“You would.”
“Hey, it was a great way to pick up chicks.”
She smacked his chest, but even that didn’t dampen his mood. He spun her, dipped her. When she straightened, her hair fell out of its clip and into her eyes.
She was laughing. “You are in a scary good mood all of a sudden.”
By tacit agreement, neither of them ever mentioned the flowers, so he just grinned and spun her again. “I’d love to take you dancing for real sometime. We’re good together in bed—no, don’t get all huffy. Just stating a fact. We’re good in bed, so we’d be dynamite on a dance floor.”
“If I didn’t have two left feet.”
“Nah, that’s not true.”
She gave a disbelieving laugh. “I practically killed myself and everyone within five feet of me the one and only time I ever tried Zumba.”
“You’re just underpracticed.” With one hand on the small of her back, he drew her into him until their bodies touched from chest to thigh. Swayed with her. She was inflexible as a rod at first, tense but not fighting him. He took that as a good sign and did the relaxing for her, closing his eyes and letting the soft chords of the guitar sink into his bones until the music guided his movements.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she loosened up, and her hips joined the rhythm of his. She melted into him, her arms around his waist, her head resting on his chest…and they fit. Just like his parents had when they used to dance across the kitchen, each body instinctively recognizing its missing half in the other.
Christ, why hadn’t he noticed it before? Why hadn’t she? It was so obvious.
The music stopped, but he didn’t let go. There would be more soon. There was always music in Key West.
But at the sudden silence, she lifted her head from his chest. Dazed brown eyes blinked up at him, and every ounce of tension that had drained out of her poured back in—he felt her spine tense under his hand.
He tightened his grip and drew her tighter against him, lowered his head and found her mouth. His ever-present lust for her tried to turn the kiss into something hard and hungry, but that wasn’t what she needed right now. Anything too rough or demanding would make her balk, so he consciously worked to soften his mouth. He kissed her with a dreamy intimacy, trying to show her with his lips all the things that he’d ever felt when it came to her but could never voice.
She wound her arms around his waist and kissed him back, her mouth soft and sweet until she changed the angle and took over. She plundered and claimed, curling her fingers into his hair, branding him with the intensity of her sudden, flaring need. Blood pounded from his brain into his cock, and he lost all sense of himself. He was Libby’s man, and his only purpose in life was to give her pleasure.
Right. Now.
Panting, she broke away from the kiss. “Oh shit.”
No, not yet. This perfect moment couldn’t end yet.
Jude sucked in a breath and lowered his head again, intent on finding her mouth with his and reminding her of exactly how good they were together. How right.
She turned away, gave him her cheek instead of her soft lips, then pushed against his chest when he drew back.
Yup, the moment was over.
After an internal struggle of epic proportions, he let her go and dropped his arms to his sides.
“Libby.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, couldn’t find the words.
She backed away so fast he was surprised she didn’t trip over anything. “I’m going to make lunch,” she said in a breezy tone, the subtext of which clearly stated that the last few minutes were off limits as far as conversation went. Before he managed a reply, she all but sprinted into the house.
Hell no. She wasn’t going to pretend nothing happened. He wouldn’t let her get away with it, not when he felt like his world had been rocked to its foundation. Whether she liked it or not, they fit together.
Jude dipped a hand in his pocket to rub the ever-present ring. Yeah, they fit. And she’d kept the book.
Chapter Twelve
“I told you, Noah. I’m not supposed to talk about it. For my own safety.”
Jude stopped short as he stepped into the house from the patio with a towel raised halfway to his dripping hair. He’d been feeling pretty damn good this morning after his swim, had worked out the tension that kept winding tighter in him as each day passed. But as soon as he heard Libby’s oh-so-practical voice chatting away in the living room, every knot returned to the exercise-loosened muscles of his back and shoulders.
Noah? As in Matchstick, her skinny, flame-haired assistant? Son of a bitch. She couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to call him.