She whirled around and glared at him, but it was hard to look intimidating with a giant orange cat in your arms, and he told her so. She flipped him the bird, which lightened his mood considerably. Bantering he could handle, and it took his mind off the half-hard state of his cock.
“A gentleman would give up the bed,” she said, all prim and proper.
“Pretty sure we established a long time ago that I’m no gentleman.” He waggled his brows at her, just to see what kind of reaction he’d get. “And I know for a fact the bed’s big enough for at least four people.”
“You would know that, wouldn’t you?”
“What, you think I was celibate after we ended?”
She huffed out a disgusted breath and stalked from the room with the cat still purring in her arms. Well, that was one way to get her to go away.
Now about that hot tub.
Chapter Five
“What did I ever see in him?” Libby asked the cat as she stomped back to the living room. “Men are complete assholes, you know that?”
Sam mewed in a surprisingly gentle voice for such a big guy, and she rubbed him under the chin.
“Oh, not you,” she cooed. She’d always wanted a pet and had a particular fondness for cats, but didn’t think it was fair to keep an animal when she was barely home long enough to catch a full eight hours of sleep. “You’re a sweet boy, aren’t you?”
“Why, yes, I am.”
She whirled as Jude stepped out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of board shorts and a towel draped over one shoulder. Holy…abs. And pecs. Flat copper nipples puckered in the air-conditioned room. A soft line of dark hair arrowed downward from his navel, pointed to the low-slung waistband of his shorts.
This could not possibly be the same man she’d dated all those years ago. He’d been in decent shape back then, but in a skinny runner kind of way—nothing like this. His extra wide shoulders narrowed into a sharp V at his hips, where a tribal swirl peeked out over the edge of his shorts. Muscle roped his chest, and a phoenix tattoo took flight on his arm, so large that the tips of its fiery wings reached toward his ear. She itched to run her fingers over it, as appreciative of the amazingly artistic design as of the bicep it decorated.
“That’s a lot of tattoos,” she said, then could have kicked herself for it. Nothing like letting him know she’d been looking.
“So what? I like getting inked.”
“I don’t mind.” When he looked at her sharply, she fumbled. “I mean, uh, I like the phoenix on your arm. When did you have it done? I thought the Marines have a strict policy about tattoos not showing under their PT gear.”
“They do.” His expression softened. “I had it done the week after I got out. I’ve spent the last month getting the ink I wanted but couldn’t have before. Next I have plans for a sleeve.”
“Well…” Her mouth went dry. She should not find the idea of a tattoo sleeve at all sexy—but she did. Oh boy, did she ever, and she couldn’t help but imagine what it’d feel like to trace all of those inked designs with her tongue…
Jude was staring at her hard, as if waiting for something.
“Oh.” She fumbled for words, realizing she’d been lost in her forbidden fantasies. “I just wanted to tell you they’re all beautiful, but that phoenix is a work of art.”
He reached out and brushed his knuckles over her cheek in a shockingly tender caress. “It reminds me of you. The colors, the spark…”
“Me?” She gave a nervous laugh and backed up a step. She hugged the cat to her chest like a shield. “That’s not me. You must have me confused with one of your other women.”
“My other women. Yeah,” he scoffed, and all hints softness in his expression disappeared. Her calculated barb had hit its mark, but she refused to feel bad for it when it was the truth.
Jude grumbled something under his breath and continued toward the sliding patio doors. He seemed to be moving more stiffly than before, his once graceful walk stilted as if he were trying not to limp.
Jeez. With everything else that had happened, she’d all but forgotten he’d hit the ground hard when he pulled her out of the way of that car. His body was probably one giant throb of pain right now, and he hadn’t said so much as “ow” in complaint.
“Are you okay?”
“Will be.”
“Do you need anything?” She didn’t want to be concerned, but couldn’t help the note of worry that crept into her voice. Especially when he turned to look at her and she caught sight of the bruises coloring his right leg a deep purple.
“Aw, Libs. Are you worrying over me?”
The cat wiggled, and she set him down. Her arms felt empty and awkward now that she didn’t have Sam to hold, and she wasn’t sure what to do with them. She finally crossed them over her chest. “You were almost hit by a car. I would be heartless not to worry a little.”
“And you’re definitely not that. If anything, you have too much heart.”
Okay, that surprised her. Was he being sarcastic? He looked pretty damn serious, but she couldn’t tell for sure. Before she could decide how to respond, he gave a smile half the wattage of his usual grin. “I just need a soak. Maybe a beer.”