He looked conflicted. On the one hand, tension hardened the lines of his jaw. On the other, he hadn't stopped giving her that hungry look since she'd arrived. Whatever he might be feeling, one thing was sure. Jude wasseeingher deeply. More deeply than anyone had seen her since she’d been with him last.
“Tour?” she repeated.
“There’s not much to show you.”
“I'll be the judge of that.” She wandered farther in. “Did you have this cabin built?”
“I did.”
“I guessed as much. It feels like you, like it was made for you.”
“I wanted something simple that was focused on nature.”
“You achieved that.” The more details she noticed, the more she appreciated his home's genius. “There are windows everywhere, which means you don’t need art because the views are the art. Did you keep the size small because you didn’t want to leave a giant footprint on the land?”
“That’s part of the reason.” His hands delved into his pockets. “Also, it’s just me and Mabel. We don't need a bigger house.”
Humble Jude. Never one to call attention to himself or his money.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Three years.”
She wasn't crazy about cabins with wood on the floors, walls, and ceilings because that brought to mind thoughts of burial in a pine coffin. He hadn't made that error. Here, the floors were wood as were the ceiling beams, which came to a point high above. White-painted sheetrock covered the rest.
The kitchen cabinets wore a coat of neutral dark green paint. Black stone countertops complemented the black freestanding fireplace that loosely divided the kitchen and dining area from the living room. His furniture was contemporary but warm. Sophisticated lines, wood accents. Shades of caramel brown, black, green, pale blue. She saw zero clutter. And though her own decorating style leaned toward happy chaos, she could admit that his more minimal style did make this place feel like a retreat.
Nosy to see more, she ambled down the hallway.
“There are only bedrooms and bathrooms down there,” he said in athat’s privatetone.
“One can hope.” She continued forward.
“I’ve been to your house several times, and I’ve never looked into your bedrooms or bathrooms.”
“Yes, because you’re circumspect. I’m not.”
His sunny bathroom looked as organized as the rest of the house. Based on the products in his shower, he was loyal to the Kiehl's line for men. Pricier than grocery store stuff, but far less expensive than he could afford.
She could feel him behind her as she made her way to his bedroom. A wooden headboard gave way to neatly made white linens. The chair by the window had a matching footrest and a book about the history of the FBI open over the armrest.
This was where he slept and the air smelled like him, addictively wonderful.
“I’m inspired,” she announced.
“Inspired?”
“To create a scent based on you.” She met his gaze. “It would sell more than Hope and Spice.” Which she’d liberally applied before traveling here today.
“People don't want to smell like me.”
“How wrong you are. I'm an expert in this field and, trust me, they do want to smell like you. It's not just your cologne, either. It's that, plus your soap and your shampoo. Your detergent. Your toothpaste. And . . .you.”
The space between them turned thick and hot with attraction. Gemma rolled her bottom lip inward and sank her teeth into it. She was with him again, finally. She wanted to taste him. She wanted to feel his lips on hers and his hair between her fingers. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted to make a move even though she'd told herself, quite firmly, after initiating their first kiss, that if they ever kissed again, it would be because he initiated.
He led her through two more bedrooms joined by a bathroom, then back to the living area. They faced one another. “Will you tell me now what brings you here?” he asked.
“My mom suspects thatyou’reJude Camden.”
