by Kacey Shea
I lower my cell and yeah, he’s as handsome as earlier. No, scratch that, he’s even more devastating. His hair flops forward on his forehead as if he’s been running his hands through it, and the tie at his neck is loosened. I don’t know why, but seeing him less polished gives off a bad boy vibe. Not good. It’s more catnip. Doesn’t matter that I’m a reformed bad boy dater—I’ve always been a sucker for a work in progress. Bad boys, billionaires, artists. I’ve dated them all. I’ve been what they needed while putting myself on hold. Which is why I decided months ago to abstain from men in general. But seeing Jude all mussed and adorable causes my heart to stutter like it missed the memo.
Straightening my spine and putting on my best game face, I harden myself against his swoony pheromones. At the hint of his scowl, I get a little defensive. He asked me a question, but I can’t imagine he was being serious. Does he think I’m some hopeless girl who needs a big bad man to save her? Of course he does. Well, I might’ve been in distress earlier, but I won’t be his pity project. “And that’s disappointing because?”
“I was hoping you weren’t wearing any.” He flashes a wolfish grin.
God, he’s trouble. “I hope this isn’t how you lure women back to your home.”
“Why’s that?”
Because it’s disappointing to think he gets away with saying whatever he wants because of his pretty face. Because part of me wants him to work a little harder for my attention. I don’t say any of those things, because it doesn’t matter. I will not be doing anything extracurricular with Jude Lawrence. “I don’t talk to strange men about my undergarments.”
“Like you don’t get into strangers’ cars?” His brow rises in challenge.
“You had a puppy.” I cock my hip. “Couldn’t be that dangerous.”
“That mean you’ve agreed to let me drive you home?”
Drive me home? Why does that conjure up images of him taking me home—to his place—to do dirty, wonderful things. Jeez. I need a cold shower. Or my head examined. I will not be sleeping with Jude Lawrence . . . or anyone. Doesn’t matter that he’s completely saved me today. I’m a strong woman. I can resist the charms of a well-dressed, successful, charming man. I just need a ride. Yeah, I do. Home. Damn it. A ride home. That’s all. I avoid eye contact, and respond with a grunt that I hope sounds more yes than the my panties might catch fire if I keep looking at you thoughts circling my mind.
7
Jude
“I’m almost done.” She glances at the studio door, and I wish I could read her mind. Despite her earlier irritation, she almost appears relieved to see me. That possibility alone makes the time I spent tooling around Burbank after the puppy delivery worth it.
“Great. I’ll make a few calls.”
“Great.” But she doesn’t move. Or meet my gaze.
I lift my brow, taking a few steps closer until she lifts her stare. “You’ll come get me when you’re finished.”
“Okay.” She studies my face as if trying to decipher all my secrets. As though she hasn’t quite decided whether I’m trustworthy. I hate whomever it is that made her cynical. Mostly because they likely hurt her in the process. Probably whatever idiot I overheard her talking to on the phone. I hate that she said I love you before ending the call. He doesn’t deserve her. I don’t know who he is, but he isn’t good enough. Not when he obviously accepted her refusal of help.
Not me, though. I convinced her. Won her trust. Okay, I bribed her with puppies and took the keys to her hunk of rust. That’s gotta count for something.
Her gaze narrows, but her lips soften. I wish I could read her features. Know what she’s thinking right this very second. Like a bright beckoning light calling a ship home, I have an insane desire to earn her trust. She’s a challenge I want to win.
I take a step back, holding her gaze, but unable to stop the grin from spreading across my lips. “Just don’t want you going rogue, trying to ditch your ride or anything.”
She laughs, almost as if she didn’t expect to. “You worried?”
“Yeah.” I take another few steps backward.
“You should be.”
“Just remember. I have your car.”
She gasps, but the smile on her face gives away her amusement. “Are you holding Iron Maiden hostage?”
“Maybe.” I full on grin. I can’t help it. This back and forth is a breath of fresh air.
“I should—” She hikes her thumb at the door.
I point at where I’m parked. “Go. Finish up and come out when you’re done.”
She nods and it’s only after she slips back inside the studio that I head back to my vehicle.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call before I shut the door. It’s Darlene. I’m surprised it’s taken her a few days to get back to me since sending over the progress photos with Chance on Monday. She usually responds within hours.
“Just the woman I wanted to hear from.”
“Jude, save the charming for the ladies who bat for your team.”
“What can I do for you, Darlene? Did you get the photos I sent on Monday?”
“That’s why I’m calling. They look fantastic. God. You know nothing makes me more excited than a Bateman Original.”
“Does your wife know that?”
“Ha! She certainly does. We have three in our home, remember?” There’s a shuffle of papers before she speaks again. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I just got some really exciting news from the developer. Construction is ahead of schedule.”
Ah. She wants the piece sooner. “How much?”
“A full month. Which means we could open by Labor Day. But that lobby is going to look pretty disappointing if there’s no artwork.”
“Let me talk with Chance. See if he can’t speed up the deadline.”
“You’re the best, Jude.”
“You know it. I’ll get back to you by tomorrow.”
I glance out the windshield, and watch people move in and out of the different studios. I say good-bye to Darlene and make the call to Chance.
“Hey, mate. Miss me already?”
“Always.”
“How’s it going?”
I reach for my bag of candy and dig out one of the lollipops. “I need a favor.”
“I’m not giving you Adele’s number.”
I chuckle, unwrapping my candy. “It’s not that.”
“Oh? Give up so easily on the hunt for your Cinderella?”
“No, actually.” Instantly I think of Rachel. My lips pull into a smile and I take a lick of the sweet candy, wishing it were her.
“Oh? Please tell me you didn’t take up stalking rest stops.”
“Funny enough, I did pick up a beauty on the side of the freeway.”
“There you go.”
“She might not be the one, but she’s piqued my interest.”
“Right. So, business as usual, then.” Chance is clearly unimpressed.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t have to take my advice. You’re a grown man. But if this one’s special, then treat her so. Women enjoy the chase as much as men do.” It’s not the worst suggestion. I already know Rachel isn’t a quick lay. I’m not usually one for the long game since it leads to messy feelings and expectations for relationships. That alone should make me wary, but for some reason it doesn’t.
“So, you’re saying to get to know her before getting her in my bed.” I infuse an extra dose of sarcasm into my tone for Chance’s sake.
“Most definitely.” He chuckles and I can almost see him shaking his head. “Maybe stop saying shit like that too.”
“Yeah, I agree to that,” Aubrey says.
“By the way, you’re on speaker.” Chance chuckles.
“Jesus. Warn a man next time. What if I said something to offend your wife?” I run a hand through my locks, retracing the conversation to be sure I haven’t done just that. “And hi, Aubrey.”
“Bring her to dinner,” Aubrey says.
“This girl you met on the side of the road.”
“Like a double date?” I like the sound of it, though I don’t exactly think Rachel will be okay with me whisking her off to Hermosa Beach. Yet. “Yeah, okay. Give me a few weeks to work my magic.”
“Good luck, mate.” Chance laughs again. I can’t tell whether it’s at me or because of something he and Aubrey are doing. “So, did you call for relationship advice, or is there something else?”
“How do you feel about getting those mermaids out of your studio early?”
He groans. “How early are we talking?”
“Four weeks.”
“A month! Jude, man, I love you but there’s no way I’ll even be able to collect enough materials to make that deadline.”
“What if I helped you?”
“You’re going to dig through trash?”
“Of course.” I cringe. So, maybe I’ll hire someone else to. “And if we hit this new completion date, I’ll make it worth your time. Promise.”
“I don’t do it for the money, mate.” He isn’t lying, either. Their financial security doesn’t rely on his art sales. But for the next few minutes we discuss the new timeline along with moving details and installation. Any areas we built in buffers that can be stripped to make this happen. I make a few notes on my phone and fire off an email to my transportation guy. Which leads to another dozen calls and emails. I don’t stop working, or look up from my phone until there’s a knock at my passenger window a good thirty minutes later.
Rachel waves and nods her head toward the back of the vehicle. I pop the lift gate and hop out of my seat, meeting her at the back of the SUV to take her bags.
“Good day?”
“Uh . . .” She stares at me a long second, as if she can’t process the question or believe I asked. “Yeah. Beyond my car dying on the side of the freeway and almost being late to work. It was peachy.” Sarcasm drips from her words.
I lift my brows and bite back a chuckle. “So, you’re a glass-half-empty kinda person?”
“No.” Her brow pinches and she shakes her head, stepping back for the back gate to close. “I’m a very positive person. It’s just been a day.” It’s then I notice the bags under her eyes, the effort to her smile. Shit. I’m an ass. Here she is coming off a long work day, obviously exhausted, and car-less for the foreseeable future. A strange, foreign feeling settles in my chest. Protectiveness. The urge to make her feel better. To fix this. To help. It’s something I rarely experience for anyone outside my small circle. But there’s no mistake; I feel it now. As we climb back into the vehicle, I make it my mission to do whatever is in my power to brighten her day, even if it’s merely earning a few laughs on my behalf.
8
Rachel
My stomach grumbles with hunger and my temple aches with what’s sure to be the start of a horrible headache. Still, a few minutes into the ride home and I can’t help but smile as Jude regales me with the tale of his one and only time on a movie set.
“So, the director glares at some actor, who at this point is fully in the midst of an adult temper tantrum, and then turns to me and asks, ‘How big is your dick?’”
“No!”
“Yes! Swear it!” Jude glances my way, eyes wide and smile big, before focusing back on the traffic. “I was only there to deliver a crown. My client had called in a favor for a friend, stressing it had to be authentic. Took the whole damn day to track down a jeweler who’d lend one out. Here I was thinking it was for some historical film, and instead I ended up on set for an erotic film.”
“What did you do?”
He shrugs. “Obviously, I bragged about my cock and put on the crown.”
“No!” My mouth falls open.
“Of course not!” He laughs and shakes his head. “No! Jesus! I don’t need to brag about my dick. Only men with inferiority complexes do that.” He flashes me a cheeky grin and winks.
“What did you do with the crown?”
“Part of the agreement with the jeweler was that I couldn’t let it out of my sight. Not once. And I had to hire armed security. So we waited until the actor had his fit, and filming was back on, and then we pulled up chairs to watch the most awkward porn scene in the history of skin flicks.”
“No!” I can’t stop laughing and he joins me. I’m practically in tears. “You didn’t leave?”
“I would have,” he says through his own laughter, “but it was a really important client.”
“Wow. And I thought my job was strange sometimes.”
“Thankfully, that was a one and done.”
I catch my breath and lean back in my seat. Relaxed for the first time all day, it feels really good to smile. I open my mouth to ask him more about what it is he does for a living, but he speaks first.
“Oh, before I forget. I had your car towed to my mechanic. He won’t have a chance to look at it until tomorrow, but I’ll let you know as soon as he does.”
“Right.” Reality snuffs out my moment of reprieve. I straighten in my seat and try not to fiddle with my hands. I don’t know how much a tow costs, but that’s not what has me concerned. It’s more whether I have enough for the repairs. “Uh, how much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it for now.” He glances away from the traffic to meet my gaze. I don’t want him to feel responsible, or worse, pity my situation, but by the gentleness to his features, I must do a shit job of keeping my feelings hidden. “We can settle up once he assesses the problem.”
Maybe Jude would spot me the money, but the thought turns my stomach. I can’t ask him for that. I refuse to play the damsel in distress. I’ve done that before, and look where it left me. No. I can’t expect anyone to see me as an independent, strong woman if I can’t handle this challenge on my own.
“Do you know if he takes credit cards? Or maybe I should talk to him about a payment plan before he starts work. Depending on how much it is—”
Jude holds up his hand. “He’s a friend. He knows I’m good for it. You don’t have to worry.” Yep. He pities me. I don’t know why, but that stings more than it should.
“I can’t let you cover the bill, Jude. I barely know you.”
“Right.” He nods, his gaze on the road. “That’s a problem.” He glances at his mirrors, signals, and cranks the wheel. The seat jostles as we cut over two lanes of traffic and slide into the next exit. Someone lays on their horn, and I don’t have to look around to know we probably cut them off.
I glance at the GPS and then at the sign overhead. “Oh, my exit’s not for another five miles.”
“Right. But like you said, we don’t know each other very well. So, I know just the thing.”
I don’t know what he’s planning. Shit. Maybe I let my guard down too soon. This is the part where my Dateline special begins. Only, Jude doesn’t appear anything other than normal, and my gut says I can trust him. To be sure, I level him with a stare and pull out my phone. “You’re not going to murder me now, are you?” I drop my location to Jared, along with a text to call me in an hour.
Jude sneaks glances my way, his lips fidgeting with restrained amusement. “Nope. But you might want to die after you try this restaurant. It’s so damn good.”
“We’re going to a restaurant?” My stomach rumbles so loud I’m almost positive he hears.
“Dinner, Rachel.” He chuckles to himself, turning into a strip mall of different shops and restaurants. “We’re grabbing dinner.”
“Oh, I can’t let you—”
“Do you not eat?”
I roll my eyes. “I think it’s pretty obvious I do.”
“Good. Because we’re going to be friends.” He flashes me another smirk. “I’ve decided. Then you won’t argue with me when I use my connections to repair your metal deathtrap.”
“Iron Maiden.” I press a hand to my chest. “She’s sensitive, so don’t speak about her like that.”
His smile grows. “Right. We’ll fix up your Iron Babe and in the meantime, I’ll convince yo
u to enjoy my company. I’m prepared to bribe you with free burgers and milkshakes.” With that he pulls into an open parking spot and cuts the engine.
“I want to argue with you, but something tells me you’ll still get your way.”
He grins, releasing the clasp of his seat belt. “See. I feel like you already get me.”
9
Rachel
Jude Lawrence might not be a psychopath or serial killer, but he is delusional. “How have you never seen a Marvel movie?” I momentarily abandon the best milkshake I’ve had in years to throw my hands in the air. “Like, how is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not a teenager?” During dinner he ditches his jacket, rolling the cuffs of his dress shirt. A simple, practical move before digging into these mammoth craft burgers, but also incredibly distracting.
A gasp leaves my lips. More from the shock he’s dissing my favorite franchise, and a little from how he fills out his dress shirt. I wish he didn’t look so good. It’d be easier to stay angry.
He only smiles smugly and shoves another fry into his mouth. “What? You can’t tell me you actually like those movies.”
Too far. “Take that back. Take it back now, or I am never speaking to you again.”
His brows lift. “You’re serious?”
“Dead.”
“Fine.” He holds up his hands. “I am sorry I don’t like Batman.”
“Batman! Do you know nothing? I thought you were successful!”
He chuckles and swipes one of my fries.
“Hey.” I tug my food closer to my side of the booth. “Next you’ll tell me you’re one of those adults who doesn’t dress up for Halloween.”
A laugh bursts from his lips, lighting his entire face with his smile. God, he’s beautiful. Even if he’s mocking me. “I haven’t dressed up since elementary school, maybe? I don’t even hand out candy.”
“Bah humbug. Aren’t you the regular Mr. Scrooge?”