The ache inside of me only grew as my heart craved what I’d starved it of.
“Judah,” I whispered as a tear slipped down my cheek.
He cupped my other cheek and kissed the tear away. “Please don’t cry, little fox.”
“You called me foxglove in the poem you wrote.”
“That you are,” he said as he kissed the corner of my mouth. “Beautiful. Deadly. Alluring.” He slanted his mouth over mine. “And I would happily go to my grave just to taste you. To be consumed by you.”
I was the one who kissed him, giving in to the inexplicable desire to have him near. I was tired of fighting.
His taste was all too familiar. The moment our lips touched, the knot in my chest unfurled, and I could breathe.
His fingers tangled in my hair as he traced my lips with his tongue. I opened for him, drawing him deeper. Needing more of him.
Needinghim.
Needing the man he is.
Not who he pretended to be. Not who he thought he had to be. I wanted the desperate man who burned down his entire life for me.
“Bedroom,” I whispered as my hands grew frantic. “Now. Right now.”
“Amelia—”
“Don’t tell me you don’t want it. Don’t you dare lie to me. If everything you just said is true, then I want you to take me to bed and prove it.”
That was the last straw.
But Jude didn’t throw me over his shoulder the way I had become accustomed to. He scooped me up in his arms and cradled me like a bride as he carried me to my room and laid me on the bed.
“Arms up,” he said as he lifted the hem of my blouse and worked it up and over my head. My bra was next. He unfastened the band and slowly pulled it free. He continued the slow, methodical process until I was spread naked for him. Jude let out a slow breath. “I missed you.” He kissed my navel. “I missed you so fucking much.”
“That’s not the word you used a minute ago,” I said as I started on his necktie.
It was strange seeing Jude in a tie.
He caught my wrist in his hand to stop me. Stormy eyes met mine. “I love you.” He took off his tie, then straightened. I watched as he lifted his untucked shirt and unclipped his gun from his hip and set it on the nightstand, beside the book of poetry.
The juxtaposition was perfectly Jude.
“I love you, Amelia,” he said as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. “And before I say it to you again with my lips on your skin and my hands all over your body, I need you to know that I have no expectations of you saying it for a long time. But I’m going to do my best to make you feel it.” He bent and kissed up my sternum before resting his forehead in the valley of my breasts. He sat up and shirked his button-up. “And tonight, I’m going to sleep on your couch—or maybe in your bed with you if you’re willing—and then I’m going back to work in the morning in these exact same clothes.” He dropped his dress pants, revealing black boxers that left nothing to the imagination. “And in between all those things, I will tell you anything you want to know.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck as he hovered over me. “Right now, I want you to stop talking.”
Jude did just that. He braced himself over my body, keeping us heart-to-heart as he kissed, nipped, and sucked at my skin while I did the same to him.
His hands were warm and his touch was tender. Each caress was an unspoken word.
The ones he vocalized were the same eight letters, over and over again.
I love you.
And I believed it.
41
JUDAH
