“Is that any way to answer your own twin?”
“Let me rephrase. What, asshole?”
“Hmm. You must be alone, then.”
“What the fuck does that mean? No, forget it. I’m trying to sleep. Goodbye.”
“Just one thing.”
I groan. “And then you’ll leave me alone? You swear it?”
“Sure.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. What?”
“I was just surprised by your … familiarity with her,” Noah says.
I frown. “With who? Jude? What do you mean by that? Why do we have to have this call now? It’s after midnight. On a weekday.”
“Because I’ll be unavailable tomorrow, is why. Now. You seem close.”
“We’re not involved, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“But you’ve fucked her.”
It’s not a question. I sigh. There’s no point trying to lie to Noah. The man is omniscient. “Yeah. A couple times.”
There’s a long pause. Then, “You’re not usually one to sleep with a woman more than once.”
I rake a hand through my hair. What does he want from me? Since when is he so concerned with my sex life? “What exactly do you want, Noah?”
He sighs. “I don’t want anything from you. I’m just concerned—”
“Concerned about what?” I snap. “That I’m fucking someone at all, or that that person is Jude?”
Noah pauses again for the longest moment before saying, “I would never presume to tell you who to sleep with, Nathan. I’m just … it’s interesting you’d pick Jude, is all.”
My eyes narrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you’re clearly pussyfooting around something. If you have a fucking opinion, then let’s hear it. Make the late call worth it.”
“Okay, fine. Sleeping with the woman standing in the way of your biggest professional goal doesn’t seem like the shrewdest business move.”
“Well, we can’t all be as calculating as you,” I snap. When he doesn’t respond, I sigh and say, “Sorry. That was out of line, bro. But Jude isn’t like that. In fact, it’s the opposite. She stands to get a huge promotion if she brings me into NBI. A promotion she’s been trying to get for years. Our interests are aligned. Why would she screw me?”
“Hmm. Why, indeed?”
“Quit the theatrics. If you know something—which you always do—then go ahead and tell me. I have a right to know. Otherwise, fuck off about it.”
“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever told me to fuck off before and meant it,” he says, voice soft. I shudder, thankful he can’t see me. Noah’s scary voice is waaaay scarier than other people’s scary voices.
And he’s never used it on me before.
“Yeah, well. The situation is important enough without you trying to make it worse,” I say, wondering if I’ve lost my mind. Sassing Noah is suicidal—even if he is my twin.
There’s a long pause. When Noah finally answers, his voice is silky smooth, and all the more deadly for it. “Be careful with Northwood, Nathan. I know of three separate occasions where he worked out a deal with a company and then reneged. Cut them out of their fair share of the profits from sales to retailers. Bullied them into accepting paying for freight charges themselves, instead of the other way around. Shit like that.
“He even copied a client’s product and then shipped his product first, so that none of the liquor companies had a need for his client’s, effectively killing demand for the product. He’s a nasty piece of work. I don’t want you to get suckered into one of those deals.”
“And you think Jude is going to help him make one of them with me,” I say, voice flat.
He pauses again. “Well. I have no indication that that’s the case here.”
“Jude’s been upfront with me from the beginning,” I say sharply, my exhaustion and irritation getting the better of me. “And, yeah, Northwood is slippery enough that I can believe what you’ve just told me. But he’s been straight with me so far. When I asked Jude if she thought he was up to something, she said she didn’t think that was the case. What else am I supposed to do? Piss it all away on the off chance I’m getting fucked? Then I definitely will be fucked. As of now, like you said, there’s no indication of anything untoward.”
“You know what? You’re right. It’s your life, Nathan. It’s not my place to interfere. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. I can see this will be good for you,” he says suddenly.
“What the hell does that mean?” I say. “Noah?”
He’s already hung up.
The dick. I swear, he called me just to be annoying. If there’s anything Noah King enjoys, it’s knowing everything about everyone. And he isn’t even a gossip. He never shares anything he knows. He just likes knowing it. It’s annoying as fuck.
After his cryptic bullshit, I’ve sobered right up. I head into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water, downing it in one go. Serena comes up behind me and weaves around my legs. Absently, I reach down and scoop her up, scratching her head while I try to consider the situation from all angles.
Was he really implying Jude is screwing me only because of this deal? Unease stirs in my gut as I suddenly remember her asking about my secret stash of Old Abe’s. I wrote it off then, but what if I was wrong? What if Noah is right? His info usually is. If he says Northwood can be shady, it’s probably true.
But like I told him, I’ve had no indication this deal will follow the same route, and Jude herself confirmed that. We had a very clear conversation about it. She’s given me no reason not to.
So Noah’s misgivings have got to be horseshit. If there’s one thing I believe about Jude Shaw, it’s that she’s above board when it comes to business. No one’s that good of a liar. For fuck’s sake, she just refused to sleep with me a few minutes ago. She wouldn’t have done that if she was trying to get closer to me to screw me over on the deal. She’d use every opportunity to make me like her.
So fuck Noah. Yeah, fuck my twin. This is just him being chronically paranoid. Not everyone has to have an underhanded agenda. Most people actually are who they say they are.
It’s not my problem he works with shady types. I assume, anyway. If he doesn’t like that reality of his job, then he should get a different profession, whatever that is.
Satisfied I’ve told him off—even if only in my mind—I return to the bedroom, plopping Serena on the foot of the bed. Lindsey and Danica are already curled up on their side. They stare at me balefully, mortally offended I’ve interrupted their sleep twice tonight.
Well, they can just suck it. I’ve already ceded half the bed to them; they should be glad I haven’t exiled the lot of them to the living room like a normal person, even if I’ve grown rather used to their warm little bodies curled up near me at night.
Sliding under the covers, I turn off my light and close my eyes, more than ready to fall dead asleep after this emotionally exhausting day. Danica steps over and crawls under my arm, where she prefers to sleep—her half of the bed isn’t enough, apparently—her soft kitty breath hitting my chin.
And I try. Really, I do. Give it my college best, and everything. But whenever I’m about to drift off, the mental image of Jude tossing and turning on that couch downstairs springs to mind. That couch is not comfortable. Not even a little. Frankly, it’s also a little gross. If either of us had been completely sober and not still stupefied by incredible orgasms, we probably would have had enough brain function to recognize that.
But that was then, and this is now. Now, when I’m mostly sober, irritated at my annoying-shit of a twin, and increasingly horny. The possibility of sleep rapidly dwindles. I roll onto my back, glaring up at my ceiling in the dark room.
Fuuuuuck. She told you she’d sleep downstairs, Nathan. Yes, she did. But is she comfortable? Did she drink that bottle of water I gave her? What if she’s one of those people who gets freaked out when they sleep in an unfamiliar e
nvironment? What if she’s woken up and has that moment of disorientation because she doesn’t know where she is? What if she’s too hot, damn it?
I should check on her. Just to make sure. It would be the chivalrous thing to do, really. If she’s sleeping, then great. I’ll just go back upstairs. But at least then I’ll know. If I keep sitting here, I’m going to keep wondering. And until I know, sleep might as well be a four-letter word.
Throwing back the covers, I roll out of bed. Danica meows in affront. Grabbing my briefs from the floor, I pull them on and then creep out of my apartment. I’ve lived above the bar for so long that I don’t bother turning on the lights. When I reach the bar, I turn into the back room, moving as silently as possible so I don’t accidentally awaken her.
And there she is.
Sprawled right across the couch. Her bra and skirt are draped over the back of the couch. I swallow hard. So she’s wearing just that shirt from earlier? It’s so light-colored it’s practically transparent. And where’s the—yep, the thong is still on the floor where I threw it. Good Christ, she’s sleeping there practically naked. If I squint hard enough, I can just barely make out the curve of her hips through the thin blanket I gave her.
So this was apparently a bad idea. If I thought I couldn’t sleep before, no way will I be able to now with that image flashing through my mind. I’m going to spend the rest of the night remembering the taste of that incredible body over and over.
Jude rolls over, her back to me. She mutters something under her breath, then suddenly kicks the blanket off her body.
I suck in a sharp breath. Even in the dark, the pale outline of her legs tantalizes me. If her shirt would slide just a bit higher—no. Don’t go there. I’ll have to take a shower and rub one out if I keep going down that road.
She rolls back over toward me, frowning. She groans softly, swiping at her forehead. Frowning, I creep over and feel her forehead, which is covered in sweat.
Hmm. It really is hot as balls in here. I usually turn the air conditioning down in the bar at night, since air conditioning during a Georgian summer is more expensive than a private flight to the moon. Even if I turned it on now, it wouldn’t cool down much before dawn.
She rolls over again.
This is pathetic. She’s clearly uncomfortable. I’m taking her upstairs. She can lop my balls off in the morning, but at least she will have gotten some decent sleep.
Reaching down, I gingerly lift her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. She fits there nicely, if I do say so myself, although she’s rather sticky hot at the moment.
I turn and head back toward my apartment.
“Nathan …” she suddenly moans. I freeze. Is she awake? Waking up? Are those balls going to get lopped off sooner than later? I was kind of hoping for one more night with them …
But no. Instead, she huddles closer to me, tucking her head under my chin, my name escaping her lips faintly a second time.
She’s dreaming about me.
My chest seizes. It actually takes me a moment to realize it’s my heart skipping a beat. Is this what caring for someone feels like? I don’t even know. I’ve never felt something like this for any of my brothers, not even close. But what I do know is that I like it a lot, a helluva lot, that she’s thinking of me in her sleep, when she’s most vulnerable.
Jude Shaw protects herself so fiercely, I’m almost stupidly proud to have gotten past her walls. Perhaps the smart thing to do would be to analyze why I feel that way, but I don’t.
Instead, I clutch her closer to me, carry her up to my bedroom, and tuck her in next to me—where she belongs.
Chapter Nineteen
Jude
I awake to a loud growl and something slapping my head.
Startling, I flinch away, rolling over on my side and groaning at the sound. What is that awful racket? Rubbing my eyes wearily, I open them and come face-to-face with a giant cat sitting on the pillow three inches from my face.
I can’t lie. It’s a pretty ugly cat. It’s super fluffy and gray with black stripes, which admittedly is cute, but it’s got a horribly smashed face and one of its ears looks like it was torn long ago. It looks like that famous grumpy cat on the internet, only somehow grumpier.
It’s kind of cute, though, in an … original kind of way. I reach out to pet it and it meows angrily and swipes a paw at me. Well, fuck. I cringe away. Suddenly, something lands on my hip. I jerk and glance down. Another cat, this one orange and short-haired, stares down at me balefully.
This one at least looks like a normal cat. But it’s also irritated, too. It climbs over my hip and curls in a ball near my stomach. I pet it tentatively and it looks at me again, and then, as if deeming me worthy, starts purring softly.
Unfortunately, it’s also curled on top of the covers, effectively trapping me in bed unless I want to move it. And unless I want to make an enemy of my new friend, I’m not inclined to do so, especially with the gray cat still perched within swatting distance of my face.
And then a third cat jumps up from the floor, meowing as it headbutts my face. What the … are there three mean cats on this bed? Where am I? Have I landed in some kind of kitty bizarro world? Why are they so loud? What is happening? Christ, my head hurts. I’m hungover as fuck.
I glance around the room, the surroundings completely foreign. Ummm. Not going to lie, I’m a little concerned. But even more concerning than that is the dawning realization that I’m only wearing my shirt from last night. No panties or bra in sight. What the hell happened—
Oh God. The poker table. The mind-blowing orgasm. That must mean …
I roll over onto my other side. Yep. Nathan King’s sprawled next to me, the covers pushed down to his waist, an arm thrown over his face. My eyes unwillingly trail down his naked chest. Wow. Wooooow. His chest looks carved from living stone and I can literally count each abdominal muscle. The early morning sun streaming through the window above our heads casts him in shadow, the ridges of his sculpted body illuminated almost sinfully. My mouth actually waters looking at him.
A woman could get used to waking up to that view every morning. I’m tempted to pet him, too, just to see if he’s real.
I am going to fuck you silly.
Um, yes please. I could get on board with that. Maybe even right this second, actually. We’ve never even screwed each other in bed. I’d be sorely tempted if I didn’t feel like such absolute trash right now. Blech. Hangover breath. It feels like something’s died a horrible death in my mouth. My makeup must be smeared all over my face, and my hair a tangled mess. Sexy as hell, that’s for sure.
Especially compared to this vision next to me.
So horribly unfair. He drank as much as I did—or more—last night, and he gets to look like that? Where’s the justice?
The brown cat stops headbutting me and meows again. The other two join it. I cringe; multiple cat meows right by my ear isn’t how I like to be woken up.
Nathan grunts and lowers his arm, his eyes fluttering open. Then they widen, as if remembering something, and his head whips toward me. He stares at me a long moment before his face splits into a grin of such happiness my heart skips a beat.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says sleepily.
I swallow hard. “I thought I was sleeping downstairs.”
He rolls toward me so we’re on our sides facing each other, then snakes an arm over my waist and tugs me into him. “I came down to check on you, and you seemed uncomfortable. It was too hot down there, anyway. So I brought you up.”
One of my thighs brushes against bare skin. “Oh my God, you’re naked!”
He smiles drowsily, tucking his head into my neck. “Mmm. Yeah, of course. Why sleep with clothes? Way too restrictive for the man bits.”
I roll my eyes. “Naturally that’s your excuse.”
“Hey, it is my bed. And it’s not like you’re wearing much, yourself.”
“True,” I say softly, trailing a hand over his shoulder.
&n
bsp; He stills, then lifts his head to look at me. “Jude?”
“Hmm?” I say, distracted by the shoulder. It’s a really nice shoulder, perfectly sculpted. My hand trails down to his chest, squeezing softly as I move over the taut muscles, which flex under my fingers.
“Jude?” he repeats, his voice an octave lower. “Perhaps it’s time you got rid of that shirt. You wore it yesterday, after all. It’s probably very dirty.”
“Hmm,” I say. “You might be right. Do you want to do the honors or shall—”
Nathan rips the shirt up my body, tossing it to the floor. He sucks in a harsh breath as he lifts the sheets to trail a gaze down my body. “Christ, you’re fucking perfect.”
Well, I certainly don’t feel it. What I feel like is forty-eight hour roadkill, with a migraine to boot. But hey, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the compliment.
Nate tucks me into him again; I squirm with need as my body slides flush against his naked skin.
“Why, Miss Shaw, are you not a cuddler?” he says playfully, stroking a hand down my back and giving me a light slap on the ass.
I yelp, then slap him on the ass in retaliation. Fire dances across his face as he jerks me tighter against him, lifting my thigh up and over his hip. He nestles his hard shaft between my cleft and then hums contentedly, wrapping his free arm around my waist while the other slides under my head to cradle me.
“Much better,” he whispers, then nips my throat once, twice, before burying his head between my neck and shoulder and letting his eyes drift closed again.
Well, this is pretty damn nice. I can’t even remember the last time someone held me like this. Maybe I shouldn’t have put my foot down about sleeping on that couch. What’s the point, really? He’s already been inside me, already tasted me so deeply I practically passed out from the pleasure. Clearly we’re attracted to each other. And I’m only here for a few weeks.
Why not enjoy ourselves?
I softly slide a hand through his hair and rub in tiny circles. A deep groan of satisfaction escapes him, and he burrows closer. Holding back a laugh, I keep massaging, my own eyes getting drowsy.
Lush (The King Cousins Book 1) (The King Brothers 4) Page 14