by Kacey Shea
“I think you have the wrong holiday.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head and level him with a mock glare. “Do you decorate for Christmas?”
“No comment.” He holds his smile, but for a split second he almost appears sad. Or maybe I only image it, because as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. “I don’t put up a tree for Christmas, but I do give really good gifts, so that has to count for something.”
It does. Though I’m not surprised. He’s been more than generous in our interactions, and I’m practically a stranger. Knowing he takes pride in his gift giving makes my heart warm a little more toward the man. “Okay, you get a point for that. But I’m still not over the fact you don’t share my love of Thor.”
His brow crinkles and he shakes his head, sending a few locks forward on his face.
I almost sigh. Speaking of Thor. If Jude lightened his hair just a shade he’d make the perfect one. I don’t imagine he’d be caught dead in costume, but a girl can dream.
“You’re fun to tease, you know that?” He leans back into his seat.
“Don’t mess with my movies. Holidays. Or my fries.” I take another bite of food, covering my mouth as I chew because he’s staring again. It’s a penetrating gaze in which he’s the match and I’m the kindling ready to be set ablaze. Unnerving. Knowing. As though he’s prepared to peel back all my layers, whether I want him to or not. And I kinda do. I divert my gaze back to my mostly eaten meal, because if there’s one thing I don’t need right now, it’s to lose control.
“Noted.” Jude takes a sip of his drink, and then slides it to the edge of our table. I watch his hands as they play with the end of a napkin. He finished off his burger and fries ten minutes ago. Since arriving, we’ve filled the minutes with conversation, avoiding any awkwardness or lulls. Now, with only the sounds of the restaurant to fill the space, I discover an ease and comfort falls between us. It’s unexpected and nice. A little bit like home. Which is ridiculous, really, because we only just met. But I miss these kinds of moments so much that this one stands out. I don’t feel I have to pretend, or impress, or “be on” with Jude.
“I’m going to grab a to-go box.” As much as I don’t want to be the one to end this, it is getting late.
“Let me.” He drops his napkin to the table and hops up before I can argue. He spends a few minutes chatting with the manager on duty. I wonder exactly what about, but unfortunately, lip reading has never been my forte. He slips the guy his business card, shakes his hand, and heads back my way with a container in hand. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” I pack up my food, and a server comes by to clear our empty plates from the table.
He already paid for my meal when we ordered, and he drops a few bucks next to our empty milkshake glasses. “Shall we?” Jude slides out of his seat again, and gestures for me to lead the way.
“Thank you again for dinner,” I say over my shoulder as we exit the restaurant.
His palm brushes against the small of my back and my body zings with awareness from his touch. Innocent as it is, I relish in the possessiveness. Warm under the illusion. As if we’re together, and this is a real date. A stupid, childish thought because I am not the woman a man like Jude Lawrence dates. I know, because I Googled him again during one of my breaks. He’s not so famed as to have his own Wiki page—a shame for my research purposes—but there were hundreds of photographs, all from different high-end Hollywood events and galas. Him with a different woman each time from what I could tell, and all of his dates skinny and rich. Both of which I am not.
I’m also not naïve. If I encouraged his advances, flirted and sent all the right signals, I’m certain he’d fuck me. But it would be just that. I’m not the woman for Jude. And it’s a good thing, because I’m not looking to focus my energy on anything other than my career. I don’t need a man-project, or a savior.
He walks me to his car and drops his hand to open the passenger door.
Sigh. Of course he has to be a gentleman. A cocky, self-assured man who still opens doors.
Now. Now, I can’t help wondering what his hands would feel like on my bare skin. Squeezing my thighs. His face between them. That know-it-all-smirk heading straight for my center.
I bet he’s good at oral. He smiles with the confidence of a man who makes a woman come with his tongue.
“Rachel?” he says with a soft chuckle. Still holding the door. Smirking. Waiting. Because I’ve been lost in a dirty daydream for God knows how long.
My face heats with embarrassment. I can’t even look at him. I slide into my seat wordlessly and wait for him to close the door before I suck in a large breath. Get it together, Rae.
The rest of the drive is silent but for the music that streams though the speakers at a level just above the hum of the motor. I try to think of something to say. To break the ice. But instead, my mind keeps going back to him catching me in my daydream. Does he know how dirty it was? How aroused I am? God, I hope not, but by the cocky lift of his lips when I sneak a glance his way every few minutes, I can’t help but wonder. So much for comfortable silence. If my cheeks could catch fire, I’m sure they would.
Thankfully, the traffic is light with the later hour and it’s only ten torturous minutes before the GPS directs him into my neighborhood. “It’s the beige building up there after the stop sign. It’s easier if you pull into the second entrance.”
He nods, then his brow pinches as it comes into view. Judging. My building is underwhelming with its lack of design and paved parking lot in desperate need of a resurface. The neighborhood is a little rough. I’m sure he’s less than impressed. Though, with my car, I don’t know what he expects.
Jude certainly lives somewhere a lot nicer. Shit. It hits me that I actually have no clue where his place is. “I’m sorry, this is probably way out of your commute. I’m sorry.”
“Rachel.” His scowl grows as he turns into my complex, then pulls to the side to let the engine idle while he directs his full stare my way. “Please, for the love of all things holy, stop apologizing.”
“I’m—” Damn it. I almost apologize. It’s second nature, and I never thought about how often I must do it until now. My fingers clench around the strap of my seat belt with nervous energy. “I feel bad putting you out.”
“There’s two things you should know about me.” The lines on his forehead disappear with his expression and he lets loose a wry chuckle. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to; you have no reason to feel guilty. If I offer you a ride home, or to help with your car, it’s because I want to.”
“What’s the other thing?”
“I don’t apologize. Ever. And it drives me mad each time you say sorry for something I want to do.”
Fair enough. But now I feel bad about apologizing to him all day. I don’t say that, though. Something tells me it’d only bring back his scowl, and I much prefer Jude smiling. “I still don’t understand why you insist on being my Uber driver.” My teasing does the trick, and his grin fills me with more satisfaction than it should. I point to the end of the building. “My apartment is around that corner. One-twenty-seven.”
He gives me one last grin and steers the vehicle closer, finding an open spot along the way to idle in since the entire lot is full. At least any spaces within walking distance.
“You can drop me here.”
“I can park.”
I reach out to touch his arm. “Jude. Right here is good. Thank you.”
He looks as if he wants to argue, but nods. He shifts the SUV into park and hops out to meet me around the back at the lift gate. “Here you go.” He grabs my bags and hands them to me so I can arrange them on my travel dolly.
“Thanks.” I raise my hand to wave. “For dinner and everything.”
“What time do you need to be to the studio tomorrow?” He closes the back of his SUV with the touch of a button.
I tilt my head. “Nine. Why?”
“I’ll be here at seven.”
“Jude.”
/> “Rachel.” He drawls my name out in an almost comically long manner.
“I’m too tired to argue.” I sigh and shake my head, tugging on my cart of makeup. I hate that I’ll only be indebted to this man more, with no way to pay him back, and yet grateful all the same because I really do need the assistance.
He winks and lets loose another of his goose bump-inducing chuckles. “Never underestimate me. Not when it comes to getting what I want.” There he goes again with that cocky assurance. I hate it. Because I like it too. He turns and raises his hand, calling out loud enough I hear, “Night, Rachel. Get some rest, sweetheart.” His backside looks mighty fine walking away. So good that I almost forgive him for getting in the last word. Almost.
10
Jude
The next morning I wake early, shower, and dress for the day before heading over to Rachel’s apartment. Traffic’s a bit much, as usual, but I crank my tunes and enjoy the promise of my next conversation with Rachel. I don’t think it’s possible we can be in the same room without arguing, but there’s something about the challenge that works me up in the best kind of way.
I don’t love her neighborhood, and the complex doesn’t appear very safe. I passed several sketchy-looking men on the short walk from the parking lot to her apartment door. The thought of her having to make the same walk by herself gives me a sick feeling. I give the door a knock and wait until it opens.
“Oh, hello,” a gorgeous brunette, taller and thinner than the one I am here to collect says with an inviting smirk. “I’m Crystal. I don’t think you’re here for me but we should change that.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her forwardness. Normally, it’s something I would relish in, at the very least get her number and save it for another time, but for some strange reason the urge to do so isn’t there. “I’m here for Rachel.”
Her brow scrunches. “Who?”
I tilt my head, not liking her game. A sense of protectiveness comes over me. Is this woman Rachel’s friend? God, I hope not. Before I can open my mouth to answer her question, Rachel appears from the hallway.
It’s as if I lose all sense of propriety at the sight of her, because the smile that stretches across my lips is neither suave nor contained. I’m a little boy at Christmas who’s just caught sight of presents wrapped beneath the tree. Fuck me, I’d like to unwrap that dress she has on right now.
“Hey!” Her brows lift in surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here. Give me one minute.” She holds up one finger and ducks back into the hallway.
Crystal looks between me and Rachel before shaking her head. Maybe I read into her expression more than I should, but it’s almost as if she can’t fathom the two of us together. I glance down at my well-tailored suit, shake out my wrist where a glimpse of my Movado watch peeks through, and check to make sure I didn’t accidentally throw on an old pair of shoes. Nope. I’m perfectly polished. A prime specimen of wealth and prestige. I look downright fuckable, in my not so humble opinion. So, I surmise Crystal assumes Rachel is the lesser, undeserving of our coupling. In that instant I decide Crystal is a backstabbing bitch.
“I’m ready!” Rachel’s arms flex with definition as she hauls two giant duffel bags, one on each side. She looks like a wet dream. Today her hair is slicked back into a tight, low bun. Her oversized hoop earrings draw attention to her long neck and the generous cleavage on display from the V cut of her dress. The wrap design plays peek-a-boo with my gaze, and the tease of a slit shows off her strong legs. The dress hugs her curves the way my own hands ache to do. I shuffle forward in an effort to release the ball of lust burning me from the inside.
“Here, let me.” I reach for one of her bags.
“Oh, you don’t have to.”
“Let me help,” I say with more force. I anticipate an argument, but if she thinks I am the kind of man who will let her struggle to carry her bags while my hands are empty, she must take me for a total douchebag.
Her lashes blink with surprise and she looks up at me, the striking depths of her eyes meeting mine for the first time today.
I take one bag from her arm and she doesn’t fight me. “Jesus, what do you have in this thing? A dead body?” Seriously, though. This bag has to be at least forty pounds.
Rachel grins and throws a wave over her shoulder as she follows me out the door. “Bye, Crystal. See you tonight!” She doesn’t wait for a response, but flips the lock on the door before pulling it closed. “Sorry, my makeup cases are in there.”
“Do you always carry a warehouse with you?”
Her lips lift with a grin. “Depends on the job. Why? Too heavy for you?”
I scoff and make a point of flexing my muscles, even though she can’t see them beneath my suit jacket. I fish my keys from my pocket and disarm the SUV before popping the back. “I work out regularly. And can pick up much heavier things, thank you very much.”
We load up and as I pull into traffic, the run-in with her roommate flits at the edge of my mind. “How come your roommate doesn’t know your name?”
“Huh?”
“The mean one who opened the door. She acted as if she didn’t know you.”
“Oh, Crystal. Yeah, she’s a special snowflake.”
I laugh.
“Sorry.” She winces, but a grin paints her beautiful lips. “I go by Rae to most everyone. So if you asked for Rachel, she was probably confused.”
But she lets me call her by her full name. I don’t know why, but that fills me with so much satisfaction I have to smile.
“Ugh. Don’t make that a thing.”
“What? I didn’t say a word.”
“I used my full name with you because I don’t know you. We aren’t friends.”
Well, that hurts. “Ouch.” I try to keep the scowl off my face, but I doubt I do a good job. “We shared milkshakes and everything.”
“I mean”—she rolls her eyes and makes a show of patting my arm. Doesn’t matter that she’s voluntarily touching me; doesn’t make me feel better—“you basically abducted me with your puppies.”
“But that was almost twenty-four hours ago.” I pout my lower lip, playing into her teasing. “I thought our relationship evolved.”
“Yeah.” Her lips twitch with the hint of a grin, then it’s gone. She turns in her seat, her full attention on me. “Hey, did you hear from your guy? The mechanic.”
“He should call me today.” I glance away from the road to meet her gaze. “I’ll let you know the damage as soon as I do.”
“Great.” But by the way she says the word, it doesn’t sound great. I wonder if she’s still worried about the cost. Or maybe she hates accepting my assistance in the form of a ride because she can’t stand my company. Fuck that. I’m charming as hell. I own nice cars. I don’t know what it is about this woman that has me doubting my abilities.
I chance another look away from the road to study her features. She bites on her lower lip—God, what I’d give to be doing the same. Those red painted lips are utterly erotic. I want a taste. I want them wrapped around my cock. I want to fuck them. Hear my name leave them as I make her come. I look away before I embarrass myself. This woman sparks my desire, and although I consider my dick noteworthy, I don’t think she’ll find my spontaneous hard-ons impressive.
“No pups today?”
“Nope. Delivered them to their owner yesterday.”
“Is that what you do? Transport dogs?”
“Sometimes. I’m an acquisitions expert for those with spectacular taste and loaded wallets.”
“Is that your official title?”
“It’s not what I have written on my business card, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She leans back in her seat and studies me. “I don’t get it.”
“People pay me money to hunt down the things they want.”
“So, you’re like an errand boy?”
“First off, I am a man, not a boy.” I hold up a finger. “Secondly, what I do is a little more complicat
ed and involved than running errands. Jesus. You make it sound like I’m offering overpriced delivery boy services.”
“Don’t get offended. I’m just trying to understand how you can afford to drive this. And wear clothing like that.”
“Careful, Rachel, it almost sounds like you’re giving a compliment.”
“There you go again, skirting the topic. Do you deal drugs? Is that where the money comes from?” Her brows shoot up along with her hand. “Wait. No, don’t answer that.”
“Ha! It’d be lucrative, but I don’t deal in anything illegal.” Despite the rumors and despite the legacy my dad left me, I learned my lesson early on to steer clear of anything that could be construed as a slippery slope. Sure, there’s money in cleaning up messes, or providing escorts, but I don’t work my ass off to be mistaken for a high-class pimp. My clients understand my expertise lies in legally acquired goods and materials.
“So, you’re the dealer? The go-between? And people actually pay you good money?” She shakes her head. “I’m in the wrong biz.”
“Now they do. I hustled for years to build my business to what it is today. All my clients come to me on referral. I’m good at what I do. I always deliver.” I flash her a cheeky grin, and am rewarded with one of her exasperated groans. Though I don’t miss how she squirms a little in her seat. Good. I want her as hot and bothered as I am. “The puppies I delivered yesterday were a present for a client’s daughter. I got him exactly what he needed, and he didn’t have to lift a finger. Just pull out his wallet.”
“Must be nice.”
“Something I discovered a long time ago is that people who have money never have enough time to spend it all. I help with that.”
“A real humanitarian.”
“I do what I can.”
The jingle of my cell phone ringing interrupts our conversation.
I glance at the caller ID and inwardly grown. Pierce Bowen. One of my best-paying clients. We went to prep school together and our fathers were friends. Pierce’s dad always gave me a scummy vibe and his son does the same. Only, he really is one of my best repeat customers and I have no doubt whatever it is he wants will pay next month’s rent. I turn to Rachel. “Sorry, do you mind?”