Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
The first night in London, when Jude and I went out, I kissed his cheek, and it’s as enticing now as it was back then. I linger on his skin, savoring the way he tastes and smells. He sighs gently, a sexy sound that thrums through me.
“Did we sell that?” I murmur just for him.
“Not at all,” he breathes, all low and sensual.
“You want me to do a better job?” I tease.
“I don’t know if you can,” he taunts.
It is on.
I lift a hand, hold his cheek, turn his face, and drop my lips to the corner of his. I give Jude Fox a trace of a kiss.
It’s magic once again.
When I let go, his eyes glimmer. His breath shudders. Maybe he’s acting like he’s into the kiss, but the flush on his face looks all-too-real. Makes me want another kiss.
“Sold now?” I ask, voice rough from the contact.
“And for a very good price,” he murmurs, then glances around the restaurant. All the bloggers and photographers are otherwise occupied. They missed our charade.
Jude blows out an annoyed breath. “Well, that was much ado about nothing,” he says.
Does that mean we need to try again? I’m game but wary too. The more we fake kiss, the more I’ll think it’s real. “Should we hit the bar?”
He scans the crowd once more—a little lost in thought. “I guess if we keep it up, it might look like we’re acting.”
“Drinks it is,” I say, and at least we’re on the same page about liquor. That’s gotta count for something.
Once we grab stools at the end of the counter, he asks if I want an old-fashioned.
“I do,” I say.
And if I were writing this scene, that’d be a sign—the ex remembering the other guy’s drink order. But really, this just means Jude has a good memory.
But so do I. “And for you? Beer? Champagne or Negroni?” I rattle off his three favorites.
“Show off,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s playful this time, though, not annoyed. I like that better. Maybe we can try to get along.
“I’ll have a Negroni,” he says.
I order, and as we wait, I meet his gaze. We both have a lot riding on this ruse, so I start over. “I’ll do a better job.”
“Thank you. I’ll do my best too. We want this to work, don’t we?” His tone is still relaxed as if he thinks we can pull this off, even if no one caught us on camera moments ago.
“We do. And I won’t blow it for you,” I say. Jude has worked his ass off to reach this point. He slogged through a few years when he hardly worked at all. He’s on the other side of that struggle, and if I can help him with his reputation rehab, I should.
He wiggles a brow. “When you say that, I’m not sure I can resist some wordplay.”
I grin. “I can’t either. So does that mean . . . you want me to blow it for you?”
“I do. I just fucking do,” he says, setting his hand on his belly as laughter consumes him.
I crack up too, and we let our guards down together.
A few seconds later, a rough-and-tumble voice cuts past our laughing. “Told you I’d track you down.”
I groan quietly, recognizing the voice. I haven’t had time to fill Jude in about Malcolm, and now he’s a yard away, and I’m forced to be polite. “Jude, this is Malcolm Mann from The Man’s Man. He’s a self-help,” I say, taking a deliberate pause for a little shade, before I finish, with “legend.”
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m a big fan of . . . self-help,” Jude says smoothly, and I smile at the smart quip.
But Malcolm seems to miss Jude’s double meaning. “That’s awesome. Glad to hear it.” He shifts his attention to me. “Don’t know if you heard the news, but I’m writing a romance novel.”
“Is that so?” I feign surprise. Take that, world. I can act.
“It’s gonna be great. I figure, how hard can it be?” he asks.
“I’m sure it’s super simple,” Jude says drily, and I’m too amused to be insulted by Malcolm.
But the guy can’t even tell Jude’s mocking him as he mocks romance novels. “Right? Boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, boy does something dumb, girl forgives him, and they live happily ever after.”
“You’re pretty much an expert,” I deadpan.
Malcolm ignores my comment.
“Except, sometimes dudes fall for dudes,” Malcolm says, then gestures from Jude to me. So informed, this asshole. Yes, Malcolm please mansplain more about how gay love works. “But don’t worry,” he stage-whispers in my direction. “I won’t try to horn in on your territory in the man-on-man genre.”
“Whew. Thank God. I bet you’d give gay romance some stiff competition with your pen,” Jude says.
I fight like hell not to crack up.