Page 13 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

I’m fidgety the whole way down, running over where to start, who with, what I can copy and paste, what I can’t.

And, more importantly, what the hell am I recommending that’s equivalent to the Hollenbeck plan?

I can’t even ask Gary, or any of the other partners, because then they’ll know I’ve fucked up. They can’t know I’ve fucked up.

As soon as the doors open, I worm my way past the crowds of people leaving the building and run across the lobby, and I’m thrown when I find one of the Rolls-Royces from Arlington Hall is waiting by the kerb, Humphrey at the wheel.

Jude gets out the back and comes to me, and God, he’s a sight for sore eyes. Suited. Stubbly. Drop-dead gorgeous. “You’re not driving?”

“I had an early dinner with my brother.”

“Which one?”

“The one who recently starred in his very own sex tape.”

“Oh my God, has it surfaced?”

“No.” He grabs my face with both hands and kisses me hard on the lips, a moan of happiness reverberating at the back of his throat. Listless, I absorb every little bit of him against me.

“You look lovely,” I say, as always trying to find air after he’s kissed me like that.

Jude raises his brows and looks down his front. Then he takes in my cream dress. Smirks. “You were wearing this the first time I saw you.”

“It’s a favourite.”

“It should be. You look gorgeous in it. I think it’s one of mine too. Tell me about your day.”

“It started great. One of the partners, Sue, passed on a referral to me. It sounds like a big account to land. But I dropped the ball on a merger and now I’m paying for it, hence it’s ending on a low.”

“It’s not ending on a low. Approximately how many hours of work do you have?”

“Too many.”

He groans. “Okay.” Taking my bags, he claims my hand and leads me to the car. “How’s your hand?”

“Fine if I stop forgetting it’s sewn together,” I mutter, assessing it. More blood.

“Shit, Amelia,” he grumbles, throwing my bags in the back of the car and taking my hand, wincing as he checks it. “Did you change the dressing this morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t be smart.” He lifts it to his lips and kisses the edge. “This is being changed before you do anything. Have you got your spare bandages?”

I smirk. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, you’re a bad, bad girl.”

“Don’t punish me, sir.”

He chuckles and helps me into the car. “Only if you’re lucky.

” Once I’m in the seat, Jude helps himself and pulls out my laptop, opening it and setting it on my lap.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” His gaze falls down my cream dress as he leans across and puts his mouth to my ear. “Help you relax and clear your mind?”

I go lax, closing my eyes, succumbing instantly to the power of Jude, a hard, intense throb dropping to between my thighs.

My toes curl. Fuck . My eyes snap open, and I push him away.

“Back off, Harrison,” I warn, opening my documents and gathering myself, willing the buzz inside to fuck off and give me time to fix this crisis.

Throwing me a warning look, he slowly lifts his wrist and looks at his watch. “Get to work.”

I blink repeatedly, trying to moisten my dry eyes, looking up as Humphrey pulls through the gates of Arlington Hall. Stretching feels glorious. I glance across to Jude, who’s lost in the screen of his mobile. “Everything okay?” I ask.

He breathes out. “Rhys’s publicist is being a diva.”

“She’s being a diva how?”

“She’s hell-bent on finding the sex tape that can’t be found, which makes me wonder if it even exists. It’s as if she wants it to be found so she can swing into PR heaven and save my brother’s reputation and career.”

“It sounds like she needs telling to stand down.”

He hums, frowning to himself. “Rhys and I talked about it over dinner. I think he’s actually listening to me. And I didn’t think pigs could fly.”

Now this is another side to Jude. The caring brother. I like it. “What does Rhys do?” I ask, remembering Jude talking about going to Ireland to try to sort out his drama.

“Plays rugby.”

“Ohhhh. Who for?”

“Dublin Harriers.” He raises his brow. “And England.”

“You’re kidding?” I breathe as Jude reaches for my laptop and snaps the lid shut.

The second the car rolls to a stop, he’s out, taking my bags and pulling me along behind him. “Not kidding. But if he carries on with the partying and getting himself in sticky situations, he’ll be thrown out of both teams.”

“Big brother to the rescue,” I say, smiling fondly at Jude’s suit-covered back as he leads the way.

Naturally, I peek into the Library Bar as we pass, seeing it’s busy. But no Katherine. I do see Anouska, though, talking to Clinton over the bar. They both look this way, smiling. It could just be me, but they look pleased to see me.

“The Amelia is going down a storm,” Jude says over his shoulder, an ironic smile on his face. I still can’t believe he’s named a cocktail after me. “Want one?”

“Maybe when I’ve finished working.”

He walks us up to his apartment and leads me into his bedroom, where he sits me on the bed. “Let’s sort that hand out,” he says. “Where are the dressings?”

“Can it wait until I’m finished working?”

“No.”

I drop my head back. “Jude, it’s stopped hurting, and the second I peel off this dressing, it’ll be sore again.” Typing with only one fully functioning hand is tricky enough without the added bonus of pain.

He frowns and takes my hand, checking it over.

There’s no more blood than when we left London.

It’s stopped bleeding. He must conclude the same because he relents and pulls off my heels, plumps the pillow, and gets me in place, opening my laptop and resting it on my thighs before getting my files and phone, putting them next to me.

Then he disappears and returns a few minutes later with a bottle of water.

“There,” he says, placing it on the nightstand. “Do you need anything else?”

I shake my head. “Thank you.”

“Oh, wait.” He’s off across the bedroom again, disappearing into the dressing room, and is back moments later carrying something.

“My hoodie?” I ask, setting my laptop aside.

“It was in the bag you left behind the night you ...” Jude’s lips twist. “It was in the bag.”

“And you went through it?”

“It was lying on top.” He sits on the edge of the bed and puts it over my head, feeding my hands through the sleeves carefully.

“There.” He smiles down at it and leans forward, pushing his mouth to mine and holding it there for a few moments.

Oh no. My body naturally responds and screams for him.

“I want a cuddle that leads to sex when you’re done,” he whispers.

“Okay.”

Jude grins and gets up, leaving me in breathless anticipation on the bed. “I’ve got a few things to sort in my office,” he calls. “Work fast.”

He’s a man of his word. I’m left to power through my rewrites with no interruptions.

I find an alternative plan to recommend, thank God, and the rest wasn’t half as painful as I feared.

I’m wrapping up on my final letter just after eight when Jude appears in the doorway.

His eyes jump from me to my open laptop as I look up at him through my lashes.

No. Focus. I’m nearly finished.

I get back to my screen to tweak the closing paragraph of my final letter, my good fingers working fast over the keys, the ones on my injured hand struggling to keep up. And it’s sore now. Achy.

My fingers pause on the keys when I feel the bed dip, and I see Jude kneel on the end in my lowered vision. Peeking up, I watch as he tugs at his tie. Fuck. I drop my eyes again, forgetting where I was, so I reread the last sentence. Based on this, my recom ...

My brain short-circuits, the feel of his hand wrapping around my ankle sending a rush of heat through me.

Based on this, my recommendation ...

“Jude,” I whisper, as he licks the instep of my foot, the heat radiating up my legs. He hums, watching me fight my knee-jerk reaction to toss my laptop aside and devour him.

Based on this, my recommendation would be to ...

He nibbles my little toe.

“Jude.”

Circles my ankle with his tongue.

Fuck. I’m gone, slamming the lid of my laptop and pushing it off my lap.

I wriggle down the bed and stretch, sighing, and Jude chuckles, satisfied.

Don’t care. Crawling up the bed, he straddles my hips and drops to his fists, hovering above me.

I smirk, grasp his tie, and haul him down onto my mouth.

His weight on me feels glorious, his smell intoxicating, his tongue rolling languidly around mine utter bliss.

We kiss forever, soft and slow, our hums and moans the music while our tongues dance. This is my reward. Him.

After pecking across my cheek, he nibbles at my ear, and I shudder. Then he moves to the other. Licks the shell and kisses below my lobe. “Are you done?” he whispers, pushing his torso up, taking my hand, and lacing our fingers.

“Crisis averted,” I confirm.

“I don’t know about that.” He flexes his hips, forcing a lumpy swallow as his hardness pushes into me. I grab his forearm with my spare hand.

“Fuck,” I hiss, retracting quickly as pain flares across my palm.

“Oh, baby.” His face contorts as he takes my wrist and inspects the dressing. “There’s more blood.”

I pout as he lifts off me, collecting my bag from the floor and rummaging through. “Time to change your dressing.”

“I can do it.” I sit up and cross my legs, then start to peel at the edges of my bandage. “I need some warm salty water.” I glance at him. He’s still, my bag on his lap. “Jude?”

He turns his eyes my way, and I seriously don’t like the deep dark-blue shining back at me.

“When did he send you flowers?” he asks, holding up a card. Oh shit. My mind empties as Jude glares at me, angry.

“Today,” I say on a sigh. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? He sends you flowers, and you think that’s nothing?” Getting up, he drops my bag to the floor and starts pacing at the end of the bed.

“Okay, it’s nothing to me.”

“So he wants you back?”