What the hell am I doing?
Chapter Twelve
What the hell did Jude mean by that?
Not that Mason really cared to delve deeper, not when Jude continued to press butterfly-soft kisses along his neck and rub those large hands over his stomach. Hell, he’d give up food for a week to keep Jude sweet like this.
“Stay and have dinner with you?”
“Mmhmm.” Jude sucked at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and as physically exhausted as he was, Mason’s body responded. “Stay.” His nipples beaded tight, and Jude rolled the stiff points until Mason whimpered.
“Okay…please, Jude…” He couldn’t form the words, and his head lolled onto Jude’s shoulder.
Jude’s lips curved in a smile. “I like hearing you ask me nicely.”
“If you kill me, I won’t be able to say anything.”
“That might be a good thing too sometimes. Silence has its virtues.” Jude’s chuckle rumbled through him, and Mason couldn’t stop the smile breaking over his lips. “Come on, then. Let’s get you something to eat.”
Jude slipped into his boxers and walked out of the bedroom, leaving Mason on the edge of the bed, half-hard again, aching and confused.
This Jude—kind, soft, and funny—was virtually unknown to him. Mason had seen him this way with Ilana but no one else. He liked this Jude very, very much. Almost as much as the wildly out of control Jude in bed.
He hopped on one leg, then the other to put on his briefs, then scrambled after Jude. The large, airy apartment was open concept, and he saw Jude standing at the island with a plate in hand.
“You don’t have to go to any trouble.”
Jude set the plate on the sparkling-white surface. “It’s no trouble. I already said…oh.” The light in his face dimmed. “You can leave. I won’t keep you.” He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms, his gaze trained to the floor.
Alarmed, Mason hastened to his side. “What? I didn’t say I wanted to leave. Not after…you know.” Hesitantly, he touched Jude’s arm. “Talk to me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I don’t want you to think you have to stay. You might have other plans.”
Those formal words coming out of that mouth that had kissed him into oblivion earlier confused the hell out of Mason.
“I don’t. I’m here with you.” He pulled out a high barstool and sat, hoping Jude would join him, but he didn’t, remaining all stiff-necked by the sink. “Is it about what happened between us? Do you have regrets?”
Jude barked out a laugh. “Regrets? My whole fucking life is one big regret.”
His confession stunned Mason, and he hurt at the pain etched on Jude’s face. “How can you say that? Look at everything you’ve accomplished. And all on your own. I know you singlehandedly kept your family afloat during your mother’s illness.”
Jude growled, “I don’t want to talk about this.” He strode past Mason and flung himself onto the large sectional sofa dominating the living room.
But Mason now knew Jude better. He’d been the beneficiary of the gentleness of Jude’s hands sweeping across his naked flesh, setting his blood on fire. He’d seen his kindness and good nature toward a lonely, elderly neighbor. Tough but fair, Jude ran his business with a firm hand and a watchful eye, brooking no nonsense and expecting everyone to give one hundred percent every day, while at the same time remaining open to new, fresh ideas, even from someone unproven, like Mason.
With determined steps, Mason followed Jude and stood in front of him. “Yeah? That’s fine. You don’t have to talk. You can listen to me.”
Startled, Jude raised his brows, and his lip curled in amusement. “Is that so? You’re into giving me orders now?”
“If you’re too thickheaded, then yeah, I am, because I’m trying to reconcile the Jude I thought I knew—the scowling, angry, totally uptight hard-ass—with the Jude tonight, who made love to me so perfectly, I still feel him inside me.”
“Why? Do you think this is going to happen again?”
If Jude had faced him squarely, maybe Mason could’ve accepted it, but Jude had avoided him since leaving the bedroom. So Mason decided nothing would be accomplished by leaving their emotions sitting between them. Warren had taught him to stand up for himself and what he wanted, and as broody, annoying, and a pain in the ass as Jude might be, Mason wanted him.
“Yeah? Are you going to claim it’s another mistake?” Mason glared at him. “Are you drunk? High?”
“No, of course not.” Jude laced his fingers together, and seeing them tremble, Mason bit back a self-satisfied smile. “But it shouldn’t have happened. And why are you still here?” Clearly irritated, he glanced up at Mason, finally meeting his eyes.
