Fool for Him (Foolish at Heart Book 1) Page 13

  “The first time I saw it, I knew it had great bones,” he began to explain.

  For the next half an hour, they talked while they ate. It didn’t escape Judah’s notice that the longer Teddy sat, the more comfortable she became. He was glad to see her relax in his company.

  “What about your place?”

  The laugh that bubbled out of her was both glorious and contagious. Judah found himself smiling as she replied, “It’s certainly nothing like this. It’s a small apartment. So small, in fact, it could probably fit in this room.”

  She shrugged and then rearranged herself, bringing her left leg up as she propped her foot on the edge of the stool. She rested her hands around her ankle, and Judah’s shorts slid down her thigh. He was immediately distracted by the bit of ink he saw on her skin.

  “Miss Fitzpatrick, you surprise me.”

  “I do? Why?”

  “What’s this?” Judah reached over to trace his fingertips across the hint of tattoo which had been exposed.

  “Shit.”

  Teddy jumped and immediately righted herself, so she was sitting properly on the stool. Judah studied her, uncertain whether it was his touch or his awareness of her ink which caused such a reaction.

  “I’m not allowed to see?” he asked with a lifted, inquisitive eyebrow.

  “Um.” She drew in a deep breath and swept her hair behind her ears anxiously. “I just—I don’t usually show people.”

  “Ah, but now I know it’s there,” he pointed out flirtatiously. “I think you should show me.”

  Teddy studied him for a moment, and he could tell her pretty, hazel-brown eyes were searching his. What she hoped to find, he didn’t know—but he didn’t break their stare. He allowed her to search him. Just when he thought she was about to acquiesce, she spoke once more.

  “How about, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  Judah smirked as he reached for the remainder of his wine. “I would say yes, but I don’t have any tattoos.”

  “No. I—that’s not what I meant,” she stuttered.

  He finished his drink, then looked at her, his unspoken request for clarification expressed with a beckoning wave of his fingers.

  “My tattoo, it comes with a story. I’ll tell you my story if you’ll tell me yours.”

  “I have many stories, Teddy.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She wiggled in her seat, the movement a statement in itself. “I want to know one in particular.”

  “Go on.”

  “I want you to tell me about the last woman you loved.”

  Judah furrowed his brow in response. What she requested was not at all what he expected. Before he could wrap his mind around the idea, she continued.

  “I know we don’t really know each other. I know that’s a really personal story—but so is my tattoo. If you want to see it, you’ll have to pay up.”

  He could tell, by the determined expression on her face, she wasn’t going to budge on her terms. Still, he endeavored to try.

  “What makes you think I’ve ever been in love?”

  His question sparked a twinkle in her eyes, and it made him want to kiss her.

  “Because,” she began, effectively muting his temptation. “No one decides what they seek from a woman is everything except love unless they’ve been in love. And, no offense, but you can be a bit of an asshole—and assholes aren’t born, they’re made. That’s a lesson I learned a long time ago. Also, you, me, here, now—you’re not that bad. You’re just—I don’t know. So, will you tell me about her?”

  They stared at one another as Judah considered all she said. One phrase in particular played on repeat in his mind—assholes aren’t born, they’re made. No one had ever said such a thing to him. While he’d been called an asshole more times than he could remember, it was never with as much compassion and intrigue as Teddy managed to bestow upon him in that moment. A part of him wondered if there was any validity to her truth.

  Judah had, indeed, been in love. Once. It was also true he’d felt the pain of betrayal, he’d experienced the heartache of love lost, and that was all he needed to be convinced it wasn’t worth seeking. Yet, Teddy’s declaration begged the question—who might he have been if not for Aubrey?

  He discarded the question almost as soon as it formed in his mind. He thought it a fool’s errand to go in search of such answers. First and foremost, he wanted to know what was hidden beneath the fabric of his gym shorts on Teddy’s body. Realizing all he had to offer was a story, more than a decade gone by, he was compelled to play along. It wasn’t a memory he shared, but he had no intention of wasting the opportunity which all but fell into his lap. Fate gave him the advantage that night—and he wasn’t going to harm any chance he had with Teddy.

  “Fine. You have yourself a deal.” He stood, taking up each of their wine glasses and the remainder of the bottle. “But if I’m going to tell you this story, we’ll both need more wine. Come on.”

  He headed toward the living room, set their glasses on the coffee table, then proceeded to refill them both. Teddy approached as he settled himself in the center of the couch. She took up her glass and eased into the space on his left. Leaning up against the arm of the sofa, she folded her legs against her chest—careful to make sure her thighs stayed covered.

  Judah’s gaze flicked down at the only bit of leg left unexposed—her shins—and then met her eyes. “Where shall I start?” he asked.

  “How’d you meet?” she inquired, bringing her glass to her lips.

  “Christ—from the very beginning?” he muttered incredulously.

  Teddy laughed softy over the rim of her wine glass, and the victorious glint in her eyes forced him to acquiesce.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The lush, spicy, delicious wine cascaded over my tongue as I stared at him in giddy anticipation. I had no idea how we managed to arrive at such a moment—but I knew I didn’t want to be anywhere else. As the warmth of Judah’s hospitality and the alcohol in my drink relaxed me, I was still intrinsically aware I didn’t belong with him, but I didn’t care. I wanted his story, and he was about to give it to me.

  “I did my undergrad in Chicago. I met Aubrey my junior year. She was a professor for one of my classes.”

  My eyes widened in surprise, and I couldn’t stop myself from blurting, “You fell in love with an older woman?”

  “At the time, I was twenty and she twenty-seven. That’s less than the nine years that separate us.”

  My surprise twisted and morphed into bewilderment. It was like whatever conclusions I might have drawn from this detail in his story, he wouldn’t let me; rather, he distracted me with the us I still wasn’t ready to fully entertain.

  “What did she look like?” I asked, anxious to get us back on track.

  Judah narrowed his eyes playfully. “Who is telling this story?”

  “Sorry,” I whispered, not even bothering to hide my grin. “Continue.”

  “She was—beautiful. Intelligent. Poised. To this day, I don’t know where I got the balls to initiate a relationship with her, but it was obvious our attraction to one another was mutual. Still, she wouldn’t sleep with me until I was twenty-one. My birthday is in December, which meant the end of a semester and the end of our teacher/student relationship.

  “Spring came and we were almost inseparable. I couldn’t afford to stay in the city over the summer, so I came back home—to Denver. When I returned fall semester, she was engaged to be married.”

  “What?” I whispered, aghast.

  Captivated by his story, I had all but forgotten about my wine. When Judah reached over and placed his hand on my knee, I didn’t move. The way he grazed his thumb back and forth across my skin pulled me even further into the story—further into him.

  “Needless to say,” he continued without missing a beat. “I was astonished. Dumbfounded, actually. And angry. Really angry. We’d been in touch all summer, and I suspected nothing. Granted, our communication was more frequ
ent in the first few weeks of break than the last, but we were busy. I was busy. I was interning at Eddalyn’s, and I didn’t think I needed to worry about the state of our relationship. She told me she loved me. Like a fool, I believed her.

  “She lied. Or, you know what?” A frown tugged at his brow, and I realized he wasn’t talking to me anymore. Not exactly. He was remembering. “Maybe she didn’t lie. Not about her feelings, anyway. Who the fuck knows? What I do know is, she insisted she met an older guy, they hit it off, and she was in love with him, too. She complained about being confused, but they were married by Christmas.

  “On New Year’s Day, she was fucking me. She told me it had been a mistake, and she was going to leave him. I was naïve, and in love—I was stupid. I got played. In the end, she was just a married whore who left me when her husband found out about us. It was a shit-show.

  “But watching her leave, experiencing that sort of betrayal and heartache, it taught me love is a choice. It’s a choice someone has to make over and over, every day. To expect someone—anyone—to make the decision to choose you, without fail—without doubt—every single day? It’s foolish. People change.”

  He shook his head, and I watched as the remnants of his reverie fell away. He then looked at me and stated, “Now you know why I’m not looking for love; why I seek pleasure first and foremost. It is a choice that does not bear the same consequences.”

  In the silence that followed his declaration, I swore he was closer to me than he was before. The heat of his hand felt warmer, and he seemed more real than ever. I thought I saw a glimpse of him I never imagined I’d ever see—and that piece of him, I wanted it. But—more than that—I wanted him to want it, too.

  “Don’t…don’t you remember the good parts? Did you not like being in love?” I begged to know.

  His lips curled downward, as if he thought the question silly. He then said, “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  I tried to think of a rebuttal, but I had no words. I couldn’t take away the validity of his experiences any more than he could take away the validity of mine. He was capable of pain, just like everyone else. How he had chosen to overcome his was sad—but to talk him out of it was impossible. If I was sure of anything, I was sure that wasn’t how life worked.

  “Teddy?”

  Even though he called my name, it wasn’t his voice that yanked me from my thoughts. It was his touch.

  “A deal’s a deal,” he said, slipping his fingertips beneath the hem of his shorts on my left leg. “I’ve shown you mine. Now it’s time you show me yours.”

  The further his hand reached, the smaller my lungs felt. I could hear my shallow breaths, but I didn’t have the capacity to feel embarrassed. As I stared into his gray eyes, I couldn’t stop him. Not just because a deal was a deal—but because it felt good. He felt good. Even more, I felt like we had slipped into an atmosphere that all but begged for the intimacy of revealed secrets and hidden truths.

  It had been so long since I let anyone new get close to me. Even longer since I’d let anyone touch me. I wasn’t sure if it was him I craved, or simply what he was giving me—but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I wanted to experience what I was being given, so I surrendered and forced myself to relax as he took hold of my thigh and encouraged me to uncurl my leg. I clutched my wine to my chest as I propped my calf across his lap. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth as he slowly pushed up the fabric of his shorts, until my tattoo was no longer covered.

  He stared at my lacey, garter tattoo—caressing it with his thumb all the while. I wondered what he was thinking in the silence that blanketed us. I dared not take my focus away from his face, longing to interpret even the slightest hint of movement, but he gave away nothing. Then, before I could comprehend what was happening, his lips were trailing kisses along my inked skin.

  “What’s your story?” he murmured, his voice deep and seductive; his lips still grazing my thigh.

  I heard him speak, but I couldn’t respond. I had no words. His kiss was powerful enough to eradicate every letter I ever learned from my memory, and all I could do was feel him. Feel the heat of his breath. Feel the texture of his lips. Feel the fire he stoked inside my belly.

  “Teddy?” He titled his head up, so as to see my face. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he said, “I’m listening.”

  “Um,” I hummed, closing my eyes in a long blink. With my free hand, I reached up to sweep a bit of hair behind my ear. I then shook my head, willing myself to get a grip, and opened my eyes. When I did, I was met with the most devilishly sexy smile I had ever seen in my life.

  Fuck, I thought helplessly. I’m in deep shit.

  “Um,” I repeated. “There was a time—a time in my life when I felt…damaged. My garter, it’s—it’s meant to remind me that I’m still beautiful.”

  When I finished speaking, Judah leaned down and kissed me again. This time, he used his tongue. I couldn’t silence my gasp. Neither could I prevent my entire body from responding. The excitement in my belly spread like wildfire through my veins.

  “I like it,” he whispered. “And you are.” He kissed me again. “You, Theodora, are extraordinarily beautiful.” Before I could locate my manners in order to thank him, he looked up at me and inquired, “Do you have more?”

  I nodded. I didn’t fully realize in that instant why I admitted the truth—but I didn’t want to hide from him. I didn’t want him to stop touching me. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to kiss my scars and call them beautiful.

  “Can I see?” he asked.

  My body responded before my brain could talk me out of it. I stretched out my right leg to join my left in his lap. He glanced down at my covered thigh, then arched an eyebrow at me in a silent question. I offered him a nod, and he didn’t hesitate to push away his shorts. This time, his eyes widened, and his face softened as my dreamcatcher was revealed. He traced the feathers with his fingers almost reverently, and I was completely lost in my act of surrender.

  “I used to have nightmares. Really, really bad ones.”

  Those were the only words I managed to get out before he ran his tongue around the first of the three smaller rings.

  “Jude,” I practically moaned. Still, I didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed. My mind was too consumed with the cloud of desire that silenced all of my fears. Every time he touched me, I felt like I might explode, and it was amazing.

  When he pulled away, I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He didn’t even look at me as he took my wine, setting it on the coffee table with his. Then he scooped his hands beneath my knees and tugged me closer. He let me go only long enough to reach for me again. Burying his fingers into my damp hair, he took hold of the back of my neck with one hand, then pulled me into his chest as he circled his other arm around my waist. Without any further preamble, his lips were sealed with mine.

  I was putty in his hands. I couldn’t help it. His body was hard but warm and intoxicating. And his lips? His lips were perfect. Not too dry, not too thin, just wet and warm and perfect. When he slowly ran his tongue along the seam of my closed mouth, I didn’t think—I just did. My lips parted for him, and he dove right in, eliciting my whimper. He tasted like wine, and he smelled like heaven.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, completely at the mercy of the most glorious kiss I had ever experienced. His grip around me tightened, and I felt my desire for him as it made itself known between my legs. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that how he used his lips turned me on in a way no one’s touch ever could. When Judah kissed me deeper, every inch of me loved it. My insides burned for his affection, and I resigned myself to the fact that he wasn’t getting his shorts back—not so long as they were stained with my arousal.

  He groaned as he nibbled and licked my lower lip, and I felt my pulse at my core. Then his tongue was in my mouth again. He kissed me like a man who knew how to pleasure a woman, and yet I felt like I was the only woman in the entire worl
d he wished to pleasure. It was overwhelming and delicious and so much more dangerous than I ever imagined it could be.

  When one of his hands grazed up my side before palming my breast through his t-shirt, I knew it was time to slow down. But he felt so wonderful. He squeezed, and the sensation of my hardened nipple rubbing against the palm of his hand made me whimper—only it wasn’t purely pleasure that caused the sound. I was frustrated. My common sense was coming back, and my morals were screaming at me to stop, so I did. As much as I didn’t want to, I pulled away from him. He didn’t fight me. His eyes found mine as we both worked to catch our breath.

  “What happened?” he wondered aloud.

  “I—I’m—I’m worth more than sex,” I spat. I knitted my eyebrows together, appalled by my lack of tact, and then went on to clarify, “You should know that this—right now—it’s not going where you think it might be going. I’m—I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  He shook his head slightly and said, “I’m an intelligent man, Teddy. I was under no illusion that tonight would be about sex.”

  “But I thought—”

  “When you’re ready to have sex with me, I’ll know,” he interrupted. “Until then, I have no intention of manipulating or coercing you into my bed. Now, where were we?”

  I didn’t have a chance to conjure a response before his lips descended upon mine once more. For a second, I almost got lost in his touch. Then his words took on meaning in my head, and I pulled away abruptly, pressing my hands against his chest as I sucked in a deep breath.

  “Wait,” I managed. “What if I never want to sleep with you?”

  He smirked at me, his fingers flexing around my neck—reminding me he was still holding me. “I’m not worried.”

  Frowning, I argued, “I’m not one of those girls who sleeps around, you know? I won’t have sex with you just because you buy me flowers and cook me dinner.”

  “Clearly,” he jibed with a grin.

  My scowl deepened, annoyed he didn’t seem the least bit deterred. “If you think you even have a chance at getting into my pants without dating me first, you’re wrong,” I added defiantly. “And just because I date you doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with you.”