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“Yes,” I confirm, almost tiredly, rolling my eyes at his not-so-subtle sarcasm. “Dad says he’s retired, but he isn’t really.”
“What did/does he do?”
“Finance.”
“Like you,” he says. “Runs in the family?”
“My grandfather set up the family company in 1959, Dad joined when he was twenty-two, Grandpa retired in 2007, my brother joinedthe firm after he’d finished university, and Dad retired two years ago and handed the reins to Clark. Or he claims he retired.”
Jude’s head cocks. “And you?”
“I joined the company fresh out of university and left when my dad bypassed me in favour of my younger brother.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s fine, I’m over it.”
Jude nods, clearly not believing me. “The stiffness makes total sense now.”
“I am not stiff, Jude Harrison,” I breathe, going for bold and slipping my hand under the tablecloth, sliding it into his lap. His eyes widen—they’re definitely greener now—his smile delighted as I stroke over his growing erection. I tilt my head as he sits up straight, the electric energy bouncing between us climbing a few more notches. “I left the family business to carve out my own career,” I say, squeezing lightly over his bulge. “It was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
He flexes his hips upwards, his lips parting a little. “Go on.”
“I started at LB&B Finance Group as a junior adviser and got my head down.” I flex my hand, and Jude strokes up the inside of my thigh some more. “My goal is to make partner.”
“Yes,” he breathes. Up he flexes again.
“I just have to smash my targets and irradicate the competition.” I’m beginning to throb.
“Who’s the competition?”
“Leighton Steers.” A breath. “He’s the man whose chair you kicked out from under him.”
“He’s no threat,” Jude says, his hand hovering at the seam of my knickers. “Crush him.”
“Me or you?” I ask, breathing in sharply when his finger slips into my wetness.
“You,” he confirms. “Be careful of him.”
“Why?”
“Because he obviously wants you.” His finger enters me, and he leans forward, his gaze falling to my slightly open mouth. “But he can’t have you. Can he?”
I shake my head, whimpering as his finger withdraws and slips around my clit. “Jude,” I whisper, feeling my blood heat. He only smiles, continuing with his torment, working me under the table. I’m forced to release my hand from his lap and return it to the table, my fingers clawing the tablecloth.
“What about your mum?” he asks, cool and collected. Good for him.
So much for only talking. “She’s the consummate wife and mother.”Fuck, I’m going to come.
“Traditional?”
“Just how Dad likes it.” My widening eyes dart around the restaurant, my panic growing with my building pleasure. I can’t promise my control when I hit my climax. “Jude, please.” I could stop him, push his hand away. And yet ... I can’t.
“Look at me,” he breathes.
I do, pushing my back into the chair, shaking my head mildly, silently begging him to spare me. “You’re wicked.”
He pouts, taking my champagne and placing it in my hand. I can’t believe he’s doing this. I’ve no doubt some of the guests are watching us. And he’s giving them a show. “Drink champagne while you come, Amelia.”