Page 76 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

“That song about your name. It terrifies me.”

The sudden pressure on Clementine’s chest terrified her. “I never learned.”

“I’ll have to teach you. We’ll use my parents’ pool.”

She hadn’t seen the pool. She wasn’t prepared to feel this much this soon. The same fears Jack just voiced swirled through her, the idea of him hurt in any way unthinkable. Her mind flashed to Yevgen, the madman’s knife piercing her skin, his creepy tattoo and threat to hurt those she loved.

Jack couldn’t get hurt.

“What foods do you hate?” she asked before she panicked. Silly. I’m being silly. The mundane question was also easier than blurting I love you. But those words were there, balancing on the tip of her tongue. You better not get hurt. I love you too much.

She resumed her chopping, wasn’t sure when she’d stopped. The repetitive movements calmed her and drove home her need to quit overthinking.

Jack pressed his nose to her hair and breathed her in. “Not a fan of Brussels sprouts. You?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Shellfish and bacon.”

He froze. “Everyone loves bacon.”

“Not this girl.”

“But it’s the best food.”

She turned toward him, loving the feel of her hip sliding against his. “Are you arguing with a knife-wielding woman who’s trained in basic combat?”

He set his coffee down, removed the utensil from her hand, then caged her against his granite counter. “I’m arguing with a sexy cat burglar.” He hummed a tune and pressed his lips to Clementine’s ear. “Don't go stealing my heart,” he sang.

She knew the melody— Elton John's “Don't Go Breaking My Heart.” The play on words was cute, but wariness undermined her mood. “Are you sure you’re not having second thoughts?” she asked tentatively.

Cat burglar. Stealing hearts. Jokes were often rooted in truth.

He rolled his hips forward, the hard length of him stating his desire. “Does it feel like I’m having second thoughts?”

Naughty boy. She coasted her hands around his shoulders and down the hard muscles of his back. She squeezed his fine behind. “You’re sure?”

He kissed her lips, once, twice, a third time. “I know we can’t talk about your past in public, but I don’t want it to be an avoided topic between us. Doing that could turn it into something bigger. It could hurt us. So if I ask about your work or make a joke, that’s why.” He glanced down and gnawed on his bottom lip. “And I want you to be patient. Don’t expect everything to fall into place—friends, work, life in general. Don’t freak out if you have setbacks.”

“Okay,” she said, touched he cared so much.

His smolder returned. “Okay, meaning I can fuck you on this counter?”

That would so be happening, but she wanted more details. Every last one. “First tell me something that scares you.”

He kept her pinned to the counter, his brow puckering as he thought. With enough gravity to have her holding her breath, he said, “People who don’t eat bacon.”

She rolled her eyes. “Something that makes you angry.”

“People who don’t eat bacon.”

She flicked his ribs. “You’re not playing fair.”

“You asked and I answered. What makes you angry?”

“Men who get angry at people for not eating bacon. What if I was kosher?”

“Not the same thing.”

“Your idiot light is on the fritz again.”