by Mary Frame
“We need to get out of here,” I tell Grace, though my eyes are on Annabel and Mr. Bojangles.
“No.” Grace firms her chin and I know that face. Once she’s set her mind to something, she’s immovable. “I’m not leaving until I get my computer back. They won’t be able to access anything on it, I’ve got it too locked down for that, but this creep is trying to set me up and steal my hard work. Plus they drugged me and put me in a damn shed and they’re working with the mafia. They’re dangerous. I’m not leaving without taking them down first.”
“I suppose you have a plan?” Fitz asks.
“An inkling of one. I need to know what you found out about Bryce first.”
I glance around the assembled motley crew and scrub a hand through my hair. “I think we all need some rest first. We can start working in the morning with clearer heads.”
Grace puts her bowl down on the table in front of her. “You’re likely right. I’m as tired as a whore on nickel night.”
Annabel laughs.
“That’s an inappropriate statement for a young lady,” I tell Grace.
“Whatever.” She yawns. “I’ve never been appropriate. We all sleeping here, or what?”
Chapter Nineteen
I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Annabel
The assembled party disperses shortly after that. Reese and Fitz head back to the apartment, Grace disappears into Reese’s tiny room, and Beast sets up outside her door like he’s gonna stand watch all night. He likely will.
I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t want to go back with Fitz and Reese, and she makes eyes at me like I might not wanna be home tonight with the two of them in residence. So I stay on the lumpy, faded, rose-covered sofa with Mr. Bojangles sleeping in my lap until it’s only Jude and me. And in the end, I don’t have to do anything because all Jude does is offer his hand. He’s like the pied piper and I’m just a mesmerized rat.
Without a word, he holds open the door and I walk into his room.
Only one small lamp is lit on the bedside table, casting the space in shadows. His bed is neatly made as usual, the nightstand holding his glasses and a small notebook.
As soon as he clicks the lock, I yank the giant sweater over my head along with the T-shirt underneath. I’m wearing a cute red bra. It’s lacy and sexy. It makes me feel powerful.
So does the awestruck look on Jude’s face.
His back is to the door, his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes aren’t on my chest, though. They’re on my face, watching me with careful intent, flames simmering behind his bright blue gaze.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
I nod.
“You know what it means?”
“That I’m gonna be your girlfriend?” I tease, walking toward him, unbuttoning the top of my pants and swinging my hips.
He doesn’t smile. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs.
“What if I told you being Jude Parker’s woman doesn’t sound like too much of a hardship?”
His eyes search mine. “It’s more than that, Annabel. I’ll give you all of me and you give me everything back. We both give all we got or it doesn’t work. Can you do that?”
I lose my breath, stopping in my tracks. This is hard. But this is truth. “I’m scared. Which means I can’t promise I won’t fuck this up, somehow.” I run a hand through my hair. “But I can promise I’ll try. I won’t let you down.”
“Just talk to me if you get scared. If you tell me what you feel, no matter how hard, no matter if it hurts, nothing can fuck it up.”
His voice hitches as I slide a hand up the inside of his shirt, fingertips sliding over his abs, and he helps me lift it up and off. I shift closer, leaning forward to kiss his collarbone. I pull back and meet his eyes. The flame there ratchets up to an inferno while I reach up behind my back, tugging at the clasp on my bra.
“Don’t run,” he whispers. “Please.”
His arms are taut at his sides, like he’s holding everything back in one tight line. But then my bra falls to the floor between us and I lean into him, pressing my bare chest to his, making him suck in a breath.
“Promise you won’t hide from me.” His breathing gets shorter and I love seeing him like this, flushed and aroused and still doing everything he can to care for me. For us.
My panties get damp and my heart races in my chest and my body thumps in time with it.
“I’m not gonna run, I swear,” I promise in one tumbling breath, running my lips over his chest, his neck, down to the tight bud of one nipple and that’s all I get before his hands are on me, cupping my face and lifting so he can take my mouth with his, hard and perfect and full of all the pent-up desire he’s been holding back for so long the heat of it burns with the intensity of a thousand white suns.
We stay there, near the door, frantic and incendiary, touching until time ceases to have any meaning. All that exists is lips and tongue, the tickle of his beard on my face, his hand cradling my cheek, my fingers running over the ridges of his chest, our bodies pressed together skin to skin.
The throbbing between my legs takes over rational thought and I hook a finger into the waistband of his pants and tug.
“Jude.” My voice is breathless and aching with need. I need him closer. I need him now.
He holds my wrist, stilling my attempts to get him naked. “I should probably disclose something.”
My head tilts back to meet his eyes. Now he wants to tell me something? This can’t be good. A conversation right before sex is never good. My eyes narrow on him. “Are you married?”
He jerks back. “No.”
“You have some kind of disease?”
He laughs, a low sound of humor.
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s not funny.”
“I have no diseases, I can assure you, because I’ve never done this before.”
I search his face, my brain taking a moment to make sense of his words. “You’ve never . . .”
“I’m a virgin.” There’s no shame in his voice, it’s merely a statement of fact. He smiles down at me, his hands rubbing up and down my arms. “Pure as the driven snow. Not much opportunity to meet eligible ladies, let alone bring them home, when I’ve had a young lady living with me since I’ve been out on my own.” Now it’s his turn to search my face for a reaction.
“But the other night, you were so . . .” I remember the feel of his hands on me, how quickly he made me lose my mind. “Skilled.”
“I have had some sexual experiences, just not the main event, so to speak. I also read a lot of romance novels, which are surprisingly informative.”
A laugh startles out of me. “I guess I shouldn’t be shocked. You love those rom coms.”
He smiles down at me, but then one corner of his lip tilts down. “I hope this doesn’t change your—”
His words cut off because I press my mouth back to his in a hard, scorching kiss. “This makes you ten times hotter,” I say between kisses.
He laughs. “I’m glad my innocence meets with your approval.”
And then we’re kissing and teasing again, but this time he’s bolder. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs rubbing over my nipples until they’re peaked with need. Then he ducks his head and uses his mouth and I’m moaning and arching against him, my hands tugging at his hair.
“Jude.” My voice is full of impatient agony.
“You’re so beautiful.” His words are a breath against my stomach.
He moves until he’s kneeling at my feet and gazing up at me with a tenderness that takes my breath away. And then he’s tugging my pants down along with my underwear until they pool at my feet. His hands move around to my rear and he pulls me to his mouth.
His tongue is there, right where I’m burning the most, teasing and licking with gentle su
cks and flicks.
My hands sink into his hair, anchoring me upright while he holds me to his mouth. It’s so much sensation, I might pass out from too much pleasure. I’m about to turn into a noodle-limbed puddle on the floor but then he moves up, lifting me to the bed a few paces away and setting me on my back. He pulls my clothes from around my feet and returns his mouth to my core, nuzzling, the brush of his beard on my thighs adding to the already intense sensations.
It’s so good, but it’s not enough.
“Jude, I need you. Please.” I’m begging and I don’t even care.
He lifts his head from me, moving up my body, kissing my stomach along the way. He’s calm and steady and I’m a greedy, ravenous, hot mess.
He reaches over me for the nightstand, pulling out a condom, and as he’s stretched out over me, I attempt to shove his pants down his legs, but I’m too clumsy in my desperate movements. I only manage to uncover one ass cheek before he moves back. He’s grinning at my clear insanity and helps me shove his pants down and onto the floor while he rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth.
I gaze up at him, from his smiling face down the ridges and edges of his body to the vee of his hips and his hard length, which he’s currently wrapping up. As he covers his erection, the heat in my core ratchets up ten more notches.
My hands follow the path of my gaze and then I grab his ass and pull him against me.
My heart is racing in time with my thoughts. More, more, more.
I don’t just want Jude inside me, I want him around me, surrounding me, all of it. Everything.
Our eyes are locked, my head caged within the strength of his arms as he slowly, oh so slowly, pushes into me.
Emotion wells up inside of me, because I’ve never done this before, either. Not like this. Not with someone watching me so intently, holding me with such care, showing me the strength of their hunger with a look and a touch.
The prolonged eye contact should make me panic, but it doesn’t. Not when Jude’s gaze is so warm and his movements are so tender, pushing in and out with utmost care, the pulse in my body setting up a responding ache in my heart.
My body is so primed, so sensitive and ready and wet, the slow friction so maddeningly erotic that I know it won’t take much to push me over the edge. My hands grip at him, pulling him closer. He’s watching my reactions so carefully, angling his hips, driving his pelvis against mine, hitting the right spot again and again and again. It doesn’t take more than a minute of his purposeful thrusts to shatter my entire body into a cascade of orgasmic bliss. I clutch at him, arching and tensing and pulsing with a mess of sensation and raw emotion.
Once the storm passes, his eyes are dark and hooded in the dim light.
He kisses me gently. On the cheek. The corner of my brow. The side of my jaw. The tip of my nose. His lips are soft and his beard is tickly.
He starts moving inside me again, slowly, purposefully, and now I get to watch him with more awareness. His arms tense beside my head, and he watches me, the heat in his gaze scorching as his eyes trail down to where our bodies are connected.
His head shakes. “I can’t . . .”
And then he’s all tense, twisting muscle. He comes apart in complete surrender, vulnerability in every shuddering groan and shaky breath.
He collapses on the bed next to me, pulling me into the heat and shelter of his arms.
Emotion reaches out and grabs me, clutching my throat while we hold each other and his entire body trembles next to mine. But it’s not the suffocating vise of fear, it’s the supportive embrace of life.
I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. I’m too replete and content to expend any energy finding words. I doze in and out, stuck in some kind of hazy consciousness.
When I come to again, blinking my eyes open, he’s on his elbow next to me. Watching me. The room is darker, only moonlight coming through the pale curtained windows.
“Are you watching me sleep, creeper?”
“Maybe. Want to run yet?” he asks.
“Surprisingly, no.” I adjust slightly, throwing a leg over his hip to bring us closer. He must’ve gotten rid of the condom. His warm length begins to twitch and grow between us and my stomach shivers with awareness. “This should be weird. Why isn’t this weird?”
He runs his nose along my jaw and kisses me under the ear. “Because it’s us.”
Us.
The word moves down my chest and settles somewhere inside my body, humming with truth.
I half expect his growing erection to turn into more sexy times, but the next thing I know, we’re sleeping.
When I come back to awareness, this time I get to be the creeper as Jude sleeps. He’s on his back now, his chest rising and falling in a slow, sleepy rhythm.
I trail a soft finger over his throat, down the bump of his collarbone, across the subtle ridges of his chest and stomach.
I reach below the blanket. He’s as hard as a rock. My eyes surge to his face. He’s awake now. My ministrations have clearly roused him from slumber.
He whispers my name and the throbbing heat returns full force.
Now I’m the one reaching for the condom, ripping it open with my teeth. I cover him with it and then I cover him with my body. It’s not the same as before. It’s even wilder and more intense. I throw my head back and take my pleasure while his hands roam over me, palming my breasts, teasing my nipples, rubbing where we’re joined until I can’t take it anymore. I cry out his name and collapse against him even as he shudders his release.
I wake up to sunshine in a cocoon of warmth and male limbs, taking a moment to bask in the glory of his arms. Arm porn is a thing. And I’m surrounded by it. As I’m appreciating him with my eyes, his hands slide down to mine. He links our fingers and sighs into my hair.
Like before.
I take a slow breath and wait for it. The suffocating tightness, the one that squeezes and tells me I’m not good enough, I need to run, to hide . . . but it doesn’t come. It’s been fading away and now it’s gone.
Lips and beard brush over the back of my neck.
“Can I put a tracker on your phone?” he whispers.
“Huh. This is a new kinda dirty talk.”
He chuckles behind me and the movement makes my whole body shudder.
“I can’t decide if it’s way creepy or way sweet.”
“Not only you. I want to put something on everyone’s phone. Just in case. Until this is all over.”
I flip around to face him in the feeble morning light streaming through the curtains. I’m struck dumb by his smile, his golden skin, his bright eyes, and, yes, even the excess facial hair.
“You’re so handsome,” I say, like a schoolgirl sighing over a boy band. I am now that person.
His smile grows. “Is that a yes?”
“What were we talking about?” My hand trails down his chest. Lower.
He sucks in a sharp breath when I grip him. “I don’t remember,” he breathes. “I’ll figure it out later.”
Chapter Twenty
There are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull world without them.
―Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, “The Red-Headed League”
Jude
The next morning, I walk Annabel out to her car, which is parked down the street. Fitz drove it over here from Taylor’s house when they returned the night before.
She has to go to work at the paper, and Grace and I have more than our fair share of tasks ahead of us.
Annabel opens the driver-side door and I step into the space with her, cradling her face in my hands and kissing her with a thoroughness she won’t be inclined to forget anytime soon.
She grips my wrists and wraps one leg around mine, tethering herself to me while I lick into her mouth.
When I eventually pull back, her eyes are glazed and her lips are swollen.
I run my thumbs over her pink cheeks. “I’ll call you if we find anything.”
She nods, then gives me a small smile.
I step back so she can shut her door. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I watch as she fumbles to start her car and then disappears down the street.
I head back to the house, my sluggish mind moving into business mode. I need to get it together, but my body wants to go back to bed with Annabel and not emerge for a week, minimum.
My expectations in that area exceeded all of my wildest dreams and fantasies. There was so much there between us, unspoken but transparent in her eyes, in the way she moved and touched and responded.
Back inside, I head to the kitchen, where we’ve set up equipment. Beast hands me a cup of coffee.
“Thank you kindly,” I tell him before sitting next to Grace at the small Formica dining table.
She’s typing away at warp speed on one of my spare computers.
“Any progress?” I ask.
“Getting there,” she murmurs, her eyes not leaving the screen.
I open my own laptop and get to work. My mind is absorbed in lines of code and accessing systems, but Annabel is always there, in the corner of my mind.
Hours pass mostly in silence, with the occasional grunt from Beast as he hands us water and food, always there, always anticipating while we work. It’s how we’ve lived for years.
Once the office of city records opens, I head down there and sweet talk the secretary into getting access to tax files on properties near downtown.
It doesn’t take much more than a bit of flattery and then I’m in.
The name on the file is Amelia Quinn.
Something about the name . . . it glimmers in the back of my mind, but when I try to chase the memory, it disappears like smoke.
When I get back to the house and tell Grace, she has more to share.
“That makes sense. I’m pretty sure our guy is Rudy Quinn.”
The second she says his name, my head snaps up.
“His degree is in computer science from Rice University in Houston. Amelia Quinn would be his grandmother, but she is deceased.” Grace leans back in the chair, watching me. “You know him?”
