Take Me (Take Me Series Book 1)

by Calista Fox

  When she arrived at her apartment and deposited the portfolios on her coffee table, she wasn’t any more at ease than she’d been all morning. Not just unnerved over all the glaring implications she had to navigate, but also still brimming with desire for Jude.

  Her!

  The very controlled and steadfast Dr. Kate Stockman was drowning in desire.

  Her nipples were tight little buds behind the lacy cups of her bra. That tickle between her legs did not abate. And her fingers itched to splay over Jude’s chest. She wanted desperately to straddle his lap and ride him slowly as her nails dipped into his solid muscles and his hands clasped her hips, guiding her in a languid yet insistent rhythm, their gazes locked.

  Come on, Kate, she mentally chastised. Get a grip.

  She had to let go of this new obsession. She had to wipe from her brain all the images infiltrating every nook and cranny, tempting her. Beckoning her. Almost causing her to reach for her phone and tap that speed dial number that would connect her instantly with her obsession.

  Kate wouldn’t be calling Jude to try to coax him to schedule an appointment. She’d be calling him to come to her apartment. To get naked with her. To thrust deep into her and make her come so damn hard, she saw stars.

  Kate groaned.

  What is happening to me?

  She paced the living room. She had an absurd amount of work ahead of her. So much to educate herself on, so many decisions to make.

  How was it possible the only decision she wanted to make at the moment was whether or not to invite Jude over?

  Perhaps the person she really ought to give a jingle to was Nikki. A brilliant therapist herself and Kate’s closest friend, Nikki would listen and counsel and help Kate set her world back on its sensible axis.

  Or… Nikki would say, “Why the hell are you calling me when you could have the man naked and between your legs at this very moment, Kate?”

  Urg!

  She flung her hands up in the air. Mostly because it was a valid point her overactive brain was making.

  Kate’s arms dropped to her sides and her fingers curled into fists. Sometimes, she’d given credence to the suspicion she could be her own worst enemy. Painful admissions to make and never easy ones to reconcile.

  The current issue at hand was that Kate had always been great at her compartmentalization—now, however, she was feeling the hits from several angles. Charlotte and Mirabeth advocating for her, and proving to be quite friend-worthy in the process. Jude explaining how thoroughly he saw her…and making every attempt to accept her personal struggles. Nikki calling her an anchor.

  Kate’s pacing halted. She inhaled heartily. Exhaled methodically. Calm washed over her.

  Kate had dedicated herself to being a pillar of strength for anyone in need, anyone she could possibly assist. No matter what terms they were on, whether they saw eye to eye or not.

  Nikki had been right. That was Kate’s gift. The one thing she did the best.

  Now, Kate needed to be that pillar, that anchor, for herself. Because if she couldn’t get her shit together for her own personal benefit, she’d be useless in trying to aid anyone else.

  And she’d already subconsciously consented to doing whatever she could to get Jude through this current dilemma of his.

  She’d let him conclude the trial and take a breath… Then she’d approach him.

  It was a good plan in her mind.

  What Kate didn’t know, however, was that fate was much hastier and infinitely more insistent than her own meticulous planning…

  Jude prowled his office, the recorder on his computer rolling, so that the ticking of every sound in the room made an animated needle quiver and jerk…though the only sounds that currently registered were Jude’s boot heels on the marble floor and the ice jiggling in his otherwise empty glass.

  He hadn’t spoken in fifteen minutes, at least.

  When he’d pressed the record button, he’d deftly launched into his closing argument, his brain churning with all the perfect phrases and pertinent facts and resounding reasoning that would win this case for him.

  It was so fucking cut and dried, he could have prattled on for hours about conclusive evidence and substantiating documentation and the extreme lack of any sort of existential proof to make any other decision than to rule in favor of his and his co-counsel’s clients.

  Yet his vehement diatribe had died on the vine only a few minutes in, and Jude was now knee-deep in murky mental waters he was having a bitch of a time wading through.

  Turning sharply, he marched over to the wet bar and splashed two fingers of scotch into the glass. Drained it and poured two more.

  He was agitated. He was cranky. He was in need of punching something—or someone.

  Totally out of the question at the moment, of course. He was done with MMA fighting.

  So he resumed his pacing.

  What most poignantly plagued Jude was that excruciatingly agonizing declaration made by Nathanial Stevens the very first day of the trail.

  My wife is dead!

  Jude drew up short. His gaze flashed to his laptop bag, where his file folders were concealed.

  “Son of a bitch,” he grumbled irritably. Then slammed his glass down on the desk, snapped the lid closed on his laptop and snatched up his bag. He stalked out of the room.

  He whipped his cell from the front pocket of his suit pants and tapped the number for his driver. He’d long since divested himself of his jacket and tie. And Lord knew his hair was probably a fucking nightmare with the incessant amount of times he’d raked a hand through it.

  His pulse beat erratically at the base of his throat and every muscle in his body was rigid.

  He fought the mental repeat performance of Stevens making his torturous announcement in front of God, jury and spectators. A roomful of lawyers who weren’t supposed to care about the casualties, just recount the facts and lead everyone down the logical path of acquittal.

  Though this wasn’t a murder trial. Right?

  Jude growled as he stepped into the elevator.

  Wrongful death was on the docket. But what had happened at that factory was an accident. A death had occurred, true. Yet absent mens rea, malice, intent, perceived greed and personal gain… Every conceivable criminal implication had been wiped from the slate during endless hours of examination and cross-examination, not to mention via the lengthy line of expert witnesses paraded in for both sides.

  That, however, did not keep the parties involved—Jude included—from experiencing the aftershocks of the tragedy laid before them.

  Jude felt the downward spiral coming on. He’d kept Stevens’ words and that soul-stabbing expression on the man’s face at bay for weeks. A much longer time than was necessary to hear the facts of the case. And those expert witnesses had piled more innocent conjecture upon innocent conjecture until it was just so fucking blatant Stevens was going to lose, Jude wanted to grab the man by the shoulders and demand he back the hell down and take the fucking settlement originally offered!

  But something also stopped Jude from doing just that. The anguish in Stevens’ tone, perhaps. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes, which had started out condemning, had morphed into desperation, and now reflected sheer and utter hopelessness.

  Yet despite that, Stevens still held on. By the thinnest strand, sure. But the man was determined to ascertain a significant reason for his wife’s death.

  “Goddamn it,” Jude mumbled under his breath. Then, to his driver, said, “Can you pick it up, Brent? I need to be somewhere—quick.”

  “Doing my best, sir.”

  “Of course. I know.” Jude shook his head, his aggravation mounting. That clawing within him was sharp and jagged-edged. Shredding him. Until Jude could barely breathe.

  When the car pulled alongside the awning-topped entrance to Kate’s building, Jude couldn’t get out fast enough. He shoved past the doorman and announced his name to the security guard at the elegant front desk. With his phone still in
his hand, he called Kate. She picked up immediately.

  “I’m downstairs.”

  “I’ll make sure they let you right up.”

  Jude had no doubt his tone set off warning signals in her head so that she jumped on clearing him. He barely made it to the elevator when the attendant greeted him and said, “Miss Stockman is expecting you.”

  Jude knew the attendant wore an earpiece to stay on top of all the comings and goings in the building. He’d found it reassuring when he’d learned of this, thinking Kate could very easily wind up in a precarious position with one of her patients, depending on how disturbed they were and how much they projected their angst onto Kate.

  If they happened to follow her home…

  Jude couldn’t think of that at the moment. It’d be just one more dagger that penetrated too deep.

  He tapped his toe impatiently as the car rose. Not fast enough for Jude. His secret war waged within him and his already too-tense body was practically stone when he finally stepped onto Kate’s floor.

  He marched down the long hallway to her end unit and she pulled open the door just as he reached it.

  Kate didn’t say a word, just moved out of the way, allowing him to cross the threshold.

  Jude had been in her place a few times for in-home sessions. Mostly when he was too amped up to wait until morning to see her and she’d insisted he come to her. All that security surrounding her—the cameras outside her foyer and the state-of-the-art system—gave her comfort, he was sure.

  Jude was grateful for that, yet would eternally contend she shouldn’t give out her home address. Even to him.

  All moot at this point. And she’d told him it was a rare occasion when she divulged that sort of information or acquiesced to an unexpected visitor making it this close to her.

  He supposed he should be thankful she trusted him that much. But even that didn’t fully register within Jude.

  He preceded her into the main living room. Kate’s apartment was sophisticatedly appointed, but also intimately homey, with lots of plush chairs and sofas and two adjoining walls of windows that showcased the Manhattan skyline. A suspended staircase in a far corner led to her loft/bedroom. Jude’s gaze lifted to that space. Though he innately knew they’d never make it that far. Kate circled around to face him and asked, “Hot tea?”

  Jude actually laughed, gruff though it was. “You know I don’t drink hot tea, Kate.”

  “Scotch, then.” She walked over to the wet bar, but spared a few glances at him over her shoulder along the way.

  “I need to show you something,” he told her without preamble.

  “Show me?” Her expression turned quizzical.

  “You’ll understand.”

  “Okay.” She fixed his scotch and poured a glass of wine for herself. She joined him in the center of the room, in front of a sofa and coffee table. She handed him his drink and sipped hers. Then said, “I had a feeling you’d hit a wall soon.”

  “Been trying to scale it since this case started.”

  “Tell me.”

  With a nod, Jude said, “I can’t get my closing argument out of my head and onto paper—or even a recording. And it’s a fucking brilliant one, Kate. One of my best yet. So damn good…the plaintiff will go down in flames. Problem with that? There’s nothing left of the man to incinerate.”

  “Jude.” The cords of her neck pulled taut. “What the hell?”

  15

  “He’s completely wrecked, Kate. Destroyed on a level even I can’t comprehend. I mean, I can, but… No.” Jude’s brow furrowed as anger roiled through him. “I know what destroyed me. I was there. I witnessed it. This guy… Fuck.”

  Jude took a deep sip, then pulled the strap from his shoulder and slung his bag over the arm of the sofa. He released the clasp and yanked out a photo. The one that had tormented him for weeks.

  Thrusting it at Kate, he said, “This is all Nathaniel Stevens has. The only testament or solidification or…whatever justification needed to demonstrate what happened to his wife. This woman he loved, who went to work one day and never came home.”

  Kate stepped forward, never one to shy away from the grim and gritty. The very reason Jude was here tonight.

  She took the eight-by-ten picture he presented and stared at it. Yes, she gasped, but she didn’t falter. She gazed steadily at the photo, then lifted those tawny eyes of hers to Jude.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Does it matter?” he edgily countered.

  “I know you know it. So, yes. It matters.”

  “You don’t ask arbitrary questions,” he mused in a brittle tone. “Right. I remember. Her name is…was…is Dawn. Dawn Stevens. Twenty-seven. Very beautiful in that really fragile sort of way. Like your friend Charlotte. The kind of fragility that makes you…want to…” He gave a harsher shake of his head.

  “Protect her,” Kate offered. “Keep her safe. Provide her security. Shelter her.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the plaintiff—”

  “Her husband, Kate.” Jude knew the look he gave her was a laser-sharp one. “He didn’t protect her. Keep her safe. Provide her security. Shelter her. Not because he didn’t want to…because he couldn’t. Everything about her work environment should have ensured Dawn made it home safe and sound that day—just like every other day. There’s no reasonable explanation, no blame to pin on anyone. Not even a big-ass manufacturing company that issued a faulty product. They didn’t. Seventy-two hours…” he mumbled. And turned away.

  Kate stepped around him once more, facing him. “Seventy-two hours? Till what, Jude? For what?”

  Staring into her glowing eyes, he said, “The piece of equipment that inadvertently, mysteriously failed, Kate, was inspected less than seventy-two hours before the explosion occurred. It passed the most rigorous of tests—all of the tests. There was nothing fucking wrong with this one valve that altered someone’s universe. That killed a woman. That destroyed a man.”

  Jude’s gaze held Kate’s. Her eyes misted. But she neither blinked nor glanced away.

  Jude said, “This horrific fucking thing happened. And now I’m the asshole who has to strip whatever shred of a life is left from this person I don’t even know. Yet… I do know him, Kate.” He stared more pointedly. “He’s me. Four years ago.”

  “Jude—”

  “I have no choice, right, Kate?” he challenged, his barbed tone speaking volumes.

  “This isn’t the same scenario, Jude.” She didn’t break the eye contact as she took a fortifying sip from her wineglass. “What happened with Annalise… She stripped all choice from you, Jude. She left you with no decisions to make, with no opportunity to discuss or rectify or solve a tragedy in the making. This is similar to Mr. Stevens’ case, Jude. But not the same.”

  “It is the fucking same, Kate.” He polished off his drink, whirled around and headed back to the bar. Cracking the seal on a fresh bottle of scotch, he said over his shoulder, “Annalise cheated on me because she felt it was just a matter of time before I did it to her—first.”

  “That’s not entirely true, Jude. I read her journal, remember? She never fully understood or accepted how you felt about her. She was insecure by nature. Jealous to a fault when it came to you. Obsessed with whether you’d—”

  “Betray her.” He whipped around and said, “I never once gave her a reason to doubt my affection, Kate. Not once.”

  “I know that, Jude,” Kate contended in an even voice. “Annalise didn’t.”

  He set aside his crystal tumbler. His wide stride had him crossing the room so fast, Kate leapt out of the way. Only not far enough.

  Jude grabbed the photo from her and demanded, “Look at this, Kate. Not me. This.”

  “I have looked at it, Jude. There’s a woman lying on the asphalt of a near-empty parking lot with a pool of blood surrounding her head.” Kate recited the details without taking her gaze from him. “You don’t see Dawn Stevens here, Jude. You see Annalise. Lying on your liv
ing room floor, a pool of blood around her head. Only it wasn’t shrapnel from an explosion that went through her temple. It was a bullet.”

  Jude’s eyes squeezed shut.

  “You caught her red-handed, cheating on you, Jude. Her infidelity was the result of her irrationally convincing herself that cheating on you first would make it easier to stomach the day she discovered you being unfaithful.”

  He already knew this. But didn’t interrupt.

  “She believed you’d be betray her, because she didn’t believe in herself enough to think she could hold your attention, your interest, your affection. And when you were devastated by her actions, you ended the engagement. She was devastated as well. So much so, Jude, she walked into your living room and before you could say a word or make a move—she put that gun to her head and pulled the trigger. Robbing you of every single choice you would have made going forward. Putting all the blame at your feet. Not giving you a moment’s opportunity to turn it all around.”

  Jude’s lids snapped open. He stared at Kate. Her tone was raw, full of emotion and with a jaded infraction he’d never heard from her before.

  Something moved and shifted inside of Jude.

  He took a step closer to her. “You’re angry, Kate.”

  “No, Jude,” she said on a quavering breath, tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m furious. And I’m heartbroken. For you.”

  Kate was the one crossing boundaries now. Completely eradicating them, actually.

  She took several small sips of wine, then returned her glass to the wet bar. She paced alongside it, wringing her hands. Then halted and raised those hands in the air, in surrender.

  “I shouldn’t have said that, Jude.”

  “Why?” he inquired, his irises darkening further, until they were shimmering obsidian stones peering shrewdly at her. “Because you don’t want me knowing you have feelings for me, Kate? Newsflash, honey…that ship of yours has sailed. I felt everything you felt the other night. Get it?”

  “We’re not addressing the sexual aspect. We’re—”