Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Okay.”
Jude grins and gets up, leaving me in breathless anticipation on the bed. “I’ve got a few things to sort in my office,” he calls. “Work fast.”
He’s a man of his word. I’m left to power through my rewrites with no interruptions. I find an alternative plan to recommend, thank God, and the rest wasn’t half as painful as I feared. I’m wrapping up on my final letter just after eight when Jude appears in the doorway. His eyes jump from me to my open laptop as I look up at him through my lashes.
No. Focus. I’m nearly finished.
I get back to my screen to tweak the closing paragraph of my final letter, my good fingers working fast over the keys, the ones on my injured hand struggling to keep up. And it’s sore now. Achy.
My fingers pause on the keys when I feel the bed dip, and I see Jude kneel on the end in my lowered vision. Peeking up, I watch as he tugs at his tie. Fuck. I drop my eyes again, forgetting where I was, so I reread the last sentence. Based on this, my recom . . .
My brain short-circuits, the feel of his hand wrapping around my ankle sending a rush of heat through me.
Based on this, my recommendation . . .
“Jude,” I whisper, as he licks the instep of my foot, the heat radiating up my legs. He hums, watching me fight my knee-jerk reaction to toss my laptop aside and devour him.
Based on this, my recommendation would be to . . .
He nibbles my little toe.
“Jude.”
Circles my ankle with his tongue.
Fuck. I’m gone, slamming the lid of my laptop and pushing it off my lap. I wriggle down the bed and stretch, sighing, and Jude chuckles, satisfied. Don’t care. Crawling up the bed, he straddles my hips and drops to his fists, hovering above me. I smirk, grasp his tie, and haul him down onto my mouth. His weight on me feels glorious, his smell intoxicating, his tongue rolling languidly around mine utter bliss. We kiss forever, soft and slow, our hums and moans the music while our tongues dance. This is my reward. Him.
After pecking across my cheek, he nibbles at my ear, and I shudder. Then he moves to the other. Licks the shell and kisses below my lobe. “Are you done?” he whispers, pushing his torso up, taking my hand, and lacing our fingers.
“Crisis averted,” I confirm.
“I don’t know about that.” He flexes his hips, forcing a lumpy swallow as his hardness pushes into me. I grab his forearm with my spare hand.
“Fuck,” I hiss, retracting quickly as pain flares across my palm.
“Oh, baby.” His face contorts as he takes my wrist and inspects the dressing. “There’s more blood.”
I pout as he lifts off me, collecting my bag from the floor and rummaging through. “Time to change your dressing.”
“I can do it.” I sit up and cross my legs, then start to peel at the edges of my bandage. “I need some warm salty water.” I glance at him. He’s still, my bag on his lap. “Jude?”
He turns his eyes my way, and I seriously don’t like the deep dark-blue shining back at me.
“When did he send you flowers?” he asks, holding up a card. Oh shit. My mind empties as Jude glares at me, angry.
“Today,” I say on a sigh. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? He sends you flowers, and you think that’s nothing?” Getting up, he drops my bag to the floor and starts pacing at the end of the bed.
“Okay, it’s nothing to me.”
“So he wants you back?”
What can I do? Lie? “I get that impression, yes.” What a cop-out. “I’ve made it clear to him there’s no going back for me, and he just doesn’t seem to be listening. Not even when he knew I was seeing someone.”
He looks plain horrified. I don’t suppose I can expect anything less. Jude doesn’t mix well with other men he deems a threat. “You told him you were seeing me?”
“Not exactly.” I feel myself wilting. “He saw the flowers you sent me before we . . . I don’t know, before we broke up.” Did we break up? Were we even together enough to classify it a breakup? Fuck, my head.
“How did he see the flowers I sent you?”
Oh crap. I need to shut the hell up; I’m just making this worse. “Just leave it, Jude.”
“No, I won’t leave it. How did he see the flowers I sent you?”
“Because he stopped by my parents’ when I was there.”
His head slowly tilts. “Why would he stop by your parents’?”
Oh God, I don’t like the obvious tensing of his entire frame as he stands at the end of the bed, heaving a little too much. He’s holding back his anger. Or trying to. Not doing a very good job.