“Shoot! Edna Mills is headed this way. The gosh dern woman likes to sneak a pinch of my bee-hind. I’m not a piece of meat, you know. I have a brain, and it isn’t in my pants.” Virgil lumbered off as fast as his arthritic feet would carry him.
Brock’s gaze followed the old man to a shadowed tree. “What I wouldn’t give to have a father like that.”
So true. But why couldn’t he answer Virgil’s question with a simple yes or no? Jude loved his sweetheart and little sweets, but he would do anything to experience peace. Peace he couldn’t have, thanks to his loss. Yet, he also couldn’t imagine living his life without his memories of Hailey and Bailey smiling up at him every time he returned from a mission.
Ryanne’s laugh drifted across the distance, and his gaze zipped right back to her—and narrowed. Wall Street was in the process of typing into her cell phone. His number?
Limp more pronounced than usual, Jude strode toward the couple. What he would do when he reached them, he had no idea.
“That’s my boy,” his friend called.
Glaring at Wall Street, he snapped, “I’d like to talk to you privately, Wade.”
Like a puss, Wall Street paled and inched backward.
“Hey, Jude,” she said with a smile. Not the warm, inviting smile he was used to seeing, but a facsimile, and it gutted him. “This is Glen Baker. We went to junior high together—”
“Don’t care,” he interjected. Apparently raw possessiveness had stripped away his civilized veneer and strict military discipline. “Let’s go inside. Just you and me.”
Wall Street blanched. “I, uh, think I see someone I know. I should say hi.” He handed the cell phone back to Ryanne.
She glanced at the screen, frowned and latched on to the soon-to-be dead man’s arm. “There are only six numbers here. What’s the seventh?”
Yep. The bastard had been typing his phone number.
Glancing between them, Wall Street shuddered. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”
“I’m not. Jude is my employee, with zero benefits.” To Jude she mouthed, Go away. She even made a shooing motion with her free hand.
He ran his tongue over his teeth—and stepped closer to her.
Stiff as a board now, she offered her phone to Wall Street. “Seventh number, please. And remember the manners your momma taught you. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”
Wall Street reached out to accept.
This time Jude grabbed his arm, squeezing tight enough to bruise. “Do yourself a favor. Walk away. Now.”
“Sure, sure. I’m outta here.” Wrenching free, Wall Street beat feet.
Jude breathed a sigh of relief...only to realize this could happen again and again. Ryanne was free to flirt with, call, date, kiss or sleep with anyone she desired. Next time he might not be nearby. Or, if he was, he might end up in prison.
Touch what’s mine, and die.
There was only one way to stay out of jail. A short-term relationship with Ryanne, as Brock suggested. He would take what he could, while he could.
He and Ryanne could be together every night before she left for Rome. A couple months of blissful sexual satisfaction. Blissful, exclusive sexual satisfaction.
As much as he’d suffered in life, he’d earned the right to luxuriate in the woman who tempted him like no other.
He would feel guilt, yes, but that guilt would have an expiration date. The only other option? Walking away and living with long-term regret.
Ryanne glared at him, her chest rising and falling in quick succession. “You had no right, Laurent. Absolutely no right!”
He so did not like hearing her refer to him by his last name.
Had he ruined his chances with her? Maybe. Probably. But he’d faced worse odds and won.
First, he owed her a compliment. “You are...” His gaze roved over her, his blood heating. “Spectacular. I look at you, and I hunger. As I’ve proven, I can’t stay away.”
Her eyes widened as they studied him. Electric currents arced down his spine, and the rest of the world faded. They were the only two people in the world.
He whispered, “I want you, Ryanne. Here, now. I plan to take my time, to savor every inch of you.”
Her pupils expanded, a sea of midnight, and her eyelids grew heavy. Tremors rocked her, encouraging his hope. “What happened to once and only once?”
“A mistake. I’d like the opportunity to make you come over and over again.” He bent down, kissed the base of her neck, the tip of his tongue grazing the pounding fury of her pulse. “I’m not done with you. Are you done with me?”
“I don’t... I can’t... Argh! You are like a burr in my saddle, you know that?”
As conversations ceased and multiple sets of eyes focused on them, the world zoomed back into focus. Small-town living. Everyone thought they deserved to know everyone else’s business.
“We’re drawing an audience. Come on.” Jude took her hand and led her through the gaping crowd.
No protests, no attempts to wrench free. His hope continued to magnify.
Inside the inn, he made a beeline for the reception desk, where Holly Mathis, Dorothea’s younger sister, was seated.
Spotting him, the teenager set down her phone and crossed her arms over her chest. She always did her best to stand out, and today was no different. She wore a red corset top and a black ruffled skirt. Her neon pink hose were ripped, the tops of her combat boots frayed.
“Why aren’t you celebrating your sister’s upcoming nuptials?” Ryanne asked the girl.
“Why aren’t you minding your own business?” Holly popped a bubble with her gum.
Ryanne smiled with all the sweetness of a rattlesnake. “How about I tell Dorothea about the time you and your friends came to the Scratching Post and—”
“Fine,” Holly rushed to add. “I’m grounded. A boy snapped my bra, and I broke his nose. Dorothea congratulated me, but Mom doesn’t yet understand the concept of sexual harassment—and the consequences. So why aren’t you two losers out there celebrating the upcoming nuptials?”
“We’d like a room,” Jude said. “Please and thank you. And did you notice what I did there? Used my manners like a big kid. You should try it sometime.”
Pop. “Are you guys going to bone? Because starting right this second we offer hourly rates. One hour is double the cost of an entire night, because it comes with my silence.”
He...had no idea how to answer that.
“Depending on how the conversation goes once we’re in the room,” Ryanne said, “this might be a cold-blooded murder situation.”
“In that case.” Holly tossed a key at Jude. “The room is free of charge. The press will do us some good. But try not to get blood on the comforter, m’kay?”
Jude rolled his eyes and launched into motion. Thanks to Daniel, the inn had undergone a complete transformation. Gone were threadbare pink carpets, peeling wallpaper with faded strawberries that looked like testicles, and laminate countertops. Every piece of furniture—from the scuffed and stained couches to chairs and coffee tables—had been polished or reupholstered.
Elaborate chandeliers dripped with ruby and emerald crystals shaped to resemble wild strawberries. Different walls had been painted different shades of beige, and the floors were solid wood. The counters now boasted gold-veined marble.
The rooms were being renovated and decorated with themes. Well, most of the rooms. The one Holly had given them hadn’t yet begun its transformation. At least it had been spotlessly cleaned, and there was a bed...
Jude turned the door lock, an ominous click sounding.
“All right,” Ryanne said, and sighed. “Let’s get this conversation over with so I can be on my way.”
He turned and roved his gaze over her slowly, lingering on all the pla
ces he planned to touch.
“Jude.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, covering the hardening peaks. “You do realize you’re screwing me with your eyes, yes?”
“Yes. But I can’t look at you any other way.”
She began to soften, then scowled. “Okay, I get it. You’re horny, and want to have sex. But why me, the girl you’ve repeatedly ignored?”
“I haven’t ignored you. I can’t. You walk into a room, and my gaze finds you. You walk away, and all I want to do is follow. You breathe, and my body aches.”
A gasp. “I... You...”
I’ve rendered her speechless. Shouldn’t smile.
What the hell? I want to smile?
“I want to have sex with you a second, third and fourth time,” he said. “Actually, I want to lose count, and I don’t want to stop until you leave for Rome.”
Her mouth opened, snapped closed. “So you would be my temporary boyfriend?”
A boyfriend was a husband without legal ties.
His skin burned too hot while his blood flashed ice cold, and a clammy sweat formed over his brow. “There’s no need for labels.”
“So this would be a two-month-long one-night stand? We’d be friends with benefits?”
He nodded: yes. He was the speechless one now.
Goose bumps broke out over her arms. One minute passed. Two. She licked her lips, fanning the flames of his desire. “Before I’d ever consider agreeing, we’d need to get a few things straight.”
Elation went head-to-head with fear. If she had conditions, he wasn’t out of the game. But. Commitment terrified him. Fall into love or even like with a woman, only to lose her? Never again.
Desire eclipsed both the elation and the fear.
He nodded: continue.
“Last time, you treated me terribly after sex.”
Guilt flared, and finally he found his voice. “You’re right, Wade. I was an asshole. I’ll try to do better this time.”
“Wade again,” she muttered.
Hated the use of her last name as much as he did? “Ryanne. Shortcake.”
She softened. Another minute ticked by in silence, this one thick with tension. Staring down at her shoes, she toyed with the belt around her waist. Nibbled on her bottom lip.
When next she faced him, her eyes were narrowed, the long length of her lashes fused together like puzzle pieces. “I’m not sure you understand how deeply you hurt me. I gave you my—” Her cheeks flushed a vibrant shade of rose. “Body. I gave you my body, and you—”
“Wait. Stop for a second.” Suspicions danced through his head yet again, and his gut churned. Why had she paused? Only one reason made sense. To stop herself from saying my virginity. “Was our first time your first time?” he asked point-blank.
The color in her cheeks deepened and spread. “What does it matter?”
Oh, shit. Shit! Breathing became an impossibility. Answering a question with a question was telling. “It matters. So tell me true. Was our first time your first time?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
Damn her! “Because you shouldn’t have gifted your virginity to a broken man.”
She blanched, her arms falling to her sides. “Why do you keep calling yourself broken?”
“And once again you failed to answer my question. Tell me the truth, Ryanne.”
Up went her chin. “By giving myself to you, I gave us both the gift of an orgasm. Stop being greedy, asking for more.”
Feeling as if he were choking, he pulled at his tie to loosen the knot. “I will find out the truth one way or another. Even if I have to start asking the good people of Strawberry Valley about your dating history.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, yes, I would.”
“Fine.” Her chin lifted another notch. “Take heart, Laurent, because I most certainly did not give my virginity to a broken man.”
He began to sigh with relief...relief paired with—surely not. Surely he wasn’t disappointed.
Then she added, “I gave my virginity to you. A warrior. A protector. A man who made me feel safe and sexy, who rushed over to help me when I needed him most.”
Jude stumbled back, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of shock, anger, more guilt. A lot more guilt. More fear and possessiveness. Even...euphoria.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he demanded.
“I was afraid you’d stop.” The picture of feminine pique, she anchored her hands on her hips. “But don’t go feeling special. If not for an avalanche of trust issues, I might have a thousand lovers in my past.”
Would he have stopped if he’d known the truth?
No need to ponder. No, nothing would have stopped him. “Why did you trust me?”
“A moment of insanity.”
Hardly. “Why? Tell me.”
She huffed and puffed with indignation, but said, “Before I met you, I’d already worked through most of my issues. I’d found a journal Earl had written, and his love for his first wife...well, you reminded me of him.”
Thank God for Earl.
Jude scoured a hand down his face. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I will do better this time.”
“I want to believe you, I really do, but...”
“But,” he prompted, gentle now.
“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”
Needing to touch her, craving a connection, he stepped toward her. “Being with me doesn’t have to be a mistake.”
She gulped and stepped back. “Maybe, maybe not. I have questions.”
“Ask. Quickly.” He pushed his weight into his heels, somehow finding the strength to remain in place. “Time isn’t on our side.”
Her tongue slid over her lower lip, leaving a sheen of moisture. “You mentioned you wanted to be with me every night before I leave for Rome, that we’ll be friends with benefits.”
“I don’t hear a question.”
“Are we friends? Before, you said—”
“I know what I said.” Annnd remaining in place ceased to be an option. He moved directly in front of her, only a whisper away, the scent of strawberries and cream intensifying. “I’ll never lie to you, and I’ll protect you and yours. When you need help, I’ll drop everything. We are friends.”
She closed her eyes, drew in a heavy breath. As she exhaled, she faced him, her irises exquisitely smoky. “Last question. Will you cuddle me afterward?”
Her meaning crystalized, and a slow smile bloomed. “Yes, I will.” Gladly.
“Good. Now take off your clothes.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DESIRE CONSUMED RYANNE. She’d been a goner the moment Jude approached her. Oh, she’d tried to hold out. Succumbing to the man’s rugged appeal a second time could mean one thing: trouble. She’d even tried to move on and flirt with another man.
Glen had made her laugh, so what better candidate? Except, he hadn’t made her burn.
With Jude, she smoldered.
So he’d played hard to get for a while. So what. Ryanne was one of only two women capable of shattering his iron control. Whether he admitted it or not, she was special to him.
The fact that he’d just offered her a prolonged sexual odyssey—icing on the cake. How could she send him away?
“I don’t see you stripping,” she said.
He removed his tie, paused, then took a step back. “Clothes stay on until you answer my questions.”
Oh, no, no, no, cowboy. You aren’t going to be in charge.
Desperate for him, she unzipped the top half of her dress, letting the material fall just under the cups of her bra. “Go ahead. Ask. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here making myself more comfortabl
e.”
His hands fisted at his sides, and she had to cut off a laugh. “You understand that we are one hundred percent exclusive, yes?”
“Try to see another girl. See what happens.”
Satisfaction eased the scar that branched through his mouth, turning his perma-frown into another almost-smile. “I need to hear you say the words.” Mimicking her, he said, “‘No, Jude, I won’t be dating other men. Or looking at other men. Or breathing the same air as other men.’”
Silly, sexy man. “Jude, for me no other man exists. Happy now?”
“Not yet, but I’m getting there.” He seemed to steel himself for whatever came next. “That Glen guy. Were you interested in him? Will you regret not going out with him?”
How to reply without ruining the moment? “Glen lost his job in the city, so he moved back to Strawberry Valley to stay with his parents. First, he hit me up for a job. I told him we had no open positions, and he said he was kind of glad because he’d rather date me than work for me.” Crap! She was babbling. Get on with it. “I told him to call me, and we’d work out details. I wanted to forget about you.”
His low snarl—of jealousy?—thrilled her. “Do you want to forget me now?”
“I just want to get with you.”
A flash of amusement in his eyes. “Glen isn’t good enough for you. But then, neither am I.” He reached for her, every fiber of her being catching fire. Then he plucked her cell phone from her grip.
“Hey!” Even as her heart hammered against her ribs, her brows drew together with confusion as he plugged in her password—a series of numbers she’d never shared with him—and typed—
No, he deleted Glen’s unfinished number. His navy blues challenged her to protest as he returned the phone.
Protest? Please. Her bones threatened to melt.
“You have often demanded compliments from me.” He trailed his knuckles down the center of her chest, summoning goose bumps. “Today I expect to be seduced by you.”
The air thickened, suddenly charged with electricity. The familiar scent of him—spiced rum, black magic—teased her. “Oh, cowboy, let’s be honest here. I breathe, and you’re seduced.”
Can't Let Go--A Bad Boy Romance Page 16
