His lips press together as he nods, a small acknowledgement of my compliment, perhaps? And then his attention points toward the rain-beaded window in his living room for half a second. Jude’s so humble, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a hard time accepting praise.
“So tell me about your family?” he asks. “Since I’m going to be meeting them and all.”
“Sure you don’t just want to be surprised?” I tease.
“Not really into surprises.”
“Good to know.” I lift my naked spoon and point it at him. “Neither am I.”
“So you grew up in West Virginia,” he says.
“Sweet Water,” I say. “Little town no one’s ever heard of …”
I tell him about my mechanic father who passed unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm when Cameo and I were still in high school, I tell him about our little white house with blue door, about the mutt we rescued from the pound after Dad died. I tell him about my mother and her fear of crowds and how she’s probably going to be high on Xanax for Cameo’s wedding. And then I tell him about Cameo and her fiancé who’s old enough to be her father and how she refers to him as the doctor instead of his name (Bob) because I suppose she thinks it makes her life sound better.
“What about you?” I ask when I’m done. “You said you grew up all over. What about your family? I know you have a sister. Do you have any others?”
Jude looks down for a second, placing his spoon on the counter with an easy clink. Drawing in a long breath, he says, “Nope. Just Lo and I. Dad’s in prison. Mom’s doing her own thing … haven’t spoken to her in years.” His lips tighten and he offers a melancholy chuckle. “Our childhoods were night and day, Love. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of stories to share with you, at least none that wouldn’t break your heart.”
I want to reach for his hand, hug him, something. He’s always been so cool and collected, but his voice is soft and his gaze is turned down, face wincing like he’s recalling painful memories.
“So that’s why you’re so successful now,” I say. “You saw how you didn’t want your life to turn out.”
He shrugs. “I’d hardly call myself successful.”
“What?” I lean toward him. “You’re insane if you don’t think you are. You’re educated and intelligent and funny and you own your own business. If that’s not successful …”
“Stop.” He lifts his hand. “No more gushing. It’s weirding me out.”
At his request, I stop. If he doesn’t want to hear how amazing he is, I have to respect that.
“Your ex,” he says, changing the subject. “If he was such an ass, what’d you see in him?”
Sitting my spoon aside, I shrug. “He wasn’t always like that. When I first met him, he was cute. Endearing. Really driven, which I admired. He had this ambition that just … radiated off him, and I thought it was so attractive. It was a gift really. He was good at making things happen and that really worked out for him. But after he made his first million, he became someone I didn’t recognize. And I was too far in, too convinced it was just a phase, to realize we were on the verge of self-imploding.”
“You were blinded by love.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think maybe we’re always seeing what we want to see.”
“It’s human nature,” he agrees. “Instinctual.”
“What do you see when you look at me?” I ask. It’s only now that I realize how close we are, how his arm rests on the counter beside my thigh and how the faded scent of his shampoo invades the space around me.
Thunder rattles the glass of the living room window, and it takes everything I have not to cling at his arm as adrenaline flashes through me. I’ve never loved storms, but I’ve always loved the earthy, musty scent that fills the air after a good rain. And I love being here with Jude, where there’s chaos outside the window but peace and contentment in here. It’s an exciting combination, and I want to remember this feeling forever.
Leaning back, Jude’s head tilts and he studies me. “When I look at you … I see someone I can’t put in a box or a category. You’re complex, but in a good way. I think you’re still figuring yourself out, which is fine because I don’t know any other twenty-somethings who have life figured out.” Jude pauses, but I don’t think he’s finished yet. “There’s this gentleness about you, like a canary who’s been caged her whole life and now she’s free and she’s learning a new song.”
I place my hand over my heart. My skin is warm to the touch, my eyes watering. I don’t feel the thunder, don’t see the lightening. In this moment, it’s only him.
“That was sweet, Jude. Poetic, really.”
Jude shrugs and thunder shocks the windows again. I place my spoon on the counter at the exact moment Jude is reaching for his and our hands graze, sending a spray of goose bumps up my arm.
I smile.
He smiles.
Maybe I’m imaginging this, but I swear it’s getting hotter by the second all of a sudden. Adjusting my posture, I brace my hands on the edges of the counter to slide down, but Jude rests his palm on my knee.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I’m hot,” I say, exhaling and fanning my face. “Do you think it’s hot in here?”
“Damn,” Jude says, glancing across the room. “Thermostat says it’s eighty-four in here. Guess no power means no AC. You okay?”
“Yeah. I think so.” I’m in a strappy tank top and cotton pajama shorts. If I take anything else off, I might as well be naked.
Jude’s hand reaches to the side of my face. “You’re on fire, Love.”
And it’s not because I’m sick—that much I know.
“I’ll be fine. What about you? You hot?” I ask, focusing on the way his t-shirt clings to his chest.
“A little.” Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he gives it a tug. “You mind?”
My brows lift. “By all means.”
I’m not sure why we’re suddenly being so awkward and formal, but the runaway gallop in my chest leads me to believe that’s all about to change.
Chapter Twenty
Jude
Yanking my shirt over my head, I toss it over one of the kitchen bar stools.
“Can’t help but notice you’re staring.” I wink. “You like what you see?”
“Stahp,” she says, swatting at me. Heat radiates off her delicate skin.
“Do you?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Her brows center, like I’ve asked an idiotic question.
“Sure you’re okay?” I ask, noting the way her cotton tank top clings even tighter to her body. One of the straps falls down her shoulders, and it’s taking all the strength I have not to reach out and fix it. And good God, how did I not notice until now that she’s not wearing a bra? Maybe it’s built into her top? Or maybe it doesn’t matter because all this means is she’s comfortable around me. “You look … really hot. And I mean that in all aspects of the word.”
She brushes her hand against my chest and pretends to be annoyed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
“Fine. I’m hot. It’s hot as hell in here. There. Happy?” Love fans herself, moving the wisps of blonde hair that frame her face before tugging at her top. A moment later she fixes that rogue strap, letting it snap across her shoulder.
“So do something about it.” My mouth lifts at the side.
She feigns a scowl for a second, before her mouth twists upward. “If this is your way of trying to get me to kiss you again … you’re kind of taking forever.”
My cock strains against my pants, an instantaneous response.
Was not expecting her to say that. I expected more coaxing, more flirting, more set up before the show.
“It’s called the subtle art of seduction,” I tease.
Reaching toward Love, I wrap my hand gently around her narrow wrist, depositing her hand on my shoulder as I position myself between her widened thighs. Her other hand slips around the back of my neck and her full lips arch.
Love breathes me in. I cup her face, sliding my fingers into her soft hair. A second later, our mouths collide, and my heart is kick drumming in my chest, making me question the inauthenticity of this kiss on my end because it feels so fucking real.
Pressing her thighs against my sides, Love leans back, lifting her top over her head and tossing it aside, revealing her perfect teardrop breasts. Swiping my finger into the carton of melting strawberry ice cream, I lick the cool liquid off my finger before taking a pink budded nipple between my lips, swirling my cooled tongue around the pointed tip.
Love moans, so I do it again, blurring the sweet taste of her skin with the tang of sugared strawberries.
My cock hardens, straining against the inside of my boxers, but Love damn near reads my mind when she slides off the counter, reaches for my fly, and unzips me. A moment later, her hands are around my girth, pumping the length before lowering her pretty mouth to the tip and working magic with her velvet tongue.
Groaning and eyes squeezed shut, I bury my hands in her hair as she brings me to the brink.
And then she stops.
Glancing down, I realize she’s standing before me, sliding her flimsy cotton shorts and pink satin thong down her thighs.
“What’s this?” I ask, unable to wipe the championship winner’s grin off my face.
“I think you know exactly what this is, Jude Warner,” she says, her voice a soft yet confident whisper. No one’s ever said my name the way she does—my full name—like she enjoys the way it feels in her mouth … on her tongue. Bending, she trails the tip of her index finger down my chest then down the center of my abs before slipping beneath the loosened waistband of my jeans.
Fuck.
I can’t take this anymore.
“Love,” I say. She glances up at me from her position on her knees, her hand splayed on my Adonis belt, and she smiles. “I want you so fucking bad right now.”
Pulling her up to a standing, I slide my hands around her hips and lift her until her legs wrap around me, and then I carry her back to my room.
Depositing her on the middle of my king-sized bed, I grab a rubber from one of the nightstand drawers, ripping the golden foil packet between my teeth. When I return to Love’s side, she wastes no time tugging my boxes and jeans the rest of the way down—she’s just as impatient as I am.
Sliding the condom into place, I move to the head of the bed and rest my back against a stack of pillows before pulling Love into my lap. Her arms hook around my shoulders as the sweet scent of her arousal fills my lungs and I cup her chin, pointing her mouth to mine before claiming it again. Reaching below, she wraps her hand around my cock and guides it inside her one slow, tantalizing inch at a time.
When I’m deep inside her, she offers the sexiest sigh I’ve ever heard and begins to pick up the pace, riding me faster, her nails digging into my back as she bites her full bottom lip.
Who knew sweet little Love Aldridge was such a sexpot?
This is completely unexpected, but watching her enjoy the hell out of herself only makes me harder, makes me want her more.
Gripping her hips, I press her deeper onto my cock, meeting her thrust for thrust so she can feel every inch of how hot I am for her. Our skin is slicked and sheened in sweat. Nothing about this is romantic—it’s animal—but it’s perfect.
I think she needed this.
And hell … maybe in a way, I did too.
“You’re fucking dynamite,” I say to her, soliciting a smile that I waste no time kissing off those swollen lips of hers.
The thought of having this—having Love—all to myself for the next several months and then never having her or anything this exciting again fills my mind, but I push it away, focusing on this moment and on this gorgeous woman who can’t keep her hands off me.
Yesterday’s gone. Tomorrow doesn’t exist. All we have is right now, this calm before the storm.
Chapter Twenty-One
Love
I woke up this morning to the hum of Jude’s air conditioner kicking on, a kink in my neck, and a blanket covering my naked body. Sunlight poured through the window beside me as I sat up, finger combed my hair, and glanced around for any sign of life as last night played like a dream in my head. So perfect, so unreal. I wanted to close my eyes and relive it, second by second. The sound of the rain patting the window in soft drops, the feel of his skin, hot and sticky against mine, the warm, faded scent of his aftershave filling the damp air, the satisfying sighs coming from Jude’s full mouth as he drove himself deeper into me …
He’d left me a note on the bedside table.
Love,
Didn’t want to wake you. See you tonight.
Jude
PS – Thanks for last night. Let’s do it again sometime …
But I’m home now, and while it’s been almost twelve hours and a delicious, satisfying soreness still lingers between my thighs as I get ready for our date tonight. He hasn’t said where he’s taking me … just that I should dress casually and comfortably and not expect anything fancy, which was a relief because pomp and circumstance gets old.
Spinning in front of my full-length mirror, I inspect my casual cotton shirt dress and tug a few face-framing tendrils from my messy top knot before stepping into a pair of strappy leather sandals.
This … this feels good and natural to me.
Glancing in the mirror, I feel like I’m beginning to recognize the woman looking back at me for the first time in forever.
A knock on the door beckons me a second later, and I make my way to my next-door suitor who presents himself in jeans, a gray Ramones t-shirt, messy hair, and no glasses. He was dressed like this last night, only it was dark then, and I never really got to fully appreciate how amazing he looks like this.
He’s all boy next door—literally—and one look at him sends a rush of blood to my head.
I’m dizzy with lust.
With his hands in his pockets, his eyes light when he sees me, and he bites his lip for a fraction of a second.
“Ready?” he asks, slipping his hand into mine with effortless ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him, and then he pulls me against him.
“Ready.” I nod, and his lips graze mine before stealing a lingering kiss that leaves me weightless.
Breathing him in, I’m relieved when his earthy, mossy cologne is unfamiliar.
He doesn’t smell like Hunter this time.
* * *
The place is called Sound Underground and Jude says it’s secret, a word of mouth kind of place hidden behind a secret door in some restaurant in Chelsea. He knocks five times on a jade green-painted door that says “private” before a woman whose gray eyes match her hair greets us.
“Karma,” he says, and she ushers us through.
Jude takes me by the hand, leading me through crowded tables before we get to one in the front row with a “reserved” marker on it.
“This is us,” he says, grabbing my chair for me. I take a seat and he glances toward the busy bar. “What are you drinking tonight?”
“Um, surprise me?” I’m too distracted to concentrate on what I want to drink. The posters on the wall, the patrons shoulder to shoulder coming from every walk of life. Some with tattoos and piercings, some in business suits, some with rainbow-colored hair and wrestling singlets.
“I thought you hated surprises.” His memory is impressive.
“Fine. Moscow Mule.” I smile. “Thanks.”
Jude returns a few minutes later, our drinks in his hands, and takes the seat beside me, scooting closer. By the time the opening act takes the stage, all the seats and reserved tables around us are filled with patrons, mostly the suit-dressed variety. I bet they’re recruiters looking for fresh talent. I can’t help but wonder if Hunter ever knew about this place. I can only hope he didn’
t. And if he did, I can only hope he’s not here tonight.
The first song starts and Jude is laser-focused on the music, his fingers drumming on the table and his head bobbing ever so slightly. He’s completely in his element, drawn in and intoxicated by this entire experience.
This is passion coming to life and it’s sexy as hell.
I’m so having my way with him again tonight because as it turns out, Tierney was right. Sex doesn’t equal dating.
And besides, a little fun never hurt anyone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jude
I had to purchase a new suitcase, one with those fancy compartments where you can place your dress clothes without getting them wrinkled. A week’s worth of everything is carefully packed, and Love’s going to be here any minute.
It’s been a week since I took her to Sound Underground and showed her a different side of me—the realest side of me. And when we got back that night, she wasted no time telling me exactly what she wanted me to do to her.
So I gave her exactly what she wanted.
Three times. Three different ways.
In the past seven days, we’ve jogged together like one of those annoying cutesy couples a handful of times, caught a couple of movies, and binge watched an entire season of The Leftovers, occasionally pausing the show because we needed to … take care of business.
I can’t keep my hands off her.
I don’t know what it is, but I’m hooked. I’m addicted. I can’t quit her. I’ve fallen and I can’t fucking get up, nor do I want to.
I zip my bag just as Love knocks at the door.
“It’s open,” I yell.
A moment later, she steps inside, wheeling her bag behind her. “Car’s going to be here in five minutes. You ready?”
“I am.” I flash a smile. Spending a week with someone else’s crazy family isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but a week with Love is, so it’s a tradeoff I’m willing to make.
War and Love Page 9