Page 13 of The Surrender

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 youpleasegive 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 bethatstupid.

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 opportunityandJude’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—”