“Nothing.”
Okay. Sore subject. Even as curiosity niggled at her, she promised herself she wouldn’t ask about the tattoo again.
Jude crossed to his still-packed bag and unzipped it. “I know I said we had to share the bed, but I was just being an ass. You can have it. I don’t mind the couch.”
Another surprise. What was this, Invasion of the Body Snatchers? “Uh, okay. Thanks.”
He found a pair of shorts and a shirt, tossed them both over one shoulder, and straightened. “What?”
“What?” she echoed.
“You’re staring at me like you’ve never seen me before.”
“Oh.” Maybe because she was starting to get the feeling that she hadn’t seen him before. Not really. She made herself look away, down—anywhere but at him—and realized she was still naked. She snatched the bedsheet up and hugged it to her breasts. “You just look different. Not like I remember.”
“I’m older,” he said.
“So am I. I have to ask, what’s with the earring?”
“Got it last week to piss Reece off.”
Now that was a typical Jude response. Maybe this was less pod person and more a bad case of the morning afters. Under normal circumstances, right now would probably be about the time he made his usual quick escape. Instead, he was stuck here with her, and his uncertainty about what to do next showed through the cracks in his charm, which had always been at its thinnest in the mornings.
As much as she enjoyed watching him squirm, she figured she should let him off the hook. “Go shower. I want to eat first anyway. I’m starving.”
With a weak smile, he all but bolted into the bathroom. She waited until she heard the beat of the water spray against the shower walls before climbing out of bed and finding something to wear in her own bag.
If he wanted to act like she was just one more notch on his bedpost, fine. Because that was all he was to her—a notch, a good time, a lay.
Yup, she thought as she padded out to the kitchen. Jude Wilde meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.
Chapter Eight
Holy hell, she really had meant only one night.
Jude stared through the sliding patio doors at her in wonder. He’d thought for sure after the rocking good time they’d had, she was going to be supple, sexy putty in his hands for the rest of their stay in Key West. Maybe if he gave her enough pleasure in bed, she’d even consider giving him a chance to prove that he wasn’t the kind of man she thought he was.
The kind of man he let her believe he was.
But there she sat, sunbathing in one of the loungers with the cat snoozing by her feet, completely ignoring him for a book. And it wasn’t even the good kind, like one of the action-packed, edge-of-your-seat thrillers Camden often read. No, it was a history of criminal law in Revolutionary America.
Boring.
In fact, she’d had her nose buried in one dull book after another all week. She’d barely said more than ten words to him since their first night here, and she definitely hadn’t touched him again, which was starting to drive him a little bit insane. He needed to feel her hands on him. Her mouth. Needed to feel her tight body giving way to his invasion, over and over again until—
Jude cursed and paced away from the window. He was losing his fucking mind. As much as he loved this house, the walls were starting to close in on him, and the air felt thick in his lungs despite the blasting A/C. Her scent permeated everything, hanging in the air like a vanilla fog. He was suffocating, boredom and unquenched desire making for a smothering blanket. He had to get out. Had to do…something.
He glanced over his shoulder. Libby hadn’t moved, hadn’t acknowledged his presence in any way. She wouldn’t miss him if he stepped out for a few, and with this place wired up like the freakin’ Federal Reserve, he could set his phone to warn him at the slightest hint of trouble. He doubted there would be any. The twice-daily e-mails he got from his brothers said everything was mostly quiet on the home front. They had found the blue car that tried to run Libby down abandoned in a mall’s parking lot, but it gave no clues as to the identity of her stalker. It had been stolen from an apartment building three miles from her office complex, and the owner was a pregnant woman on round-the-clock bed rest. She hadn’t even known her car was missing until Camden showed up on her doorstep with the news.
Dead end.
Jude’s brothers were monitoring K-Bar and his gang, as well as remotely monitoring Libby’s home. So far, the gang hadn’t even acknowledged in passing that they knew where she lived, nor had they so much as congratulated each other on scaring her off with the notes and dolls.
Something wasn’t adding up, but it was up to his brothers to do the math. He was just the glorified babysitter, which was exactly why he had to get out of the house for a bit. Being cooped up was bad enough. Cooped up with a woman he wanted and couldn’t touch?