Wilde Nights in Paradise (Wilde Security #1)

Chapter Ten

A spatter of color against the kitchen counter caught Libby’s attention as she came inside from the pool the following morning, and she finally pulled her nose out of the book she’d found tucked away on the shelf in the living room. The light and fluffy romance wasn’t her usual reading preference, but since her other book had taken a swim during the lizard fiasco, she’d picked this one up out of desperation—and she hadn’t been able to put it down. The hero was just too…yummy. Not the perfect man, by any means, but close enough that she kind of wished he was real. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed since she started reading until the sun’s rays became brutal and she had to go inside or risk sunburn. Even so, she planned to get a glass of ice tea, curl up somewhere quiet, and finish the book.

Except that flash of color was out of place on the dark granite counter top and Libby backtracked to get a better look.

A flower.

Surprised, she lifted it to her nose and scanned the house’s open floor plan for Jude. Why would he pick a flower? And then just leave it sitting here without water? Here, where she’d be sure to see it…

She scowled at the book, which she’d laid on the counter when she picked up the flower. Its candy-colored cover showed a shirtless man in a pair of low-riding jeans, his very fine backside turned to the reader, with a rose in his hand, hidden behind his back for the unsuspecting heroine. The hero had spent most of the book trying to seduce his love with flowers, which made him charming.

Not so much with Jude, who had hinted oh so casually this morning that Seth’s sister was a book addict and since this used to be the Harlan family’s vacation house before Seth moved in fulltime, Abby may have left something behind for her to read.

That conniving…sweet…no, definitely conniving jerk!

Incensed, she stepped on the trash can pedal to open the lid and dropped the perky pink flower in. She started to toss the book in after it, but hesitated. She knew the hero would get his woman in the end, and yet, she had to finish reading it. She could use a happily ever after in her life right now, so she let the lid drop and set the book aside on the counter. She’d come back to it later. Right now, she had to set a certain thick-skulled man straight about their relationship. Again.

She thought he was in the garage, so she started when she marched into the living room and found him sprawled facedown on the couch, sound asleep. Should’ve figured as much—he was an early riser and afternoon-nap taker, after all. One arm hung limply off the side of the cushion, and his bare feet stuck out over the couch’s arm. His T-shirt had ridden up in his sleep, showing a glimpse of his deeply tanned skin and the ink of that back tattoo he was so protective of. Curiosity overrode her annoyance, and she drifted closer.

What was that tattoo? It wasn’t “nothing” like he’d said. It meant something to him, and she couldn’t help it, she was dying to find out what. The dog tags, the ballet slippers, the intricate swirls of words… What did it all signify?

Sam lay on the far arm of the couch by Jude’s head, curled up, his green eyes focused with unblinking intent on Jude. Maybe the cat was plotting his demise after all. The two got along about as well as cops and criminals. Still, she was inexplicably pleased to see them sharing the same piece of furniture without incident.

If Jude didn’t notice Sam on the couch with him, he must be sound asleep. So maybe she could sneak up, take a better look at that tattoo of his…

Just a quick peek. He’d never even know.

On quick, silent feet, she tiptoed around to the other side of the couch and leaned over the back. No movement from him, not even a finger twitch. Oh, yeah, she could march the entire beach crowd through the living room right now, and he wouldn’t have the slightest idea.

Out. Cold.

She tugged lightly at the hem of his T-shirt, exposing another inch of bronzed skin, then another—

And before she drew her next breath, he grabbed her, flipped her over the back of the couch and had her pinned under him. She squeaked in alarm, and as the fog of sleep cleared from his eyes, he loosened his grip.

“What were you doing?” he demanded, sleep still coating his voice in rust.

“I was only checking to see if you were awake.”

“By stripping me?” He yawned and rubbed his free hand over his face. “Huh. Interesting way to wake a guy. I feel kinda violated.”

“Liar.” Flustered, she struggled against his hold. The twinkle in his no-longer-sleepy eyes proved he was enjoying this too much. Great. What a way to give him more ammunition. “Let me up.”

He pretended to think about it for all of a half second. “Nuh-uh. I like you under me.” His hips pressed into hers, and the bulge of his erection prodded her through her skirt, hit just the right spot. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning, but her body still betrayed her, arching up to meet his.

A smile inched up one side of his lips. “ You like you under me.”

With his hand still on her neck, his thumb stroking back and forth over her pulse point, there was no way he couldn’t feel the way her blood pressure spiked at his words.

“You know I do, dammit. But I told you—”

“One night. Yeah.” He grumbled something under his breath, but finally rolled off her and gained his feet. Hands resting on his lean hips, his body still very aroused, he stared down at her. “You are the most frustrating woman I know.”

“Wow. That’s saying something, since you’ve known scores of them.”

His jaw clenched together so hard she heard his back teeth grind. Without another word, he snapped up his phone from the end table and walked away.

Dammit. Libby sighed at herself and straightened, running her fingers through her tangled hair. Through the window, she watched him sit down on one of the loungers by the pool and check the screen of his phone. She’d only meant to aggravate him. His numerous sexual conquests bothered her, so of course, she had to keep picking away at them like a child picks at a scab.

What she couldn’t understand is why her mentioning his love life always seemed to hurt his feelings, too.

…

Three missed calls from Reece. And one from GQ, Colonel Pruitt’s uppity lawyer.

Jude blew out a breath. Just what he didn’t want to deal with right now when he had a raging case of blue balls and the only woman he wanted thought he was nothing more than man-whore.

He stole a glance inside the house, but Libby had left the living room and was nowhere to be seen.

Something had to give there. He didn’t know what, but they couldn’t keep going on like they had been.

He should talk to her. Talking had never had been something he was particularly good at or fond of—at least not when it came to the serious kind of talking that started or ended relationships, the kind that got messy with all sorts of emotion.

And speaking of messy…

He stared down at his phone, then hit the speed dial before he could talk himself out of it. If he didn’t return those three calls, Reece would just blow up his phone until he answered. Then things would really get messy.

Reece didn’t waste time with a greeting. “In. Your. Underwear. Really? I mean… really ?”

Of all the things he’d expected this convo to be about, underwear hadn’t been anywhere on that list. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Reece all but growled. “You. On the beach. In your underwear. With a lizard. What fucking part of low fucking profile don’t you get, Jude? I mean, fuck, you’re a meme. You’re all over the Internet.”

The back of his neck heated. “ All over?”

“Some tourist posted you on YouTube, and it went viral.”

Jude gave himself a moment, just a moment, to wallow in the embarrassment, the shame, but then he gulped it all down and forced himself to laugh. “So I’m like an underwear model now. Maybe I’ll get a commercial deal with Hanes.”

“Jesus,” Reece said, his tone one of complete awe. “You don’t get it. You really don’t. Goddammit, Jude, Pruitt and his fucking lawyer are both riding our asses, and we’re pulling all-nighters up here. There’s a woman and her family counting on you to keep her safe. A woman you supposedly cared about at one time, and you’re running around like drunken frat boy, posing for tourists? Are you really that selfish and—” He broke off, sighed. “No, I’m done yelling. I can’t deal with you anymore. I’m…done.”

Jude’s heart lodged in his throat, and speech was nearly impossible around it. “Reece—”

“Greer or one of the twins will be calling so keep the phone nearby. We need to make plans to get Libby out of there.”

Oh shit. They couldn’t take Libby out of here. It was the safest place for her. “No! No, you’re right, I screwed up again. Okay? But listen, the only people who know Libby is here with me are you guys, Seth, and Libby’s father. The lawyer doesn’t even know where we are, does he?”

“No,” Reece said as if he had to unlock his jaw to get the sound out.

“And nobody else knows about our connection, so why would they suspect she’s down here partying it up with me?”

Silence. He took that as acknowledgment he had a point, since Reece would never say so. “We’re still okay. Our cover’s intact, and unless you have another house somewhere just as secure, this is still the best place for her.”

More silence. Then, grudgingly, “All right. First hint of trouble, we’re pulling you both out.”

“Understood.”

Dead air. Jude winced and lowered the phone. He didn’t know why it still hurt; Reece never said good-bye.

Figures. Even when he tried to be helpful, he managed to fuck things up.

He stood and returned to the house, feeling like he should keep Libby in his sights at all times now. Just in case. He believed what he told Reece—nobody should be able to make the connection between them, and this fortress of a house was the best place for her.

Still…

He didn’t make it past the kitchen. The flower he’d left for Libby on the counter was gone. He spent a moment searching the floor, the sink, anywhere it could have dropped. Then he spotted the trash can against the wall, its lid open.

No. She didn’t.

He tossed his phone on the counter and crossed to the trash. On top of everything lay the flower. He had to pick a new one this morning, since the bloom from yesterday had wilted before Libby saw it, but this one was starting to wilt, too, and looked sad and pathetic on its bed of crumpled paper towels. He plucked it out with two fingers. Talk about kicking a guy when he was down. He started to toss it away again but stopped short and scowled at his refection in the patio doors.

Was he really just going to give up? Libby had spurned his advances nine years ago when he first saw her having lunch at that restaurant in Quantico with her father. If he’d given up back then… Well, they wouldn’t be in the awkward position they were in now, with broken hearts and wounded prides. But there had been so many good times before the bad, and he wouldn’t trade those precious memories for anything.

So, no, he decided and placed the flower on top of the trash can, accepting her challenge. Forget that crap defeatist attitude. He’d just have to keep trying.