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“Amelia!”
His shoes join the sounds of mine. He’s running.Fuck.I stop and pull off my heels, and immediately regret it when sharp stones bite into my bare feet. “Shit, shit, shit.” My plan to escape faster fails. I hiss and shout as I step across the gravel.
“Amelia, for fuck’s sake.”
Donotlet him get to me. I look back, my heart sinking when I see him sprinting. Closer, closer, closer.
“Stop!” I yell, swinging around, the force making my hair tie fly out. God, how many people saw that happen in there? How will I explain this, especially to Clark?
Jude skids to a stop, breathless too, but at least his fucking feet won’t be cut to shreds. Furious, I march back to him, enduring the pain, and slam my palm into his hard chest, thrusting him back. He has a whole foot over me as I look up at him.
“This has to stop now.” I find my breath, or at least try to. Around Jude Harrison, that seems impossible. Calm.Give me calm!“No more, Jude.” I walk away, gritting my teeth to endure the pain in my feet. And oddly, a pain somewhere unexpected.
In my fucking chest.
What the hell is that?
I make it to the door and wrench it open, and he catches it before it closes, doing the exact opposite of what I’ve asked, as per usual. He follows me through the glass tunnel, past reception, through the spa area, and into the changing rooms. I pretend he’s not there. It’s the only way. If fucking impossible. I pull my bag out of a locker, throw it onto my shoulder, and leave again, pushing past him, ignoring the surge of electricity that flies through my body each time I touch him. It’s anger.
Not chemistry.
But I don’t make it out the door. He pulls me back, puts me in front of him, takes my bag from my shoulder, and throws it to the floor.
“You think I’m playing a game?” he asks tightly.
I look up into his eyes.
And drown.
Everything inside tingles with want. With need. I’ve never known desire like this. I’ve never wanted something so badly. I’m trying so hard to push back these unanticipated feelings and failing at every turn.
His lips part, his eyes smoke.
My thighs clench. My breasts become achy.
“Why are you making this so fucking difficult?” he asks.
I inhale.
Swallow.
Shake my head.
“Amelia,” he whispers, coming closer. “Give in to it.”
I look down, searching my head for words to speak and instructions to follow. It scares me so much, my lack of sense around him. My powerlessness. My inability to do the sensible thing. How he consumes my head, how my body responds to him.
“No,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want this.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t want this,” I repeat. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this.”
“Bull-fucking-shit, Amelia!”