Wilde Nights in Paradise (A Wilde Security Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (7 page)

Chapter Seven

She couldn’t move. She was never going to be able to move again. And she was perfectly okay with that.

As the first rays of sunlight peaked through the trees and dappled the sex-rumpled sheets with dancing shadows, Jude lifted his head from the pillow where he had collapsed after the latest round of wall-pounding sex. His breathing still hadn’t quite settled—for that matter, neither had hers—and his hair stuck up in charming bedhead spikes. Probably didn’t help any that she had spent hours last night tugging at it, dragging her fingers through it. All that dark, rakishly long hair was soft as a kitten’s coat, and she couldn’t get enough of it. Even now, she had to fight the urge to run her fingers through the strands one more time.

Scowling, he squinted toward the wall of windows. “Shit,” he muttered and stuffed his face back into the pillow, muffling another curse.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s morning.”

Libby watched the palms in the garden sway to a gentle morning breeze. Tried to tell herself that the bitter mix of emotion in the pit of her stomach wasn’t disappointment. “Yes, it is.”

“So it’s over.”

She rolled her lips together and made sure her voice was steady before speaking. “Yes. It’s over.”

“Unless…” He turned his head on the pillow. Brows raised over hopeful eyes the same color as the morning sky outside the window. “We make it a full twenty-four-hour deal?”

Tempting. But if she gave in, she’d always give in. She was well aware she had a weakness where Jude Wilde was concerned, and she couldn’t let it get the better of her. Not again. Living through that heartbreak once in a lifetime was enough, thank you very much. “No. One night. That’s all.”

“That’s what I thought.” He sighed and pushed himself upright, swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “All right.”

All right? That was all he had to say? Just…all right? She’d expected a protest, possibly a fight. At the very least, a complaint. Not this easy acceptance. He had to be plotting something devious. “What are you up to, Jude?”

“Right now, I’m going to shower. Unless you want it first?”

She shook her head.

“Okay. Shower, then I’m gonna eat something and crash for a couple hours. It was a long night.” He spoke of it as if he’d spent the night at work, on a stakeout or whatever else he and his brothers did at that security office, rather than making love to her.

No, she corrected herself. Sex. There had been no lovemaking between them—nothing gentle or tender, and that was exactly what she’d wanted. So she had
no
reason to feel hurt about his blithe compliance with her wishes. None whatsoever. The burning sensation behind her eyelids was just from lack of sleep.

Jude stood and stretched his arms high over his head, his back arching, arms and shoulders flexing. God, he had a magnificent body. All sinewy muscle with just a faint dusting of dark hair in all the right spots. Highlighted by the sunshine, his body was a gilded work of masculine art that no straight woman in her right mind would be able to resist.

And that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? No woman could resist him, and he used that power to his full advantage.

An intricate tribal tattoo followed the entire length of his spine and flared out into broken angel wings on his shoulders. A pair of dog tags hung from one wing, a pair of ballet slippers from the other, and on closer inspection, she realized it wasn’t some abstract tribal design picked off the wall of a tattoo parlor. It had meaning, symbolized something important to him.

“Are all those swirls words?”

He glanced over his shoulder, confusion lining his forehead until he realized what she was referring to. “Yeah.”

She squinted. Without her glasses, it was impossible to read from this distance, but when she tried to scoot across the bed to get a better look, he turned around.

“What does it say?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Okay. Sore subject. Even as curiosity niggled at her, she promised herself she wouldn’t ask about the tattoo again.

Jude crossed to his still-packed bag and unzipped it. “I know I said we had to share the bed, but I was just being an ass. You can have it. I don’t mind the couch.”

Another surprise. What was this,
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
? “Uh, okay. Thanks.”

He found a pair of shorts and a shirt, tossed them both over one shoulder, and straightened. “What?”

“What?” she echoed.

“You’re staring at me like you’ve never seen me before.”

“Oh.” Maybe because she was starting to get the feeling that she hadn’t seen him before. Not really. She made herself look away, down—anywhere but at him—and realized she was still naked. She snatched the bedsheet up and hugged it to her breasts. “You just look different. Not like I remember.”

“I’m older,” he said.

“So am I. I have to ask, what’s with the earring?”

“Got it last week to piss Reece off.”

Now that was a typical Jude response. Maybe this was less pod person and more a bad case of the morning afters. Under normal circumstances, right now would probably be about the time he made his usual quick escape. Instead, he was stuck here with her, and his uncertainty about what to do next showed through the cracks in his charm, which had always been at its thinnest in the mornings.

As much as she enjoyed watching him squirm, she figured she should let him off the hook. “Go shower. I want to eat first anyway. I’m starving.”

With a weak smile, he all but bolted into the bathroom. She waited until she heard the beat of the water spray against the shower walls before climbing out of bed and finding something to wear in her own bag.

If he wanted to act like she was just one more notch on his bedpost, fine. Because that was all he was to her—a notch, a good time, a lay.

Yup
, she thought as she padded out to the kitchen. Jude Wilde meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

Chapter Eight

Holy hell, she really
had
meant only one night.

Jude stared through the sliding patio doors at her in wonder. He’d thought for sure after the rocking good time they’d had, she was going to be supple, sexy putty in his hands for the rest of their stay in Key West. Maybe if he gave her enough pleasure in bed, she’d even consider giving him a chance to prove that he wasn’t the kind of man she thought he was.

The kind of man he let her believe he was.

But there she sat, sunbathing in one of the loungers with the cat snoozing by her feet, completely ignoring him for a book. And it wasn’t even the good kind, like one of the action-packed, edge-of-your-seat thrillers Camden often read. No, it was a history of criminal law in Revolutionary America.

Boring.

In fact, she’d had her nose buried in one dull book after another all week. She’d barely said more than ten words to him since their first night here, and she definitely hadn’t touched him again, which was starting to drive him a little bit insane. He needed to feel her hands on him. Her mouth. Needed to feel her tight body giving way to his invasion, over and over again until—

Jude cursed and paced away from the window. He was losing his fucking mind. As much as he loved this house, the walls were starting to close in on him, and the air felt thick in his lungs despite the blasting A/C. Her scent permeated everything, hanging in the air like a vanilla fog. He was suffocating, boredom and unquenched desire making for a smothering blanket. He had to get out. Had to do…something.

He glanced over his shoulder. Libby hadn’t moved, hadn’t acknowledged his presence in any way. She wouldn’t miss him if he stepped out for a few, and with this place wired up like the freakin’ Federal Reserve, he could set his phone to warn him at the slightest hint of trouble. He doubted there would be any. The twice-daily e-mails he got from his brothers said everything was mostly quiet on the home front. They had found the blue car that tried to run Libby down abandoned in a mall’s parking lot, but it gave no clues as to the identity of her stalker. It had been stolen from an apartment building three miles from her office complex, and the owner was a pregnant woman on round-the-clock bed rest. She hadn’t even known her car was missing until Camden showed up on her doorstep with the news.

Dead end.

Jude’s brothers were monitoring K-Bar and his gang, as well as remotely monitoring Libby’s home. So far, the gang hadn’t even acknowledged in passing that they knew where she lived, nor had they so much as congratulated each other on scaring her off with the notes and dolls.

Something wasn’t adding up, but it was up to his brothers to do the math. He was just the glorified babysitter, which was exactly why he had to get out of the house for a bit. Being cooped up was bad enough. Cooped up with a woman he wanted and couldn’t touch?

Total. Hell.

Mind made up, he headed toward the front door. A walk on the beach. That’s all he needed. He’d be gone twenty minutes, tops.

He’d never been one to sit still and relax. After his teachers had all but given up on him, the school shrink tried to convince his father that he needed medication. David Wilde had told the shrink to stuff those meds in a very uncomfortable place, and then dragged his ten-year-old son out of the school by the scruff of his neck. Jude had half expected punishment from his tough-as-nails, Army-bred father. Instead, he got a trip to the Smithsonian. David walked him through the museum, quizzing him ruthlessly on everything they saw. It had been an awesome day. Fun. Interesting. Nothing like sitting at a desk for hours at a time, reading out of a textbook.

Finally, his father stopped walking and muttered under his breath, “Those effing teachers aren’t doing it right.” With a grin, he looped an arm around Jude’s shoulders. “Let’s go get some burgers, huh?”

Christ. A surge of intense sadness made Jude’s stomach hurt, and he stopped short halfway across the front porch. He hadn’t thought about that day in years. Hadn’t let himself because barely a week after that, his parents were gone, and it had been his fault. His carelessness, his reckless disregard for everyone around him, had gotten them killed.

He turned and studied the house’s brightly painted siding, imagined red splattered over the white front door, imagined coming back from the beach and finding a naked paper doll pinned to it. Worse, not red paint, but blood. Libby’s blood.

No. No way. Not happening on his watch.

Resigning himself to a fate of extreme boredom for the duration of this mission, he pulled open the door—

Libby tumbled into his arms. The light coconut scent of sunscreen filled his head as her bare skin, still warm from the sun, pressed to his. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and her arms wrapped around his neck, holding on tight.

Jude didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this sudden show of affection, but man, did it ever feel good. He dipped his head, sought her mouth with his, and some of the tension coiled up in him eased.

This. This was what he needed, not a walk on the beach.

For a moment, she not only allowed the kiss, but participated, her tongue meeting and mingling with his. Her nipples stiffened under the fabric of her bathing suit top, poked into his chest with unyielding urgency. She rubbed against him like a cat seeking its master’s hand, all needy and trying to be coy about it.

Well, he didn’t do coy.

He hauled her into his arms and spun, slamming the front door shut and pinning her up against the wood. He pressed his pelvis to her belly, showing her exactly what he wanted and how much he wanted it. She moaned deep in her throat and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Without breaking away from her mouth, he gripped her lovely ass in both hands and lifted her, pumping against her in a pantomime of sex. Her legs circled his waist, and she arched into each thrust, so ready he could feel the wetness of her desire through the layers of clothes separating them.

Too many layers. Fuck, he needed her naked, needed to pound into her until her orgasm locked her body around him and tore his own release from his cock.

Jude reached around and tugged on the knot of her bikini, but the movement was too fast, too insistent, and she froze in his arms.

Goddammit, she couldn’t keeping doing this to him, running so damn hot that her lust was all but combustible in one instant and then giving him the cold shoulder the next. He tightened his grip around her and stilled his hips. He tasted her again, softening the kiss, trying to tell her in action what he’d never be able to explain in words. She melted into him, and for a second, he thought he’d won this battle.

She bit down on his lower lip. Hard.

“Ow!” He jerked backward. “Son of a bitch!”

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded and shoved his shoulder. “Put me down.”

He did. His lip felt numb. He ran his tongue over it to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. Nope, no blood but he needed a cold compress or else he was going to end up with a swollen lip. “What was that for?”

“I told you—one night. Just one. We did it. It was fun. It’s
not
happening again.”

“Why the hell not? And, hold up a second.
You
hugged
me
. Your legs wrapped around my waist.”

She slapped his chest. “I tripped, you idiot. You startled me when you yanked open the door, and I reacted…badly. Where were you going anyway?”

“Nowhere.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a look that clearly said
yeah, right
. “You were in an awful big hurry for going nowhere. Were you leaving?”

“I needed some air.” As if that excuse wasn’t transparent as fuck. Annoyed with himself, the situation—every-damn-thing—he stalked past her, intending to grab a beer from the kitchen.

She caught his arm. “Dad won’t be happy about you trying to leave when he’s paying you to guard me.”

He ground his teeth. “He’s not here, and you can’t contact him so, tell me, how’s he going to find out if I go for a walk?”

“Jesus. You have got to be the worst bodyguard in the history of the profession.”

“I never claimed to be good at this. Hell, I never wanted this job in the first place. Greer forced me into it, told me I had to face my mistakes or some shit. Well, fuck that. There’s a reason I never look back—and you’re it. I never wanted to see you again. You drive me nuts with all of your questions and protests and fucking logic. You’re so uptight, you wouldn’t know a good time if it whacked you on the ass.”

Libby flinched and dropped her hand from his arm. He thought he should feel like an asshole, and probably would later after he cooled off, but right now, his anger ran too hot.

Apparently, so did Libby’s, because after her initial shock wore off, she struck back. “You think you’re so great to live with? At least I act my age. You’re like a spoiled child. You can’t sit still for more than a minute, and you mope around here like you lost your puppy! Life’s not all fun and games. Seriously, Jude, grow the hell up.”

Grow up? He glowered at her back as she turned on her heel and marched away with her chin held high. First Reece, and now her. Christ, he was fucking sick of people telling him that. So he liked to cut loose, have fun. Did it really make him such a horrible person because he lived it up every chance he got?

No. He didn’t think so. He worked hard when work beckoned. He just played harder. Nothing wrong with that.

If anything, Libby was in the wrong here. Too uptight, too practical, too logical. Outside the bedroom, she had no concept of fun as far as he could tell, which was a damn shame because the girl he remembered knew how to have good time whenever, wherever, and however she could. She’d been shy, but adventurous and vivacious once he knocked down all of her self-containing walls, and he couldn’t assimilate the Libby of today with the Libby of yesterday. They were two completely different people.

And he’d made her this way.

Every ounce of irritation in Jude drained away at that sobering thought. He’d lost his shit after their split, diving headlong into his burn all bridges and take no prisoners approach to life, but Libby must have done the opposite, withdrawing further into herself and throwing all of her energy into earning her law degree.

Damn. He’d destroyed her confidence, smothered that spark he’d once found so attractive. At this point, any kind of forgiveness or reconciliation was a pipe dream, but he could give her some of her old self back. It’d be a helluva challenge, but she deserved it.

He drifted toward the patio doors and peeked outside. She’d gone back to her book in one of the loungers by the pool.

Perfect.

Backing up, he edged out the front door and stopped on the porch to scan the garden. Didn’t take long to find what he was looking for: a large, deep pink bloom that all but sparkled with life and color—exactly like the Libby he remembered. He leaned over the railing and plucked it from its plant, tested its scent. Sweet, also like Libby.

Yes
, he thought, twirling the stem between his fingers as he walked back into the house. This definitely might take a while.

Good thing he had nothing but time on his hands.