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Of being in control.
I face the mirror and stare at myself. Flushed cheeks. Wild eyes. My mind is racing, trying to wrap around what’s just happened. I canstill feel his lips on mine. “Shit.” I wedge my hands into the sink and breathe. “Shit, shit, shit.”
What was that?
Pulling my dress into place, I take a few moments to compose myself before hauling the door open and looking for him, wanting an explanation.
Not that I need one. I know what just happened.
Just like he said, he proved what webothknow. What I’m fucking stumped about is why he didn’t take it further when I was obviously so willing. After everything, the innuendos, the chance meetings, the chemistry, the chase.
Why didn’t he take me?
I let out a little puff of laughter.
He’s in control. Jude Harrison is a man who wants control.
But it’s up to me if I give it to him.
I retrieve my phone, wincing at the missed calls from Clark, and stuff my bag into the locker again before walking back through to the lobby. There’s no sign of Jude. The Library Bar. No Jude. I peek down at my dress, cursing at the split that’s a few inches higher up my leg than it should be. “Shit.”
I’m a mess as I walk back to Evelyn’s, my eyes darting, looking for him. He’s nowhere.
“Where the h-h-hell have you been?” Clark slurs when I find him on the terrace smoking, his phone in his hand. He looks me up and down.
“I was using the ladies’.” I grab his drink off the tall bar table and swig it, exhaling. Shaking.
“What was that?” he asks, swaying. He’s on his way to complete obliteration. “You and ... what’s his name?”
“Jude Harrison.” I scratch through my mind, searching for any tale I can spin. “You parked in his parking space.”
“What?” Clark rocks back on his heels, his drunken face a picture of confusion.
Jesus Christ.“You parked in the space reserved for him.” I huff and cringe at the same time, my eyes darting still.
“A bit of an overreaction, wasn’t it?” Giving up on standing, Clark drops his arse to a stool. “I parked where I was told to.” He gets up again. “The lamppost in the green suit guided me to that specific space,” he goes on, indignant. “We should make a complaint.”
“Wait,” I blurt as he starts to wobble off. “I already did.” Fucking hell, this is painful. “Don’t worry, enjoy your freedom.” I put his drink back in his hand and smile, hoping it’s convincing. “Big sister fixed it.”
He grins, all boyish, and totally my baby brother. “That slap was a stinger.” Then he stumbles off toward the dance floor.
And I drop to a chair and take a breath.
I walk through the door at just gone midnight after hanging around waiting for everyone to finish partying at Evelyn’s. Jude was nowhere to be seen. It was a slow torture, and worse, I wanted him to come back to me. I wanted him to find me. If that was his whole point—to make me crave him more—he succeeded. Although I’m not sure how I could possibly crave him more. I can’t stop thinking about him. About our kiss. The feelings, his scent, my irrepressible and unhealthy craving for him. It’s all knocked me for six, and I’m at a loss for how to deal with it.
Abbie’s on the couch in her robe, flicking through the channels on the TV. She looks up at me, smiling. “I didn’t want to go to bed until I knew you were ho—” Her face falls, and she jumps up from the couch, tossing the remote control aside. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Tiredness? Stress? Pressure?
All?
I let out a pathetic whimper and drop my bag to the floor, covering my face. She’s with me in a heartbeat, her arms around me, and I need it.
“Amelia?” she says, so many questions in her voice.
“We kissed, and then he left. He just fucking left, like he’d proven his point.” I look at Abbie, finding her eyes are even wider. “What kind of fucked-up bastard is he?”
“And did he prove his point?” she asks quietly.