Chapter 16
JUDE
My mind went into a tailspin as I fought my growing craving for Sofia.
I tried to force an emotional distance between us to honor our contract without crossing the line.
However, my self-control ripped apart at the seams.
She was too alluring, too full of life to keep my hands off her.
Before her, the dead quiet of my home suited me fine.
Now that the empty spaces were filled with her voice, her music, and her feasts in the kitchen, I found I was addicted to the new vibe.
When Sofia was away at work, the cavernous rooms felt hollow, and the silence gnawed at me; I yearned to have her near me.
If I were working from home while she was at The Sanctuary, I would make excuses to drive there.
I’d stalk into her office for lunch or invent nonexistent meetings to keep her in my line of sight.
I was also hit with an aggressive, possessive need to spoil her.
I made sure she had access to a generous expense account to shop with.
I even brought in a stylist named Vivienne to upgrade her wardrobe.
She handled the image direction for my music label and dealt with high-profile clients with discretion.
Vivienne appeared one Saturday morning to give Sofia a private, top-tier styling session, decking her out in the latest pieces from trending fashion labels.
‘Jude, want to have a look?’
Sofia’s inviting voice lured me to her door.
I stood leaning on the jamb of the guest suite, my arms crossed over my chest, eyes on her.
Vivienne was zip-fastening Sofia into a tailored black dress that clung to every curve of her waist and hips.
Sofia turned toward the full-length mirror, her eyes gleaming, a gasp escaping her throat.
She smoothed her palms over the material, her face lighting up.
‘Jude, look at this,’ she breathed, spinning to face me, her cheeks flushed, vibrating with thrill. ‘The cut, the fabric, I feel like a different person. Are you real right now? Is all of this really for me?’
I arched a brow and lifted my chin. ‘All yours, babe.’
Vivienne stepped back, folding her tape measure with an approving nod.
‘She’s stunning, Jude. Your fans and the press are going to lose their minds when they see her.’
‘This isn’t for the publicity; it’s for her pleasure,’ I growled, my timbre rough, eyes fixed on Sofia.
I scarcely noticed when Vivienne gathered her garment bags and slipped out of the room, heading downstairs and out the front door.
Left alone with my wife, my heart twisted with yearning.
Sofia beamed up at me, stepping closer, taking hold of my arm.
My heart lurched.
‘I feel so dolled up,’ she whispered, her eyes shining up at mine. ‘I don’t even know where we’d wear half of these dresses, but Dio mio, grazie Jude. Thank you so much.’
When her soft lips pressed on my cheek in a warm, lingering kiss of gratitude, the blood in my veins turned to liquid fire.
My cock hardened with a fierce, sudden ache that made my jaw lock.
All I could think of was wanting to grab her by the waist and throw her onto that bed where I’d rip that green dress off her skin to mark every inch of her.
Instead, I clenched my fists as I crossed them over my chest, fighting the hunger roaring inside me, on the verge of losing the war against restraint.
‘Like I keep saying, you don’t need to thank me,’ I rumbled.
I forced myself to step back, breaking her touch before I lost my grip.
‘You’re my wife, and I don’t do cheap. You get the best of everything. End of story.’
I found it hard to be away from her.
I canceled evening recording sessions with the band, choosing to sit at the marble kitchen island, keeping watch over her while she cooked.
I gave her a sneak peek of our new album racks, which she loved.
I played her funny videos and memes from my phone.
What I did not share were the endless messages from Abby begging me to take her back.
I ignored my ex, my jaw tight as I contemplated crushing that past once and for all.
After more calls, texts, and voice messages, the last of which sounded drunk and pathetic, I blocked Abby’s number forever.
Sofia and I got into the habit of sitting together in the den after dinner, locked into a soap opera or her never-ending cooking shows.
One evening, we sat close, our shoulders pressed close on the black leather sofa while Bake-Off UK played on the TV.
‘You think you can make pies better than Mark?’ she said, feigning horror when I scoffed at their skills. ‘Your rolling technique sucks, Judah. You’ve the hands of a lumberjack.’
‘I can produce a loaf of bread that’ll knock you flat, woman,’ I replied, a chuckle escaping my throat.
‘That’s because it’ll be hard as a rock.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ I rumbled.
It was not just her humor or the fluid grace and warmth she brought to my cold house; her keen mind was what gripped me.
Later that week, she proved her mettle during a joint logistics meeting at The Sanctuary.
She stood at the head of the conference table in a silk shirt, a slimline skirt that hugged every curve of her hips, and killer heels.
She didn’t just hold the floor; she ruled it.
She laid out the concept for a bulletproof digital tracking system: bilingual, scannable barcode stickers designed to sit hidden in plain sight inside hotel lobbies, venue restrooms, and remote service stations.
One scan sent non-English speakers straight into encrypted intake portals for medical and legal aid, ripping through the red tape that usually choked vulnerable immigrants.
‘Bureaucracy is a weapon designed to isolate them,’ Sofia told the team, her eyes flashing with a fierce conviction. ‘If they can reach for in a language they understand, we give them the tools to a better life.’
I sat in the back row, transfixed by my wife.
‘How much to fund it?’ I rasped when the presentation wrapped.
She ran the numbers and gave me the final total. ‘Three hundred thousand.’
‘Done,’ I growled. ‘I’ll wire the cash today.’
She and Misty exchanged beaming smiles.
‘Thank you, Jude. That means everything.’
Later, when we climbed into my truck to head home, Sofia leaned over, her fingers stroking my shoulder as she planted a kiss on my cheek.
‘Grazie, Jude. That was noble of you.’
I shrugged it off; the money was pocket change, but the light in her eyes was a prize enough.
As she sank back into the leather seat, her head resting on the window, eyes closed, a small smile on her face, I locked my gaze onto her.
My eyes tracked the curve of her nape down to the soft swell of her mouth, turned on as all hell as I fought the urge to pull the truck over and claim every inch of her.
Life was sublime until my past came back to haunt me three days later.
I was in the parking lot behind the Six Sinners recording studio, loading my vintage Fender amplifier into the rear of the Escalade.
A shadow stepped out from the gloom of the brick building,
‘Judah?’
Fuck.
I sighed and swiveled, hands crossed over my chest.
As always, she was immaculate in heels, jeans, and a designer jacket, with her expensive silk scarf fluttering in the Nashville breeze.
‘Why are you here Abby? We’ve nothing to discuss.’
‘Did you receive my apology? Please, I need know you forgive me,’ she pleaded.
‘I don’t hold onto grudges,’ I rasped. ‘But I do block deranged text messages.’
‘Why did you turn so cold on what we had?’ she hedged. ‘Why did you refuse to give us a second chance and marry this strange woman?’
I pursed my lips, mulling her question. ‘She’s not a stranger, Abby, she’s a woman I respect a hella lot.’
‘But do you love her?’
I huffed with amusement.
‘I don’t have to tell you that.’
‘You don’t! I know it!’ she cried out, leaping on my words. ‘What we had was real, so you need to let her go and reconsider us.’
‘Is that right?’ I drawled, not giving in an inch.
That’s when she stepped close and, without warning, slid her arms around me, pressing her tits into me.
‘It feels like this marriage is some scam or a charitable stunt. You don’t belong with her. You fit with someone who understands your world, your status, and your history. Come back to my place tonight. Let’s fix this.’
I stared down at her face, searching my mind for the intense attraction that had made me obsessed with her for a decade.
I found nothing but an empty, shallow grave of memories that left me cold.
The contrast between Abby’s desperate entitlement and Sofia’s unwavering dignity was almost comical.
‘Get your hand off me, Abby,’ I growled as I stepped back, breaking her grip.
‘You’re living in a fantasy world. The story you keep telling yourself died years ago, and I don’t owe you shit.
I’m married to Sofia. She’s my wife, and she has more sophistication in her little finger than you or your family money could buy in a lifetime.
Now, leave and never come back here lest I get an AVO on you.
I wonder what your parents and your socialite friends will have to say about that? ’
She sputtered as I rounded the back of my car and slid into the driver’s seat.
I slammed the door shut.
Ignoring the furious screech of my name that followed me, I reversed out of the parking lot.
I steered the truck back toward Belle Meade, eager to return to the only retreat that mattered.
Kian called me on a Saturday afternoon while Sofia and I hung by the pool, just the two of us relaxing after an intense composing session.
Sofia sunned herself on a lounge chair after a quick dip, her skin glistening with droplets of water as blue jays squawked in the maples.
She had no idea how fuckin’ hot and desirable she was.
Her damp hair slicked back to expose the elegant slope of her neck, her lithe body stretching out on the towel.
The emerald bikini she wore highlighted every curve, her golden complexion so smooth and wet that it made my pulse spike.
I forced my eyes down to my phone screen, my thumb hovering over the accept button while I throbbed with need for her.
‘Hey son, we’ve got a problem,’ Kian kicked off, his tone setting off alarms in my mind.
‘Hit me,’ I rasped.
‘One of our techs, Paul Strickland, in the sheriff’s office came into work today scared out of his wits,’ Kian explained. ‘Last night, mob gangsters confronted him at his home.’
I rose off my sunbed to track across the grass toward the house so Sofia wouldn’t overhear the conversation.
‘A guy named Dario forced him to log into our servers,’ Kian continued. ‘They pulled Sofia’s location with you in Nashville.’
‘Damn,’ I muttered, my throat tightening.
‘According to Paul, Dario claims she’s a liability because she saw his face in a recruitment video,’ Rick said. ‘She can identify him, and the Compagni famiglia wants her gone.’
‘Did they hurt the tech?’ I demanded, keeping my voice down to avoid alerting Sofia.
‘They were about to shoot Paul dead,’ Kian replied. ‘A neighbor, disturbed by the racket, interrupted with a shotgun and scared the bastards off before they pulled the trigger.’
‘Hell,’ I growled.
‘You need to be on high alert, son, hear?’ Kian ordered. ‘He’s probably heading to Tennessee as we speak.’
‘Is it that bad?’
‘It could worsen,’ Kian warned. ‘I alerted my counterpart in Nashville, Damien Patinski, and the FBI is on it too. Just keep safe.’
‘I plan to,’ I rasped, ending the call with a heavy heart.
Worry crept into my thoughts as I turned to study Sofia, oblivious to my conversation, eyes hidden under her sunglasses, face tilted to the sun.
With a sigh, I strode into my home office and spun the dial on the steel safe.
The door swung open.
I reached inside and withdrew my Beretta Cheetah, a compact, reliable firearm respected by professional snipers.
I inspected the chamber, slapped a loaded magazine into the grip, and engaged the safety lock with a solid click.
I placed the weapon back in the vault, where I planned to retrieve it the next time we left the house.
I also made a mental note to ask my brothers to carry their pieces over the next few weeks.
It always helped to be prepared.