by R. C. Martin
When I get to the part about our after dinner activities, I find myself slowing down. He notices, arching an eyebrow at me expectantly before he plates our breakfast.
“So that’s it? The man made you dinner and you talked for the rest of the night.”
“Not exactly,” I murmur, snatching my plate away from him before taking a seat at his round kitchen table.
He joins me, handing me a fork as he sits. “Did he make a move? I mean, damn, I know you’re great company, Teddy, but the man wants you. Don’t tell me he didn’t make a move.”
“He made a move,” I admit before shoving a bite of egg into my mouth.
When Geoff grins at me, I can’t stop myself from smiling back at him.
“I know you’re a lady, Theodora Rose, so I’m not looking for all the gory details—but you have to tell me…”
I bob my head as I finish chewing my bite. “Better than I ever imagined it could be,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth as soon as it’s empty.
“Fuck, yes!” he practically growls as he lunges for me. He cups my face in his hands and smacks a kiss against my forehead. “Just call me proud papa, baby girl.”
With a laugh, I bat his hands away from me, wiggling out of his grasp. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I assume, since you’re still in his clothes, that you’ll be seeing each other again?”
“Next week, I think,” I reply hopefully, remembering our recent goodbye.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I think that counts as date number three.”
I roll my eyes at him. “No. This will definitely be our first date.”
“He’s made it to first base. I’m calling it date three,” he argues before taking a bite.
I think about last night, the way he touched me, the way he made me feel alive in ways I don’t ever remember feeling. It’s been so long since I’ve shared any type of real physical intimacy with a man, and I’m not entirely certain what base we made it to last night—but something tells me he rounded first base and kept going.
And I let him.
I don’t tell Geoff what I’m thinking, content to keep my memories just that. Mine.
Well—not entirely mine, but ours.
Mine and Judah’s.
Monday morning, after my alarm clock sounds, I lie in bed for a minute. It’s been two nights since I’ve had a woman in my bed—eight since I’ve had a naked woman in my bed—and yet, the one who occupies my mind in this moment is the one I’ve yet to touch.
I look at the empty pillow that was once covered in her full head of hair. When I spot a single lock still clinging to the case, I grab it, wrapping the long strand around my finger as I try and figure out what it is about her that has me so intrigued. I’m aware how much my body desires her. That was clear from the moment I laid eyes on her lithe, gorgeous body. I wish to ravish her—to own her—to break her in ways that will leave her begging for me. I want to see her face as she crumbles under the ecstasy of her pleasure. I want to hear her moan. I’ve heard the soft sounds of her enjoyment, but I sense there is so much more in her.
She’s a shy creature. She lacks the confidence that I usually look for; yet, her tendency to blush and ramble when she’s nervous or embarrassed is more alluring than off-putting, and I can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s her eyes—her stunning, brown eyes—full of—of—fuck, I don’t even know. It’s not innocence that I see. Whatever it is, I think it could be mistaken for innocence—but, despite her age, there is something there that she keeps hidden. I think of her tattoos, of the little she told me about them, and I know that she carries with her something—something that has managed to grab my attention, at the very least.
Assholes aren’t born, they’re made.
She understands the nature of man—the reality that we’re perhaps more vulnerable than we’d like anyone to believe. Some men succumb to that vulnerability, making them weak. Others, like myself, embrace it—manipulating it to work in our favor. I won’t pretend to know how she spotted the darkness in me, calling me out on my shit in a way no woman has before. But I know that does not speak of any type of innocence. Yet, there’s something about her—something that has me convinced she’s untouched. I wouldn’t go so far as to assume she’s a virgin. Not at her age. Not with the way she let me kiss her the other night.
She wants me. Whatever morals she’s holding onto, her body doesn’t lie. In the gallery. At the restaurant. Wrapped in my arms. It doesn’t matter where we are, I feel the slow burn of her fire every time I touch her.
Goddammit.
I throw the sheets from over me and get out of bed. She’s got me thinking with the wrong head. I’m sure once she has wet my dick, I’ll figure out that there isn’t some big mystery here after all. I probably just need to get her out of my system. It’s not as if I can adequately explain why she’s any different or better than any other female who has frequented my bed.
With a sigh, I head to my closet and dress for a workout. If there’s one thing I know for sure, I don’t let any woman possess my mind. I played that game with Aubrey, the whore, and lost. I won’t lose again.
An hour and a half later, as I’m finishing up my coffee and scrolling through the morning paper on my tablet, Marta arrives. I flick my wrist to check the time. Seven o’clock, on the dot. I turn off my device and head to the sink just as she reaches the landing of the stairs.
“Good morning, Mr. Jude.”
“Good morning, Marta. How are you?”
“Oh, muy bien. And you?”
“I’m well,” I assure her. She enters the kitchen just as I exit, and then I remember— “Marta, I need you to make a dry cleaning run today.”
“I took the dry cleaning last week,” she reminds me kindly.
“Yes.” I nod. Back when Marta first started working for me, we managed to come up with a system in regards to my laundry. She washes linens, along with my casual wear, every week. The dry cleaning she drops off every other Monday, leaving me to pick it up the following Wednesday. However, I promised Teddy I’d return her clothes within the week—and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.
“I just need something attended to before next week’s load. If you could please drop it off today, I would appreciate it.”
“Of course, Mr. Jude.”
“Thank you.” I’m just about to descend the stairs when the image of Teddy in my bed invades my thoughts. Up until now, I’d managed to get through my morning routine with her stowed away in the back of my mind. It is quiet apparent my reprieve has come to an end. Picturing her sleeping form tucked between my sheets makes me wonder when I’ll have the pleasure of her body warming the space next to mine again?
“Marta?” I call out, turning to face her once more. “Don’t change the sheets.”
“You stripped them already?”
“No,” I mutter, shoving my fists into my pockets. She lifts her eyebrows as she hums her surprise. I know that I would usually offer her some type of explanation, but this morning—I can’t give her one. My request sounds odd even to me. “It’s simply not necessary.”
“Okay,” she says with a curious smile.
“Have a good day.”
“You too, Mr. Jude.”
It’s Wednesday afternoon, and I’m just getting ready to head out for lunch when a man walks into the gallery. I stop and look back at Geoffrey, who is busy with a potential buyer. He must feel my eyes on him, or maybe he’s just curious to know who has entered the building, because he looks in my direction. He smiles and winks at me when he catches on that the man who came in is carrying a delivery especially for me. A little laugh gives voice to the giddy feeling in my chest, and I try and calm down as the man approaches.
“Delivery for Miss Fitzpatrick,” he announces.
“That’s me,” I assure him, reaching for the white dress and pink blazer wrapped in a dry cleaning bag. He then hands me a little white bag with ribbon handles.
“If you could please sign, verifying that yo
u received your parcels.” I drape my clothes over one arm, taking the pen he holds out to me before signing on the sheet next to my name. “He also wanted you to know that there’s a note inside the white bag.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Have a good day, Miss Fitzpatrick.”
As he turns to leave, I head behind the reception desk, folding my clothes over the back of my chair. I sit, anxious to find out what message Judah has left me this time. When I open the bag, I find my delicates inside, along with the note that was promised. I try not to think about the fact that Judah had my underwear cleaned for me as I set aside the bag and open the small envelope. Pulling out the card, my eyes immediately focus on his neat, masculine script etched across the paper.
I feel myself grow flush from head to toe. Only, it’s not embarrassment I feel. Instead, my mind is busy imaging exactly what that might feel like—his hands on my naked skin.
I shake my head, needing to rid my mind of the thought. Kissing Judah is one thing. Letting him feel me up over his t-shirt is another thing. But letting him strip me bare? That is not something I’m anywhere near ready to handle. I know it’s what he wants. Since the moment we met, he’s made that perfectly clear. However, he also said that he was a man who would respect my boundaries, and that is one of them.
Though, I must admit, there’s something about him—something about how I feel when I’m with him—it makes the idea of sex not so daunting as it usually is.
He stirred something awake in me last Friday. While I’m not ready to jump in bed with him, I like the way he makes me feel. I haven’t had that in so long. Plus, after the way he took care of me like such a gentleman, I’ve convinced myself that I can take his words to heart—not just that he will respect my boundaries, but that he won’t manipulate his way between my legs. He might be a bit of an arrogant asshole who thinks that I’ll surrender to him on my own accord, but I’m not afraid that when I prove to be stronger than he thinks, that he’ll take what he wants without my permission.
Sex has always been one of the biggest reasons why I haven’t really felt comfortable dating. That and trust. You can’t have any sort of romantic relationship with someone, casual or otherwise, without addressing both of those things. But with Judah, it all feels different. Geoff read right through me when he called me out, giving voice to the fact that it isn’t Judah I don’t trust so much as myself. It’s unusual for me to feel that way, and yet I think it’s part of the reason why I feel bold enough to entertain whatever it is that’s going on between the two of us. Then there’s the fact that we’ve never actually danced around the topic of sex. Judah’s forward nature has shifted the dynamic of what I can expect moving forward. With everything laid out on the table—his expectations as well as mine—I don’t have to worry about the part of dating that has always kept me hesitant.
Needless to say, I’ve given this a lot of thought for the last few days. Now, after almost three weeks, I’m starting to embrace the excitement that he makes me feel. At night, when I’m lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I still find myself wondering what it is that he sees in me? I would have to be an idiot not to have a keen interest in him—given that he’s not only extremely attractive, but also notably successful, brilliantly talented at what he does, and so unapologetically Judah that he turns heads just by entering a room with all of that sexy confidence.
And his kiss…damn, the man can kiss.
Again, I shake my head clear before I toss his note back in the bag and gather my delivery to take to my car before heading out to grab my lunch. As soon as my hands are free, I pull out my phone to send him a quick text.
Me: Thank you for returning my clothes, and in far better condition than I left them.
After I hit send, I drop my phone in my purse, not expecting to hear back right away. Then, before I walk two steps, I hear the chirp of a text alert. I dig for my device and smile when I see his name light up my screen.
Judah: You’re welcome. Can I expect that I’ll be receiving my clothing back, as well?
My smile stretches into a grin as I think of what to say in response. I find his question both amusing and incredibly valid. The thought did cross my mind to sleep in his t-shirt until it no longer smelled like him—but then I decided that would be just a little creepy. I washed what he allowed me to borrow with a load of laundry yesterday.
Me: Your clothing is clean, folded, and ready to be returned to its rightful owner. Though, we don’t all have means to errand boys, like yourself. I’ll bring them with me when I see you again.
Judah: Friday night, then.
Me: Friday? Are you asking me out right now?
Judah: No.
I frown down at my phone, disappointed in his reply. Before I can think of a response, he sends me another message.
Judah: I’m not asking.
Me: Oh, no?
Judah: Six. Tomorrow makes seven. I’ve done as you’ve asked, Theodora. Friday night, you’re mine. I won’t take no for an answer.
My grin reappears as I stop walking, suddenly too distracted to travel and text at the same time. Hearing him counting down the days until he gets to see me again makes my heart swell. In this moment, I realize just how much I’m looking forward to seeing him, too.
Me: Then I guess my answer to your non-question is yes…
“Let’s go out tonight,” says Geoffrey as I clear away the remainder of today’s work.
I’m actually surprised by how fast the day has passed. Andy was in and out most of the morning before he spent a good chunk of the afternoon locked away in his office. Geoff tells me he’s trying to put together a small exhibition in a few months. Apparently, he was inspired when they went down to Denver last week.
“Okay,” I finally agree.
I could use something to distract myself for the evening. Tomorrow night is my date with Judah. I’m still not sure where we’re going, as he hasn’t given me any details, but I’m not worried. I’ve spent two evenings in his company now, and he hasn’t disappointed me yet. Though, a clue as to what I should wear would be nice.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask Geoffrey, deciding to worry about tonight only.
“Let’s go to The Tap Room.”
I stop what I’m doing and look at him cautiously. The bar he’s referring to is where he met Reeve. While Geoff seems to be handling his break-up a lot better these days, I’m not stupid. I know he misses him. They were together for too long for him not to.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he states, shaking his head at me. “I’m fine. Reeve doesn’t own The Tap Room. I can’t avoid my favorite places just because they remind me of him. Fuck, if I did that, I’d have nowhere to go.”
I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him, waiting to see if he’s telling me the truth. He stares right back, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. When he doesn’t have another smart-ass comment to throw my way, I decide that tonight’s invitation isn’t as carefree as he led me to believe. I don’t press the issue, knowing it would do no good, and then offer to play the role of designated driver. When he thanks me without argument, I know I’ve read him correctly.
After we lock up for the night, we each head home with plans for me to pick him up as soon as I’ve changed. Once I’ve reached my apartment, I hurry into my room and rifle through my closet for something cool to wear for the evening. I slide into a pair of distressed jeans, the ones with the holes at the knees and across both thighs. I then throw on a loose fitting, grey and white stripped tank top and slip my feet into flat, white sandals. The big, pink flower necklace I wore to work today works with what I’ve pieced together, so I leave it on. Finally, since my tank covers my whole back, I decide to pull my hair up into a ponytail. I take one final look in the mirror, to insure my makeup still looks okay, and then I grab my purse and hurry out the door.
Forty minutes later, Geoff and I walk arm in arm into The Tap Room. I’m not at all surprised to see that the place is buzzing with p
eople. Geoff isn’t the only one who loves this place.
“Over there—look, a table just opened up.” He grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd until we’ve secured our spot. I sit, but he doesn’t—his focus zeroed in on the electronic menu displayed above the bar, listing the outrageous variety of beer they have available tonight. “You want a drink?” he asks, looking over at me.
“Yeah, I can have one.”
“Cider?” I nod, never having been a big fan of beer. “Which kind?”
“Surprise me.”
“All right. Be right back.”
“I’ll be right here.”
It’s been a long day at the office, and I’m beat to shit. What started off as a good day with the completion of the Dixon project turned into the day from hell when we lost a major account. Someone at our Denver location completely fucked up. Despite our best efforts, Aunt Eddalyn and I could not convince them to keep their business with us. With that great loss on our hands, decisions had to be made. I’ve never been a fan of firing people, but it’s something we’re considering. It was suggested by Aunt Eddalyn that we both sleep on it. I’ve decided to drink and then sleep on it.
When I walk into The Tap Room, I can’t tell if I’m in favor of or repelled by the crowd. Under more normal circumstances, this would be the perfect atmosphere in which to immerse myself. One cursory glance is all I need to see that there are a few women in here I wouldn’t mind spending the night with. Yet, for the sake of one exquisite, shy, redhead, I won’t be indulging my dick this evening. I’ll have to be satisfied with a drink.
I take a seat at the end of the bar when I notice there’s a baseball game on. I shrug out of my jacket before draping it over the back of the stool, then I look up at the menu of beer selections that stretches over the bar. The woman who takes my order is a busty blonde with a flirty smile, and I decide a couple hours in this place will do me some good. For a while, the game holds my attention, helping me to set aside today’s troubles. When I begin to relax, my mind fills with thoughts of Teddy.
