“So you wear big girl panties?” A masculine voice calls from a few feet behind.
I know before glancing over my shoulder it’s my highway savior, and I brace myself for Jude’s charming good looks before meeting his gaze. Maybe I was suffering from heat stroke this morning. Maybe he’s not as attractive as I remember. Stress does funny things to a person. Maybe when I turn around he’ll have gone from prince to frog.
I lower my cell and yeah, he’s as handsome as earlier. No, scratch that, he’s even more devastating. His hair flops forward on his forehead as if he’s been running his hands through it, and the tie at his neck is loosened. I don’t know why, but seeing him less polished gives off a bad boy vibe. Not good. It’s more catnip. Doesn’t matter that I’m a reformed bad boy dater—I’ve always been a sucker for a work in progress. Bad boys, billionaires, artists. I’ve dated them all. I’ve been what they needed while putting myself on hold. Which is why I decided months ago to abstain from men in general. But seeing Jude all mussed and adorable causes my heart to stutter like it missed the memo.
Straightening my spine and putting on my best game face, I harden myself against his swoony pheromones. At the hint of his scowl, I get a little defensive. He asked me a question, but I can’t imagine he was being serious. Does he think I’m some hopeless girl who needs a big bad man to save her? Of course he does. Well, I might’ve been in distress earlier, but I won’t be his pity project. “And that’s disappointing because?”
“I was hoping you weren’t wearing any.” He flashes a wolfish grin.
God, he’s trouble. “I hope this isn’t how you lure women back to your home.”
“Why’s that?”
Because it’s disappointing to think he gets away with saying whatever he wants because of his pretty face. Because part of me wants him to work a little harder for my attention. I don’t say any of those things, because it doesn’t matter. I will not be doing anything extracurricular with Jude Lawrence. “I don’t talk to strange men about my undergarments.”
“Like you don’t get into strangers’ cars?” His brow rises in challenge.
“You had a puppy.” I cock my hip. “Couldn’t be that dangerous.”
“That mean you’ve agreed to let me drive you home?”
Drive me home? Why does that conjure up images of him taking me home—to his place—to do dirty, wonderful things. Jeez. I need a cold shower. Or my head examined. I will not be sleeping with Jude Lawrence . . . or anyone. Doesn’t matter that he’s completely saved me today. I’m a strong woman. I can resist the charms of a well-dressed, successful, charming man. I just need a ride. Yeah, I do. Home. Damn it. A ride home. That’s all. I avoid eye contact, and respond with a grunt that I hope sounds more yes than the my panties might catch fire if I keep looking at you thoughts circling my mind.
7
Jude
“I’m almost done.” She glances at the studio door, and I wish I could read her mind. Despite her earlier irritation, she almost appears relieved to see me. That possibility alone makes the time I spent tooling around Burbank after the puppy delivery worth it.
“Great. I’ll make a few calls.”
“Great.” But she doesn’t move. Or meet my gaze.
I lift my brow, taking a few steps closer until she lifts her stare. “You’ll come get me when you’re finished.”
“Okay.” She studies my face as if trying to decipher all my secrets. As though she hasn’t quite decided whether I’m trustworthy. I hate whomever it is that made her cynical. Mostly because they likely hurt her in the process. Probably whatever idiot I overheard her talking to on the phone. I hate that she said I love you before ending the call. He doesn’t deserve her. I don’t know who he is, but he isn’t good enough. Not when he obviously accepted her refusal of help.
Not me, though. I convinced her. Won her trust. Okay, I bribed her with puppies and took the keys to her hunk of rust. That’s gotta count for something.
Her gaze narrows, but her lips soften. I wish I could read her features. Know what she’s thinking right this very second. Like a bright beckoning light calling a ship home, I have an insane desire to earn her trust. She’s a challenge I want to win.
I take a step back, holding her gaze, but unable to stop the grin from spreading across my lips. “Just don’t want you going rogue, trying to ditch your ride or anything.”
She laughs, almost as if she didn’t expect to. “You worried?”
“Yeah.” I take another few steps backward.
“You should be.”
“Just remember. I have your car.”
She gasps, but the smile on her face gives away her amusement. “Are you holding Iron Maiden hostage?”
“Maybe.” I full on grin. I can’t help it. This back and forth is a breath of fresh air.
“I should—” She hikes her thumb at the door.
I point at where I’m parked. “Go. Finish up and come out when you’re done.”
She nods and it’s only after she slips back inside the studio that I head back to my vehicle.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call before I shut the door. It’s Darlene. I’m surprised it’s taken her a few days to get back to me since sending over the progress photos with Chance on Monday. She usually responds within hours.
“Just the woman I wanted to hear from.”
“Jude, save the charming for the ladies who bat for your team.”
“What can I do for you, Darlene? Did you get the photos I sent on Monday?”
“That’s why I’m calling. They look fantastic. God. You know nothing makes me more excited than a Bateman
