by Rie Warren
He leaned up, taking my mouth again, and his cock stirred inside me anew.
We made love again, softer and slower and even longer. In Room 27. And for one more time, everything outside ceased to exist.
It was just Jude.
And me.
Even though he didn’t know my real name.
I wallowed in his arms for as long as I dared as his breath floated across my hair and his thigh covered both of mine, hair-roughened and hard and heavy. Then I disentangled from his all-too-addictive embrace.
In the bathroom, I had a quick rinse. It took me about fifteen minutes to fix myself. Or, rather, change myself . . . into someone other than the flushed-faced woman who’d clearly spent the entire evening in a wild romp with a very talented lover.
I exited the bathroom, and Jude still lounged on the bed. He’d barely thrown a sheet over his lap, and it looked like he might’ve raked his fingers through his hair a few times. Otherwise, his lazy grin was in place, dimples deep in his cheeks.
“Why don’t you stay a little longer?” he invited.
“You know the rules.” I was all about the rules with him, because otherwise he represented big trouble.
But despite my decree, I leaned down to kiss him one last time.
“See you next Thursday?” He grasped my hand.
“Of course. ’Night, Jude.” I’ll miss you.
****
“Damn, damn, damn.”
The next morning, I careened around the house at breakneck speed, constantly checking my watch. In the shower I’d noticed bruises around my nipples—Jude’s handiwork. And instantly, my pussy grew wet. I was sore from him, and yet I wanted more. Thoughts of him were a constant distraction I couldn’t afford to indulge in.
I was going to be late for work, only half my hair was dried, and I couldn’t locate my other stiletto—the bone-colored one with the gold-tipped heel.
With a hand on the banister, I hollered back up the stairs. “Dane, Luke, Aiden! Get a move on. And has anyone seen my other high heel?”
Luke strutted across the landing, completely naked and not caring at all. At eleven years old, the boy had no modesty. “Mom, you got so many shoes, who knows?”
“Get some damn clothes on.”
“Language!” he shouted back, but he scurried into his room and shut the door.
Aiden and Dane remained sight unseen—hopefully getting ready for school, but who really knew—and I finished adjusting a belt around my waist, scanning up and down the stairs for that one missing stiletto.
Then the damn doorbell rang. I glanced at my watch again. At seven o’clock in the morning?
Better not be one of those door-to-door religious peddlers, because I was so not in the mood.
And I almost tripped over one of Aiden’s damn sneakers—size huge and the kid was only fourteen.
Slipping hair from my eyes, I called out, “We don’t want any God today!” as my three boys tumbled downstairs—roughhousing one another and generally causing their normal daily calamity.
Of course they ignored the doorbell.
In retrospect, I should’ve too.
Walking off-kilter, I yanked the front door open. And wished to hell I hadn’t.
Indigo blue eyes searched back at me. Dark stubble lined a crisp jawline. Big hand poised to knock on the door.
The sight of him on my doorstep was a shock to the system.
Jude—JUDE!—reeled back as I recoiled, until I readied to slam the door in his face.
Then his arm snaked forward to block the doorframe as his flashing bright blue eyes darkened to stormy depths.
“Hello, Cady,” he said pointedly, having somehow figured out my real name. “Or should I just keep calling you Catherine?”
Oh shit.
And the gig is up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jude
THE NAUGHTY SEX KITTEN from last night looked entirely adorable this morning. I wondered if she noticed she’d missed a button on the front of her dress. Or if she realized she was missing a shoe?
But still. Catherine. My Catherine was actually Cady Dalton, mother of three. I immediately rechecked her ring finger. Nothing there. At least that was a bonus.
“I’m still Jude, by the way.” I held the door open, frowning at the frazzled woman.
Her eyes narrowed into hazel pinpoints. “I figured.”
“You do that often?”
“What?”
“Take random men to hotel rooms?”
She stepped completely outside, managing to maintain a distance between my much larger body and hers. “My boys are in there, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down. Or better yet, just leave right now.”
“Well, do you?” I persisted.
“Of course not.”
“I’m the only one.” A smug sense of satisfaction settled over me at the idea of having Miss Cady Dalton all to myself.
Simmering silence hovered between us before she admitted, “Yes. And just what the hell are you doing here anyway?”
“I help out Coach Jay. You know Coach Jay?”
She nodded stiffly.
“He said you were looking for help with your sons, someone to look after them while you’re at work. Didn’t he email you my details? That I’d be coming by? I just didn’t know it was you, because clearly there’s a whole helluva lot I don’t know about you.” My voice held a sharp edge.
I’d been trying to crack Catheri—Cady—for two months now, and she stood unrepentant in front of me.
“I’m not going to apologize for that, Jude. And I certainly do not need your help with my boys.”
Our standoff on the front porch was interrupted by a shout coming from inside:
“Moooooom! Luke found the lighter again!”
“Lovely.” Cady’s pretty mouth pruned. “My budding arsonist.”
“Don’t need any help, huh?”
Cady cursed before rushing back inside. I followed her, watching her kind of hop-skip along, still with only one sexy high heel on.
Luke—presumably—stood at the kitchen island wielding a lighter and an aerosol can he aimed at the ceramic sink. Another boy, who appeared to be the oldest, wore a pair of earbuds and was busy scrolling through his iPhone, clearly not giving a single fuck. And the youngest, who was probably the tattletale, kept his eyes on the happenings while shoveling giant ladles of Froot Loops into his mouth.
I hung back just behind Cady as she snapped her fingers in front of Luke’s face.
“Hand ’em over, Luke. You’re not the Firestarter.”
The youngest boy rolled his eyes, milk dribbling down his chin. “Yet another old school reference no one gets.”
I chuckled. Cady doubled down on her fierce expression.
Luke slapped the lighter into Cady’s palm and tossed the can over.
“What do you say?” she demanded.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbled.
Impressive turnaround.
“Hold these.” Cady turned to me and handed over the contraband. Then she pointed at the smallest kid with the auburn colored curls. “That’s Dane, scary genius child.”
“AKA future Einstein,” he said, slurping more cereal from the soup ladle, bent over his mixing-sized bowl.
“You’ve met Luke, my middle child. Card carrying member of future sociopaths of America.” Cady’s dry comment amused me even more.
“Tap it.” Barely glancing at me, the kid held his fist out for me to bump, so I did.
Delinquent in the making or not, he had a punchy personality.
“And . . .” She pulled the earbuds out of the oldest’s ears and waited until he switched off the music.
“Jeeeesus,” the boy grumbled
“Language, mister.”
He came back at Cady with a deep sigh combined with, “Sorry, ma’am.”
Cady’s smile turned sickly sweet. “And this is Aiden, awkward teen boy. Most often heard saying Jeeesus and Moooo—”
&
nbsp; “Moooooom. God.”
Dane and Luke both piped up. “And fapping!”
My eyes almost bugged out of my head while Cady and teen boy simultaneously said:
“What’s fapping?” That was Cady.
“Shut it, shit stains.” That was Aiden.
“Language!” Cady stomped her one shod foot.
Their chorus of “Sorry, ma’am” was heavily echoed with snickering while Aiden’s face turned bright red.
Cady swiftly moved on.
“Dane’s nine, Luke’s eleven, and Aiden’s fourteen. I think that’s the sum total of their rap sheet.” Cady took the lighter and can from my hands.
She waltzed—on one stiletto—to a door off the kitchen and pitched both items into a garbage bin.
When she returned, she tightened the belt on her dress, looking all business and never fucking hotter.
At my side, she regained her three sons’ attention. “And this is Jude . . .”
Her voice petered out, and she frowned. Because I’d never told her my last name as per her infuriating rules.
For the first time, Aiden really seemed to pay attention to the goings-on. His mouth dropped open before it popped shut. “Holy shit! Jude Raleigh!”
I cringed inside. Leave it to the kids to recognize me when Cady obviously had no clue all these months. Suddenly Dane, Luke, and Aiden stared at me just like the dudes in the bar the night I’d met their mom.
“Jude Raleigh? Is that supposed to mean something?” Cady asked. “Oh Lord, he’s not one of those Instagram celebrities or a YouTube personality or something like that, is he?”
“Mom! Jude Raleigh! He’s an NFL god!” Aiden crowed.
“How does she not know this?” Luke looked puzzled. “She knows like everything.”
Dane spat rainbow-colored milk all over the kitchen island. “Only had the highest number of interceptions in his last season with the Jacksonville Charge?”
Cady stared at her boys then stared at me.
I simply shrugged and grabbed a paper towel to mop up the latest mess.
“What’s he doing here?” Aiden asked.
“Can I get an autograph?” Dane thrust his cereal away from him.
Letting out a huge sigh, Cady said, “I’d asked Coach Jay if he knew anyone who could help look after you.”
“He’s gonna be like our babysitter?” Luke started twerking in the middle of the kitchen.
“Oh, God.” Cady face-palmed.
“Wait until the dudes at school hear about this!” Aiden looked pumped, like he’d just fucked the prom queen.
“Fuck yeah!” Dane exclaimed.
“All right. I think your mom already said to knock it off with the bad language, right?” Arms crossed over my chest, I stared down The Three Stooges.
The boys immediately halted.
Cady’s face scrunched up.
I said not another single word. This was her show.
And she rallied into action. “Dishes rinsed and in the dishwasher. Sneakers on. Backpacks ready. Teeth brushed. Out the door in thirty.”
Damn if they didn’t hustle out of the kitchen, knocking into one another.
As soon as Cady and I were alone, she spun to me, skeptical expression on her face. “If you’re so famous why in the hell are you standing here, in my house, offering to look after my kids?”
“I don’t play anymore.” I didn’t elaborate.
“Did you get fired?”
“No.” Not exactly. “I’ve got . . . other things going on here in Charleston.”
“Are you an addict?”
“Nooooo.”
“Because you do like a beer.”
“And you like a glass of rosado. Doesn’t make you a wino. And trust me, I was just as surprised as you were when you opened that door.” I propped against the kitchen island. “Look, Cady, I’m just here to help.”
She blew out a long breath but didn’t appear entirely convinced.
I decided to lighten things up. “Remind me to tell you all about fapping later.”
“Is it illegal? Should I be worried?” Her distraught eyes sought mine.
I tried to suck back my laughter.
Dropping my voice, I leaned in closer to her. “You know when I stroke my cock in front of you? You know how turned on that makes me. How hot it gets you . . .”
I heard her gulp, and her gaze shot down to the front of my pants. “That’s fapping?”
“Not exactly. Just the stroking part.”
Her tongue peeked out to roll across her lips, and I watched the pulse flutter in her throat.
But then Aiden stumbled into the room, and she recoiled, her nose wrinkled. “Aiden? Masturbating? Gross. Stop.”
I chuckled low in my throat then spied what looked like the high heel she was still missing beneath a sofa in the living room. “Is that the shoe you’re probably looking for?”
“What? Where?”
I edged past her to pick up the delicate light-colored stiletto. The fragile shoe looked so out of place dangled in my big hand.
“Dammit. I suppose this means I have to hire you now,” she muttered.
Excellent.
I swaggered back to her, and that pulse in her throat seemed to butterfly even faster.
Dropping to a knee, I grinned up at her. “May I?”
She nodded jerkily.
I caressed the fine bones of her ankle lightly, slipping the very expensive heel onto her beautiful little foot.
She stared down at me, her bottom lip captured between her teeth.
“Oh, and you missed a button.”
“What?” She puffed a lock of hair from her forehead. “Where?”
I stood and pointed at the front of her dress, right between her tits. “I can fix it if you want.”
“I’m the fixer. I’m a divorce lawyer. How do you think I got the house in the settlement?” And even while she redid her buttons, she managed to maintain a cool exterior.
Meanwhile, the other two kids toppled down the stairs, pushing one another.
Cady returned to the kitchen, me hot on her heels. “You’ll need their schedules.”
“Probably a good place to start.” I watched while she arranged her hair in some twisty fashion at the back of her head.
The dress she wore today looked like it was silk. Hell, maybe it was. She seemed to like pricey things, especially her lingerie. With her arms lifted as she flicked her phone on, her tits snugged against the front of the dress. I wondered how I was gonna avoid getting a boner around her 24/7.
She frowned as she scrolled through her phone. “Huh. Found Coach Jay’s email. I must’ve missed it.”
“You were pretty busy last night.” I smirked.
Cady glared in return.
The boys watched us.
“Coach says you’ve had your rabies shots and everything.” Her snarky sweet smile was back.
I wanted to tell her I’d also been tested for STDs so we could dispense with the condoms already, but I figured she really wouldn’t appreciate that in front of her kids. I let her dig slide by.
“Anyway, everything’s online these days,” she said.
“I’m aware.”
“So give me your phone so I can put you on these apps they’ve all got.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
That earned me another glare as I handed over my cell.
“Now might be a good time to exchange phone numbers too, don’t you think?” I knew how much she wouldn’t like that after two solid months of putting me off knowing any single personal detail about her.
She gritted her teeth.
“I take it you have legal transportation?”
“Yeah, Cady. I’ve got my own ride and everything. And a license. And you can do a background check on me. Hell, Google me if you want.” I made sure the boys were busy—possibly cooking up new ways to start fires—before sliding closer to her. “But as for the ride, it’s not as hot as the one you gave me last night.”
She practically jumped away from me, and if her eyes could’ve shot lasers I was pretty sure she’d have incinerated me on the spot. She. Was. Steaming. Mad.
I lounged against the hall wall while she gathered her purse, her briefcase, the keys to the fancy Mercedes I’d parked beside in the driveway. She double-checked everything, clicked back to the kitchen with me trailing behind mostly so I could watch her ass.
She kissed Dane on the forehead first. “Remember not to be a know-it-all at school.”
He snorted. “Whatever. Can’t help it if I got the brains in the family.”
She kissed Luke on the cheek next. “Do not get detention again.”
“I totally promise not to streak during the pep rally today, geesh.”
“Aiden?” She hooked an earbud from his ear. “Good luck on the physics test.”
“Got it in the bag, Mom.”
At the front door, she turned back to me. “Coach Jay vouches for you?”
“Wanna call him?” I offered my phone.
“Oh, I plan on it. And the background check.” Then she hesitated. “Are you sure you can handle this though?”
“What? Drop them off at school on time, pick them up, and get them to their various activities?” I hooked my thumbs in my pockets. “Cakewalk, darlin’.”
When she turned the knob, I braced my arm beside her. “No kiss for me?”
“Jude, you are pressing your luck right now.”
“I’ll take a raincheck then.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Cady
I STOMPED MY WAY through the doors of Dalton & Montgomery, Attys at Law. Diane Montgomery was my litigation partner in crime.
I stormed toward my office, barely greeting Joelle, before slamming into my silent, kid-free sanctuary.
Joelle sauntered in after me, not delivering a cup of java as usual. Unlike me, my paralegal played by no rules at all.
I slammed my briefcase on my desk and slumped into my chair.
“Oooh, grumpy. Usually you’re just so shiny and happy every Friday morning I can’t even stand it. It’s sickening. Glad to have the old Cady back. For a minute there I was sure you’d started getting some.”
If only she knew.
Joelle was equal parts bossy-sassy and business-savvy. A fifty-year-old fashion-forward yoga fanatic who liked her spicy margaritas by the pitcher come Happy Hour. She never missed a beat, and she usually kept me sane on an hourly basis.