Page 6 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

My throat is too tight to talk as my tears soak into his shirt. I don’t know if I believe him. I don’t know if I should expose my heart to him again. I don’t know if I should let him take care of me now.

I just don’t know.

I feel Jude’s head turn, and he nods before slowly pulling me out of his chest and wiping my eyes.

“First aid is here.” A man appears, taking in the blood before sweeping a hand out in a gesture towards the back of reception.

Of course they want to remove the bleeding, blubbering lady from the bustling lobby.

“Come,” Jude says, helping me up and tucking me into his side.

He reaches for my face and pushes it into his chest as he walks me, following the first-aider.

We’re led into a room and Jude sits me down.

“And what have we here?” the man asks, pulling a chair over and taking my hand.

“She’s cut herself,” Jude answers. “It looks nasty.”

The first-aider eases the material back and flinches. “Yes, a hospital visit for you, my dear. I’ll get this covered for now.”

I look away from the cut on the edge of my palm, which is still oozing. “Thank you.”

Jude takes his phone to his ear. “I’ll meet you in Air Street; I need to get Amelia to a hospital,” he says, hanging up and facing me. His eyes tell me not to challenge him.

And I don’t.

We were only able to leave the hotel after completing an accident report, and the drive to the nearest hospital was bathed in an uncomfortable silence, as was the two-hour wait in the accident and emergency department, with Jude often standing and pacing, his impatience growing minute by minute.

Because of my silence? Because of my distance? Because of the wait?

When a nurse eventually calls my name, Jude doesn’t ask if I want him to accompany me, and instead slips an arm around my waist and walks me as we follow the nurse to a private room off the corridor. His attentiveness isn’t helping my constant wavering, flimsy resolve to protect my heart.

The nurse checks my hand and concludes Dermabond won’t be suitable due to the location of the wound on my palm. So stitches it is. Ten of them. “And how did you end up with a nasty cut like this?” she asks.

I clench my teeth as she starts to sew me up, her eyes moving to Jude every now and then.

He’s sitting in the corner with his head in his hands, and it hits me.

She thinks he did this? I turn my gaze onto her, seeing the concern in her eyes.

“No,” I say quietly, shaking my head, but I’m very aware that her training has probably told her a victim might protect their partner.

Shit. “It was my brother’s wedding. It was a long day, too much to drink.

I was a little fuzzy this morning. Clumsy.

” And now I’m lying, but I can hear myself trying to explain, and it doesn’t sound good for Jude.

He looks up briefly from his place in the corner and shakes his head in despair before hiding again in his hands.

“Was it a lovely day?” the nurse asks.

“Stunning.” I smile, and she gives me a forced one in return, telling me she’s not convinced Jude didn’t do this.

“Okay, do your best not to get it too wet. I’ll get you some spare dressings to take home with you,” she says, pulling off her latex gloves and dropping them in a bin. “Give me a moment.” She casts her eyes over to Jude again, and I wilt. She’s reluctant to leave me alone with him.

“I can’t tell you how wrong you are.” I’m perfectly safe with Jude. My heart, though?

She nods, still obviously torn, but she leaves the room.

I slip off the edge of the bed and assess my palm, thankful it’s not my right one.

Jude comes out of his hiding place again and rakes both hands through his hair, standing. “She thinks I did that to you.”

“It’s her job to be vigilant.” I pick up my bag and sling it across my body. “Thanks for bringing me. You don’t have to wait around any longer.”

“I’d wait forever.”

I shoot my eyes to his, stilling where I stand, and he breathes out, moving in and sitting me back on the edge of the bed.

Reaching for my thighs, he spreads them wide and puts himself between them, taking my uninjured hand gently and resting it on his hip before directing my face up to his. “Stop, Jude.”

“Why?”

Because I’m not strong enough to stop myself.

“You’ve got to let me fix this, Amelia.”

I haven’t got to let him do anything. And if I do let him fix this, it can be broken again. “Why was she in your apartment?” I ask. “You cooked for her.”

“I cooked for one. Katherine let herself in and helped herself to some pasta and wine.”

“You had her lipstick on your collar, Jude.” It’s so fucking cliché. “So it looked like she helped herself to you as well.”

“Nothing happened,” he grates, his palms hardening on my cheeks. “She tried, I rejected her, and—”

“She stayed for pasta and wine.”

He closes his eyes, gathering patience. “I took the opportunity, since I couldn’t see you, to let Katherine know I wouldn’t be continuing with our arrangement.”

“That doesn’t require a romantic dinner for two.”

“Jesus Christ.” His head drops back, and I remove my face from his palms and pull my hand from his waist. Jude puts it right back.

“No,” he says surely. I look away, frantically searching for the sensible part of my brain to help me out.

“Stop.” He forces my face back to his. “Just stop it.” Moving in slowly, cautiously, he kisses me gently, holding his mouth still for a few moments to see if I withdraw.

I don’t.

My body loosens, and I open up to him, letting his tongue slowly and softly explore my mouth as he moves in closer, forcing me to tilt my head back, his palms encasing my neck.

It’s such a delicate kiss and, like his attentiveness, not helping me.

My uncertainties crumble under his devotion, and my heart hurts a little less.

I don’t understand it, and I wonder for the first time if I need to.

Dragging his mouth across mine, he kisses first one corner, then the other. “All better,” he whispers, settling his lips on my forehead. I wish it were that easy. Breaking away, he gazes at me with imploring eyes. “Give me another chance.”

“Are you asking or demanding?”

He squints, thinking. “Will you please give me another chance?” With big, green, imploring eyes, he waits, his beautiful face rough with stubble that’s longer than I’m used to. “Please, Amelia, don’t throw this away.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, mulling over everything I know about Jude Harrison. Stinking hot. Profoundly pained by his mother’s death. Has been on antidepressants. Hot temper. Incredible in bed.

Passive-aggressive possessive.

But obviously deeply regretful. I can’t be imagining that. I can’t be that stupid.

Oh God, what am I doing? “We take it slowly,” I say, leaning back a little, trying not to smile at his baulk.

“Slowly?”

I nod.

“Care to elaborate?”

I look away, trying to piece together what I want to say and how I should say it.

“I’m here.” Jude takes my cheeks and steers my face back to him.

“I know.” I pry his hands away. “You’re hard to miss when you’re crowding me.”

Indignation swamps his face. “Slowly?” he prompts.

I take a breath and hit him with it. “Slowly,” I say again. “You’re in Oxfordshire, I’m here. It’s too much going back and forth in the week, so perhaps we just do a day on the weekends for the time being.”

“Not a fan.”

I didn’t think he would be, but he doesn’t get to call the shots.

I have to keep control. Set the pace. Resist the temptation to jump in feetfirst again.

Listen to my head and not my heart, which is screaming my declaration of love for him, while my head is reminding me that I’m in the thick of a life-changing career opportunity and Jude’s already let me down.

“Weekends,” I repeat, pressing my lips together.

Jude narrows his eyes on me. “I’ll think about it.”

I laugh lightly, and Jude’s nose wrinkles as I move him aside.

“Here we are,” the nurse declares as she enters the room. She has hands full of dressings and a face that’s quite alarmed when she sees Jude’s so close to me.

“I didn’t do that,” he says, catching the nurse’s expression too.

“Jude,” I murmur.

“No, I need her to know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Jude, I—”

“I would never lay a finger on her. I lo—”

“Jude, for God’s sake, shut up!” I snap, and he recoils, wounded, shrinking where he’s standing. He’s just making it worse. “He didn’t do this,” I affirm with grit as I take the bandages from the nurse. “He’s an idiot, but he’s not a monster.”

Jude blinks, shrinking more, and the nurse bats her eyes between us before she eventually nods and backs out of the room. Whether that nod be acceptance or not, I don’t know. I stuff the dressings in my bag and get down off the bed. “You can take me home.”

“It’s Sunday, so I believe you’re on my time right now.”

“You’re taking me home ,” I say surely, ignoring my body’s demand to let him at me. To fix this. To take us into that wonderful bubble of perfection. His body. My body. Connected.

“I said I’d think about your proposal, and you can’t even give me the last few hours left of the weekend, when you just told me weekends are mine.”

“I said one day on the weekend,” I remind him as he takes my good hand and opens the door.

“Jesus Christ, Amelia, it gets worse.”

“Jude, come on,” I breathe. “I can’t just run off to Arlington Hall with you like nothing’s happened. Besides, I have to pack.”

“Pack for what?”

“I’m moving out of Abbie’s.”

He recoils, looking down at me as we walk. “Moving out?”

“I finally found an apartment. I get the keys Friday.”

“You have a new apartment? Where?”

“Plaistow.”

“That means nothing to me. Is it on the right side of London?”

“For what?”

“Oxford.”

I shake my head. “It’s West London.” And will add at least another half an hour onto the journey to Arlington Hall.

“Jesus, Amelia.”