Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4) (70 page)

The satin dress that I have on is black, clinging to my every, barely-there curve, the skirt flaring out after it passes my hips. It’s long, the hem grazing the tops of my shoes, but sleeveless. The straps are made of thick, black lace, connecting with one another in a high collar that covers the top of my chest and shoulders. There’s no fabric between the satin that covers my breasts and the length of lace that lays across my collar bone, exposing my pale skin and the tiniest bit of cleavage. I’m sure the dress is made for someone who has more to show off, but I don’t care. I love it. I also hope the man I love likes the way it looks, too.

The gallery has been closed all day, in preparation for tonight. There was an insane amount of activity when I arrived this morning, and things were barely calming down when I slipped out. I left early so that I’d have time to get ready, and I managed to find the patience to curl my hair. My long beach waves now hold a little more bounce than usual as they hang down my back, polishing off my look for the evening. With my fresh coat of make-up, I’m officially all dolled up and ready for Geoffrey to swing by and get me.

The event starts at eight and Judah promised he’d meet me there. Like usual, I can hardly wait to see him. He said he’d be at the office late tonight and he wouldn’t have a chance to stop at home for a shower and a change before I had to be back at the gallery. I know he’s putting the final touches on a couple different projects, and he wanted to wrap them up before the weekend. I hope he was successful. I’ve been sharing him with work a lot over the last three weeks, and I’d like him all to myself for once.

Besides—this weekend marks our three-month anniversary
.

I doubt he realizes that little tidbit of information; he’s not really the type to keep track of sentimental dates like that, but I am. I’m not sure that I’ll mention it, in case he thinks it’s totally silly, but it’s enough that I remember. I’ll make sure to kiss him a little more than usual this weekend. I know he won’t refuse my affection, and that’ll be enough to keep me satisfied. What matters more than the date is the relationship itself. For two people who have actively avoided relationships for so long, I’m really proud of us and the happiness we’ve managed to find with each other. I love him so much—a truth I tell him every day, just as I promised I would.

A knock at my front door pulls me from my thoughts, and I take a deep breath, turning to catch a final glimpse of my back in the mirror before I go answer it. When I swing the door open, I’m greeted by a dapper looking fellow in all black—pants, shirt, jacket,
and
bowtie. I grin at him, chuckling a little as I check him out.

“Copy cat.”

“What?” he asks innocently. “It’s slimming.”

I burst into laughter, holding my middle as I admire the man I often refer to as my favorite Viking. He’s certainly nowhere near fat, though
slim
is something I doubt he’ll ever be. When he smiles and winks at me, my heart is filled with warmth. He looks so very handsome, and the sadness that lingered in his eyes for the first couple months after Reeve left him is finally starting to vanish.

“You look amazing, Freckles. I’m honored to be your honorary date—for at least the next hour or so,” he tells me, holding out his elbow.

“Right back at you, babe.” I accept his gesture, holding onto him as I lift myself on my tiptoes to reach for the corner of his mouth with my lips. “If you don’t mind sharing, you could be my date
all
night.”

“Ha!” he barks. “Have you met your boyfriend?”

I nod, instantly understanding his point.

“On second thought, maybe there’ll be a hot, single, gay artist there. We like artists,” I say, offering him my best grin.

“Yes, baby girl, we do. Shall we be off?”

“Yeah. I think we better make sure Andy still has his head on straight.”

“Christ,” he mutters as we exit my apartment. “If only you were joking.”

“One more night,” I remind him, giving his arm a squeeze. “And a fun one, at that.”

When I walk into the gallery, it’s filled with people milling about, drinking champagne, picking at hors-d’oeuvres and, of course, admiring the pieces set up for the exhibition. For a second, I imagine that the threesome that keeps MTA going must be quite proud of tonight’s turnout. It appears to be a success, if I were to appraise such a thing simply on attendance alone. As I shift my focus away from the crowd and narrow my search to just one, I tell myself to make it a point to catch up with Andrew tonight to inquire about his level of satisfaction in regards to how it’s all going.

I don’t spot Teddy as soon as I would like, and I make my way further into the room to find her. She told me earlier that her dress is black, but it’s her dark red hair that I seek. When I finally see her, I cannot fight the urge to stop and stare at the exquisite creature that I know as mine.

She’s standing with a small group of men and women, all of them gathered around someone who holds their attention as he speaks. The black dress she has on is elegant, making her look ravishing, and my chest swells just
admiring
her. Her hair falls in big curls down her chest and back, and I want to bury my fingers in the thick, soft strands and tug—I know the gasp that would come from her precious mouth with the act, and thinking about it makes my dick stir.

When she laughs, her whole face glows. The sight causes a slight smile to pull at my own lips, and I cannot feign surprise at the way she makes me feel. She sips at the champagne she holds in her hand, and I watch her throat as she swallows. It’s a simple, natural act, and yet it makes me anxious for when we can quit this place to be alone. She thinks me insatiable, and I am. For her, I most certainly am.

I’m so fucking fucked
.

When I notice that I’m not the only one blatantly staring at my shy girl, I’m pulled from my trance. I fist and flex my fingers as I make my way toward her across the room, feeling irritated that anyone would so much as
think
that a woman as fine as mine would be here alone and available to admire. She’s
not
—and I am determined to make that fact perfectly clear
right
now.

As if she can sense my presence, she turns her attention away from the man speaking and looks over at me. When our eyes meet, she smiles sweetly, and my irritation is tamped down—replaced by a sense of calm. Her gaze is like a whisper, coaxing me to relax. I extend my arm toward her as soon as I’m within reaching distance, placing my hand on the small of her back as I tuck her against my side.

“Hi,” she whispers, looking up at me.

“Hello,” I reply before leaning down to kiss her lips.

As I begin to pull away, she reaches up to hold my cheek. “One more,” she pleads softly.

I chuckle quietly before granting her wish, lingering just a second longer this time.

“You look stunning.”

“Thank you,” she replies, pressing herself further into my side. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“How’s it going?”

“Good! I think quite a few pieces have sold already. Remember why I told you Andy decided on photography?”

I nod before I say, “It’s not the gallery’s niche.”

“Right. Andy thought that a photography exhibition would draw some new interest, and he was right. He’s come across some really talented artists putting this together, and the turn out is better than I think he was hoping for. This has been a marvelous networking opportunity. I’ve met so many people in the last hour. I even managed to talk to this guy—oh, my gosh, I’m going to have to show you his piece. He’s got such brilliant artistic vision. He talked to me for a little bit about technique, and it was amazing. He even gave me a few tips to try out the next time I play with my camera.”

Her excitement is captivating, and my eyes roam her face as she speaks. I like hearing her talk about her passion. She’s convinced that photography is nothing more than her most beloved hobby, but I disagree. I can tell by the way she talks about it that what she feels is akin to how I feel about interior design—it’s our life’s work.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

“No reason. Show me this photo you were talking about.”

“Okay,” she beams, pulling away from me before reaching for my hand. She laces her fingers with mine and leads me around the group that I found her in, toward the gala’s grand display for the evening. “Oh,” she sighs, coming to a stop. “This wasn’t the one I was talking about, but look at it. Isn’t it beautiful?”

She stops at least five times before we make it to the piece she originally wished to show me, but I don’t mind. Her enthusiasm is endearing, and I’m happy to indulge it.

“This could be you,” I tell her, positioning myself at her back as I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her against me.

“What?”

“You could sell your photography. You’re good enough.”

“You’re bias,” she says, resting one of her hands over mine.

“I’m honest, and I’m right.”

I think about the prints that I had framed for her. She insisted that I keep one, since I had paid for it in so many ways. I found a spot for it in my bedroom, hanging on the wall between the closet and the bathroom. I still find myself stopping to look at it.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” she says with a noncommittal shrug. “Anyway—I’ve been hogging you since you got here. We should mingle and get you something to drink.”

Her lack of confidence makes way for her excellent attempt at evasion, and I set her free. I don’t wish to make her feel uncomfortable—not here, not now. Alternatively, I press a kiss against her temple and then pull away from her before offering her my arm.

“It’s your evening, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

The exhibition was fantastic
before
Judah arrived—and then Judah arrived and it was phenomenal. He knew no stranger, and every time we were pulled into a conversation, he was the polished, exceptional man that I love—just as well spoken as he is handsome. It took a great deal of concentration to keep from drooling over him, and I had to remind myself to
speak
on more than one occasion.

He didn’t let go of me all night, for which I was grateful. He drew more than a little attention from more than a few women in the room, and it put me at ease knowing that he wasn’t paying them any mind. My perfect gentleman. Now that we’re finally on our way to his place, I’m ready for him to be a little less charming and a lot more affectionate. The champagne that I sipped all night has gone to my head, and I’m feeling
needier
than usual.

I need out of these shoes.

I need out of this dress.

I need his hands—his lips—his cock.

I need
all
of him, everywhere.

When he pulls his Land Rover into the garage, I slide my hand over onto his thigh. He kills the engine and looks over at me before I speak.

“Thank you for coming tonight. It meant a lot to me to have you there.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I was hoping…” I hesitate for a second and then ease my hand to his inner thigh, feeling my way toward his groin.

“You were hoping
what
, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice smooth and deep.

I will myself to be bold, ignoring my heavy, shallow breathing as I grip his cock. My stomach erupts with butterflies and my center pulses with excitement when I feel him grow hard at my touch.

“I want you,” I whimper. “My entire body aches for you right now. I
need
you—just you,” I continue, bringing my face closer to his.

“Just us,” he mutters, lining up our lips.

“Just us,” I repeat before his mouth closes around mine.

He kisses me deeply, reaching out to hold the back of my neck. I squeeze the bulge in his pants, starved for its attention. The grunt that sounds from the back of his throat turns me on even more, and I know my panties are well on their way to drenched.

“Please, Judah,” I murmur through his lips.

“What my woman wants, my woman gets. Come on.”

He presses one more firm kiss against my mouth before he pulls away to climb out of the car. I follow after him, ready for the promise of all he has to offer. When we cross over the threshold into the house, he reaches his hand back. I grab hold of his fingers as I shut us in, letting him lead me to his room. He flips on the light and sets the house alarm, locking us in for the night, and my patience grows less and less with every move he makes. Then, he turns to face me, letting go of my hand before reaching up to bury his fingers in my hair.