Page 7 of Wilde Nights in Paradise

The woman had a fist of steel.

Jude’s head snapped back at the impact of Libby’s punch, and he was pretty sure he had cartoon Tweety Birds circling his noggin when he straightened. Even getting socked in the face by Vaughn, who expressed some of his more aggressive urges as a cage fighter, didn’t rattle him half as much, but he’d long suspected his brother of pulling punches whenever they got into it.

Libby wasn’t going to afford him that courtesy.

She balled up her fist like she planned to hit him again, but a giant matchstick, complete with the flame-red hair, stepped in front of her.

“Libby, stop!”

Burke sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. “Libby, what is wrong with you?”

She shook out her hand and drew a shuddering breath. Then, like nothing had happened, she straightened her suit jacket and turned on her heel. Matchstick spared Jude a confused glance before chasing after her.

Holy fucking ouch.

Jude worked his jaw. He’d be surprised if he didn’t end up with a bruise as bad as the one Vaughn currently sported around his eye from yesterday’s office rumble. “I thought Pruitt explained this charade to her?”

“He did,” Burke said stiffly.

“Did he mention that I’m the guy he hired for the job?”

“It didn’t come up.”

“Of course not.” Goddamn Pruitt. If he really loved his daughter so much, why would he spring this on her without preparing her first?

Burke paced the hallway, indignation seeping from his every pore. “I told Elliot this was a bad idea. We should have handled this on our own. We didn’t need to bring in outsiders.”

Jude didn’t waste time with I-told-you-sos, even though he sorely wanted to say it. Maybe he was becoming a masochist, but now that he’d seen Libby again, and had tasted her, he couldn’t leave without talking to her for real, no pretense.

And maybe one more taste.

Christ, that kiss. It should have been just a quick hello, a smooch from him playing the part of her lover. But once he felt her soft lips yield under his, he’d lost his fucking mind. He’dneededto kiss her.

So much for his acting skills.

He started down the hallway, intent on finding Libby and apologizing for the way her father blindsided her with him—but Burke caught his arm.

“Who are you to her?” Burke demanded. “Elliot won’t tell me why he trustsyouof all people to protect Libby.”

The lawyer had the hands of a pansy, soft and thin, and Jude peeled those fingers from his arm with ease. “I could ask the same of you, GQ.”

“We went to law school together.” Burke sniffed, straightening the lapels of his suit coat. “We’re friends.”

Man, that uppity tone of his really grated on the nerves. “Friends. Aw, that’s cute. I was her fiancé, so back off and let me do what Pruitt hired me to do.”

Scowling, Burke backed up a step and then another. He kept backing away until he reached the elevator, then turned and jabbed the button.

Jude waited until Burke disappeared into the elevator before continuing down the hallway on his mission to apologize to Libby. The place was a maze of office doors. After two wrong turns and a set of ass-backward directions from a flirty brunette paralegal, he found her seated at her desk in her office, flipping through a stack of files. Matchstick stood beside her with a clipboard in hand and seemed to be taking notes.

Jude tried the doorknob. Nope. Locked. Damn.

Going with plan B, he tapped on the window with his knuckle. Matchstick looked up and scowled. Libby’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t lift her eyes from the papers on her desk.

Okay.

He doubled his fist and gave the lightly frosted glass a few good thumps. Matchstick, the flame-haired prick, positioned himself like a human shield between the door and the desk, then went back to note taking. Libby still didn’t move.

Plan C then.

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