Chapter 25
JUDAH
Iwaited for Amelia to come out of the bathroom. The second she did, I was on her, cupping her cheeks and kissing her.
She let out a startled squeak, and her blue-jay eyes went wide for a moment before she settled into the kiss.
“What was that for?” she asked, breathless, the moment I broke away.
I rested my forehead on hers, our noses bumping as I stole another moment with her that I didn’t deserve. “I should have kissed you.”
Her lips twitched. “My fault for being horny when I first woke up. Next time, I’ll give you time to brush your teeth.”
I chuckled but kept my touch gentle as I stroked her cheek. “You okay?”
Amelia turned her head away from me and studied the bed. Specifically, where the wooden frame had cracked and collapsed. “Do you happen to have tools in your little cave of wonders down in the cellar?”
I wasn’t going to let her get away with changing the conversation like that. I cupped her chin in my palm and turned her attention back to me. “Are. You. Okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replied with a cheery lilt to her tone.
I didn’t buy it.
“Amelia—”
“I’m fine,” she said, just a little more softly. “I wanted it.”
“Just because you wanted it doesn’t mean it was great. You can want something and it sucks.”
Insecurity flashed across her face as she chewed on her lip. “Was it good for you?”
My eyebrows hit my hairline, and I let out a caustic laugh. “Good?”
“I don’t know!” she shouted. “I just—I don’t want to be awful at it!” God, I hated seeing her insecure. She had nothing to be insecure about. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
Amelia Jane Hawthorne was the most perfect thing in this life. And for some godforsaken reason, she had deemed me worthy of to hold her perfection.
Slowly, I backed her up. The thump of her spine hitting the wall was accented by her sharp inhale.
“You couldn’t be bad at it if you tried.
” I smoothed my thumb across her lip. “But in the event that you’d like to study a little more—you know, to continue your education—I’m a willing tutor, Dr. Hawthorne.
” Our lips brushed as she tipped her chin up, seeking my mouth.
“But you don’t need it. You’re perfect. Every piece of you.
Every breath. Every sound that comes out of these perfect lips.
Flawless. Inside and out.” I kissed her softly this time.
Sweetly. The antithesis of everything I had become over the last few years.
“If you need a reminder of just how perfect I find you, I’m happy to oblige. ”
Her blush was the prettiest sunrise I’d ever seen.
“So I’ll ask you again,” I said as my hand found hers. “Was it good for you?”
Her lashes lowered as she nodded. “Yeah. It . . . It was everything I thought it should be.”
“But was it what you wanted?”
Was I what you wanted? I didn’t vocalize that thought. I knew what the answer was.
To my surprise, Amelia leaned forward and rested against my chest. I pulled her off the wall and wrapped my arms around her. “I’ve never wanted sex before. I’ve never . . . wanted someone the way that . . .”
“The way that what?”
“The way that I want you,” she admitted softly.
I forced a soft laugh. It was dry and fake as hell. “I think that’s the Stockholm syndrome talking.”
But Amelia didn’t take the bait. She shook her head. “I’ve been attracted to you since the first night we met at the casino. And then a few nights later, you were a knight in shining armor and kept me from getting drugged by your boss. You probably got in trouble for that.”
She was right that Valentine had been pissed when Amelia bailed after he drugged her drink, but he hadn’t lashed out the way he usually did when something didn’t go his way.
“And then there was that time you sat beside me for five minutes on the beach.” Amelia let out a sigh that was halfway between a huff and a laugh.
“I tried so hard to get you out of my mind. I was so into you, but you kept messing up my plans . . .” She traced the thick veins that snaked up the back of my hand and forearm.
“And in hindsight, I like you even more because I realized you were just trying to keep me from getting hurt.”
“That’s the chloroform talking,” I whispered.
Amelia looked up at me, eyes locking on mine. “I think you’re a good man, Jude Greear.”
“Only for you,” I murmured as I kissed her, my tongue sliding slowly across the seam of her lips until she opened for me.
I cradled the back of her neck, my thumb stroking the tendons along her throat so I could feel each flex and stretch.
Amelia softened in my arms, melting into me as she tentatively met me in the dance.
The cool mint from both of us brushing our teeth soothed the heat of the kiss.
Her little whimpers were my undoing, along with the way her brows creased in the middle, like she was concentrating on doing it just right.
“Stop being a perfectionist and just kiss me,” I muttered as I shoved her against the wall again, grabbed the back of her thighs, and hitched them up around my hips.
She gasped as I rocked between her legs, teasing her through the thin cotton of her panties. Thank God she hadn’t put on anything more than that T-shirt she’d been sleeping in.
“I don’t want to mess up,” she admitted so softly that I wasn’t sure she’d actually said it.
I paused then, bracing one arm under her ass so I could cradle the back of her head in my hand.
“You can’t. Not with me. Every breath you take, every little sound.
The way your hands feel when you’re exploring my body .
. .” Our chests pressed together with each heavy breath. “You’re doing it right.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” I curled my fingers in her hair, giving the roots a firm pull, and watched as those pale blue eyes rolled back and closed. “You’re in charge right now. You call the shots. Take whatever you want. Use me.”
She met me then, kissing me just as hard as I had been kissing her. It was sloppy, messy, and so fucking good.
Good. She’d called me a good man.
“There you go,” I whispered between desperate kisses. “Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just has to be what makes you feel good.”
“You,” she choked out.
Fuck.
I sucked her lower lip between my teeth and—
Voices echoed in the distance.
For a moment, I thought I’d made up the sound in my head, but Amelia’s eyes went wide as her attention snapped to the door. My heart pounded like a wrecking ball colliding against my rib cage.
Adrenaline and preparation took over before emotion could.
“Get in the cellar.” I gave the terse order quietly as I set her on the ground and rushed on silent feet to move the end table.
“It might just be hikers out exploring,” she said as she followed me.
The crunch of leaves outside might as well have been a gunshot. It was barely a glimpse, but I watched through the slight part in the curtains as a man circled the cabin. The hiking gear he was in was brand new.
“Maybe it’s the cops?” she whispered. “Or a park ranger?”
“Not a cop. Not wearing the right shoes.” I picked up the end table instead of shoving it so it wouldn’t make a sound. “Get in.”
“But what about you?” The tender question came out warbled.
“Get in,” I hissed.
Amelia scrambled to open the cellar door, climb down the ladder, and close it behind her. I had just set the table back on top of it when someone tried to open the door.
Thank God I had it barred.
Even if they picked the lock, it wouldn’t budge. They’d have to ram into it or burn it down.
Not that I would put that kind of attempt past anyone who worked for Valentine. He rewarded exceptional effort.
I grabbed one of the knives from the kitchen, stepped into a blind spot, and listened.
“Piece ’a shit truck,” the guy circling the house said as the tarp rustled outside the window. “Place is abandoned. Probably crawling with snakes.”
But he walked away from it, having bought the story that the mud, damage, and bumper stickers told.
Amelia was right. It could have been hikers. It could have been cops. Could have been forest rangers or a game warden. It could have been someone who was hiding from the law like me. It could have been men sent by Valentine.
We were miles from the nearest hiking trail. Whoever it was, they were either lost or looking.
I closed my eyes and listened.
Two sets of footsteps.
Murmured conversation I couldn’t quite make out.
Someone tried to slide open the dust-laden windows. Little did they know, the windows didn’t actually open. And they were bulletproof.
I just hoped they didn’t try to smash one. It’d be a dead giveaway that this place was more fortified than it looked.
More mumbled conversation. More crunching footsteps disappearing into the distance. Then nothing.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as every colorful profanity I could conjure up whipped through my mind.
How the hell had anyone made it out here? There was one safe way up this part of the mountain. The rest was rivers, gorges, and steep rock faces that would best even the most experienced climbers.
There were a million places up and down the coast for Valentine’s men to look for me before they caught wind that I was out this way.
Sure, there was the possibility that it wasn’t his guys.
There were plenty of off-gridders who didn’t like outsiders encroaching on their territory.
Maybe there were bootleggers running stills who hadn’t heard the news that prohibition ended ages ago.
But what if it was someone sent by Valentine? What if he knew more about me than I’d told anyone in the organization?
I couldn’t deny the possibility that I hadn’t been as covert as I thought I was.
Logically, I knew Amelia was safe in the cellar, so I grabbed my burner phone from where I’d stashed it in the kitchen, turned it on, and called Cole.
“Crowder,” he said by way of answering.
“We have a problem.”
“Hello to you too,” he groused. “Your little finance bro is the problem. He’s an entitled little shit.”