“Our business dinner’s over.”
“Yeah, but I still have half a bottle of very nice wine over there. If you leave, I’m going to have to finish it myself and that’s kind of sad, don’t you think?”
I raise my left hand. “I’m not one to judge, so no. I don’t think that’s sad. You bought the wine and you should enjoy the hell out of it guilt free.”
Jude inhales, lifting his hand to the back of his neck as he pivots to glance out the window. There’s almost this nervous energy about him, one that wasn’t there before, like he can’t stand still, and I get the impression there’s something more he wants to say.
“I should go,” I say, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you so much for tonight. I’ll keep you posted on everything. And feel free to send me a bill for your time.”
His brows furrow. I think I’ve insulted him, but I don’t want him to think I’m entitled or that I’m assuming his advice came free of charge after he arranged for this incredible dinner.
“Love …” he says my name as his eyes fall to my mouth for a short second, but long enough for me to notice.
The sails are shifting, the wind blowing us in a different direction, and this is where I jump ship.
“Goodnight, Jude,” I say, placing my empty stemware on his counter before grabbing my clutch. “Thanks again for your help.”
With that, I duck out of there before he has a chance to try to kiss me.
And before I have a chance to let him.
Eight
Jude
* * *
I change out of my bougie clothes, pour the hundred-dollar bottle of wine down the sink in the butler’s pantry, and cap off the night with a cold beer and some sports highlights.
Tonight was intense at times, but I think I managed to pull it off. I had no fucking clue what a “strategic business consultant” even did, but an hour before I went to get her, I did enough internet research that I got the gist of it.
She seemed to buy it.
That said, while I wasn’t busy being a deceptive bastard, I actually enjoyed my evening with her. The food was perfection and the view was amazing (and I’m not just talking about the cityscape outside my window). There were times I almost forgot that this wasn’t real, times I caught myself wondering what it might be like to taste those rosebud lips and bury my fingers in that soft, sunshine-blonde hair.
Taking a swig of beer, I place it on a coaster and massage my temple.
I almost kissed her tonight. At first, I was on the fence, wondering if the timing would seem random, but we were standing there, the mood was set, her voice was soft, and her eyes were sparkling. It was all but a written invitation to make a move, but as soon as she so much as picked up on what I was about to do, she bolted.
I’m not sure how the hell I’m going to take us from this to walking down the aisle in a little under six months or why the hell Hunter thought that was even a possibility. He made it sound like this was going to be a cakewalk, that she was lonesome and eager and she’d practically jump into my arms like a rescue dog begging for someone to love them.
It’s almost like he set me up to fail by placing an impossible task in my hands.
Or maybe he doesn’t know his former wife as well as he thought. Maybe he had her all wrong? There’s also a chance the divorce changed her in a way that Hunter never anticipated or isn’t aware of.
Either way, I like a challenge, but I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this arrangement. Threats and dollar signs will do that to a broke and desperate man.
Finishing my beer, I carry it to the sink and give it a rinse before tossing it in the recycling bin. Everything here is so proper, so organized, completely opposite of my place in Brooklyn where you can’t go more than two steps without stepping over Cabbage Patch babies and toddler-friendly Lego pieces, where the trash is always overflowing and we don’t even own a recycling bin because there’s no room for one in our microscopic kitchenette.
But still, there’s a part of me that won’t let myself enjoy this.
I don’t deserve to.
Making my way down the hall, I stop when I hear the soft pats of a late night knock at my door. Turning back, I head for the door, glancing out the spyhole. The corners of my mouth curl up when I see Love standing there.
She came back …
I smirk.
“This is unexpected,” I say when I greet her a second later.
Love’s eyes lock onto mine and her tongue traces her lower lip before she begins to say something, but I don’t give her a chance to speak before pulling her in and closing the door. I’m being forward as hell and I know it, but I’ve got to seize this moment before it’s gone for good because God only knows when I’m going to have another opportunity to make a move.
“Jude …” my name is a breath on her lips, the very ones I’m about to claim.
Sliding my hand along the side of her soft jaw, I lower my mouth to hers, bracing her against the door as her body melts against mine. She exhales, the scent of wine filling the space around us, and I taste tonight’s wine on her pillowed lips before our tongues collide.
I knew it.
I knew she wanted this.
Confident in my choice, I kiss her harder, my fingers buried in her soft hair and free hand curling behind her hip, pressing her body tight against mine.
“Jude …” she says my name once more, coming up for air. Her mouth is pink, her chest rising and falling in quick little spurts, and her eyes search mine. “I … I forgot my phone.”
Fuck. Me.
Backing away and feeling like a jackass, I lift my hands into a wordless apology.
Heading toward the table in my entry, she locates her phone, lifting it to show me as she offers a gracious smile. “It must have fallen out of my bag.”
“I, uh … wow. Um. I’m so sorry, Love,” I say, massaging the back of my neck, head tucked. “Guess I was excited to see you and got a little ahead of myself.”
Rubbing her lips together, she winks. “I’ll let it slide … but just this once.”
Turning, she shows herself out.
And I stand here alone, reveling in the fact that she kissed me back.
Love kissed me back.
And if that isn’t a sign of what’s to come, I don’t know what is.
Nine
Love
* * *
No one has ever kissed me like that.
Not Jared Kepner in the seventh grade.
Not my high school boyfriend, Robbie Smart.
Not my ex or anyone in between.
Pacing my apartment with Jude’s taste on my tongue, I try my damnedest to ignore the 100 mile-per-hour beat of my heart and the electric charges igniting every nerve ending in my body.
It was just a kiss.
I’m a single woman.
I’m a free woman.
I’m allowed to have fun.
This doesn’t mean we’re dating.
And most importantly, this doesn’t mean we’re going to date.
Even if I was in a place where I was ready to get back out there, Jude is exactly the kind of guy I don’t need. In all his glorious perfection, he’s got heartbreak written all over. I see it on that chiseled, flawless face of his and etched in those dusty green irises I lose myself in when I’m not being careful.