just got lost in my head for a second.”
“Happens to the best of us,” he replies. I catch his eyes roaming over my body. I expect him to look away and pretend it didn’t happen, but he doesn’t. His eyes meet mine and he winks. I’m so caught off guard that I’m almost convinced I imagined it. Jonas turns back to his work, and I head to the dining room, my mind still whirling around that wink.
It’s so unlike him to flirt with me. Hell, with anyone. I’m glad he’s in a good mood and all, but my cheeks burn with irritation. Jonas has spent years pretending that chemistry from our first kiss didn’t exist. He treated me like I had as much sexual appeal as a fence post and, clearly, that was a lie. As long as he doesn’t know it’s me, he can’t keep his hands off his little Kitten.
I grind my teeth together as I straighten the mini gourds at each table. Jonas always grumbles about decorating and tells me to do whatever I want. But when I turned up with a box full of maple leaf garlands and hand-painted black and white patterned pumpkins, he admired them with a rare smile. He even helped me hang the garland over the doorway.
I start rolling silverware, but I don’t have enough knives and have to go back to the pot room to grab more. I’m lost in thought and I turn the corner, slamming into a big, thick body. Warm hands catch my arms, keeping me from bouncing on my ass.
“Careful, Kenna.” Jonas’ voice rumbles over me and being this close to him, close enough to smell him, is intoxicating. I look up into his eyes, my neck craned back. The stretch is like a sense memory, and all I can think about is the way he pulled my hair. The way he forced me to arch my back as he held me in his lap. My breath catches in my chest, and I try to step back, but his grip tightens, holding me in place.
Jonas’ gray eyes hold me captive, and he lowers his voice so only I can hear him. “Maybe I should put a bell on you so I can hear you coming.” The words flow off his tongue like slow sex. I shiver, the unintentional double entendre sending my skin flaming. Holy shit. I know he’s thinking about the woman from last night, and I desperately want to tell him everything. I want him to know it was me. I want it so badly that I’m almost willing to risk losing him. Almost. But not quite.