Page 10 of Floored

"I wouldn't dream of it." He held out a lowball glass.

Approaching slowly, I realized that Jude had hardly moved since I changed my shirt. He'd let me move toward him, at my pace, in my time.

Our fingers brushed when I took the drink, and it caused the slightest lift of his chin, a slow inhale expanding his chest.

"The picture in there." I tilted my head toward the space where I changed. "That your brother?"

Jude lifted his dark eyebrows briefly. "It is. I forgot that was in there."

"He doesn't look much younger than you."

"Only about two years between me and Lewis," he answered. No other offer of information, but I suppose that wasn't the point of this little exchange. If all we wanted to do was talk, we could've carried our asses back downstairs.

"You were wearing a soccer jersey," I accused. "No wonder you got so touchy."

The smile that spread over his face after I said that could only be described as predatory. Anticipatory.

Yet again ... my thighs squeezed helplessly. Holding his eyes, I raised the glass to my lips and sipped slowly. Then swallowed painfully.

It was horrible.

For someone whose brother owned a bar, he made epically shitty drinks. Or ... maybe I just hated whiskey. I'd never actually tried it before.

Jude took a sip of his own, licking his bottom lip as he lowered the glass. "You must enjoy a good sparring match to keep poking this particular bear."

I grinned. "Maybe I do."

He straightened to his full height, and flutters exploded in my belly. He'd cover me entirely should we stretch out on that bed. He'd blot out the light and be able to dominate me as he saw fit.

"I'm not surprised Americans en masse don't understand," he said. After another sip, he set his glass down. "You're not the best at it, so naturally, it's rubbish."

I took a sip too, but I kept my glass gripped in my hands because the gentle tone of his voice just before he took a prowling step toward me made me feel ... inexperienced. No, I was no shaking virgin at twenty-two, but Jude was clearly older. Clearly better at this than I was.

"Such a tragedy that we're not," I whispered. "All that flopping on the ground, pretending to be injured. Sounds like a tough game to master."

Jude emitted a shocked gust of laughter. But his eyes glowed. My cheeks felt warm.

"You are ..." his voice trailed off, but his gaze tracked down the entire length of my body.

I backed up a step, my shoulders hitting the wall behind me.

"I'm what?" I set my glass down on top of the box.

"Frustrating." He took another step.

"I've heard that a time or two." My hands curled into fists to keep from reaching for him.

"I'll bet you have," he murmured. His fingers picked at the hem of the shirt, which skirted my hips. He managed to wind some of it in his grasp without touching me. My skin burned from that lack of touch. I wanted his big hands everywhere. "I'll bet you love driving people insane."

My chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Look at you." He fisted the shirt, yet instead of tugging me toward him, he used that to anchor me in place. "It's right there in those blue eyes how badly you want to say something else."

I rubbed my thighs together. He noticed.

My chin tilted up in challenge. "You think you've got me pegged?" Now it was me who licked my bottom lip, and he huffed air from his nose, a bull ready to charge if I waved my flag just one more time. "You don't know me."

"Isn't that the appeal?" His other hand rose, just the pad of his thumb landing in the middle of my mouth. "Don't tell me it's not." He dragged my bottom lip down, and oh, my gawd, I was panting audibly. "The only thing you know right now is that you want me over top of you. You want me between those pretty, long legs." He dipped down and ran his nose along my cheekbone, his mouth ghosting over my skin. Just shy of touching me.

---