Page 32 of Jude

Get it together, I told myself, swallowing the knot in my throat. No man in his right mind would want to sign up for my mess. I’m no longer an A-list stunner on TV screens and on magazine covers. I’m a ghost trying to outrun my problems.

Jude also wasn’t my knight in shining armor; he was merely extending his shield over me until the heat died down.

Still, my pride took a direct hit.

Dio, it stung.

However, obsessing about his opinion of me wasn’t going to save my neck from the Compagni Syndicate.

I took an inhale and forced my shoulders back.

Battling the sting of rejection, I plunged my hands back into the water and slogged through the rest of the dirty dishes.

I was lost in a rhythm when Jude stepped into the kitchen, his colossal presence filling the space.

I jolted, staring, as his inky locks fell over his brow as if he’d been pushing a hand through them.

He was holding a half-empty ceramic coffee mug and radiated gruffness and brooding impatience.

That, along with the words I overheard, made me want to sprint to the next county.

‘Excuse me please,’ he rumbled.

He dipped his tall frame to slide the cup into the sudsy water.

Heart hammering, I shifted my hips two inches to the left to give his broad shoulders a generous berth.

He reached for a damp cotton towel hanging on the oven handle.

I arched a brow in surprise as he picked up an iron skillet I had just finished scrubbing.

He didn’t say a word as he began to dry it.

Neither did I, still unsure of what to even say to someone who clearly wanted the least to do with me.

So why was he lingering?

Still, this was his mother’s house, and he could be damn where he pleased in it.

I kept my eyes fixed on the forks I was washing, my pulse ratcheting at his proximity.

Bodhi Judah Valenti had no idea of his magnetism, his gravitas, and his raw power.

I had met many men in my line of work, flashy actors, demanding producers, arrogant directors, and a few international stars.

None of them had Jude’s unforced dominance.

It almost scared me, yet I was sure that he would never harm me.

That paradox drew me in, despite the fact he’d just rejected me.

He waited for the next plate, taking each wet one from my hands as soon as I rinsed it clear of bubbles.

We fell into a rhythm at the double sink, our shoulders brushing as the mountain of dishes shrank.

Sharing in this mundane chore felt surreal.

At one point, he leaned over the basin, and the collar of his ebony thermal shirt parted.