Page 104 of Jude

Did he think of me as much as I was thinking of him?

Then I chided myself, feeling a hot flush creep up my neck.

Stop being so silly, Sofia, I thought, sinking a little deeper into the water.

He dove in and swam in masterful strokes, cutting through the water.

His broad shoulders worked with a rhythmic power that scarcely left a ripple behind him, his tanned skin glistening under the indoor lights.

I leaned on the tile wall, mesmerized by his athleticism.

When he finally reached my end, he broke the surface, shaking his wet hair back and wiping droplets from his eyes with his forearm.

He gripped the edge of the rim right next to my hip, his chest heaving as he looked up at me.

‘You move like a fish born in the ocean,’ I said, a smile tugging at my lips. ‘Where did you learn to swim like that?’

Jude’s white teeth flashed from between his stubble.

‘Babe, it’s inbred in all Australian parents to turn us into fish by age ten. It’s a national law or something.’

He hauled his sinewed physique out of the water in one fluid motion, sitting on the edge with his calves dangling in the pool.

‘My mum threw me into surf lessons as a Little Nipper down at Bilgola Beach before I could even ride a bike. By twelve, I’d joined the Ripper classes, dodging six-foot breaks and learning how to read rips. If you can’t handle the breakers back home, the ocean just swallows you whole.’

We swam together toward the shallow end and transitioned into the elevated jacuzzi.

Sitting above the warm, pulsing jets, we let the bubbling water swirl around our waists, relaxing into the heat.

‘Well, the Nipper training paid off,’ I teased, nudging his shoulder with mine. ‘You’re now a shark.’

‘A very tired one,’ he gritted, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned his head back on the stone ledge. ‘The temperature in this tub is hitting the spot, though.’

Steam rose between us as I tried my best to ignore my desire for him.

Glancing at the dark hair dusting his chest and the muscles of his thighs beneath the water made my pulse race.

I took a slow, grounding breath, pulling back the reins on my racing thoughts.

Behave, Sofia, I told myself.

I had to be content with the solid, beautiful friendship we were building day by day, rather than wishing for a fire that might burn us both.

That night, when we returned to the hotel after Six Sinners’ latest show, Jude’s exhaustion was evident.

From the way he dragged his boots across the parquet floor of our suite to how his shoulders slouched under his jacket.

When I spotted his eyes shadowed with deep fatigue, my heart clenched for him.

While he went into his bedroom to shed his stage gear, I called room service.

I requested a thick chicken club sandwich, a fresh green salad with vinaigrette, and a mug of rich, steaming hot chocolate.

He emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, his beard still damp from the shower, hair slicked back.

He wore nothing but a pair of grey cotton sweatpants, continuing to torture me without being aware of it.

He slowed his roll when he spotted the tray resting on the mahogany table by the window.