Free Separation Anxiety by Lisa Suzanne

again. I saw a heat pass through his eyes just as I felt a spark pass between us, and then Jesse dropped his hand quickly. He busied himself by pouring flour into a shallow dish as I went to work on Charlie.
    I felt his presence behind me as he stood over my shoulder and watched me pound out the chicken.
    “ Not so hard,” he instructed.
    I let up my pounding, hitting the side of the chicken.
    “No,” he said, and I felt him move in closer behind me. “Like this.” He placed his hand over mine, lifted our joined hands, and hit firmly in the center of the chicken breast.
    But, honestly, I had no idea that we’d just hit raw chicken with a kitchen mallet. All I could feel was the heat from his body standing behind my own and the sizzle from his hand over mine. I felt my body automatically lean back into him for more contact as he brought our joined hands up and back down again.
    “Got it?” he breathed into my ear, his breath on my skin sending a tremor down my spine as I realized that his front completely ran the length of my back. I shivered and goose bumps broke out across my skin at his proximity. I felt the sinewy hardness of his muscles, and I was certain that I felt another hardness pressing lower against the base of my spine.
    Was he as turned on as I was? Was it possible that the little flirtations that I kept brushing off were sincere?
    Was it possible that someone like Jesse Drake was interested in me?
    I doubted it, but it didn’t stop me from dreaming.
    “Uh,” I stuttered. “Yeah. Got it,” I said, and he broke that sexy moment between us as he backed away, running both of his hands through his hair.
    “Good. I’ll get the risotto going,” he said, and he moved to the other side of the kitchen to start the burner while I continued pounding the chicken in time to the loud pounding of my heart in my chest.
    The rest of our meal preparations went off without nearly as much excitement as hitting the chicken. At one point, I glanced over at Jesse while I stirred the risotto, waiting for the rice to soak up the chicken stock before I poured in more liquid. His palms were pressed flat against the counter in front of the sink, his arms straight as he leaned forward with his head bowed. His shoulders looked tense, and I saw him take a deep breath. I wondered what he was thinking, but I couldn’t interrupt his introspective moment.
    And, for about the millionth time, I wondered who the hell Allison was and whether or not the way he stood there like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders had anything to do with her.
    Jesse poured us each a glass of Sauvignon Blanc as I plated the food, and we met at the table. The food smelled so good that I gave us both heaping platefuls. He had set the wineglasses down first so that we were seated across from each other. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him next to me, heating me up with his proximity, or if I wanted him across from me where I could stare at him as we ate. Both options seemed equally dangerous.
    “Is that going to be enough?” he teased as I sat down and grabbed my fork.
    “Shut up,” I warned. “I’m hungry.”
    I dug in, and I couldn’t help the little moan that passed through my lips when I tasted the chicken. He’d taken the lead on chicken while I worked the risotto, although the whole meal really was a result of our teamwork.
    “Good?” he asked, shifting in his chair.
    I nodded. “Fantastic,” I said, licking my lips as I savored the delicious sauce he had made.
    “Nice to see a woman who actually eats,” he said.
    I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that supposed mean?”
    “Usually when I eat with women, they barely touch their food, or they order some salad and then they pick at it and it pisses me off because I have to pay for the damn meal that they don’t even bother eating. So it’s just nice t o see a woman who actually enjoys food.”
    I thought about the types of women he must have typically dated. Modelesque, I was sure.