Page 118 of The Invitation

“Shit.”

“Seriously, Amelia, you were absolutely battered.”

“Alright, Dad,” I grumble. Jude raises surprised brows at me, and I roll my eyes. Mistake. “Ouch.”

“Here,” he mutters, holding out a bottle of Evian.

“Thanks.” I try to unscrew the cap, try with all my might, but the strain sends stabbing pains through my temple and into my skull. “I can’t do it,” I mutter. “It’s too tight.”

Jude huffs and removes the lid, handing it back. I chug down the ice-cold, heavenly liquid as he towers over me, waiting for me to finish so he can resume scolding me. I gasp and drop to my back, pulling the sheets over my head. Jude whips them straight back off. “Did you tell your friends I have anger issues?”

I freeze. Did I say that? Oh my God, I have absolutely no recollection of last night. Regardless ... “How do you know what I’ve said to my friends?”

“Because they told me.”

“When?”

“When I was carrying you all one by one to my car.” Accusing eyes drill into me.

“Oh.” I wince. “You were at the bar?”

“No, I came to the bar when I finally got some sense out of one of you.”

“Oh.”

“And took your friends home.”

“Oh.”

“Filthy?”

“What?”

“Jude Fuckboy Harrison?”

I press my lips together, cringing. “Sorry.”

“You will be.” He lays himself over me, pressing me to the bed, his lovely, clear complexion annoyingly fresh. “You stink.”

“Get away from me then,” I retort.

“Never.” He swoops in and kisses me hard and long, probably tasting the copious amount of alcohol I allowed past my lips last night. But still. This is nice. And an unexpected wake-up.

I hum, my hangover forgotten, my libido raging as I circle his bare shoulders and trap him in my thighs. “I’m blaming the cocktail-tasting session you forced on me.”

He huffs. “Sure. You’d better check in with your friends.”

“Soon.”

He breaks away, and I grumble. “Your phone’s been ringing. I would have answered, but I’m not sure I want to talk to your ex.” Another hard kiss before he breaks away and walks off.

I shoot up to my elbows and pay for it. Fuck, the pain. I clutch my head. “Why’s Nick calling me?”

“I was wondering the same thing.”

I cringe and throw the sheets back, going in search of my phone. “I haven’t got the energy to deal with sarcasm.” I zigzag all the way to the lounge and find my mobile on the coffee table, cool air spreading across my front. My naked front. Just knickers. Groaning at the three missed calls, I clear them and go to the kitchen, perching on a stool. “Would you mind filling in the blanks?” I ask Jude’s back as he stands in front of his open fridge. My eyes drop down to his boxers. His arse. His thighs.

The door closes and he turns with some oranges in his hand. “I received a call at four minutes past midnight.” He dumps them on a chopping board. “It didn’t take long to figure out you were out-of-your-mind drunk. So when I finally got some sense out of you, I broke all speed limits from here to London and found you and your two silly mates performing dance moves that I’m pretty sure are illegal.”

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