Page 87 of The Invitation

“It’ll be a big chunk of your day gone going there and back.”

Jude comes to the bed and hauls me out of it, standing me up and clenching my cheeks. “It’s not a problem,” he repeats. “Okay?”

“But—”

“Are you arguing with me?” His face is suddenly stern, his head tilted.

I scowl. “And if I am?”

A wicked glint in his eyes blinds me as he reaches around to my bare arse and digs his fingertips in. I yelp, grabbing his arms, shooting up to my tippy-toes. My lips press together.

“Are you arguing with me, Amelia?”

I shake my head, leaning back when his face comes closer. “Never,” I whisper.

“Good.” He swoops in and sends me dizzy with a deep, hot kiss, and I’m putty in his hands again. I’m not going to think too deeply about this. He’s my only chance of making it to my parents’ on time. I’m never late, and I really don’t want to explain to my parents why I am.

“I need to get my stuff from the fancy suite you booked out for me not to sleep in,” I say around his mouth.

“I’ll go get your stuff, you take a shower.” He swats my arse and leaves to fetch my things, and I watch him go, something new and alive inside screaming for more. Not sex, although I’ll happily take it. But this feeling of utter contentment.

Chapter 20

“This is your car?” I gaze across the bodywork of the classic Jaguar that Clark had a hard-on for as Jude opens the door for me.

“One of them, yes.” He helps me down to the seat, and the smell of old leather hits me. One of them? How many does he have? Jude falls into the driver’s seat and slips on some tortoise and gold-rimmed Ray-Bans, raking a hand through his hair. His hand on the wheel, one on the gearstick, he looks across at me. I cry on the inside. In his cream chinos and white Ralph Lauren shirt, he looks as classic as the car. Classically handsome. Classically gorgeous. “What?” he asks.

“You.”

“What about me?”

You’re derailing me.“Nothing.” I settle, Jude turns the radio on, and “Waterfall” by the Stone Roses starts.

“Nothing, my arse,” he murmurs, giving me an accusing, playful look.What’s happening?“What’s your parents’ address?”

“Call yourself a stalker?”

His hand is squeezing my knee instantly, and I jolt in my seat on a laugh. “Pack it in.” He passes me his phone. “Google Maps.”

“You mean this thing doesn’t have satnav?”

His eyebrows rise with his shades as he lifts them, and I pucker my lips, making him lose all warning from his face. He leans over and steals a kiss, and it’s all so very easy. Natural. He’s calm. Easygoing. It’snot only his persona telling me so, but his eyes, which are a beautiful muted greeny grey.

Jude lowers his glasses and pulls off slowly, while I tap in the address for my parents’. ETA: 12:08. I cringe. Still late. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I’m going to be late.”

“By a couple of minutes,” he replies. “Stop stressing.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve not got a melodramatic mother ready to file a missing person’s report.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve fucked up. Jude’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, his bottom lip disappearing between his teeth, his entire seated posture changing.Fuck.“Shit, Jude, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” I counter, kicking myself repeatedly. “It was stupid and insensitive. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Amelia, it’s fine.”

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