Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
It really is. God, he looks so beaten all of a sudden. “I’m sure she would have been very proud of what you’ve done.”
“I know she would.” Abandoning my hand, he tops up our glasses. “Now, if you don’t mind, I didn’t plan on such a sombre mood during dinner with you.”
Lighten things up. “But you planned on sending me wild and bringing me to climax over conversation?”
“Of course,” he replies, simple as that. “But as you know, Amelia, you send me wild too.”
Speaking of which . . . “Shall we talk about earlier?”
His face falls a little. “I’d rather forget it ever happened.”
“I’d rather understand why it did.”
He flicks his eyes up from the glass he’s fiddling with. “Is it wrong to want you to myself?”
“It is if we’re not on the same page.”
His eyes darken. He didn’t appreciate that. “What page are you on?”
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly.
“I’m not sure how much clearer I can be about what page I’m on. I want you.”
My next question should be for how long. But I’m reasonable enough to know that’s a stupid question to ask someone I’ve known a couple of weeks and not slept with. That alone seems crazy. I’ve not slept with him. Done many things, but not actually slept with him. “The possessiveness, the gifts. I feel like I’m in a relationship and we’ve not even had sex. Or is that all part of your seduction?”
“Seduction?”
“Isn’t that what this is? To get me into bed?”
“Amelia, I could have had you in bed the first time we met.”
“Are you saying I’m easy?”
“No.” He sighs, his body language screaming uncomfortable. “I’m saying I’m really—”
“Good at seducing women?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” he snaps, and I withdraw, stung. He breathes out, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “I’m saying I’m really into you.”
“I don’t understand, Jude. You worked your arse off to make me surrender, and yet all the opportunities you’ve had to sleep with me you’ve passed up.”
He falls back in his chair, exasperated. “I don’t want you to think I’m nothing but a fuckboy.”
I inhale. Shit. Isn’t that exactly what I need him to be? A one-track-mind man. A man I can depend on not wanting more than I want to give? And there’s my problem. Jude feels . . . different. This is all new. And he seems to want a lot of me.
“Why me?” I ask quietly.
“Aside from the fact I fancy the knickers off you?”
I hold back my grin. Just. “Aside from that.”
“You’re smart, obviously very ambitious.” He hitches an amused brow. “Determined.”
I laugh a little. “My determination has been squashed since I met you.”
“Determination to avoid me?”
“Exactly.”
“Why do you want to avoid me?”
I press my lips together. I don’t want to talk about my ex. I also don’t want to tell Jude that I’m scared of going too deep with him. “This is . . . intense.”
“You’re scared.”
“Wary,” I counter, and he nods thoughtfully as he plays with the stem of his glass. “So aside from the attraction, how smart I am, and the fact I was a very determined woman before I met Jude Harrison, what else is there?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“Just trying to understand what I’m getting myself into.”
His eyes squint, and for a moment I think he’s flinched. Then he smiles. “I sense my wealth is of no consequence to you, given you didn’t know who I actually was until recently.”
Was that a ploy on his part? He said earlier he doesn’t get attention from the right women. Gold diggers. And has that been a past problem for him? “You don’t know that for sure,” I say casually, taking my champagne and sipping. “I might marry you, stake a claim on your fortune, then file for divorce.”
He laughs lightly, and the sound has me a quivering wreck, the light fans at the corners of each eye making them twinkle madly. “You’d marry me?”
Whoa. “Hold your horses, champ.”
“Champ?”
“Casanova?”
“How about Jude. Plain and simple Jude.”
“Jude,” I say quietly, taking a breath of confidence. “And the possessiveness?”
He pouts, giving me a boyish grin. “It’s new to me.”
New to him? Interesting. “What about the anger?”
This time, I definitely know it’s a flinch, which tells me anger is an issue for him. He has a temper. My only reassurance right now is that he’s aware of it.
“I can work on that,” he says, putting his hand on the table, palm up. If I give him my hand, I’ll be accepting him. Giving him my patience and understanding. Is he angry about his parents’ deaths? About how he naturally reacts to me?
It’s rare, in my experience, that people recognise their own faults, so I truly appreciate his admission and sincerity. He doesn’t want to be angry.
“Who was that guy?” I ask, giving him my hand. He lifts it to his mouth and kisses my knuckles before setting it gently back on the table.