Free Sweet Obsession: Windy City Kink, Book 1 by Kelly Jamieson

“You didn’t have a clue.”
    Her smile went crooked. “I know.” She remembered that he’d wanted to play hockey, but after his parents had died, his uncle hadn’t been willing to put the time or money into the sport, and with a squeeze of her heart, she remembered how disappointed he’d been about that.
    And that opened the gate for more memories to flood back, of Jack talking about his mom and dad and how much he missed them. He’d been a tough guy on the outside but she knew she’d seen parts of him that probably nobody else had. They’d been dating for about nine months when his parents had died. He’d been pissed about that, angry at the world, short tempered, lashing out, and that had gotten him into trouble a few times.
    But he’d never lashed out at her, and her insides went soft and warm remembering how he’d asked her to go to the cemetery with him on Mother’s Day to leave flowers on his mother’s grave, and how he’d fought back tears standing there. And how she’d wrapped her arms around him and they’d held each other for a long time.
    Oh hell. She should not be reliving all those soft feelings for Jack. She stiffened her spine and met his gaze with a determinedly professional smile.
    “Let me take your jacket,” he said and she set her purse and briefcase on the floor while she unwound her big scarf and slipped her jacket off. She handed it to him, and he hung it in a closet behind a set of sliding doors. “Come on in. Lunch is ready for us.” He led the way to the dining room where she blinked to see the table perfectly set. Although the day was overcast, the room was bright and the view spectacular.
    “Did you do this?” she asked, as he pulled out a chair for her.
    “Ha. No. My housekeeper set the table. I did order the food though.” He said that with such earnest pride, she couldn’t help but smile.
    “You don’t cook?”
    One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Of course I cook. But I wanted to serve you something better than macaroni and cheese or canned chili.”
    She tried to resist the smile tugging at her own mouth. “I appreciate that. Although I do remember that you used to be pretty good at making hot dogs too.”
    “Actually…” he grinned, “…that’s what we’re having. But I didn’t make them.”
    “Hot dogs?” She stared at him open-mouthed.
    He carried an insulated bag over to the table and opened it up. “Yep. From Hawt Dawgs.”
    When he opened the bag, the seductive aroma of smoked sausage and yeasty buns filled the air. “Oh my God.” She moaned. “I haven’t had one of those in ages.”
    “Good. Got fries too. Hope you’re not on a diet.”
    “Do I need to be?”
    His head jerked up and he met her eyes. “No! Not at all! That wasn’t what I meant.”
    She laughed. “I’m just kidding.”
    The horror in his eyes was replaced by wry amusement. “God, I thought I’d put my foot in it there.” And then his eyes went warm and his gaze swept over her in a hot brush of erotic perusal that made her nipples tighten and tingle. And with that, the power balance shifted. “No, Sasha, you definitely don’t need to diet.”
    He took his own chair, not opposite the table but kitty-corner to her. As he sat, his knee brushed hers, his legs so long. He pulled out wrapped hot dogs and handed one to her, which she set on the china plate in front of her. He handed her a container of French fries and they began to eat.
    “These are so messy,” she said, picking up her hot dog loaded with yellow mustard, relish, onions, tomato wedges, a pickle spear and peppers, all spilling from a steamed poppy seed bun.
    “That’s okay. It’s just you and me.”
    Yes. It was just them. She was well aware of that.
    Music played somewhere, through speakers she couldn’t see, the kind of bluesy music that she loved.
    “I used to take clients to hockey games in San Jose,” he said between bites. “We had a suite and it was fun to take people there. Your dad still