My eyes go back to my work on the island. “We’ve eaten dinner together the last two nights. Although he’s being really nice, I’m not sure he eats as much salad as I do. Last night when I started making dinner, he just shook his head.”
“Gabby, a salad is not considered dinner for 99.9% of the population. No one eats as much salad as you do. That man needs some carbohydrates and red meat. Are you trying to scare him away? Plus, that’s crap intel, I’m talkin’ what else?”
My eyes go to my project, but my mind goes back to last night. After we ate taco salads—I did put grilled chicken on them—Jude and I headed to the basement to make some semblance of order since the fans were gone. My insurance company came earlier that day to check out the water damage and the door in my bedroom, killing two birds with one stone.
Lucky me.
I learned that I’ll receive a check for carpet, paint, baseboards, and the glass for my bedroom door. We caught the water soon enough and didn’t have any damage to my furniture. I’m super grateful for this silver lining because some of the pieces are antiques that my mom collected over the years and are sentimental. I also had a glass company come out and ordered glass for my bedroom door that should be in by the end of the week.
I managed to “tone it down” Sunday and Monday, without any further catastrophes or visits from the police, I’m considering this a plus. However, Jude insisted on staying both nights so I wasn’t by myself. He’s worked his way into my life in a weird way, and if I’m honest with myself, this gives me warm fuzzies while scaring the shit out of me. He continues to be sweet and thoughtful but at the same time bossy as hell. How does he pull that off so well?
Last night while moving furniture around, he was asking me more about my family, and that led to me talking about my parents.
“If you and Tony are about the same age, how long has he been practicing law?” Jude asks.
“He joined our practice right after he passed the Bar about two and a half years ago. He interned every summer, too.”
“Our practice?” He looked confused.
“Carpino Law Partners. It’s a habit to say ‘our’ because my dad was a partner. My uncles, Gino and Tony, are now the only partners, they took on Tony as an associate. He’ll make partner someday, and not just because he’s a Carpino. He’s a hard worker, specializes in Business Law and has brought a lot of clients to the firm over the last year. He’s really making a name for himself.” Jude looks at me, so of course I go on. “I guess I’m a silent investor, if you want to call it that. My uncles wanted to sell my dad’s portion of the firm to me after he died, but I wouldn’t let them. I don’t need it, my parents left me plenty but my uncles insisted in drawing up all kinds of papers and whatnots. I guess I’m part something-or-other.”
“What about your mom? What was she like?”
“My mom was amazing.” I can’t help but smile thinking of her. Jude comes closer as I go on. “She taught math at my high school, I guess that’s why I’m good with numbers. She was always quizzing me on something. She was petite, light blonde and fair, but I have her eyes. She grew up in Georgia—southern through and through. She instilled all her southern manners and hospitality in me, that’s for sure. My parents met at Baylor in Waco and the way my mom always explained it, they fell in love instantly, although my dad insisted he had to work for it. She said she had to love him to leave the south. She always gave him a hard time about winters in Nebraska, but she would have moved anywhere for him.”
“She was pretty,” he states.
“I think so.” What else is there to say?
“I’ve seen pictures around your house. You look like your mom, but you got your dad’s coloring. Your mom’s pretty, Gabby, but you got the best of both your parents, which makes you fucking beautiful.”
“What?” I whisper.
“And it’s not just your hair or bright eyes or your gorgeous face,” he goes on and my eyes get bigger as I try to take a small step back, but he grabs my waist, pulling me into him tight. Both of his arms round my back, one high and the other low. “It’s the way you are with your family, the little kids and your parents stuff. It’s that you’re so funny it’s cute because you don’t mean to be funny. It’s that you’re an accountant, but you’re not, you’re a decorator, and that’s just ridiculous. It’s the way you talk about the people you care about, especially your parents and how you’re strong and manage what life has handed you by yourself.”
“I’m not by myself,” I lie. I feel so alone some days I’m overflowing with it.
“No. You’re not,” he affirms with a squeeze and a meaning so deep I can’t even begin to think about it. “But what you are is beautiful and it’s a beauty I haven’t experienced in a really long time.”
With that, he pulls me up and his mouth is on mine, his tongue plunging instantly and my arms quickly round his shoulders trying to get as close as I can. There have been kisses since our first, but this one is different. It’s instantly out of control and his hands go to my ass, hefting me up where I immediately wrap my legs around his waist, tangling my hands in his hair. I feel him move, and then all of a sudden, we’re going down. Jude sits on a piece of my sectional that’s been taken apart and strewn across the basement, me in his lap straddling his waist. His big warm hands dip under my Baylor Bears green tank and move up the bare skin of my back.
Losing the control I’ve been holding onto the last couple days, forgetting I was scared and freaked by Jude’s invasion in my life, I grab the hem of his t-shirt giving it a pull. He lets go of me to round his back, putting his arms up for me to yank his shirt off. I toss the tee aside, sit back, and look down at a tattoo on his left peck.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
My fingers reach out and I finally get to touch his muscular chest, skin to skin. He’s warm and feels good. He has a smattering of chest hair, but not too much, with solid muscles under smooth skin. I run my fingers over his tat, some type of wings—airplane wings—with a crest in the middle. My eyes go back to his face where he’s staring at me, his eyes searing into me.
I find myself breathing hard, but also at a loss for words, so of course I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “It’s not ridiculous that I’m a decorator.”
His eyes flare and his mouth barely tips at the corners when he mutters, “Fuck.”
He grabs the hem of my ribbed tank and before I know it, it’s gone and we’re both up and off the sofa. He turns and I’m on my back in mere seconds, his mouth returning to mine. Melting into his kiss, my hands roamed his strong, hard back as I spread my legs for his hips to fall between. I feel him, excited and hard, pressing and grinding between my legs. His lips leave my mouth and travel my jaw and neck, heading straight for the swell of my breasts above my pink lace bra. I start getting lost in it all, feeling the wetness surge between my legs, arching my back in hopes to get closer to him as his tongue snakes out and traces my heated skin just above my bra. His hand comes up to cup my other breast and he runs the pad of his thumb over the lace covering my nipple making me gasp. Then I feel a thumb and a finger come together with just enough pressure for a delicious roll. It’s so good, I lift my hips to get more contact between my legs where I want it most.