His rough fingers took hold of my bare knees, and now it was my turn to stay focused. Holding my upper torso and head steady as his hands drifted over my bare thighs, spreading them slightly apart, was nearly impossible. I sucked in a breath. It could not be helped. His hands slid down to my ankles, and he placed my feet in the same position on the rungs of the stool. His long lashes guarded his eyes, and he did not look at my face once. His fingers tugged on the hem of the shirt, and still without looking up at me, he took my hand and placed it on the fabric to hold down.

Then he leaned forward and whispered in to my ear. “Breathe, Eden.”

I nearly slipped out of position as I released the breath I’d been holding. Through the back of his t-shirt, the muscles in his shoulders and back looked solid and tight as he walked over to the music controls. He turned it on but lowered the volume. Then he walked back to his stool and sat down. He hadn’t lifted his face to look at me yet. As he stared down at his tray of pencils, he seemed to be steadying himself to look up, and when he finally did, I heard the same release of breath as I’d had moments before. He picked up the pencil and a serious, hard as steel gaze crossed his face as he dragged the lead across the canvas.

Cool air brushed the bare skin of my thighs and shoulders, but every time Jude looked at me, searing heat unfurled inside of me as if his gaze stroked me physically. I could feel him looking at me, memorizing every curve of my body before transferring it through his fingers onto canvas.

Several times he stopped from loss of concentration. He would put down his pencil and scrub his face with his hands as if trying to snap himself out of whatever had taken hold of him and then he would pick up the pencil and continue.

“Do you need a break?” They were the first words he’d spoken, and his voice sounded somewhat strained.

“I think I’m all right.” My words sounded even rawer than his.

He dropped the pencils onto the tray. “I need one. And I have to mix some paints, so you can take a rest.” There was a cold distance in his tone, almost as if we were strangers. I was the model he’d hired to paint, and he was strictly a professional. Unfortunately, I had not managed to push myself out of reality, and all I could think of was having Jude take me in his arms.

I walked over to the couch, sat down, and picked up a magazine, pretending that I was in the mood to peruse articles.

Jude went to his work table and sorted through paint colors and brushes. I watched every move of his shoulders, arms, and back over the top of the magazine. The urge to have him touch me increased with every movement of muscle. I glanced over to the wet bar. The bottle and shot glass were still out. I needed a drink too.

I strolled over and poured myself a shot. He looked back at me over his shoulder, and I lifted the glass. “Fortification, indeed.” I threw it back, swallowed, and scrunched my face in pain. “Oh god, that’s awful. It’s like drinking a glass of turpentine.”

“That is a hundred dollar bottle of scotch.”

I filled the glass with water. “All right, it’s like drinking really expensive turpentine.”

He returned to his task with a smile.

The burning in my throat had temporarily relieved the burning I’d felt everywhere else until Jude called me back to the stool. This time the repositioning took longer, and his fingers seemed reluctant to leave my skin. The sweet torture of his touch, light as it was, made balancing on a stool a circus act. Twice, I had to grab his shoulders to keep from sliding off and that appeared to break down Jude’s resolve too. For a long, tense moment in time neither of us took a breath. As his hands pushed open my thighs, a soft groan escaped my lips. Jude’s Adam apple slid up and down with the sound of it. His determination was fading quickly. Instead of lifting his hands from my thighs to move down to my ankles, he let his fingers trail down the skin of my calves and though he’d positioned my shoulders already, I had no choice but to grab hold of the seat edge to keep from falling.

“Oops,” I squeaked.

And then, without warning, he took hold of my calf and pressed my leg to his mouth, kissing my bare skin. His mouth moved slowly up the inside of my leg, and I clutched his shoulders for support as he stopped at the soft skin on my inner thigh. My fingers tightened on his shirt and my eyes drifted shut.

“Jude,” I whispered hoarsely. It was the only syllable I could utter, but the urgency of it was all the pleading he needed.

He straightened and I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. His mouth came down roughly over mine as he carried me to the couch. He lowered me to the cushions, and his calloused fingertips pushed the undershirt up above my breasts. “You are so fucking amazing, Eden.” His mouth covered my breast, and I arched my back to push harder against him. Every inch of my skin felt heated and flushed, and I knew that this time there no way I could stop myself. I wanted this as much as him.

I took hold of his face and urged him to kiss my mouth. My hands slipped under his shirt and my fingers and palms smoothed over his back, his muscles tightening beneath my touch.

Then his hands slid down my waist, and his fingers pushed my panties down to my thighs. Our breathing had synchronized into short, frantic spurts. Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from mine. His lids were heavy with need as he gazed down at me. “Are you sure, Eden?”

“Yes.”

He reached back to his pocket, fished out his wallet, and pulled out a condom.

“Convenient,” I mused.

He smiled as he stood. “I’ve had it in there for years.”

“Right.”

He pulled his shirt off over his head and I a faint whimper rose from my throat. He stared down at me unabashedly and swallowed hard. Then he rolled off his jeans, and this time the whimper was more of a gasp. He lowered himself over me and kissed my mouth lightly. “Now, where were we, my incredibly beautiful garden of Eden?”

Chapter 19

Nicky King has left the building. That phrase kept bouncing through my head the day after Finley’s father left for the rest of his tour. His leaving reminded me of the updraft that followed a jet as it took off. It was as if a giant vacuum had sucked up the energy and frenzy that came with his arrival, and now the house was relatively quiet. Jude and Cole had gone to work on separate construction sites, and the staff was busy putting the house back in order. The sharp difference in the house’s atmosphere reminded me a lot of Finley’s abrupt mood swings. And frankly, after a few days with her father in the house, it was not hard to see why she had so many problems. My nerves had been on edge the whole time, and had it not been for Jude, I would have stayed hidden in my room for the duration of Nicky King’s stay.

Now that he was gone, Finley’s full attention was on me again. Her mood had been bright and energetic for the last few days. I found her downstairs in the kitchen standing behind a wall of baking supplies. “It’s cookie baking day. Max is coming tonight after Cole gets home from work. Cole has invited this girl, Teresa, he hangs with sometimes. She’s kind of sleazy, which, of course, is why Cole likes her. She lives in Westwood with her father. He has some connection with the porn industry, but I don’t ask too many questions. I thought we could have a cookie slash movie party. I’m sure Jude wants to hang with you. It’ll be like triple date.”

Jude and I hadn’t had much time to be alone, the one pitfall that came with his dad’s absence. But he still managed to yank me into dark corners and empty hallways for stolen kisses. And I’d grown remarkably fond of those secret kisses. Finley knew well enough that Jude and I had become closely attached, but she had no idea of the scope of our relationship. I planned to keep it that way. It just seemed less complicated.