“So where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know. I guess that’s up to you.” He lifted his gaze, and his beautiful blue eyes were as serious as she’d ever seen them. “But I do know I want a second chance.”
And here it was, she thought. The choice. Now that there was no reason to stay together, the smart thing to do would be to leave the past in the past, let these last few weeks go down as a pleasant fling, and go their separate ways. No damage. That’s what the old Libby would do, but this experience had changed her. He had changed her, and the new Libby wasn’t so adverse to a little risk. Some things were worth it.
Jude was worth it.
She closed the distance between them and laid her hands on his cheeks, pressing her lips to his. “I seem to have two weeks left of my vacation with nothing to do.”
He caught her waist and dragged her onto his lap. “Is that so?”
“Unless you have some ideas.”
“Tons.” His lips skimmed the tendon along the side of her neck. “But I need to warn you, babe. Most involve a bed.” Grinning, he scooped her into his arms and placed the cover over the fire bowl to douse the flames.
“Sounds like fun. But, Jude?” As he carried her toward the bedroom, she nipped his ear, flicked his earring with her tongue, and felt his groan rumble through his entire body. “Don’t call me babe.”
“You got it.” His lips twitched. “Baby.”
She sighed and settled her head on his chest. This was one battle she wasn’t going to win. Time to plea bargain. “Okay, you can call me baby or babe—whatever—as long as I can call you Sugar Cheeks.”
“Sugar Cheeks. I like it. Suits me.”
She laughed. “You’re hopeless.”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” Jude kicked open the bedroom and playfully tossed her on the bed. She bounced once, but then he was there, his big body covering hers, his mouth claiming and devouring, until the storm outside paled in comparison to the one raging between them.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jude downed the shot of Jack the bartender set in front of him and then went back to nursing his beer. The call he’d expected all day had come in just before midnight. He’d set his phone on vibrate so as not to wake Libby and snapped it up before the end of the first ring, intent on telling Colonel Pruitt to go fuck himself.
He never got the words out. They stuck in his throat, caught and held by all of his personal demons, just like they had eight years ago.
After he hung up, he’d suddenly found himself unable to breathe with pressure building to uncomfortable heights inside his chest. He’d needed air and had planned only to go for a short walk. Somehow, he’d ended up on Duval Street and then in this bar. He barely remembered sitting down, but by the pleasant buzz he had going, he guessed he’d been here long enough to have had a few.
His discussion earlier with Libby weighed heavily on him. He should’ve told her the truth about what happened eight years ago. When she brought it up, he’d had every intention of telling her, but then she started going on about how big of a heart her father had and he just…couldn’t.
And, now, coupled with that phone call…
That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? He’d never be able to tell her the full truth without hurting her, without forcing her to choose between him and her father. Any way he saw it, he was bound to break her heart, and damn, he didn’t want to put her through that again. He never should have asked for a second chance.
“Hi. Mind if I join you?”
Jude lifted his gaze from the depths of his beer, focused on the woman who had sidled up into his personal space and pressed her surgically enhanced breasts to his arm.
She didn’t wait for his answer and sat on the empty stool next to his. Her skirt hiked up her thigh, leaving nothing to the imagination. “I’m Sienna.”
“Hello, Sienna,” he said politely, but had to wonder if that was even her real name. He lifted his glass and clinked it to the rim of her margarita. “Jude.”
“Like the Beatles song?”
“Yeah,” he said on a resigned sigh. Different bar, different woman, same old conversation. Usually, he played it up but not tonight. Tonight, he was tired of it all. It felt like they were rehearsing a scene off a well-used script. “Like the song.”
“Sorry.” She laughed. “I bet you hear that a lot.”
He did a double take. Now this was an interesting diversion from that script. “All the time. I’ve even heard it used as a pick-up line.”