Jude collapsed but caught himself on his arms before crushing her. He stared at her for a long time as his breath sawed from his lungs, his gaze searching hers for…something. She didn’t know what.
“Christ,” he whispered. Finally shutting his eyes, he leaned his damp forehead against hers as shudders continued to wrack his body. “Oh, Christ. I can’t get enough of you. I can’t get enough.”
He lurched upright, pulled off the condom, and grabbed another.
“No way. You can’t possibly…” Shocked, she watched him roll the second condom into place over his straining erection. Even more shocking, she felt herself getting wet again, responding to his need, her sex tender but plumped and ready for him. “Jude, if we keep this up, I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
When he lifted his head and grinned at her with the devil in his eyes, she decided walking was overrated anyway. She reached for him, wrapped her hand around his length, and guided him to her. He caught her legs in one arm, hooked them over his shoulder, and drove into her like a man possessed, but she was right there with him, and she didn’t last long.
This time, she didn’t worry about the neighbors hearing.
Chapter Seven
She couldn’t move. She was never going to be able to move again. And she was perfectly okay with that.
As the first rays of sunlight peaked through the trees and dappled the sex-rumpled sheets with dancing shadows, Jude lifted his head from the pillow where he had collapsed after the latest round of wall-pounding sex. His breathing still hadn’t quite settled—for that matter, neither had hers—and his hair stuck up in charming bedhead spikes. Probably didn’t help any that she had spent hours last night tugging at it, dragging her fingers through it. All that dark, rakishly long hair was soft as a kitten’s coat, and she couldn’t get enough of it. Even now, she had to fight the urge to run her fingers through the strands one more time.
Scowling, he squinted toward the wall of windows. “Shit,” he muttered and stuffed his face back into the pillow, muffling another curse.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s morning.”
Libby watched the palms in the garden sway to a gentle morning breeze. Tried to tell herself that the bitter mix of emotion in the pit of her stomach wasn’t disappointment. “Yes, it is.”
“So it’s over.”
She rolled her lips together and made sure her voice was steady before speaking. “Yes. It’s over.”
“Unless…” He turned his head on the pillow. Brows raised over hopeful eyes the same color as the morning sky outside the window. “We make it a full twenty-four-hour deal?”
Tempting. But if she gave in, she’d always give in. She was well aware she had a weakness where Jude Wilde was concerned, and she couldn’t let it get the better of her. Not again. Living through that heartbreak once in a lifetime was enough, thank you very much. “No. One night. That’s all.”
“That’s what I thought.” He sighed and pushed himself upright, swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “All right.”
All right? That was all he had to say? Just…all right? She’d expected a protest, possibly a fight. At the very least, a complaint. Not this easy acceptance. He had to be plotting something devious. “What are you up to, Jude?”
“Right now, I’m going to shower. Unless you want it first?”
She shook her head.
“Okay. Shower, then I’m gonna eat something and crash for a couple hours. It was a long night.” He spoke of it as if he’d spent the night at work, on a stakeout or whatever else he and his brothers did at that security office, rather than making love to her.
No, she corrected herself. Sex. There had been no lovemaking between them—nothing gentle or tender, and that was exactly what she’d wanted. So she had no reason to feel hurt about his blithe compliance with her wishes. None whatsoever. The burning sensation behind her eyelids was just from lack of sleep.
Jude stood and stretched his arms high over his head, his back arching, arms and shoulders flexing. God, he had a magnificent body. All sinewy muscle with just a faint dusting of dark hair in all the right spots. Highlighted by the sunshine, his body was a gilded work of masculine art that no straight woman in her right mind would be able to resist.
And that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? No woman could resist him, and he used that power to his full advantage.
An intricate tribal tattoo followed the entire length of his spine and flared out into broken angel wings on his shoulders. A pair of dog tags hung from one wing, a pair of ballet slippers from the other, and on closer inspection, she realized it wasn’t some abstract tribal design picked off the wall of a tattoo parlor. It had meaning, symbolized something important to him.
“Are all those swirls words?”
He glanced over his shoulder, confusion lining his forehead until he realized what she was referring to. “Yeah.”
She squinted. Without her glasses, it was impossible to read from this distance, but when she tried to scoot across the bed to get a better look, he turned around.
“What does it say?” she asked.