HeyJude

by Jayne Kingston

  Hey, Jude

  Jayne Kingston

  Book 4 of the Mischievous Matchmaker series.

  He’d asked Petra not to play Cupid for him. He should have known she wouldn’t listen.

  Jude doesn’t see it coming the night his matchmaker ex-girlfriend invites him to dinner and he finds himself on a blind date instead. With a man he’s wanted to get his hands on for a very long time. Someone way out of his league.

  Michel is the stuff the most erotic dreams are made of, but Jude doesn’t understand why Petra thinks the sexy Frenchman would be interested in him…until Michel spells it out for him in very explicit detail.

  A Romantica® male/male erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Hey, Jude

  Jayne Kingston

  Chapter One

  Jude followed the maître d’ through a full, dimly lit dining room quietly alive with Saturday night patrons. Throughout evening he’d been feeling oddly nervous about meeting his ex-girlfriend Petra for dinner, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

  It had been more than a year since he’d broken up with her to go work for a nonprofit medical assistance agency stationed in Haiti, where much of the earthquake-devastated area was still in dire need of help.

  Eight months had passed since he’d made an ass out of himself by sneaking into her house in the middle of the night in a desperate attempt to get her back—a mistake that had nearly gotten him choked to death by her longtime friend and new lover Alex. Then he’d made himself look like an even bigger idiot by suggesting she and Alex let him into their new relationship and make it a threesome.

  They’d shared a laugh over his ridiculous suggestion, and all had been forgiven since then. He and Petra and their group—Rachel, Ben, Bree, Cooper and yes, Alex too—had moved past it and were friends again. Jude had even reached a point where he could admit Alex was perfect for Petra in ways he had never been. There was no reason for him to be feeling so apprehensive about having dinner with her.

  The maître d’ led him through an archway into a smaller, more private dining area at the perimeter of the restaurant. He was being taken to the only table in the room with an empty chair, but Petra was nowhere in sight. The dark-haired man seated there seemed vaguely familiar, but he was turned far enough toward the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows overlooking the Chicago skyline that Jude couldn’t see his face.

  The bottom dropped out of Jude’s stomach when the maître d’ pulled the empty chair away from the table and the man looked up.

  “Michel,” he said, the surprise obvious in his voice.

  Dr. Michel Bonhomme was one of the top pediatric oncologists at Northwestern Memorial Hospital where Jude had done his medical residency and where Petra worked as a nurse in the pediatric wing. Petra had openly had something of a crush on the fortysomething Frenchman for years—a crush that never bothered Jude when they’d been together because, well, he’d always had a pretty bad case of the hots for the man as well.

  Not only was he unbelievably handsome—with longish, wavy, dark-brown hair and true-blue eyes, classically handsome features and the lean, fit body of an avid runner—he had an incredible amount of passion for his work as well. It wasn’t unusual for a doctor of his status to develop something of a God complex the more successful he became, but Michel had managed to stay humble and highly approachable.

  During the couple of years Jude and Petra had had an open relationship, they’d invited Michel to several of the swingers parties they used to throw. Their hope had been that one or the other of them would get to spend the night with him, but that never happened. One time they’d discussed just sitting him down and inviting him over for a threesome, but neither of them had ever worked up the nerve to go through with it.

  Michel looked up at Jude for a beat before his easy, sexy smile appeared.

  “Dr. Starling,” he said as he stood and extended his hand.

  Jude loved the way his name sounded in Bonhomme’s accent, softened only slightly after more than twenty years of living in the States. He was further caught off guard by the rush he felt when their palms connected and Michel’s long, warm fingers wrapped around his hand.

  “How long has it been?” Jude asked. The shock of seeing him out of the blue deepened when Michel drew him close and kissed his left cheek.

  His gaze snagged on Jude’s for a fraction of a second as he moved to kiss the right and said, “Too long if you ask me.”

  Jude’s insides performed a medal-worthy feat of gymnastics. The man was sexy enough as it was from a distance. Up close the scent of his hair and his fine cologne and the feel of his smoothly shaven cheek was staggering.

  “I think I’m a little confused.” He slid his hand out of Michel’s reluctantly and turned to the maître d’, who was still patiently waiting for him to sit. “Is Ms. Romanov joining us tonight?”

  “Ms. Romanov made the reservation, but she will not be joining you this evening,” the younger man said, confirming Jude’s budding suspicion.

  He was on a fucking date.

  Michel chuckled softly and Jude wondered what was so funny. The situation wasn’t humorous at all. In fact it had just become extremely awkward.

  The maître d’ gestured politely for Jude to sit and he did, his heart racing too fast and his mouth suddenly dry. He’d asked Petra to not do this. No, he’d specifically told her in no uncertain terms that she did not have his permission to play matchmaker for him the way she had with so many of her other friends.

  Even if he had given her permission, why on earth would she try to set him up with Michel? The man was so far out of Jude’s league he might as well exist in another universe. People from all over the country brought their children to Chicago to be treated by him. He spoke at medical conventions as frequently as possible on top of working a full schedule at the hospital and teaching three classes at Northwestern University during the fall and spring semesters.

  And it wasn’t that Jude wasn’t well off in his own right, but the clothes Michel was wearing—dark-gray jacket and dress pants, midnight-blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar and no tie—probably cost as much as Jude paid a month in rent for his new apartment.

  He realized he’d completely missed whatever the maître d’ had been saying when he asked Jude if he had any questions. Jude shook his head no, his earlier nervousness having morphed into a feeling of annoyance that was quickly becoming anger toward Petra for tricking him.

  “I heard you moved back,” Michel said once they were alone. “Is it for good?”

  Jude spread his hands over his thighs under the table. “Listen,” he started. “You don’t have to go through with this…whatever this is if you have something else you would rather be doing tonight.”

  Michel’s blue eyes sparkled and his lips twitched, amused. He leaned forward with his forearms on the edge of the table, fingers laced together in front of him.

  “What have I done to make you think I would rather be elsewhere?”

  Jude didn’t get a chance to answer before their server approached the table, explained the night’s specials and asked for their drink order.

  “Would you like to share a bottle of wine?” Michel asked Jude, smiling now.

  Jude simply nodded and Michel looked up at the server and ordered a bottle of very good red and two glasses. When he was finished his clever eyes returned to Jude and he leaned forward again.

  “What do you think is happening right now?” he asked, his tone low, that sexy smile still playing over his sculpted mouth.

  Jude swallowed, suddenly unsure of himself. “Petra set us up on a blind date, of course.” He narrowed his eyes when Michel chuckled. “Is that not what’s happening?”

  “Oh, we are definitely on a date,” he said. “But it is only blind
for one of us.”

  A rush of adrenaline washed through Jude and made his vision tunnel briefly.

  Then, as though he could sense that Jude needed it spelled out for him in no uncertain terms, Michel added, “Jude, I asked Petra to set us up tonight.”

  Michel sat back again as their server approached with the wine. He could see every single thought running through Jude’s mind as they were revealed in those large, expressive, dark-brown eyes of his. For a moment Michel thought he was going to leave, but Jude’s initial panic appeared to change to curiosity and he settled into his seat instead.

  Petra had warned him Jude had changed while he’d been in Haiti, but Michel hadn’t been prepared for just how drastic the differences were. When Michel first looked up and saw him standing next to the table he’d been completely taken aback.

  There had always been something highly polished and beautifully feminine about him. Now his formerly stylish, light-blond hair was cut no-nonsense short, his skin still held some of the tan he’d gotten from the tropical Caribbean sun and his new leanness made his features appear more chiseled, rugged.

  But the changes weren’t just physical. Those rich, dark eyes were not only more prominent but there was something deeply wary and almost war-wounded in them. The powerful effect of the new Jude kept slamming Michel in the chest and grabbing him by the cock at the same time.

  The space between them became electrically charged as they stayed silent, gazes locked, while their server went through the ritual of opening the bottle tableside, poured a taste for Michel to approve then filled each of their glasses.

  “You asked Petra to set us up?” Jude asked after they ordered their entrées and were left to themselves again.

  Michel fought the urge to smile. “You say it as if you don’t quite believe me.”

  Jude’s mouth opened as though he meant to answer but nothing came out. He looked out the window, closed his mouth and stayed silent.

  Michel reached across the small table and laid his hand over Jude’s. “Don’t be angry with Petra. She told me you did not want to be set up, but I talked her into doing it anyway. Be angry with me instead.”

  Jude looked at him. “You could have just called.”

  “Yes, but I thought this would be more fun.” He fought back another smile. “I see now that it was only fun for me.”

  Jude’s gaze dropped to the table, his shoulders relaxed and he laughed quietly. The shyness of it kicked the temperature of Michel’s blood up from hot to boiling.

  “So you are not going to leave me sitting here alone?” Michel asked, lightly tapping the tip of one finger on the back of Jude’s hand. “On a Saturday night?”

  Jude turned his hand so their palms were touching. He looked up and the desire Michel saw reflected in his eyes made him want to pull him across the table and take that mouth of his right there in front of everyone.

  “Let’s try this again.” Michel removed his hand as he sat back and shifted his hips to accommodate the stirring in his cock. “I hear you have moved back to Chicago.”

  Jude gave him a small smile.

  “Yes, unfortunately I wasn’t given a choice,” he started, then took a rather large drink of his wine. “The agency I was working for ran out of funding and we had to pull out of the country much sooner than we would have liked.”

  “That is a shame,” Michel said, knowing Haiti was still in need of the medical services Jude and not enough others had been providing. “What will happen to the people who still need help?”

  “From what I understand another smaller agency took our place.” He glanced out the window and Michel could see his concern ran deep. “It will help.” He shrugged and seemed to force himself to smile. “How much remains to be seen, but a little assistance is better than none at all.”

  “Will you go back if your agency gets more funding?”

  Michel didn’t quite understand the feeling of apprehension that came over him as he waited for Jude to answer, but then he didn’t understand a lot of the feelings he’d been having since he’d learned Jude had come back. He’d been inexplicably happy about the news, even more thrilled Jude wasn’t dating anyone and then he’d gotten nervous on the way to dinner earlier. It wasn’t that he’d never been happy to see an old friend or unsettled by the prospective outcome of a date, but the extreme degree of hope and anticipation was new to him.

  “I really don’t know,” Jude said and then shook his head as though he was trying to get rid of whatever thought had brought that haunted look into his eyes. “I stayed far longer than I’d expected because I fell in love with the people, but it was…”

  He sat forward as if he’d suddenly become agitated, ran a hand through his hair then settled back in his seat. If Michel had the slightest idea what he could do to comfort him, he would have gotten out up and done it.

  “My father wants me to come work for him at his general family practice,” Jude continued and this time his smile was genuine.

  Michel liked the idea of Jude staying. Maybe a little too much, considering they were technically on their first date. “Is that something you want?”

  Jude laughed softly, once. “Working with my father really wouldn’t be so bad. I would have to get over my own hang-up that it would feel like settling.”

  Jude’s expression went playfully sheepish and Michel’s stomach dipped thrillingly.

  “And I would probably have to hear about how adamantly I swore I was never going to settle for easy and take the job my dad handed to me.” Jude laughed again and shook his head. “I always wanted to be some kind of rock-star doctor, traveling the world, rescuing the sick and needy.” His smiled faltered and he fell silent.

  The troubled look that had returned to his eyes tore at Michel’s gut.

  Jude cleared his throat. “Enough about me,” he said before Michel could respond. “How have you been?”

  Michel told him about the research he’d become involved in at the university and the conference in Colorado where he would be speaking that winter. He talked about going home for Christmas, back to the little fishing island off the coast of France where he and his three brothers had been born and raised by their fisherman father and schoolteacher mother.

  Eventually he got Jude talking more about possibly working with his father. Despite his earlier statement about it being the easy road, Jude made it sound as if it was just as good of an opportunity as working abroad again would have been.

  Michel imagined that to anyone observing they appeared to be nothing more than a couple of friends catching up with each other, but the heat simmering under his skin had so much more to do with lust than friendship. Every time Jude smiled or laughed or twisted the stem of his wineglass so it spun in place, every time Michel caught him watching his mouth as he spoke, that temperature rose higher and higher.

  Somehow they made it through dinner and coffee then shared another laugh when their server informed them Petra had already made arrangements to take care of the check.

  “Did you drive?” Michel asked as they stepped out of the restaurant and onto the busy street a few minutes later, both of them facing traffic, not looking at each other.

  Out of the corner of his eye Michel could see Jude turn to look at him.

  “No. My apartment is less than a mile away so I took a cab.”

  “I have a little place three blocks far from here.” Michel slid his hands into his pants pockets and met Jude’s gaze. His blood was racing like lightning through his veins, and his cock was getting harder by the second. “Would you like to see it?”

  Jude drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, I would.”

  Chapter Two

  They walked the three blocks to Michel’s building. The night was cool but not cold, although Jude was so heated with anticipation he was sure the breeze coming off the lake wasn’t having its full effect on him.

  Jude didn’t understand how Michel could make small talk so easily as they strolled along, not appea
ring to be in any hurry. Jude was so keyed up to get his hands on the man he could hardly think straight, let alone converse coherently.

  He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Michel had been the one to initiate the date, not Petra. Petra fixing them up based on Jude’s old attraction was one thing. Finding out Michel—a man he’d desired a lot more than he’d ever let on to his ex-girlfriend—wanted him in return was mind-boggling.

  They turned a corner and walked down the street a little way to a door between two storefronts—a men’s fine-clothing store on one side and a florist on the other. Michel unlocked the door and let Jude go in first then locked it again when they were both inside. Jude stepped aside to let Michel lead the way up the stairs to the second floor, but Michel cupped his hand around the back of Jude’s neck and brought their mouths together in one very quick, very smooth movement instead.

  The paradox of soft skin combined with the firmness of the man’s lips paralyzed Jude for a moment then adrenaline washed over him in a hot, prickly rush that tingled in his fingers, his toes, along his neck. Michel made a sound as if he’d just bitten into something really delicious and leaned into the kiss. Their mouths opened at the same time and their tongues slid together with a hunger that was instant and overpowering.

  Jude wrapped his arms around Michel’s waist under his jacket, gladly taking his weight as Michel backed him up against the wall with his entire body and pressed into him with his chest, his hips, one taut thigh wedged between Jude’s.

  Michel angled his head, and his tongue dove deeper into Jude’s mouth. His hips rocked and Jude could feel Michel’s cock was just as hard as his own. When Michel pulled back and then shifted so they rubbed together through their clothes, Jude had to break the kiss to catch his breath.

  “Mon Dieu, I want to fuck you right here in the foyer,” Michel said, his accent distinctly sharper. He grazed his teeth over Jude’s jaw and started to unbutton his shirt.