Page 64 of Wanted

Not. One. Thing.

The moment is nothing but the memory of his hand in my hair, cradling the back of my head, his thick thigh between my legs while his tongue stroked mine.

A memory that I, personally, would like to experience again.

Coming out of his freeze, Jude drops the tray to the counter. He pours us each a glass of milk and passes one to me across the island. He settles in on the other side, a hip against the edge, his tee shirt stretched tight against his chest.

I reach eagerly for the glass, if only for something to distract me with before I start rambling. Who knows what’s liable to come out of my mouth when he stands in front of me like that, all warm and inviting.

“How’s Jack?” The topic feels innocent enough. This turn of events has firmly taken my mind off my own disappointing phone call.

“He said Dillon checked out of his motel on his own yesterday. He’s not allowed to come back. Your kiss must have worked.”

I sputter around a drink of milk. Does he have freaking telepathy?

Jude smirks and reaches for a cookie. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” I croak. The warm treat melts against my fingers. A welcome bite provides a decent distraction. Buttery, chocolate goodness explodes on my tongue, followed by a slight vanilla aftertaste. “What other secrets are you hiding? This is really good.”

Jude flinches but recovers quickly.

“It’s Juniper’s recipe. She brought them to a family dinner and everyone demanded the recipe.”

“You must have a sweet tooth to make them yourself at home.”

Jude pops the second half of his cookie in his mouth. A crumb clings to his lower lip. If he was on this side of the island, I’d wipe it off.

Or perhaps lick it.

“I live alone. If I want some cookies, I’m more than capable of making them myself.”

“So you’re saying tonight you wanted some cookies?”

“I wanted to have them for you.”

It’s my turn to freeze. My brain blanks, and I scramble for an adequate response, but Jude continues.

“You’re stuck here. You don’t have a car, and you’re stubborn as hell about asking for what you want. Haven’t met a woman in all my years who didn’t want a cookie now and then.” He cocks an eyebrow in challenge.

I reach for a second one, and his stance relaxes. “You might not want to spoil me. I could eat a cookie like this every single day.”

“There’s another dozen in the oven, so this batch will last you a while.”

Something he said sticks with me. The cookie in my mouth feels dry going down as I work up the courage to ask, “How many women have you… met?”

My face flames.

Jude frowns.

“Not many. I think it’s obvious I keep to myself, no?”

I squirm in my seat under the intensity of his silver gaze. “But you have needs, right?”

Jude’s lips twitch, the hint of a smile playing on his sinful mouth. “Are you asking me how often I get laid, Frankie?”

“No! No. I’m not asking how often you get laid, Jude. God. That’s none of my business.”

“It seems to me like you want to make it your business.”

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