Page 95 of The Winslow Brothers

But Jude appears completely unfazed.

I watch as he takes a bite of his steak, and I hate how my eyes fixate on his strong jaw and full lips with every chew. Or the way my gaze moves to the Adam’s apple at his neck when he swallows.

Why amIso turned on, yethe’sjust sitting here, enjoying his meal like one of us isn’t about to have a spontaneous orgasm in the middle of dinner?

And why in the hell does he have to look so damn good, too?

If there’s one thing that’s a certainty, it’s that Jude Winslow canweara suit. Black jacket, crisp white shirt, and black slacks, the man looks better than the filet mignon sitting before me. He isn’t just a tasty snack; he’s the whole damn meal. Six full courses, with the biggest, most delectable chocolate cake dessert at the end.

And I haven’t even started on his eyes or the way the dimmish lighting of this sophisticated restaurant only adds to the allure of them.

They are these crystal-clear, blue-as-the-sky eyes that hold secret promises of sex and sin and the kind of delicious acts that you fantasize about but never say out loud because they’re far too dirty.

But damn it all to hell, I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one who’s sitting here thinking about hot sex and going crazy with anticipation.

He told me to meet him tonight.In a dress.Surely that was for a reason…right?Normally, wearing a sexy dress around Jude Winslow ends with happy endings of a climax variety.

And what about the drinks at the bar?Good grief.The way his hands kept lingering on my thighs and my shoulders and brushing my hair behind my ear… Why in the hell did he keep doing that? Was he trying to push me off the horny ledge?

Gah.I have to get it together.

I yank my eyes away from their current fascination with his mouth and stare down at my plate, but my attention is immediately pulled straight back to him when he asks, “How’s the filet?”

“Um…” I look up and clear my throat to force the rasp of neediness out of my voice. “It’s good. Very good, actually.”

Jude’s smile is relaxed and friendly. “Glad to hear it.”

“Yep. Good. Very, very,verygood.”

Ugh. You’re being weird. Stop being so weird.

I clear my throat again. “How’s yours?”

“Delicious,” he answers, and the way his voice is all deep and throaty makes me shift a little in my seat.

“Good. That’s good.”

Holy hell, can you say anything besides good?

Apparently, I can’t because I am a ticking time bomb of horniness, and every second feels like I’m one persistent throb closer to bursting into flames. Or, worse, climbing over the tableand straddling his lap and begging him to just fuck me right here in the middle of this fancy-schmancy restaurant.

Oh, for goodness’ sake, you’re losing it.

On a deep inhale, I shut my eyes briefly in an attempt to gain some control, but when Jude shifts his seat closer to mine and his warm hand reaches out to rest on my upper thigh, any chance of reining myself in goespoof.

His fingers skate along the edge of my dress again, just like when we were sitting at the bar, and my nipples take it upon themselves to harden and let me know they’d like some attention from him, too.

And when those fingers of his slide beneath the material of my dress and carefully make their way farther up my thigh, my breath gets tangled in my lungs.

Higher and higher andhigherhe goes.

It all feels painfully good, and in the spirit of keeping this moving in the right direction, I open my mouth to tell him just that, but our waiter chooses that exact time to step up to our table.

“How is everything?”

“Fantastic,” Jude says, and the instant the last syllable of that word slips past his tongue, one finger slides beneath my panties and directly inside me.

Holy hell.

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