But now, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d come alive in Emilio’s arms. The way his breath stuttered in his chest and the way his orgasm had been almost forced out of him. The power he felt with the man underneath him—spreading him, spilling on him, owning him. Emilio lay there with his arms out and his knee hitched up and a flush crawling up his throat—vulnerable to anything Jude wanted to do to him. And he looked up at Jude like he wanted it.
A knock at his door ripped him from the memory of the biker, and he groaned, attempting to rise. Of course, he hadn’t been able to jump to his feet since he’d fallen out of that damned window, so the most he managed was a weak roll onto his side. “It’s open!” he called.
It was probably a stupid thing to say. Eliah was always beating him about the head with vigilance and safety and other rubbish. And deep down, he knew he shouldn’t take risks, but he found it difficult to care very much right then.
Turning his head to the side, he felt a ripple of humiliation when the door opened, and the man of his constant fantasies stepped in. It was almost unfair how well and put together Emilio looked for having been near dead when he was pulled from the burning house. Jude could see a faint scar along the edge of his forehead where his hair was pushed back, but he was steady on his feet, and his lip was curled into a half-smirk.
“Yoga?”
“Physical therapy,” he grunted. He ignored the way regret flickered across the man’s face, and without any real grace at all, he heaved himself up. The position was hell on his tendons, but he knew he needed to start pushing himself a little bit more. “Did something happen, or is this a social call?”
Emilio shrugged, crossing the room, and he dropped into Jude’s armchair without invitation. “I was worried about you. Eliah wouldn’t tell me shit about your recovery.”
“Mm. Very sweet of you.” He knew there was more edge in his tone than Emilio deserved considering what they’d been through together, but Jude needed to protect himself. He didn’t want to fall victim to his heart the way his brother had—not when he didn’t know if it was something a man like Emilio would want to keep.
For his part, Emilio just sighed and didn’t offer a hand up when Jude struggled to his feet, and he appreciated that in ways he didn’t entirely understand. Leaning back, the biker’s gaze roamed around the room, and it was the first time Jude actually noticed the difference between his eyes. The prosthetic’s pupil didn’t match his organic eye, and it didn’t have the same range of motion. But it was realistic enough that it startled him—just like it had when Jude saw him in the hospital bed with an empty socket.
“I didn’t realize being a rabbi was so lucrative,” he said after a beat, and Jude couldn’t stop the startled noise he made. “Beachside condo?”
With a scoff, Jude rolled his eyes and grabbed his cane, hobbling to the kitchen to start the kettle. The man might get under his skin a bit, but he still had enough manners to offer tea. “It’s a sublet. The owner died like two months ago.”
“Uh?” Emilio said, his tone a little tense.
Jude poked his head around the wall and grinned. “I think it might be haunted.”
Emilio grimaced, and Jude saw something real—something almost like fear—flicker behind his eye. “Very cute.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts,” he said, moving to grab the tea bags. He’d have to do it in several trips because he wasn’t steady enough to let the cane go yet. He piled everything but the water on the tea tray, then attempted to balance it on his arm as he limped through the doorway.
“What the hell are you…” Emilio started. He was on his feet in seconds, snatching it from Jude’s wobbly grasp. “Jesus Christ, dude. Just ask for help.”
Jude said nothing, not really in the mood to give up his pride, but not really in the mood to defend it, either. He simply let go with a resigned sigh and moved back for the hot water. “I haven’t been able to shop,” he said as he shuffled over with the kettle. Jude had taken the liberty of dropping two bags into the mugs, and he poured before easing down on the edge of the sofa with a small groan. “This is pretty much all I have in the way of tea.”
Emilio stared at him out of the corner of his eye. “You know I’m not here for some uptight British hospitality, right? Besides, you have like literally an entire motorcycle club at your disposal. Why don’t you make one of the Prospects grocery shop for you?”
Jude scoffed again and shook his head. “I’m not really interested in being more indebted to you or your friends.”
He was surprised at how stunned Emilio looked at that, and he almost opened his mouth to take it back, but the biker sat forward over his knees before Jude could say anything else. “Look, I know we ain’t your people, and we haven’t given you much reason to trust us. But I would think after the shit you saw go down…”
Jude let out a sigh and held up a hand. “You’re right. I’m being an arsehole, and that’s entirely on me.”
Emilio blinked, then cocked his head to the side. “Is it the knee?”
Unable to help his laugh, Jude shook his head. “To be honest, I prefer the physical pain over this never-ending existential crisis. I had sort of hoped the mad escape from a burning house after my brother shot a man would have shaken things up, but the moment it got quiet again…” He trailed off, and Emilio made a soft noise of understanding.
“I’ve been there.”
Jude had no doubts the man had been there—and back again, from the look on his face. But he didn’t want to ask him about it. It had been a damn long while since their night at the cabin, but Jude could still feel the echo of his touch—of his warm body and the pliant way he lay there and let Jude possess him. And the heat still existed, a quiet thing in the pit of his stomach, wanting more—almost desperate for it.
“Can I ask you honestly what brought you by?” he asked again. “And don’t say it was for my well-being.”
Emilio blinked, then let out a very quiet sigh and shrugged. “You’ll probably think I’m a jackass if I say it was because I missed you.”
“No, I’d think you were a liar,” Jude said, hoping he was right, because he didn’t want this man to miss him. This man was complicated and difficult and terrifying. This man was the opposite of anything and everything Jude had ever known.
Emilio offered him a crooked smile and leaned back in his chair again. He took a delicate sip of tea that could have put any English gran to shame, then he drummed the fingers of his left hand on the arm of the chair. “Then you’re gonna have to accept it was for your well-being. It’s part of my job—making sure civvies under our protection are safe.”
Jude let out a small sigh and shrugged, staring pointedly down at his knee. “Considering I don’t go anywhere or do anything, I’d say things are perfectly normal.”
There was a long, tense pause, then Emilio leaned forward and set his cup down. He let out the smallest little groan as he pushed to his feet, then dragged a hand through his hair as he offered Jude something like a smile. “Okay, I can read the room. But just…do me a favor okay? Any weird shit happens, call me.”