Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4)

by R. C. Martin

  He didn’t tell me where he was taking me; but when he checked in last night, telling me when he would be by to pick me up, he told me he’d be in a suit. Remembering his closet, and considering the fact that I’ve never seen the man in a pair of jeans, his choice of attire gave me no clue as to where we’ll be going. Nevertheless, I decide if he’s wearing a suit, then I should probably be in a dress.

  I pick out a sleeveless, pale blue, scalloped shift dress that hangs loosely around my small frame to my knees. I pair it with my nude, strappy heels, and complete my ensemble with a long necklace and a simple bracelet. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail, leaving out a couple strands to dangle around my face, and then I put on a fresh coat of mascara. My makeup is minimal, considering the time of day, and I take one last look at myself before I leave the bathroom—hoping I look okay.

  Just as I’m folding a light sweater into my purse, there’s a knock on my door. My whole body tingles as my stomach fills with nervous butterflies. This is it. I’m about to go out on a date with Judah St. Michaels. I’m thrilled and terrified as I make my way to the door. Before I twist the handle, I take a quick look over my shoulder, just to make sure the view into my apartment isn’t in disarray, and then I open up.

  He looks huge standing in the little alcove outside of my door—huge and handsome. Knowing that I’ll be spending the afternoon on the arm of this man makes me blush. He doesn’t say a word before his eyes travel slowly down my body and then back up again. When his gaze locks with mine, I have a fleeting thought that I didn’t need to worry about him looking inside my home. His eyes haven’t left me once.

  My lips part and I suck in a silent breath as he leans down to kiss me. It’s certainly not our first kiss, but the feel of his lips pressed against mine still sends a rush through my entire body. When he pulls away, it takes me a second to open my eyes. When I do, I find him smiling down at me.

  “You look beautiful,” he says softly, his deep voice as smooth as velvet.

  “Thank you,” I manage. “You look nice, too.”

  He takes a step back and offers me his elbow. “Shall we?”

  I nod, shut and lock the door behind me, and then slide my hand around his arm. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, now?”

  “No.”

  I look up at him. While he’s not looking at me, I can see the small smile on his face. It makes me smile, too. “You’re sort of mysterious, you know?”

  “And you’ve come to this conclusion based on what facts?”

  “Well, you won’t tell me where we’re going, for one,” I say as we step into the parking lot, heading for his Porsche.

  “If I told you, it would spoil the suspense of not knowing.”

  “So you like surprises?”

  “No,” he announces, opening up the passenger side door for me.

  I look up at him, tilting my head to the side as I study his relaxed face. “Mysterious and confusing.”

  “Gorgeous and inquisitive,” he murmurs, reaching up to trace a finger along my jaw. “Get in, or you’ll never know what I’ve planned for you.”

  I’m quick to obey, my curiosity making me anxious to get out of here. He closes me in, wasting no time before sliding into the seat next to mine and starting the engine. We’re just pulling out of my apartment complex, and already I want to ask him where we’re going again. It’s one-thirty on a Sunday afternoon, and we’re not going to lunch. Given that I’ve lived in this town for four years, and he’s lived here for seven months, I’m thinking that I should have a better awareness of the possibilities than I do.

  “Are we staying in town?” I ask, wondering if he’ll give me a hint.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he replies with a smirk.

  I try to fight my smile, but to no avail. In all honesty, there’s something about the secretive nature of this date that makes it that much more fun. He’s playing with me, and that fills me with a giddy sort of happiness.

  “Are you planning on avoiding all of my questions, or just the ones about our destination?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Your other questions.”

  I gaze at his profile for a moment, trying to think of the most obsolete question I can come up with. A grin spreads across my face when I think of the perfect one. “What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

  He takes his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at me with a lifted eyebrow. “My favorite color? I don’t think anyone has asked me that since I was ten.”

  “Well then, you’re long overdue.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head at me. “I don’t have a favorite color, Teddy.”

  “Everyone has a favorite color,” I argue.

  “Then what’s yours?”

  “Teal,” I answer, not even stopping to think about it.

  “I see. Well, I still maintain that I don’t have a favorite.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “Oh, I’m lots of fun,” he murmurs, his voice drenched in sexual innuendo. He reaches over and curls his long fingers around the bare skin of my leg, just above my knee. The heat of his touch spreads, making me short of breath. “You’ll see.”

  For a moment, my mind is at war with my body. Part of me wishes to deny what he seems to be implying. I’m sure I’m not ready to have sex with him, a fact I’ve reiterated more than once. And yet, his warm, smooth hand on my leg feels sensational. To say that I don’t want more of his touch—well, that would be a lie. So instead, I change the direction of our conversation all together.

  “Um—so, what’s your favorite book?” I mutter.

  “Fight Club.”

  “Oh,” I gasp. “Great movie!”

  He looks over at me and delivers a frown before he says, “Decent adaptation, notable casting—better book.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I say with a giggle, pleasantly amused by his passionate response. “I’ve never read it.”

  “You should,” he states simply.

  “I think I will. My favorite is Pride and Prejudice.”

  “How…romantic of you,” he quips.

  “Don’t make fun,” I insist. “It’s a classic. Besides—there’s something so lovely about Darcy.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  I suck in a sharp breath, my mouth falling open as my eyes grow wide in shock. “You’ve never read it?” He shakes his head no. “Didn’t they make you? In high school or something?” He shakes his head again. “Oh, my goodness. You’re missing out. You should definitely read it.”

  “What will you give me if I do?” he asks, giving my leg a gentle squeeze.

  “Jane Austen requires no bribe.”

  “Perhaps not, but my way is more fun.”

  “Does this mean I’ll get something if I read Fight Club?” He nods once, slowly. “Okay,” I say, deciding to play along. I’m sure I’ll live to regret it, but right now, I really don’t care. “What do you want?”

  “I’m sure you know the answer to that question already.”

  I dip my head as my cheeks grow warm with a slight blush, his hand on my leg suddenly making me hot. “Allow me to rephrase that,” I murmur. “What do you want that I’ll actually give you?”

  “When I’ve read your favorite book, I get to touch you wherever I want.”

  In an instant, I replay all the ways he’s touched me up until now; then my mind races toward a forbidden place—my imagination dancing around all the ways in which I wish he would touch me. If his hand was making me hot before, it’s setting me on fire now.

  “That’s it?” I ask, my voice sounding airier than before. “You get to touch me—that’s the deal?”

  “Wherever I want.”

  “And you have to read the whole book?” At this point, I’m stalling. I already know what I’m going to say. Right now, my racing heart is begging me to let him have what he wants, and I don’t think I’m strong enou
gh to deny myself.

  “Cover to cover,” he assures me.

  “Okay,” I agree, my voice hardly above a whisper.

  “And what do you want from me, Teddy?”

  As soon as he asks, my mind goes completely blank. After what I just agreed to, I have no idea what to ask for. I never intended for our conversation to lead us here, and yet here we are. I rack my brain, trying to think of something—anything—and then, it hits me.

  “When I’ve read your favorite book, I get to photograph you.”

  He scrunches his brow in confusion, his eyes still focused on the road. It’s in this moment that I realize, I have no idea where we’re going or where we are and I don’t mind one bit—my focus entirely on him.

  “You want to take my picture?” he asks.

  “Mmhmm,” I hum.

  “Why?”

  I shrug, reaching up to twist a loose tendril of hair around my finger. “It’s just a hobby of mine, photographing people.”

  “Huh,” he grunts contemplatively. “All right, then. Deal.”

  As soon as he agrees, he slips his hand away from me, reaching for the button to kill the engine. I tear my eyes from him when I realize we’ve arrived at our destination. He’s brought me to The Lincoln Center Performance Hall. Now, I’m not at all worried about the silly promises we’ve just made to one another. Instead, I’m anxious to know what he’s arranged for us to see this afternoon.

  “Have you ever been to the ballet?”

  “No,” I breathe.

  He doesn’t say anything before he climbs out of the driver’s seat and walks around to let me out. He offers me his hand, and I slide mine into his as I make my exit. After he shuts the door, he guides my fingers to the crook of his elbow before he escorts me into the building. I squeeze his arm in excitement when I see the advertisement for the ballet plastered over the front windows. Then, when we enter into the lobby, I know without a doubt that we’re about to see a matinee performance of Tchaikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty.

  “Oh, my god, Judah!”

  A lopsided smile curls his lips as he looks down at me. “Now do you appreciate the suspense of not knowing?”

  I grin as a laugh bubbles out of me, and I cling to his arm, too excited to stop myself. “This is the best surprise.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Come, we’re upstairs.”

  We follow the crowd of people making their way toward the mezzanine. When we reach the balcony entrance, he pulls two tickets from his pocket and shows them to the attendant who leads us to our seats. We are in the front row, right in the center. It’s perfect and I’m in awe.

  “How did you get these seats? You didn’t buy these tickets yesterday.”

  “I called in a favor,” he says nonchalantly.

  “This is quite the favor. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

  “It was nothing.”

  I shake my head at him, appalled that he could think such a thing. Our date has just begun, and it’s already the best I’ve ever been on. Without stopping to second guess myself, I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. “This isn’t nothing. This is amazing.”

  Aunt Eddalyn is a season ticket holder to The Lincoln Center. After breakfast with Teddy yesterday morning, I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to wait another few days before I got the chance to take her out. I had already waited long enough—our misunderstanding preventing me from following through with our Friday night plans.

  I had no idea if there was even going to be a performance this afternoon, but I figured it was worth a phone call. Honestly, when I asked Aunt Eddalyn for the tickets, I think she gave them to me out of familial pity. Eddalyn, my boss, knows that the chore I face of firing someone tomorrow is what needs to be done. Eddalyn, my mother’s only sister, knows that it’s a pain in my ass. So when I asked for her seats, she didn’t hesitate to give them to me.

  Teddy was on the edge of her seat the entire performance. I could barely keep my eyes off of her, entranced by her excitement and appreciation for the art displayed on that stage. While I’m not opposed to the ballet, it’s never been something I’ve gone out of my way to experience. But the look on Teddy’s face was breathtaking, and well worth the three hours spent in that theater.

  After the show, I took her out for an early dinner. I don’t know how many times she thanked me, gushing about all of her favorite parts. As I sat with her, admiring her—the stunning creature across from me—I couldn’t help but notice how fucking endearing she is. It puzzles me how she can be sexy as hell one minute, and completely adorable the next. Though, it doesn’t matter which version of her I see, I want her—I want all of her. My dick was flying at half-mast all through dinner. Now, all I can think about is how much I need to taste her.

  “I know I keep saying this,” she begins as we reach the top of the steps leading to her apartment, “but thank you so much. This was the most incredible date. I had an amazing time.”

  When she reaches her door, she turns around to face me. I take a step toward her and she looks up at me as I lean down, bringing my face closer to hers. I line up our lips, but I don’t kiss her. Not yet. Not here.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?” I ask, speaking softly.

  Here eyes grow wide as her mouth opens in a small O. “You—you want to come inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Um—are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, leaning in a little closer. I can feel it as her breaths grow shorter, each exhalation of air kissing my face. “I’m not leaving until my tongue has been inside of your mouth. You’re welcome to keep me out here, but I assure you, this kiss will be downright indecent.”

  Without another word, she spins around and unlocks her door. I reach for her waist as soon as she crosses the threshold, turning her around to face me as I kick the door shut with my foot. I hear it as her purse and her keys hit the floor, mere seconds before my mouth collides with hers. She whimpers at my contact and circles her arms around my neck. I trace my tongue along the seam of her closed lips, and she opens instantly with a sigh.

  I want her closer—I want her fucking naked—but I know that won’t happen. Not tonight, anyway. Nevertheless, I need to get the hell out of this jacket. I pull away from her and the look she gives me makes me want to devour her. She’s so damn sexy—her lips red, her eyes hooded in lust. I feel myself growing hard just thinking of all the ways I plan on owning her body. She’s so fucking mine and she doesn’t even know it.

  I press a quick kiss against her lips and then shrug my arms out of my jacket. As soon as I get it off, I take my first real look around the room. I remember her telling me it was small, but shit! We’re standing in the middle of her living room, which is only big enough to house her brown sofa—covered in an assortment of decorative pillows—her coffee table, a bookcase that doubles as a television stand, and her teal deco sitting chair. The wall behind her couch is decked out in a few pieces of art, a couple framed photographs, and a poster—the arrangement of the various sizes making the wall itself a piece of art. It’s certainly homey and eclectic, and it somehow fits Teddy in a way that I couldn’t imagine until now, but I feel like I’m in a shoebox.

  “What? What are you thinking?” she asks before she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Show me the rest,” I insist.

  “You want a tour? N-n-now?”

  I lift an eyebrow at her, looking around the room. “Something tells me it won’t take very long.”

  “True,” she says with a little nod. “Okay.”

  I drape my jacket over her sitting chair as she leads me to her kitchen. It’s literally the size of my pantry, the stove and refrigerator barely fitting into the space, as if they were afterthoughts. She then leads me back across the living room and shows me her bathroom—which is practically the size of my shower. Then she leads me to her bedroom. It’s bigger than I guessed it would be, probably measuring only a few feet smaller than the living room. Th
e wood floors are covered by a white and teal chevron rug. Her dark wood dresser stretches across the length of wall just beside her door, her vanity mirror resting on top. There’s a small nightstand beside her bed, with a golden lamp. Her bed is covered in a rusted yellow comforter with mismatched pillows, and there’s an abstract piece of art hanging above the iron headboard.

  “Teddy?” I begin to say, my hands finding her hips.

  “Hmm?” she hums as I pull her against me.

  “You live in a shoebox.”

  “Yes,” she replies with a giggle. “But it’s home.”

  “And how’s the bed?” I murmur, turning us around before I sink down onto the edge of her mattress.

  “I don’t think you’ll fit,” she says shyly, her doe eyes trained on me. “You’re so tall.”

  “I think we could make it work.” Her breath hitches in her throat as I pull her between my legs. I keep my gaze locked with hers as I skim my hands up the sides of her thighs, hiking up her dress as I go.

  “Jude,” she whispers, her protest barely audible.

  “Come ‘ere.” I cup a hand around the back of one of her knees, forcing her to bend her leg, propping it on the bed on the outside of my leg. She falls toward me with a gasp, and I take advantage of her loss of balance, hooking my other hand behind her opposite knee, pulling her on top of me so that she’s straddling my lap.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, gripping hold of my shoulders.

  “Setting the stage,” I reply, sliding a hand up to the small of her back, encouraging her closer.

  She draws in a shuddered breath before she asks, “Setting the stage? For what?”

  An impish grin spreads across my face and I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck, drawing her closer still. “An indecent kiss,” I mutter just before I pull her bottom lip between my teeth. She whimpers as I suck, and the erection in my pants is undeniable. When I plunge my tongue into her mouth, she clings to me, and I grip her tighter as I kiss her hungrily.

  She’s a tiny little thing, but her strong legs squeeze against my hips, making me all the more anxious to strip her bare and bury myself inside of her. I imagine all the ways I could fuck her with her legs wrapped around me. As my head fills with possibilities, my dick grows harder, and my lips grow more desperate. I kiss her deeper, my tongue sweeping through her mouth, my desire to taste every inch of her incredibly overwhelming. I drag my lips away from hers and dip my head before dragging my tongue up the length of her neck.