He licked his lips. “Why not?”
“Why would I? It’s a waste of time if I know I’m not going to feel anything.”
“Who says you won’t?” he pushed.
Now I was pissed. “Why do you care?”
Jude’s eyes met mine. “Because there are very few things in life that we do for the sole purpose of experiencing a connection with another person. It just feels good. You don’t need an inferno to like kissing someone. Just a spark.”
I swallowed as I tried to ignore the wildfire I felt every time he was near.
When we were playing our little game of cat and mouse in the casino.
When we sat on the beach and shared an honest conversation.
When he thought I was hurt this morning and immediately rushed to me. The way his fingers felt as they grazed my throat and checked my pulse with the most tenderness I’d ever felt.
The way he made it seem like I was the only person who existed in his world. The only one that mattered. The only one he would choose.
Jude rested against the back of the couch and parted his knees. One arm was draped across the back. It was obnoxious and undeniably hot.
My attention locked on his mouth. On how soft and smooth his lips looked. On the way his tongue darted out to wet them.The way he stroked his beard with one hand. The thick, corded veins that ran up and down his arms and hands.
“I know what you’re thinking, Dr. Hawthorne,” he said in a tone that rumbled like the diesel engine of the truck.
“No, you don’t,” I scoffed.
“You’re imagining it. What it would feel like.” He lowered the hand that had been stroking his beard, resting it casually on his knee. “You’re running the odds. Trying to calculate if it’s worth it.”
I lifted my chin. “So what if I am?”
“You might be brilliant, but you’re thinking about it all wrong.”
“How so?”
One thick-soled motorcycle boot slid forward, resting parallel with my foot and inviting me into the triangle of space between his legs. “It’s not math.”
“It’s biology,” I said.
“It’s art,” he countered as he reached out and cupped the back of my knee. I floated closer. “It’s a dance. It’s . . . poetry.”
“I think you’re full of shit,” I whispered as electricity ripped through me like a lightning strike.
Now Jude’s eyes were locked on my mouth. “I’ll take that bet, little fox.”
The corner of my mouth lifted as his other hand came off the back of the couch to cradle the back of my thigh. “You’re forgetting the rule.”
Sinking down to straddle him was an out-of-body experience. “What’s that?”
His hand cupped my chin as he slanted his lips over mine. “The house always wins.”
A slow smile grew across my mouth. “I think the odds are in my favor.”
His breath grew ragged, as if he was trying to restrain himself and was nearly out of willpower. “Do you want me to kiss you? To show you what it feels like?”
Yes. Every bone in my body was screaming “Yes!” I had wanted it from the first day I flirted with him to weasel my way into the Four Horsemen.
I nodded.
