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Eyes lighting up with mirth, he grins. “No, I definitely couldn’t forget you.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and hold it for a moment. Trying to get myself together. Trying to turn off all these chaotic feelings.
“But you’ll have my word,” I finally exhale.
“Your word?”
I open my eyes to see him still grinning at me, as if such an idea is amusing.
“Yes, my promise I won’t go running to the cops. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“Is that all you have to offer?”
Unfortunately, yes. I have nothing else to bargain with. No amount of money he would find tempting. No powerful friends or family that could vouch for me.
He inclines his head, his gaze boring into me as if he expects something different from me. “Are you sure?”
I have no clue what he expects. At a loss, I just stare silently back at him.
I’ve offered all I have.
When he realizes I’m not going to offer anything else, Jude tips his head back and laughs. “Ah, a prudish angel then. How interesting…”
Prudish? I have no clue what he means by that but my pride bristles, sensing it’s an insult.
His laughter cutting off suddenly, too suddenly to be natural, the expression on his face switches from mirth to determination. “I could simply take you with me.”
I blink at him confusion. “What?”
“Yes,” he says almost gleefully, his eyes lighting up. “That sounds more to my liking. I’ll take you with me, keep you close, and keep averyclose eye on you.
My mind going through whiplash at this sudden change in direction, I ask, “Take me where?”
“My house, of course. Where else?”
Why? So he can have more time to torture me before he offs me?
“You don’t want to do that,” I say quickly.
Hand squeezing tighter around my wrists, he leans into me once more. “Oh, but I do.”
This time when his face nears my face as if he’s going to kiss me, I don’t turn away.
I meet his eyes and hold them.
“People will notice I’m missing,” I point out.
Some of the glee fades from his eyes. “Like who?”
“My son’s babysitter for one,” I rush to say. “I need to pick him up in an hour.”
Body tensing against mine, he asks, “How old is your son?”
Picturing Abel’s face, I take a breath before I answer. “Nine months.”
Jude relaxes a little. “So he’s just a babe?”
I nod. “Yes.”
