“It’s a gift I don’t often share.” A rueful smile played across his lips. One that seemed forced. As if he’d shared some clandestine confession.
She understood. Certain activities churned up heart-wrenching pain for those with great loss. How long did one need to suffer? Her eyes locked on his. She was done suffering, done with cowardice. “Do you believe in love, Mr. Beckette?” If he did, would she consider taking a shot at love again?
His head tilted, and he gazed at her as if looking upon a silly, naive child. “For others, maybe.”
She ignored the clench of her heart, her courage receding. “Yes, that’s what I thought.” She needed to protect herself from falling in love with any more emotionally unavailable men. It was time to give up. To focus on her goal and have a child she could love and be loved by.
She tried to maneuver past him, but he caught her around the waist with one arm. The pocket of her suit jacket ripped, and she slipped it off to examine the damage.
He pulled the jacket from her hands. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know if he meant for the jacket or for not being what she wanted him to be.
“Beck!”
The Count turned as a tall blonde beauty threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Beck. I’ve missed you so much and have such great news for you…for us!” She pulled back and eyed Jude. “Who is this? You know our deal, Beck. Don’t be breaking it.”
“Don’t worry about our deal, Ava. I never break my promises.”
Whatever “deal” the beautiful woman in the tight-fitting, red sequined dress was referring to, Mr. Beck’s promise to keep it, corroborated Jude’s knowledge that he was only interested in loveless interludes to soothe his damaged soul.
She could relate. Having a child with someone she could easily fall for with no hope of reciprocation, she’d be sentencing herself to a life of heartache every time she looked at her child.
“I’m no one. Excuse me, please.” Jude wriggled out of Beck’s arms, leaving him holding her ruined jacket, and hurried toward the stairs.
The job of mating with simple, disenchanting Mr. Fantome would have to wait for another day.
Ten
“If the facts don’t fit the theory,
change the facts.”
Albert Einstein
The damp, dank darkness of Beck’s room suited his mood. A mood that had plagued him for the past two days, ever since he’d argued with Jude about love and then left Ava standing in the lobby with her unanswered questions.
He didn’t believe in love. But that wasn’t what this was.
Jude wanted sex. She’d stated as much. What was all this crap about love?
Women. Women and castle curses.
Jesus H. Christ. Sure, she was amazing, but Beck didn’t deserve amazing. Not after killing her parents, plaguing everyone around him with angst and suffering.
He’d tried to redeem himself by setting up her secret trust account. Angel Wings was another Hail Mary in his search for redemption. But his soul still choked on his guilt.
He lifted his soda to his lips and stared at the Jack Daniels sitting across the room next to his Beretta 9mm. The warm wicked liquid called to him, beckoned him to numb the need he’d come to expect whenever he thought of missing out on love.
A life of happiness.
Jude.
She was light to his dark, heaven to his hell. He needed her to be his salvation, but he refused to bring her down with him if he fell off the wagon and became the heartless man he used to be. He refused to do that to Jude.
They hadn’t touched each other since she’d been in his room, but he could think of nothing else. It was ludicrous, eerie. The past two nights, they’d been drawn together by fate and circumstances he didn’t understand. A chance meeting on the patio at two in the morning. A mutual urge for an indoor swim at three. It seemed forces beyond their control were pushing them together.
He’d shown her how to use a Dremel to carve gourds into lanterns, how to use curly willow to weave chair seats and how to make the perfect cheesecake—a recipe his mother had taught him before she’d given up on him. They’d played hide and seek in the darkness and Jude had found him every time, and he’d taught her how to swim in the shadows of night in the indoor pool.
They’d become friends over toasted marshmallows, but he wanted more. And more meant he would have to face his demons, take a huge risk and trust himself. Tell her the truth about his role in her parents’ deaths. About his disease.
Every day he lived to deflect the memories and the self-loathing. Pushing away everything he might destroy by working himself into an exhausted stupor.
Jude should be one of those things he pushed away.
If he let his failures, his offenses invade his soul, alcohol was his only balm. A destructive one. In the past, he’d immersed himself in the world of acting, of make-believe. A place where he could spend most of his waking hours being someone else, avoiding temptation, the guilt and shame. But acting had been a diversion to replace the alcohol, a busy life to keep him from the emotional ties he would inevitably set on fire if he were to sink into oblivion again.
Jude would only be here a few more days. And, on Saturday night at the Monster Ball—thanks to his agent—he would be unmasked. Camera crews would be there to film a public interview for the new role he was about to accept, and Jude would see him for who he really was.
A liar and the epitome of all she despised—fame, inconsistency and an indifference to love. All things that had taken her parents and her ex-fiancé away from her.
She’d leave him, and she’d be safe.
Eleven
“You have to learn the rules of the game.
And then you have to play
better than anyone else.”
Albert Einstein
Jude stared at the ceiling. Something had woken her. A bad dream about an Indian girl being shot with an arrow while she rushed to save her love.
Loneliness and sadness enveloped her. The room was too cold, and she was hungry.
She’d never eaten dinner. She’d stayed up late researching her pornographic magazines for information on sexuality and intercourse. She didn’t have much time left to seduce Mr. Fantome.
Intercourse didn’t seem too difficult. It was the sensuality part she couldn’t buy into. The feelings, the arousal, the orgasm. She understood how it happened, she just didn’t think her body was capable of allowing it to happen.
She thought too much.
She rose from bed and pulled on her robe, hoping to find something to comfort her in the resort’s kitchen.
The halls were dark and quiet. She slipped down the stairs to the abandoned lower level and into the dimly lit industrial kitchen. The large, glass-fronted refrigerator boasted a host of treats, but what she always wanted most when she was sad was ice cream. It reminded her of Aunt Aggie and all the times she’d spent with the kind woman after her parents had abandoned her for another tour.
Jude moved toward the large freezer and placed her hand on the handle.
“I see you couldn’t sleep, either. Thinking of ways to ruin yourself by plotting the seduction of your next victim?”
She screeched and turned to find Beckette leaning on the other side of the large stainless island, looking rumpled and surprisingly attractive. Her heart stilled at the sight of him. What made a disheveled, alpha male so enticing to the female species? She should research that later.
“You frightened me.” Being alone with him was not in her best interest. She’d already fallen so far and, on the heels of her dream, she was vulnerable. But she did need an expert’s opinion.
She pulled a list she’d made out of her robe pocket and walled off her heart. “Since you are my friend and not a viable candidate for my research, I’d like your input on something. I’ve made an itinerary for the evening I have the opportunity to lose my virginity with Mr. Fantome. I don’t want to look foolish or unprepared.”
Beck’s brows lowered. “Heaven fo
rbid.” He ripped her notes from her hand and focused on the paper.
Jude recited the agenda in her head.
Nine p.m. Lower lights, close all curtains and lock door.
Nine-oh-four p.m. Undress and slide under covers. Allow Mr. Fantome to undress and prepare birth control.
Nine fifteen p.m. Apply lubricating unguent for ease of penetration.
Nine seventeen p.m. Accept Mr. Fantome’s kiss as start of foreplay, expect fondling.
“Expect fondling?” Beck’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, his disdain expertly conveyed through his scrunched features.
“What? Should I not expect that yet? Maybe earlier?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” He rubbed his eyes then refocused on her notes as she read over his shoulder.
Nine twenty p.m. Missionary mounting, penetration, thrusting, ejaculation.
Nine twenty-four p.m. Mr. Fantome will recover, offer thanks, dress and leave.
“God, kill me now.” Beck tore her itinerary into pieces. “Four minutes of sex? That’s all you’re expecting?”
She was confused by his fervor. “I’ve researched this, Beckette. A man’s orgasm is controlled by the sympathetic portion of the autonomic nervous system, the increased heart rate, and vasodilation for erection. When the lateral orbitofrontal cortex—our thoughtful, reasoning center—shuts down as it does during intercourse, there is no hope for the weary. A man loses all control. Men want to feel good and they want it as soon as possible. By my calculations, they’ve got, at most, four minutes until ejaculation.”
Beckette ran his hand through his hair. “You are some piece of work, Jude Duffy. This is not how it works. You can’t plan sex. And you are not having sex with Mr. Fantome.”
Jude’s stomach turned. Beckette didn’t know the complete debauchery of her plan. How could she consider something so unscrupulous as stealing a man’s sperm? Even a man as obtuse as Mr. Fantome.
Because I’m desperate.
“It’s certainly none of your business. If you don’t want to help, I’ll have to…wing it.” She’d rather wing it with him, but that would be a disaster.
She focused on the large commercial mixer across the room and envisioned a red-headed little girl sitting next to her, making homemade cookies on a snowy Saturday afternoon. Her hunger for a child much outweighed her guilt, but she needed detached, no-emotions-involved sex with someone with no principles. Beck might be emotionally unavailable, able to rip her heart out, but the man had morals and honor. And she’d never be able to forget him.
Mr. Fantome was the perfect choice. He’d impregnate her then walk away to be forever forgotten, her heart intact. She couldn’t let The Count get in her way.
“I’m sure you are quite adequate in carnal affairs, Mr. Beckette. Hopefully, it will be as enjoyable for me with Mr. Fantome. He doesn’t seem like the type to…linger…so he will be the perfect one-night stand.”
“Is that why you’re wandering the halls at two in the morning? Because everything will work out perfect and tidy in your plan? Like your hair and your clothes and your little itinerary?”
Shame heated her cheeks. This man saw too much in her. “No, I just couldn’t sleep. I had a bad dream.”
Beck shot her an incredulous glare then moved around the island and bumped her out of the way. He opened the freezer and walked in, returning seconds later with his arm wrapped around a large tub. “Cherries Garcia?”
Jude smiled. An unfamiliar warmth spread through her at his intuition and care. “Yes, one of my favorites.”
“I know. You mentioned it a while back and I had the cook order some.”
The walls around her heart began to crack and crumble, brick by brick.
He opened a drawer and pulled out two spoons, then pushed the drawer closed with his hip. Beck set down the ice cream then lifted her onto the island. A rush of excitement ran through her as he hopped up next to her as if it took little to no effort.
His focus moved to the left of her mouth, and he smiled. “I love the dimple you get when you do that. When you’re thinking about something.”
His compliment pulled her from her scientific contemplation. “You know when I’m thinking?”
He nodded and stuck another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “And when you’re nervous or frustrated or excited about something you’ve just figured out. Your emotions are written all over your face.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I like it. You’re honest.”
Honest. And here she was, planning to secretly impregnate herself. “How come I don’t know anything about you? You’re like the spooky mystery of the castle. No one sees you or knows anything about you.”
His mouth curved on one end in a wry smile. “There isn’t much one would enjoy knowing. I’m not the man you think I am.”
“I’m an expert in the human species, Beckette. I’m quite sure I know a little something about the man you are inside, if my research and observation skills are as good as my PhD say they are. Try me.”
He glowered as if to scare her away then jumped off the counter and stood between her knees. “I’m twelve months sober and just as long celibate. Before that, I was a drunk on and off for the last seventeen years, pissing everyone off and leaving a trail of destruction behind me. I grew up in a strict Christian household with a ruthless, exacting preacher for a father and a complaisant mother, neither of whom have approved of me for the last twenty years or spoken to me in five, because I broke their hearts with my addiction. I’m here rediscovering myself as part of my recovery. I’m keeping the world safe from the curse that is Beckette Sl—me.”
Jude fell even further toward his inevitable love trap, if that were possible in three days. “Is it working?”
He glanced at her and paused. A small smile caught the corner of his mouth. “At times.” He toyed with the sleeve of her robe. “I’m a bad bet, Jude Duffy. I’m an addict. An adrenaline junkie who thrives on chaos then self-destructs, taking down everyone around me while I drink to relieve the stress. I need to avoid messy attachments and keep to a steady, straight road so my stress level can be non-existent.”
“There is no such thing as a stress-free world, Beck. You need to find inner peace against the outside stressors. Hence the word inner.”
“Easier said than done.”
“You didn’t mention your wife.” She studied the remoteness in his amber eyes. She should run like hell, but her inquisitive mind wanted to know the whole story about her beast.
“My wife?”
“Yes.”
He paused, eyes lowered to his scarred hand. “I killed her six years ago.”
Jude chuckled. “Stop. Tell me the truth. Maybe it will make you feel better to get it out.”
He brought his gaze back to hers, the shadows misting through his eyes like dark clouds before a thunderstorm.
“You’re telling me what you believe. Now tell me what happened.”
He crossed his arms and backed to the opposite counter a few feet away, putting virtual miles between them. “She died a year after we were married because I was a drunken asshole who’d deserted her when she needed me to stay and work things out.”
There was more to the story. She’d bet her life on it. She reached out, pulled him closer then touched the scar on his cheek. “You loved her.”
He shrugged. “And I killed her. I keep a gun and a bottle of whiskey by my bed. Reminders of how quickly I could change my life if I chose.”
Every part of her wanted to touch him, hold this shattered man, find out the whole story. “Let’s hold off on those kind of changes for a while, hmmm?”
Beck smiled. “You’ve changed things. Some.”
“For the better, I hope?”
He laughed. A wonderful, rusty chuckle. “The jury’s still out.” His features sobered. “You’re dangerous to me, Jude.”
“And the scars on your face and arm? How did you get
those?”
He stood there, never taking his eyes from her, reading her, deciding…something. “All just reminders of the people I’ve hurt.”
Jude ran her finger along his hand—puckered, filled with peaks and valleys to trap the pain. “My parents died in a plane crash. I know what it’s like to feel guilt and sorrow over things said or unsaid before those we care about leave us. Some bad things just happen, Beck. Through no cause of our own.”
He lifted his hands to her face, his eyes riveted to her lips. “Very dangerous.”
His features hardened—in anger, fear, regret…she didn’t know. But the intensity of his need enveloped her like the warmth of a steam shower as he lowered his lips to hers.
And she was done.
Done with worrying, done with researching, done with calculating, done with thinking. All she wanted was to feel.
His kiss was soft, yet demanding. His tongue warm and commanding as he tasted her lips. She opened for him and his tongue swept inside like a marauder conquering his most arduous rival.
He pulled back abruptly and rested his forehead against hers. “Jude, the things I want to do to you. God, do you know how bad I am for you?”
She knew.
“I can’t resist you. All I can think about is being with you, knowing you, fucking you.”
She gasped and he smiled.
“Does that scare you?”
She shook her head. “Actually, no. Your dirty talk is…stimulating. I’ve never been with a man, Beck. My whole life has been on the outside looking in. I want to be inside that world. If only for a night, I’ll take it.”
His eyes narrowed. “But you don’t want me. You want Fantome.”
“I was hoping for a more clandestine affair. One where I didn’t…know so much about my despoiler. An affair strictly of the body.”
He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “So honest, so innocent, so articulate.” He tilted his head. “I wonder if you’ll be chatty while I fuck you. I think I’d like that. To hear all your thoughts, everything you feel while I taste you, pump inside you over and over. Make you come.”
Flirting With Disaster Page 6