by Janice Lynn
He grinned. “I meant the view. It’s phenomenal, isn’t it?”
Yeah, it was and she didn’t just mean the New York City skyline. Seeing the eagerness with which he waited for her to respond, she marveled at the unexpected layer to him. He appreciated his view of the city that much?
That surprised her, made her have to admit there were more dimensions to Jude than she’d already realized.
She didn’t need to discover any more positive dimensions. The fact he’d risked his life to save a young girl’s already had her softening way too much.
That had to be why she was looking at him and feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside.
Or maybe it was the wine.
She wasn’t much of a drinker and she’d finished one glass and started another.
On an empty stomach.
Definitely that was it.
What had she been thinking?
No matter. Life was good.
“Haven’t seen any crows, not even any pigeons this high up.” She took another sip of the wine, despite just thinking that she should probably slow down or stop altogether. “But it’s not bad.”
He laughed. “You don’t like admitting to being wrong, do you?”
She batted her lashes all innocent like. “What was I wrong about?”
“My view.”
“I never said anything about your view,” she reminded him, holding his gaze. “You were the one who said your view was better than mine. Not me.”
“You’re right,” he conceded, then gestured to the view from where he stood on the raised platform dining area. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him displayed a city that sparkled like diamonds under perfect lighting. “But, admit it, I’m also right.”
She ran her gaze across the skyline, wondering if the city would ever fail to amaze. “You have an amazing view, Jude Davenport. Much better than mine, even. Happy?”
“Yes. Thank you. I am.”
She tore her gaze away from the window and looked at him. With his easygoing smile, he actually did look happy. And relaxed. And way too handsome in his jeans, T-shirt, and bare feet.
The view she was looking at was better than any she’d seen in her apartment. A smiling gorgeous man gesturing to the Manhattan skyline. Yeah, that had never happened in her apartment.
For that matter, until tonight she’d never had a man in her apartment other than movers as she’d not wanted her few dates since moving in to taint her beloved home. She’d known with each one that things weren’t going to work out. Maybe she was too picky, but better picky than ending up with some loser. Just ask her mother. Not that you had to ask. Sarah’s mother vocalized the plague of society—men—to anyone and everyone who got within earshot.
That morning Jude had seemed to fit her mother’s horror stories to a T. But firefighter Jude and this relaxed, easygoing, comfortable, bare-footed domesticated Jude refused to be shoved into that preconceived mold.
He wiggled his toes, as if knowing she was looking at them. Sarah wasn’t a foot fetish kind of girl, or any kind of fetish girl, really, but there was something about this man’s bare feet that she found appealing.
Maybe it wasn’t the bare feet, but the entire package that was getting to her.
She gulped back a drink, then fought to keep from coughing as the sweet wine went down all wrong. That’s all she needed, to aspirate, and choke in front of him. He’d think her a total klutz, having already set off her smoke detector.
Or that she’d purposely choked so he’d have to come to her rescue again.
When her gaze met his again, he was studying her as intently as she was him.
“I get the impression you really can see my view, Sarah.”
Um, yeah, she could. His point was?
“Not once have I seen you squint,” he continued. “Which makes me question those glasses you wear. It’s going to be a tough sell to convince me you need them. Are they prescription?”
Busted.
“They serve their purpose.”
His brow arched. “Which is?”
To put a barrier between her and anyone who tried to look too closely. As Jude was currently doing.
She should have grabbed them off her bathroom sink before heading to his place. She just hadn’t been thinking clearly, and that had been way before she’d drunk any wine.
“Something smells wonderful. You sure I can’t help?” she asked, needing to pull herself out of whatever trance he was putting her in.
“Positive.” He came to stand by where she sat, held out his hand. “It’s all done and on the table. Hungry?”
Being careful not to slosh her wine, she slipped her hand into his, not surprised one bit by the warmth, the tingles that zapped her at the skin-to-skin contact, the burning heat that settled deep in her belly.
It was only fitting that the man had the powers of Zeus to shoot lightning bolts through unsuspecting women.
“Starved.”
And not just for food.
Oops. There went the wine again.
CHAPTER FIVE
“YOU MAY HAVE ruined me to hummus and toast forever.” Sarah patted her mouth with a napkin, then leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Shame on you, spoiling my rather dull palate.”
Jude felt rather spoiled himself, having gotten to watch Sarah eat. And loosen up. Now, that he’d enjoyed.
Because once she’d relaxed she’d opened up and talked.
Sarah talking was a pleasure.
She fascinated him. From her political views to her dreading the holidays as much as he was to her fear of taking the tunnels out of the city to her absolute love of New York and the diversity of people, customs, restaurants, and things to do.
He couldn’t quite believe she’d lived in New York her entire life and had never been to a Broadway show. How did anyone manage that? Even prior to adulthood, he’d repeatedly gone during prep school field day trips.
He leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze. “If you could see any one Broadway show, which one would it be?”
“Phantom of the Opera,” she said without hesitation and with a wistful look in her eyes that even her hideous glasses wouldn’t have hidden.
“Obviously, you’ve given this some thought. Why haven’t you gone?”
Glancing away from him to stare out the window at the skyline, she shrugged. “I made plans to go once. He failed to show and I’ve just never made plans to go again.”
He?
“What?” He exaggerated the word, a bit stunned at her reason. “Are you kidding me? Some guy stood you up?”
Meeting his gaze for a brief moment, she shook her head, then stared down into her glass, twirling the small amount of sparkling wine remaining. “I... It’s okay, really.”
“You were all dressed up and waiting on the guy to take you on a date and he never showed?” Maybe his question had been crass, but the possibility that some clown had blown her off just seemed unfathomable. And made him angry for her. He should get the guy’s address and give him a lesson on how to treat a lady. Because, despite Sarah’s denial, her voice conveyed that she’d been hurt.
As did how her eyes were downcast and her face pale.
“You were, weren’t you?”
“I was what?” Her gaze lifted to his.
The glistening in her eyes almost undid him. She was fighting tears. His insides clenched as did his fingers.
“Dressed up and waiting on a man who never showed and didn’t bother to let you know he wasn’t coming.”
Her expression pinched and that was all the answer Jude needed. Yeah, he should really look up this tool and give him a piece of his mind.
“Was he straight?”
Sarah’s face turned that rosy shade of red it
seemed to often wear and she nodded. “Yes, he was straight. Like I said, he just forgot we’d made plans.”
“How?” If he’d exaggerated the word earlier, this time was even more drawn out with total disbelief.
Looking embarrassed, Sarah shrugged. “You’re making a big deal of it. It wasn’t. He got busy and forgot about our date. It’s fine. After that, we realized we weren’t meant to date, but are still friends. End of story.”
Only not really because the beautiful woman sitting across from him had taken a blow to her confidence that never should have happened. The thought of Sarah, all dressed up and waiting for her date, and the guy not bothering to show or call, had Jude livid.
He shook his head. “The guy stood you up and you’re still friends with him? You should have kneed him where it hurt, not still be defending his bad-mannered behavior.”
Eyes wide, she gave him a horrified look. “Why on earth would I do that? Because he and I didn’t click romantically? That doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. He’s not. He’s a nice man.”
Most of the women he knew would have neutered the guy, not defended him.
Wondering at why Sarah was, if she still had feelings for the idiot who’d stood her up, Jude shook his head. “Nice guys don’t invite a woman to a show and forget.”
“Could we please talk about something else? Besides, what do you know about being a nice guy, Jude Davenport?” she scoffed, leaning forward, too, and pinning him beneath her blue-green gaze.
Knowing she was one hundred percent focused on him threw Jude. Good grief, her attention was heady.
“More than the guys you hang out with, apparently.” He stared right back, liking everything about the way he felt staring into her eyes and that this time she held his gaze, not backing down or looking away even as electricity sparked between them.
Excitement licked his imagination and visions of kissing that full mouth of hers danced through his mind, of placing his palms against those cheeks of hers, staring into her eyes, and kissing her until her taste filled his senses.
Visions of his taking her on that date and giving her the night she should have had and making up for what the idiot had done to her.
“Think whatever you will, Sarah.” He even liked saying her name, how it rolled off his tongue almost melodically. “But I can honestly say that if you’d been dressed up for a date with me, I wouldn’t have forgotten you no matter what the hell came up.”
“That’s good to know.” Eyes glinting, she pursed her lips.
At her comment, Jude raised his brow, to which her lips parted, tempting him further. His mouth craved hers with a dizzying intensity.
“That’s not what I mean,” she began, looking flustered. “I mean... Oh, you know what I meant and what I didn’t mean.”
“Do I?” His lips trembled from unfamiliar restraint at not taking what he wanted. She was so close, yet he knew he shouldn’t kiss her, that he had no right to kiss Sarah.
“Oh, get real, Jude. I am not your type and you are certainly not mine. What your dating practices are really don’t pertain to me.” Even as she protested, he heard the question in her voice and understood why. Normally, he’d have already kissed those disapproving pink lips of hers.
He wanted to kiss them.
Wanted to kiss her.
All of her.
That he hadn’t kissed her said something, but he wasn’t sure he understood exactly what or why he was so hesitant to make a move.
“Certainly not your type?” he pushed, knowing he wasn’t reading her wrong, that, despite whatever she thought of him, there was powerful chemistry burning between them.
“Certainly,” she repeated with a slight slur, making him wonder how many glasses of wine she’d had while he’d been finishing their dinner.
“Why is it that I’m certainly not your type, Sarah?”
She blinked, then gave a haughty little tilt to her chin. “Because I’m not into men who sleep with so many different women.”
Were they back to that?
“I think you overestimate my prowess.”
She broke eye contact and laughed. “Nice try, Casanova.”
He watched her toy with her wine. “What type of men are you into?”
Not answering for several moments, she seemed to search for the answer in her glass.
“Ones who aren’t like you,” she finally said.
Although her response didn’t surprise him, he frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
“Sure it is.”
“How so?”
“It means I’m into men who aren’t adrenaline junkies, who have steady, stable jobs, who don’t feel the need to have the most notches on their bedpost.”
Her response gained passion with each word, making him wonder if she was trying to convince him or herself.
“You know, guys who aren’t like you.” She emphasized the last word.
Was that how she saw him? The same way the rest of the world did, no doubt. Still, her words stung in ways the words of a woman he’d technically only met that day shouldn’t sting. They had no relationship, had just lived next to each other since she’d bought the apartment next to his. Thank goodness he’d not bought the place as he’d considered to expand his own again, mainly to widen his view of the city. He’d hate to have gone through life without the pleasure of having met his neighbor.
“None of those things disqualify me,” he pointed out, taking in every nuance of her facial expression. “Because none of those things describe me.”
She didn’t look convinced at his denial. “You aren’t an adrenaline junkie?”
“No.”
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “A man who runs into a burning building?”
“I run into burning buildings because there are people inside who need help or when there’s a chance of putting out the fire and saving the building from total destruction.”
Emotion flickered in her gaze, like the shimmering of the sea. She didn’t break eye contact, just narrowed her gaze, as if she fought letting herself believe him. “You don’t get a rush out of fighting fires?”
“I didn’t say that.” He shrugged. “I get a rush when I save someone’s life, but not from the actual going into the burning building or risking my own life.”
Although doing so did make him feel more alive, more like the man he’d been before Nina had fallen for Charles and then died.
Maybe every time he saved a life he somehow felt vindicated that he’d not been able to save the woman he’d loved, that he’d turned his back on her and their friendship when he couldn’t have more. Not that he could have saved Nina. She’d chosen Charles, had died due to childbirth complications. There had been nothing anyone could have done. Had there been, Charles and Jude both would have given their lives for Nina’s.
Except when he fought fires, Jude had felt half-dead since the moment he’d cut Nina completely out of his life, lost his best friend, and destroyed the closeness he’d once shared with his cousin.
He didn’t feel half-dead now. Quite the opposite.
He didn’t recall ever feeling as alive as he felt at this moment, staring into the eyes of a woman who didn’t think much of him, but who was as intrigued by him as he was her, despite the fact that she didn’t want to be.
Which meant what exactly? He didn’t want a relationship, was no longer a relationship kind of guy. These days, he took women to his bed, not to his dining room to feed them a meal he’d cooked.
He sure didn’t long to take women on dates where he showered them with romance and attention to make up for every wrong they’d ever endured.
Yet, looking into Sarah’s eyes, that was exactly what he wanted. Hell.
“I think I’m more your type than you want to admit, Doc.”
&nbs
p; * * *
As Sarah helped Jude clear the table and load his dishwasher, his words kept running through her head.
Surprisingly, this was the first silence they’d had as they’d chatted away during dinner. Jude was a great conversationalist. He made intelligent comments, listened with eager ears, and responded with insightful observations.
The few dates she’d ever gone on had left her feeling awkward and socially inept. Eventually, she’d almost quit dating, because why bother? She wasn’t looking for a man in her life, knew what being involved with the wrong man could cost a woman, and didn’t appreciate giving up a night of her life to feel inadequate at the end of the evening.
The few times she’d made exceptions had never ended well.
For instance, the night interesting Kenny Goodall had asked to take her to her first Broadway show. She’d lost the glasses, donned mascara and lipstick, put on a decently fitting dress, and anxiously awaited what had promised to be a wonderful evening.
She’d never felt so mortified, unattractive, and convinced her mother was right in all her life as when she’d discovered he’d forgotten their plans.
Never again would she allow herself to be so humiliated at the hands of a man.
Nothing about her dinner with Jude made her feel inadequate, though. Quite the opposite. She’d enjoyed sharing the meal with him more than she’d have dreamed possible. Maybe because she knew there could never be anything between them.
The fact he’d seemed perturbed she’d written him off as not her type and given him her reasons why surprised her, though. Why would he care?
Sure, she’d felt heat when looking at him and he’d made flirty comments at the hospital and tonight, but the reality was she wasn’t Jude Davenport’s type.
He hadn’t bothered to deny that, had just questioned that he wasn’t hers.
Before having seen that different side of him at the hospital and tonight, she’d have said it was because he was so arrogant he assumed he was every woman’s type.
If gorgeous, intelligent, witty, and full of testosterone were the criteria, then he was.