Chapter 17
After Callie is finished pampering my fingers and toes, I go to the changing rooms.
With my nude nails.
Not that I’m paying much mind to the fact that Jude made his demand and I submitted. My thoughts are still chasing in circles. I lower to a bench, smiling at a lady as she passes in her workout kit, heading for the gym or a class. I need the girls’ thoughts, so I get my phone from my locker, wincing at the missed calls from Mum. All five of them. I check the time. Three hours ago. A message from Abbie confirms my fears.
Your mum’s suspicious. She knew it was you on the phone and she wants to know whose Rolls-Royce you were in and where you were going. I’m avoiding her.
“Shit,” I curse, going back to the seat and tapping my phone on my knee. What can I tell her? I don’t have a chance to think about that, because she calls me again. My face bunches. “Mum,” I say, standing and starting to pace.
Another lady wanders into the changing rooms in her swimsuit, soaked. She stops before me and indicates behind me. “Can I get to my locker?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I move out of her way.
“Locker?” Mum asks. “Who was that? Where are you?”
“At the gym,” I say quietly, shrinking.
“Oh, and you got there in a Rolls-Royce, did you? What’s going on, Amelia? And hurry up and explain because I have customers waiting.”
I exhale and drop heavily to a bench. I don’t know what I can tell her. That I’m on a date? That’ll lead to all kinds of questions I don’t want to answer, and I know she won’t approve, no matter who I’m on a date with. It’s been only weeks since I walked out on Nick. It would be insensitive to declare I’m dating so soon. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t actually a date. I don’t really know what the fucking hell this is, and if I don’t know, how on earth will I explain it to my mum? And then there’s my father. He definitely can’t know. Definitely won’t approve.
“Mum,” I say, not wanting to lie to her. “There are some things about my life you shouldn’t know.” What a stupid thing to say.
“Well, now I’m even more worried. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“God, no. I promise, I’m not in any trouble.” I glance around the luxury changing facilities. That’s not true. I’m in so much trouble. “I’m just taking a bit of time out for myself. Trying to relax.” Silence. That was probably an even stupider thing to say. Since when have I ever been good at relaxing? I’m too busy trying to succeed. On that thought, I roll my shoulders, and I don’t feel one muscle pull. I’m ... loose. “I’m okay, Mum,” I breathe, exasperated by myself.
“Then where are you?”
“At a spa.” Truth.
“Where?”
“In Oxfordshire.” Truth.
“Oxfordshire? Isn’t that where you went with the girls on your birthday? Why go all the way to Oxfordshire? We have endless lovely spas around here.”
Because the sinfully handsome creature I’ve unexpectedly met brought me here. “Mum,” I say softly, with only a little warning, reminding her that I’m a thirty-year-old woman and I do not need to explain myself to my parents. “You have proof of life. I’m fine, trust me.”
She huffs, indignant. “Fine. I have to go. Are you still visiting tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there at noon.”
“Good.” She hangs up without so much as a goodbye, which is a solid indication that I’ve upset her. I shouldn’t have to hide anything. To my own point, I’m a grown woman. And yet, as per my previous thought, I don’t know what this is. Feeling a little deflated and not so relaxed, I send Abbie a voice message giving her a condensed version of how that went. She might want to carry on avoiding my mother for the time being.
I get up to put my phone away, stalling when a picture message pops up from Dad. I smile and open it, smiling wider when an image of him in a fine suit appears, a tailor bent down beside him pinning the seam of his jacket. I swipe through a few more images of my brother in his suit too, a beer in his hand as adjustments are made to his trousers. When I reach the final picture, my smile drops. “Why, Dad?” I blurt, staring at an image of Nick giving the camera a thumbs-up. I quickly call Clark. “Why is Nick there?” I ask as soon as he answers.
“How do you know?”
“Because Dad just sent me a picture.”
“Oh.”
“I—” I still, thinking. “Oh my God,” I breathe. “He’s still an usher?”
“What did you want me to do?” Clark whispers. “You broke up with him, Amelia. I couldn’t kick him in the stomach too.”
I drop my head back, looking at the ceiling in despair. “Oh God, Clark,” I cry, hearing myself. Whiny. “You said you’d tell him.” I can’t spend a whole day at my brother’s wedding avoiding my ex. I want to celebrate, not hide.
“I will,” he says. “In the meantime, he’s getting fitted for a suit.”
“Jesus Christ.” I slap a hand on my forehead, wondering if I should man up and take the responsibility off Clark. After all, I split up with Nick, not him. But Clark offered, and I gratefully accepted, keen not to be the one to hurt Nick again. I don’t think my brother thought it through. You’d think Nick would step up and step back.
No, because he’s still hoping.
“Where are you?” Clark asks.
“Trying to de-stress.” What a joke. The door behind me opens and Anouska appears. “I’ve got to go. Try not to ask my ex to be godfather to your firstborn, please.”
“Very funny.”
“Steam room time,” Anouska sings when I hang up.
“What?”
She looks down at her clipboard. “Four o’clock, steam room.”
I don’t know whether to dread it or fling my bikini on and race there. “Steam room,” I say to myself, my loose muscles suddenly tightening again. “Okay, steam room.” I throw my mobile into the locker and drag my bikini out. “Does he have a preference on which steam room he’d like me to pass out in?” Of pleasure, not of heat.
Anouska presses her lips together. “Last one on the right.” Then leaves me to ready myself for the next stage of Jude’s seduction. “I better get penetration after all this,” I mumble to myself, irritated to high heaven. I need to erase the conversations with Mum and Clark and forget that my father is an insensitive old idiot sometimes.
Bring it on, Harrison.
I need this.
I slip into my black-and-gold bandeau top and bikini pants, swing on my robe, and walk with determination to the steam room. I’m not surprised to find it empty. I check the temperature and knock it down a few notches before lowering to the tile bench, my arse slipping across the wet surface.
And I wait for him.
And wait.
And wait.
But he doesn’t come.
And I’m enraged.
Where the hell is he when I actually need him? Calm down. I close my eyes, working on doing exactly that, but all I can hear are my own damn questions chasing circles in my mind. What is this? What’s happening? Why the big, elaborate effort to bend me to his will? And why does he walk away when I do bend?
I stand, so fucking angry, and take one step toward the door.
It opens.
I stop.
And everything inside me calms in an instant. Relief is within reach. I should read into it, but I don’t. Not now.
He steps in and closes the door, and my breathing goes to shit. I can’t wait for him to decide when I get to lose myself. I need this. So I go to him, circling his shoulders and taking his mouth with confidence and conviction.
And frown.
His shoulders feel . . . smaller.
His lips feel . . . different.
“Christ,” someone says against my mouth. A man.
Not Jude.
I’m frozen, my brain trying to catch up with what’s happening. Not fast enough. The door swings open again, and the steam escapes, allowing me to see whose lips are stuck to mine. My horror is instant, and I retreat, staring through the haze at an alarmed-looking man.
“Oh. My. God,” I squeak. He appears as frozen as I feel, blinking rapidly.
“What the fuck?”
I startle at the sound of a furious voice and find Jude through the haze, standing on the threshold of the steam room, his face a picture of rage.
“It’s not ... I didn’t ...” I don’t have a chance to plead my case. Jude grabs the man and drags him out of the steam room. “Jude!” I yell, going after him. My horror multiplies when I find he’s got the poor, unexpecting guy pushed up against the nearest wall. “Jude!”
“What the fucking hell do you think you’re playing at?” he yells in his face, as the guy fights Jude’s hands away from his chest.
“Calm the fuck down.” The guy pushes Jude away.
“You’re fired!”
“What?”
What?
I stare at the man, noting, now that steam isn’t hampering my vision, he’s young, maybe mid-twenties, and he’s in really good shape. Fired?
“You fucking heard me.” Jude points a finger in his face. “Get your shit and get the fuck out of my hotel.”
“She—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Get out before I fuck you up, Jenson!”
“Fuck you, Jude. You’re un- fucking -hinged. I’m done.” Jenson stalks off, knocking a bale of towels off a shelf as he passes, cursing the entire way, and I stand like a useless idiot while Jude stalks in circles, constantly raking a hand through his hair.
Then he stops and all his anger is suddenly directed at me. “What the fuck was that?” he yells, throwing a deranged arm out toward the steam room door. “Are you purposely trying to send me over the edge?”
“What?” My shock is leaving, and coming fast up the back is anger. “Do you think I skulk around local steam rooms jumping men?”
He huffs and turns his back on me. “I know what I fucking saw, Amelia.”
“I thought it was you!” I shout, outraged. “And don’t turn your back on me.”
He swings around, his jaw tense, his eyes dark, dark blue. “Well, it wasn’t me!”
“I know!” I snap my mouth shut when Anouska walks into the spa, her heels skidding to a stop when she sees us.
“How dare you let another man taste you, Amelia. How dare you!”
I blink as Anouska slowly backs out, wary and shocked. Good, I’m glad, because his reaction to this is shocking. “How dare I?” I ask. Who the hell does he think he is? “You don’t own me. I’m not yours.”
“Wrong,” he hisses, crowding me. “You are so fucking wrong.”
What? God, my head feels like it could fall off. This is crazy. I sag where I stand. In my fucking bikini.
“It was an honest mistake,” I say calmly, hoping he feeds off me because this is getting us nowhere, and my head is hurting now more than ever before. Are you purposely trying to send me over the edge?
I’m on the edge with him.
“And how many ‘honest mistakes’ can I expect you to make going forward?” he asks.
Going forward? Where the hell are we going? Someone please tell me! “Are you hearing yourself, Jude?”
“Yes, I’m fucking hearing myself.” He slips an arm around my lower back and hauls me into his body. My palms find his shoulders, my bare front compressed to his. “I don’t want anyone else touching what’s mine.” His face softens as he gazes at me. I don’t bother telling him I’m not his again. It would be fucking pointless, because when he has his hands on me, his mouth on me, his eyes on me, God damn me, I am.
“I thought it was you.”
“No, Amelia, this is me.” He sweeps in and swallows me whole with a kiss, making it hard, passionate, and urgent. His tongue lashes through my mouth, and mine has no choice but to follow, accepting the force. I’m a slave to his demand. Once again, lost. Once again, at his mercy. Once again, consumed by him.
Jude gasps when he breaks our kiss, pushing his forehead into mine firmly; then he pulls away, not looking me in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, taking a few deep breaths, looking troubled. Then he turns on his bare feet and walks away, leaving me in a riot of confusion.
“Jude,” I call. “Jude, stop.”
He doesn’t.
My heart races, my lips sore from his forceful kiss. He’s sorry? The door closes behind him, and I glance around the empty space, lost. What now? Does he want me to leave? Stay? And does it matter? What do I want to do?
I want to go after him and nail him down, press him to kill this curiosity inside, answer all my questions, tell me where this is going.
But that would be dumb. After all, we’re nothing, just two people with an inexorable chemistry who are exploring it.
Right?
I don’t know!
I snatch my robe down and cover myself, leaving the spa and making my way through the glass corridor, stopping when I pass the gym. I see him lying on a bench at the far end, away from everyone else, doing chest presses, his pace rapid and smooth. Exorcising his anger. My God, Jude Harrison, what is going on in that head of yours?
I carry on to the changing rooms and get my phone, calling Abbie and Charley. The moment they both see my face, they start firing questions, none of which I can or want to answer. Which begs the question of why I called them.
“It’s been ... intense,” I say, feeling so pathetic. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what he wants, what he expects.” I laugh. “I don’t even know what I want or expect.”
“Oh dear,” Charley breathes.
“Then talk to him,” Abbie blurts.
Sounds easy, doesn’t it? But, I admit, I’m scared about what he might say. And what I might confess.
I met this guy a couple of weeks ago, and it’s been a roller coaster since. And frighteningly, I fear this is just the start of the ride. A thrilling but scary ride.
I should get off the roller coaster. I don’t need or want this kind of complication in my life. The aftermath, this uncertainty, isn’t why I came to Arlington Hall today.
So why am I still here?