“That’s rough. Want a drink?” He walked over to a small bar cart and gestured to the array of decanters and bottles.
“Ah…sure.” I glanced over the selection. “Whatever is fine.”
While he poured, I wandered over to the window and brushed aside the drape to peer out. The apartment was on the seventh floor, tucked on a side street. He still had a good view of the city in its twinkling nighttime glory, though, and I stood, mesmerized by the glittering lights, until he came up behind me and pulled me back against his chest.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, accepting the drink he pressed into my hand and bringing it to my mouth for a sip.
“Mm. You’re beautiful.” He nuzzled his lips into the flesh beneath my ear, sending a shiver through me.
“Flattery…”
He tugged the lobe of my ear between his teeth, and I lost the ability to form words.
“…flattery?” I felt the smile on his lips as he turned me in his arms. Meeting my eyes, he ran his hands up my back, beneath my sweater, then down again, and pressed me against the cool pane of the window.
“Will get you everywhere,” I finished.
His smile grew wider, and he dipped his head forward, leaning down to kiss me. His kiss was a surprise. Jason Lancaster had been hiding, I thought. Beneath the shy exterior he was bold and carnal, his tongue swooping in to dance with mine in unmistakable mimicry of what he’d like to do with other parts of his body.
His hands were restless, stroking over me and rousing responses that had been dormant for some time. I lifted my arm to curl it around his neck, the drink in my hand sloshing over the rim and onto my hand and his neck with the motion.
He laughed, taking it from me and putting it on a small table beside the window. Then, his gaze never leaving mine, he took my alcohol-glossed fingers and drew them one by one into his mouth.
I think I whimpered.
“You still want to watch a movie?” he asked.
I shook my head.
No. No, I did not want to watch a movie. I wanted him to fuck me.
Still smiling, he drew me down a narrow hall toward what I assumed to be his bedroom, kicking his shoes off as he walked. I followed suit, my heels landing beside his loafers. He released my hand long enough to tug his shirt over his head with that sexy one-handed pull from the nape that made my mouth go dry every time I saw it.
I began unzipping my dress.
His hands went to his belt, and together we shed the rest of our clothing beside his bed. It was only then, as he reached for me again, that doubt reared up once more. I placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him.
“This means something, right?”
His expression was serious as he traced a finger around the curve of my jawline and the line of my nose. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…it’s not just sex? The reason I don’t do sex on the first date is because I want to make sure I’m not just a body. That I mean something to the person I’m sharing myself with. That I’m not expendable?—”
“Yes.” He kissed me then, halting the flow of words with a heady mix of tongue and lip. “You mean something to me. I swear it.”
I was not a good girl that night.
3
Jude
Dad was arrested the next day, early on a Sunday morning before worshippers had even made it to their pews to say their prayers. News hit the papers, both the digital and print versions, somehow, before he was escorted into the jail—so someone leaked the news.
It was clear: they wanted it to hit the city in a big way.
Eleanor and I huddled in our hotel room for days, ordering delivery and keeping to ourselves. I refused to turn the TV on, choosing instead to follow the news online.
Mom wasn’t answering her phone. For all intents and purposes, she’d simply…disappeared.
