Revenge for Hire (The Get Even Agency) (18 page)

Once in the bathroom, Avery stepped into the private toilet
area and closed the door while he turned on the shower. When she stepped out,
he kissed her lips, then took a leak. He didn’t bother to close the door and
she resisted the urge to watch. How insane that she’d even want to peek. Apparently,
everything about this particular man fascinated her.

To distract herself, she stepped into the steamy spray of water
in the shower stall. Hot water droplets pounded her body in a pulsating rhythm,
massaging her achy muscles. She dipped her head back, wet her hair, and reached
for the shampoo.

“Don’t you dare.”

Her eyes popped open and met Jude’s. “What?”

“I want to do that.”

“Wash my hair?”

“Wash all of you,” he clarified, stepping in to the stall and
making the booth feel cramped. Jude’s overwhelming presence crowded any space,
large or small. Still, there was room for what she wanted.

He picked up the bottle and squirted a generous amount of
shampoo into his hand. He motioned for her to turn her back to him.

Avery complied, letting the shower spray onto her breasts while
Jude’s fingers massaged through her hair.

She closed her eyes and let glorious sensations wash over her that
had nothing to do with water. His fingers worked pure magic, stroking her
scalp, yet reaching through and strumming her core to a hot need.

Jude pulled her against him, let his hardness burrow between
her bottom cheeks. “Let me rinse you,” he ordered in a husky voice close to her
ear.

Slowly, Avery turned. He didn’t step back, so her nipples
brushed against the light spattering of hair on his chest. She groaned and
arched, bringing her aching breasts fully in contact with him.

He placed his hands on her hips and pushed downward, making her
bend at the knees, making her nipples drag across his chest.

“Oh,” she moaned.
 
 

She thought he’d keep pushing until her mouth covered him, but
he didn’t let her go down that far, just enough that he tilted back her head
and let the hot water course through her hair. He raked his fingers through the
long tresses, helping to remove all traces of suds.

Avery watched him from her lowered position, growing hungrier
and hungrier for him to fill the void within her.

She expected him to crush her against the shower stall wall and
plunge into her. Instead, he picked up a
loofah
sponge, squirted cleanser and began to wash her body.

First her shoulders and neck, then her arms, elbows, wrists,
giving intricate detail to the sensitive underside where her life blood flowed.
He thoroughly scrubbed each finger, then he moved on to her breasts. Oh wow,
but what amazing things he did to her breasts. She’d ached before, but his
sweet brushing of the slightly rough sponge over her already sensitized breasts
made her knees threaten to buckle. She clutched his shoulders and still he
washed, teased, flamed the growing burn in her belly.

Perhaps the soapy circles he made over her stomach should have
dampened those flames, but they blazed hotter and hotter with each loop. Hotter
when the sponge washed her hips, hotter when Jude dropped to his knees and bathed
her thighs, her knees, her calves, even lifted her feet one at a time and
washed each lovingly.

So lovingly that she didn’t need soap or water for the
loofah
to glide over where he washed next. With the first
brush across her swollen flesh the textured sponge surface almost made her
orgasm.

“Jude,” she whimpered, trembling with need.

“Hmm?”

The sponge continued its slow torture between her thighs.

“I want you.” She arched into his touch, longing to feel him
stretch her tightness. “Please.”

“You’ve not washed me yet,” he reminded.

She bit her lower lip, craving release, yet wanting to bring
him to the same overwhelming neediness she currently experienced.

“Give me that thing.” She grabbed the sponge out of his hand
before he realized what she intended and squirted a fresh dollop of body wash.

Jude’s throaty laugh almost caused her to throw down the
sponge, say to hell with it, and beg him to do her. But when she glanced in his
eyes, saw the raw ache, saw that he was turned on at the thought of her doing
to him what he’d just done to her, she knew she’d carry-on with what they’d
started.

With a calmness she didn’t feel, she spread suds over his
shoulders, his arms, giving the same intricate detail to the insides of his wrists
that he’d given to hers. She teased his palm and the webbing of his fingers
with feathery light touches.

Washing Jude’s chest was a pleasure she knew would forever
haunt. The steamy water gave a glistening glow to his skin. She soaped every
ripple, every sinew,
ever
pore of his chest and
abdomen until it was Jude groping the shower handle bar, arching into her
touch, straining with need.

Smiling with heady power, she lowered to her knees and began
scrubbing his hips, his groin, everywhere but where she knew he craved touched.
She worked the
loofrah
over his hard thighs, down his
legs, over his tensed calves. When she brushed the
loofrah
over his foot, he jerked away. Ticklish? Avery grinned and set about torturing
his toes.

“Mercy,” he cried, his voice a mixture of laughter and desire.

She glanced up from her lowered position, met Jude’s stormy
blue eyes, and worked the sponge back toward his straining center. She skimmed
the
loofrah
over him.

His knuckles whitened on the hand rail. Every muscle in his
body flexed and a low growl sounded from his throat.

Avery soaped him, lightly ran the sponge over his entire length
until she thought he was going to burst free from the taut skin stretched over
him. Still she washed.

“Angel.” The name came out as an extended groan. He sucked in
his stomach and his
glutes
were hard rocks when,
dropping the sponge, she grabbed them.

“Tell me what you want, and it’s yours,” she teased in a
similar tone to what he’d done in the elevator. Had it only been yesterday
evening?

Letting the water spray between them, rinsing him, she lifted
her brows. His eyes darkened with recognition of what she planned, of what they
both knew he wanted.

“If you take me in your mouth, I won’t be able to hold back,”
he warned, shaking his head. “Grab the condom so I can be inside you.”

Avery shook her head. Need burned inside her, but she found the
desire to make Jude lose control irresistible. She wanted to drive him over the
edge.

“
Ang
—” The word died on his lips when
her mouth closed around him.

Avery did everything to him she’d ever imagined doing to a man.
She explored every sweet morsel of him with her lips, her tongue.

His body arched like a bow pulled overly tight, like any moment
he’d break free.

“Let me love you,” he said, his hands fisting in her hair. “Now.”

Avery knew he fought to keep control, knew that he was on the
verge and didn’t want to give in, that he wanted to give her pleasure. He did
please her. Just as she was pleasing him.

His fingers threaded painfully into her hair as he lost control.
“Hell.”

Avery took him, every drop he gave, and basked in the glow of
his release. In the glow of the way he looked at her when their eyes met.

It’s only sex, she reminded herself before she started buying
into the bull he kept feeding her. But, oh my, it was phenomenal sex she wished
she didn’t have to give up.

Ever.

Chapter Fifteen

Later that morning Jude waited in the taxicab while Angela went
inside her apartment building to change into fresh clothes.

He’d wanted to go up, but she refused, stating he might wake
her roommates or they might never make it to work if they got within ten feet
of a bed.

He couldn’t argue the latter point. Even after their incredible
shower they’d made use of the last condom. He’d buy more at lunch. Lots more.

Not since he’d been a stupid college buck practicing his
Hummingbird Principle had he been able to rise to the occasion so readily, so
frequently. At least after that first dud performance when he hadn’t been able
to hold back.

Impatient, he motioned for the cab driver to wait and he jumped
out. He recognized the doorman from the night he’d picked up Angela for Mrs.
Yamaguchi’s party. Planning to speak to the man, see if he could at least determine
her apartment number, Jude gave a friendly wave.

“Morning.”

The doorman nodded. “Morning.”

Just as Jude was preparing to question the man, Angela came out
of the building looking like a fresh breath of air in a sexy rust colored skirt
and a multi-colored sweater that hugged her breasts. She wore high heeled
caramel colored boots that covered her calves. He bit back the urge to wolf
whistle.

“Miss.” The doorman tipped his hat toward her, his gaze
traveling appreciatively over her long legs.

Jude battled with a ‘yeah that’s mine’ feeling versus wanting
to bust the man’s nose for daring to check her out.

“Get tired of waiting on me?” she asked, linking her arm with
his. “Let’s go. I’m starved.”

They took the taxi to a bagel house the block over from Playhouse.
Jude stopped at the twenty-four hour diner frequently, grabbed the morning
paper, and ate a bit of breakfast. He paused outside the building to buy a
paper from the stand, but Angela tugged on his hand.

“No need for that. I promise to keep you entertained.” She
twisted into his arms and kissed him.

Surprised at her public show of affection, Jude returned the
kiss. “That’s an interesting promise. How do you plan to entertain me?”

Her eyes lit with mischief. “Surely you don’t want more…?”

“More?”

“You know.” She blinked coyly, placing her hands on his cheeks
and holding his face toward her.

Jude watched Angela, confused at her odd behavior. Was she
having regrets? Her behavior was more “look at me” than “what have I done?”.

He placed his hands over hers, linked their fingers. “I have a
feeling I’m always going to want more where you’re concerned.”

Her eyes flashed. For a moment he thought she was going to
scold him for going serious, instead she closed her eyes.

“That’s the plan,” she whispered, looking torn.

Like so much about her, Jude didn’t understand her expression,
but it didn’t matter. Someday she’d reveal all and they’d get passed whatever
bothered her so. He leaned forward and tasted her lips. Her eyes popped open.

“You really do want more,” she said in a teasing voice that
rang overly bright. “Maybe I can take some more dick-
tation
later today.”

“Yeah or fulfill a few of the fantasies I have of bending you
over my desk,” he mumbled while they entered the bagel shop.

They ate quickly, laughing and feeding each other bites of bagel.
Jude enjoyed himself with the exception that he got the impression Angela was
nervous. Every so often he’d catch her looking around the shop. Was she afraid
of being seen with him?

“Are you married?”

Her gaze shot to his. “What?”

Why the thought just now occurred to him he wasn’t sure. Unless
he’d been in denial. She sure acted guilty about something.

“Are you married?”

Her forehead wrinkled and she eyed him curiously. “Would you be
here if I was?”

Good question. Would he?

“I’d like to say the honorable thing, but I’d be lying.” He
took her hand in his and brushed the pad of his finger across her bare left
fourth finger. “Truth is I’d be with you.”

“You date married women?” she challenged.
 

“Never.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said,” he interrupted, not liking how she toyed
with him. “You seem to think I have the morals of an alley cat, but to my
knowledge I’ve never been with another man’s wife. Unless…” his voice trailed
off, he shrugged, and hoped she’d fill in the blanks.

“Unless I’m married?”

“Are you?”

She pulled her hand free. “Does it matter? You’ve already said
you’d be with me regardless. Perhaps thinking you can’t have me is why you want
me.”

“Does it matter?” From the look on her face when she said it,
Jude realized she believed her words. Why didn’t she see how desirable she was?
Not just sexually, although that alone was enough to drive a man to indentured
servitude. “Of course it matters. I care about you.”

“Today is my last day at Playhouse.”

“That’ll only make it easier for us to date without concerns
over workplace ethics.” He grinned, wanting to recapture the lightheartedness
they’d shared prior to his question. A question he hadn’t meant to ask because
he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. “Although, I have to admit, giving
dictation will never quite be the same once you’re gone.”

Her serious expression didn’t budge. “I’m not looking for a
relationship.”

Were they back to this? “Because you’re already committed to
another man?”

He saw her struggle with his question. Damn it. No matter what
she said he saw the truth stamped on her forehead. She was committed to someone
else. How could he have fallen for a woman who belonged to another man?

She bit her lower lip. “I’m not married, but I might as well be
because I’m not free to enter into anything more than a short term affair. Even
if I could, I wouldn’t. I don’t do relationships.”

He stared into her amazing eyes and chose not to acknowledge
anything except, “But you’re not married?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Thank God,” he sighed with relief. He could deal with her fear
of relationships. Hell, he had years of
first hand
experience of that particular fear.

Her chin jutted forward and her eyes flashed with annoyance. “No
man owns me. Not you or anyone other Joe
Schmoe
. Not
now and not ever. Make no mistake about that.”

Her terse words bit into him, making him ache for the hurt she
obviously experienced somewhere along the way to finding him. Fine, they had
plenty of time. He wouldn’t rush things. He’d find a way to rebuild her trust
in men and specifically, in him.

“Enough of this serious talk.” She smiled, all traces of her
anger gone as quickly as it appeared. “Tell me about this bad boy bending me
over your desk fantasy.”

* * *

“Jude Layman, this had better be a practical joke,” his mother
screeched.

Jude pulled the phone away from his ear. He’d just arrived at
the office and had barely sat down when his cell rang. Papers needing his attention
and marked with yellow sticky notes were stacked to the side of his desk.

“And if it is, your father and I don’t find it in the slightest
funny.”

 
“Mom, I have no idea
what you’re talking about.” Odd that she’d call today. A day when he felt
happier than he could recall ever feeling. Like he could walk on water.

“It’s not true?” She sounded relieved. “When Bessie Majors
called and told me there were pictures and everything, I just wanted to faint.”

“Pictures?” Jude glanced through a stack of memos on his desk. “Mom,
what are you talking about?”

“The tabloid headlines.”

“What tabloid headlines?” Had someone given birth to a
Martian’s baby or something? His mother loved reading those kind of rag
magazines. He’d gotten a few chuckles from some of the headlines himself.

“The one saying my son is gay and was caught in flagrant with
his college roommate.”

“What?” Jude dropped his phone and scrambled to pick it back up.
“What did you say?”

“You heard me,” she chastised. “I know that you’ve resisted
your father and my attempts to get you to settle down, but really, Jude. We
never suspected it was because you were homosexual.”

“I’m not homosexual.”

His mother sighed and carried on as if he hadn’t just denied
her insane accusation. “Your father and I love you regardless of your sexual
preferences, but you should have told us. Prepared us so we wouldn’t be
blindsided like this.”

“Mom, you’re not listening. I. Am. Not. Gay. I don’t know what
your neighbor read or thinks she read, but I am not nor have I ever been
attracted to a man.”

“Then why were you and Marcus caught together?”

He’d supposedly been caught with Marcus?

“Mom,” he laughed, “Marcus isn’t my type, and he isn’t gay. Now
tell me where Bessie supposedly read this newsflash headline. I’ll check it out.
I’m sure she’s just got me mixed up with someone else.”

Jude reassured his mother for several more minutes, telling her
that he most definitely wasn’t gay, but that he had met a woman he’d like her
to meet. When she was semi-satisfied that he wasn’t, in fact, batting for the
other side, and low and behold he’d actually met a woman he wanted to bring
home, he hung up his cell phone. He leaned back in his chair.

Most mornings he checked out the newsstands and might have
noticed whichever paper his mother referred to. Today, he hadn’t paid any attention
to anything except Angel.

Not that it mattered. His mother’s busybody neighbor had been
stirring up unfounded gossip for as long as Jude could recall. At lunch, he’d
check out the newsstands and give his mother another call and let her know who
the unfortunate sap really was.

Probably that British actor named Jude. The one who’d already
had more than his share of tabloid headlines after a nanny fiasco several years
ago.

His cell phone rang again. Jude glanced at the number and
grinned. Marcus. His buddy would get a laugh out of what his mother accused him
of.

“Hey.”

“Hey nothing.” Marcus used his I’m-an-important-lawyer-and-you-should-listen-to-me
voice. “Man, tell me Joy is behind this because I’m going to strangle you if I
find out you had anything to do with this.”

“This what?” Jude flipped through the papers on his desk,
pulling out the ones that needed his more immediate attention.

“You haven’t seen today’s paper?”

“No,” Jude answered, a bad feeling crawling up his neck. What
was with the papers today?

“Who the hell did you tell that we’d been lovers since
college?”

“What?” It couldn’t be true.

“Yeah, man. My phone is ringing off the wall. I’ve had several
clients cancel.”

“Hell”

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed. Jude heard the rustling of a paper in
the background, then, “According to one source, Marcus Long married, but after
his wife realized his heart lie elsewhere she called it quits. Since his
divorce, the successful New York attorney is reported to have been out most
nights with Playhouse Magazine’s Editor-in-Chief, Jude Layman. The couple’s elicit
ten plus year affair brings a whole new meaning to the magazine’s slogan of
“where men come to play” and is perhaps a hint at a new direction the magazine
intends to take.”

“Hell.”

“I think we’ve agreed on that.”

“What paper?”

“The second page of the New York Post, the New York Inquisitor
has a similar, but more graphic article, the,” Marcus continued, naming another
paper.

“You’re kidding, right?” Had Marcus called his mom and put her
up to making the call? Maybe some kind of crazy payback for vowing to get him
laid?

“I wish. My paralegals are giving me crazy looks and the
delivery man hit on me.”

“What?” Jude burst out laughing. If he’d believed his friend at
all, the image of a man in brown making moves on Marcus killed it.

“The guy offered to let me deliver my package in the men’s room.”

Jude laughed harder.

“Man, this isn’t funny. He gave me his number. Like I’d want
his
number.”

“If I believed you,” Jude scrawled his name across a marked
document, “I wouldn’t think so either.”

“Check out your fax machine. Proof is on the way.”

“Fine,” he said, wondering how much trouble Marcus had to go to
have a fake headline made up. You could probably buy the things all over the
web. Not that Marcus was much of a jokester, but this one topped the scales.

“Oh, and I’ve already released a legal statement rebutting the
claims and threatening libel suit if a public retraction isn’t made.”