chapter 10
[Jude]
In the morning, I wake to knocking on the hotel room door.
“Hang on,” I mutter, standing to my full height, adjusting my morning wood, which could not be prevented as I’d been dreaming about a certain redhead in my hotel bed. The bed I did not share with her.
Giving the bed a quick glance, Angelica’s hair is sprawled in all directions as she lies on her front with her cheek against a pillow. Her arms are tucked underneath the firm pillow. Her legs obviously splayed outward like she’s a giant starfish in the oversized bed.
“Lucky,” I mumble as the hammering continues and I reach inside the closet for a robe, quickly covering myself and loosely tying the sash at my waist.
Considering my roommate is dead asleep despite the racket, I don’t think she’s ordered room service.
“What?” I snap, opening the door and registering that my prediction was correct. Angelica did not order breakfast.
Instead, Walt stands in the hallway.
“Mornin’.” He tips up his chin, looking a little rough. Bloodshot eyes. Pale cheeks. “You didn’t respond to the text I sent you, so I thought I’d just stop by. Breakfast?”
He gazes around the shield I’ve made of my body, and I swallow thickly, hoping he doesn’t—
“Were you sleeping on the floor?” His eyes come back to my face, pinching with the question.
“He has a bad back.” The headless voice echoes from behind me, and I shift, thankful Walt isn’t getting a view of Angelica this morning.
“Bad back or not, you shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor with your condition.”
My heart. “I’m fine,” I counter, turning in a way to block Walt’s view of my room again.
“Angelica,” Walt hollers into the room. “I expect you to be taking care of our boy here.” Walt winks at me. The movement was slow, almost like his eyelid had trouble lowering then lifting again.
Boy. That’s been the issue. These older men all think I’m a child. The kid racing around my great-grandfather’s office or hiding beneath clothing racks. A young lad who stole a toy from a store with my name on it before I was an actual owner. A teen who lost his virginity in a fitting room.
“Yes, sir,” Angelica calls back, still not visible, thanks to the wall blocking off the bed.
“Jude.” Walt appraises my attire. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll see you downstairs.” After a sharp head nod and a quick shutting of the door, I lean against it and tip back my head.
“Fuck,” I groan, swiping a hand down my face, closing my eyes a second as I do, and then opening them to an angelic mirage in front of me.
Hair wild like she had a restless night in bed, I’ve never seen those curls so untamed. She wore a braid all the times I’ve seen her, other than last night when she had the low twist at her nape.
But this version of her? This vision . . . fuck!
“How did you sleep?” Her voice expresses concern, but I’m stuck on her lips. The way her mouth curls. That damn freckle just below the corner on the left.
“Okay, I guess,” I mutter, realizing the truth. Despite spending the night on the floor, I actually did sleep pretty well. The night was full of dreams. High school hallways. Faceless girls. And searching for one with wild red hair. “You?” Had she dreamt of me? Sought me out?
“I slept amazing.” She tucks her hands beneath the mass of curls and lifts them upward.
My mouth falls open as the strands flare out in all directions, and I want to slip my fingers through the explosion. Then wrap as much as I can around my fists and tug her head back so I can suck on her neck and lick that sacred freckle.
Jesus. I swipe my hand down my face again. “I need a shower.” I need to fucking jack off and get these visions of her out of my head.
“I’m going to hit the gym,” she says.
“Yep.” I nod. “Need the bathroom before I jump in?”
Angelica nods like a bobblehead and skips into the bathroom while I cross the space to the bed and toss myself on my back, staring up at the ceiling.
It’s going to be a long day.
+ + +
Thankfully, Walt wasn’t up for more conversation than idle chit-chat, which I hate almost as much as a profit and loss discussion. However, the short conversation allows me to get back to my hotel room sooner than I expected.
As I enter the room, I hear the shower running, the door cracked open to allow the steam to filter out into the main room.
The deep tenor of a male voice echoes against the tile wall.
“You like that, baby girl? You like me touching you there? You want my cock inside you?”
What the fuck?
I press at the bathroom door, allowing me a full view of the small room, where Angelica stands alone in the glass-enclosed shower. A quick assessment of the room confirms she’s the only one present, and my gaze lands on her phone, screen face up, volume maxed.
“That’s it, take it like you want it,” the male voice encourages.
My attention flips back toward Angelica. Is she listening to porn? But as additional words filter through my head, I realize the narration is an audiobook. A very steamy one.
The continuation of the story is lost to me as I watch Angelica. Her hand on the tile wall. A washcloth between her thighs with her other hand. Her head tipped forward.
Sweet Santa, I’m permanently going to be on the bad boy list.
Because for another half a second, I’m frozen as I watch her arm move, imagining the rhythmic circles she’s making where she’s most sensitive.
Everything in me wants to strip out of my clothes and step into that shower with her. Be that washcloth giving her pleasure.
Instead, I take a giant step back, leaving the door suddenly wide open, confident she hasn’t noticed me. Pressing my back to the short hallway wall at the edge of the door frame, I tip back my head and listen as the male voice continues his narration and Angelica adds her own response.
“Yes,” she mutters as the voice-actor asks more heated questions, followed by a description of what he’s doing to the female character, filling in the space between the dialogue.
“Yes, Jude, yes,” Angelica’s voice rises, and I make a fist, bringing it to my mouth and digging my teeth into my knuckles.
What the fuck? And I mean that in the most eloquent what the fuck is happening way? My name on her tongue in that breathy plea compares to finding gold coins in my stocking.
I’m so tempted to pop the button on my pants and work myself within them, but this is Angelica’s moment, and I’m a fucking auditory voyeur.
“Jude,” she hums.
My dick leaps, as if he heard her call out my name, begging for me.
What does she want from me? This moment is nothing more than pure lust and longing, right?
As a final gasp leaves Angelica’s mouth, silence follows a beat. Even her phone has gone quiet, and I hold my breath.
I glance at the hotel door and peek over my shoulder at the open space leading into the bathroom.
I need to get out of here. Need to act like I never heard her call out my name while she touched herself, but I’m trapped.
I don’t think I can reach the bathroom door and restore it to its original position without Angelica noticing me. And I don’t think I can make it through the room door . . . without her noticing me.
As the shower shuts off, I race for the middle of the bedroom, noting Angelica has picked up the blankets I slept on, folded them, and neatly stacked them on the boudoir chair. I swipe my phone from my pocket, hold it up to my ear, and stare at the slightly open curtain.
Speaking louder than necessary, I say, “Okay, great. Yep. I’ll get right on her . . . I mean, it.”
Idiot. I close my eyes and give a quick glance over my shoulder.
With the shower off, the silence in the room is an eerie echo of nothing.
“Okay. Yep.” I state again, rather too strongly.
Angelica pops her head through the bathroom door. Her wide eyes land on me, and I point to the phone by my ear before turning back toward the window.
“Okay. Good idea. We’ll talk later.” I pretend to snap off the device and hang my head for a second.
“Why are you in here?” I can almost hear Angelica’s voice in my head.
“It’s a funny story . . .” my thoughts counter like my great-grandfather taught me as a stall tactic.
“Jude?”
I spin on my heels. Her hair is covered by the massive twist of a white towel. The robe she’d been wearing earlier now covers what I’m certain is a still naked body underneath the lush cloth.
I’ve never been so jealous of a robe. The pleasure of that material touching her skin.
Her eyes avoid mine. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She swallows while her gaze aims away from me.
“I was on the phone,” I lie.
“Oh. I had my audiobook on kind of loud to be heard over the shower.” She pauses, eyes shifting in my direction and then quickly flicking away. “Did you . . . I mean, did it . . . was it too loud?”
I bet I could make you cry out louder.
“You had an audiobook running? I didn’t hear it.” I lift my hand holding the phone, but it feels like the heaviest weight I’ve ever pressed. I shake the device. “On the phone,” I remind her. “Focused on the conversation.”
“Oh.” Her mouth pinches, her eyes still avoid mine.
I could give you something to unpucker those lips. Would you like that, baby girl?
The montage in my head isn’t helping me downplay the truth.
I fucking heard every word that narrator said and every moan and plea from Angelica in response.
She looks thoroughly embarrassed. Hand caught in the cookie jar, or rather, between her thighs.
The thought forces my gaze to where the folds of the robe cover her legs. Last night, when she took a seat on the barstool, her dress slid to the side, exposing one lush thigh crossed over the other, and the struggle to pull my gaze from her was real.
She is temptation at every turn. An angelic devil, if there ever was such a thing.
“I’m going for a walk. Head outside for a little bit.” I need to clear my head, and some cold, crisp country air will do the trick.
“It’s cold outside,” Angelica counters.
What does that ice queen say: the cold never bothered her anyway? I rush for my suitcase and flip up the lid.
Angelica watches as I rummage through my bag for a base layer to put beneath my jeans and sweater.
“I could come with you,” she offers, which causes me to spin and face her.
“Yeah?” I shouldn’t be encouraging her. We need some distance. I need space.
“Yeah.” She shrugs, leaning against the corner where the short hall meets the larger room. She tips her head against the hard edge. “But I don’t want to be in your way, if you need to make more phone calls or want some time alone.”
Alone. Nope. That’s the last thing I really want, but I also don’t know if I can spend another minute near her without exploding.
Still, having her as a companion might also be nice. I don’t typically take walks with someone else.
Eventually, I offer her some truth. “I don’t think you’d ever be in the way, Angelica.” And while I mean that she’d be a welcome distraction, her face falls, somehow misinterpreting my comment.
“Oh. Okay, well, I’ll let you—”
“Come with me,” I counter as she rolls against the corner and presses off the wall.
We could come together, baby.
Fuckity-fuck. I shake my head, ignoring the sudden narration in there.
Straightening, I admit, “I’d enjoy the company. Your company. Let’s take a walk together.”
While her eyes still look askance, her lips slowly curl into a soft smile.
Inhale. One, two, three, and four at the corner of that mouth.
Exhale.
“Okay, I’d like that,” she says. “Just let me get dressed.”
And there goes all my good intentions, because I’m thinking about her naked again.
Quickly, I shut down the narrator in my brain that wants to beg her to stay undressed, and I change my clothes instead.