Page 26 of Elf-ish

“Of course there’s more.” My accompanying laugh is sharp and puzzled.

“Like what?” Jude faces me full-on once more.

Another bitter laugh almost escapes but the earnestness in his face freezes the sound on my tongue. The deep well of his eyes honestly questions what all the excitement is about.

The other thing tying my tongue is the expanse of Jude’s chest revealed by the two halves of his shirt spread wide because of the way his hands rest in his pockets. That side tattoo is peeking out at me again like it did the day we were called to his office.

Finally, words filter forth. “It’s about love, Jude. Not just romantic love but love of family and friends. Compassion for others. Hope for the future. Christmas is simply . . . believing in magic.”

“So, it’s pretend, too? Santa. Angels on high.” He tilts his head, like I’ve only proven his point.

“No, Jude. It’s not pretend. Maybe it’s make-believe, but that’s different than pretending. Pretending covers up something false. Believing is faith in the unknown.”

Jude stares at me. I don’t think I’ve argued my thoughts well, and I’m about to offer more explanation when he lowers his head and steps around the foot of the bed.

“I’m going to use the bathroom quick. Then I’ll turn the fireplace off before hitting the floor.”

I’m too stunned by the ripples on his chest and the abrupt end to this discussion to realize he made a joke before he disappears into the bathroom. I’m left wondering what else I’m missing.

Who is the real Jude Ashford?

When he returns to the bedroom, he wears only his boxer briefs. My mouth falls open at the walking underwear commercial. His name is a whisper from my lips, but Jude doesn’t hear me.

Instead, he says, “Going down.” Then he lowers his body in increments like he’s actually riding down an escalator. He disappears at the foot of the bed before I register what he’s done.

“Oh my God.” I laugh, covering my mouth. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” His voice travels up to me from the gap between the foot of the bed and the fireplace, which he hasn’t turned off.

“Did you just take an escalator ride to the floor?”

“The escalators are always more fun.”

I lunge toward the end of the bed, glancing over the curved footboard. “Jude Ashford, do not tell me you have a sense of humor.”

“What’s wrong with a sense of humor?” he counters, staring up at me from his nest of blankets on the floor.

I shift and cross my arms over the rail across the bottom of the bed. “Depends. You trying to be funny or charming?”

Jude tilts his head, that apostrophe by his mouth twitching, spreading deeper. “Whichever gets me up there.”

Laughing in earnest, I tug at the blanket loosely covering him from the waist down, exposing that firm chest and the unidentified tattoo on his side. “You might need to work on both, Mr. Grinch.”

Jude captures my fingers as I pull them back from his blanket, stroking the pad of his thumb down the length of my middle finger. That cool sensation spreads over my hand yet surprisingly warms me. This touch isn’t accidental or an act for the board members. This feels real.

He holds just a little too long, but then not long enough before slipping down my hand and dropping his to his belly.

“I’m good under pressure,” he murmurs, tucking his other arm beneath his head.

I raise a brow, ignoring the skip in my pulse. “Is that what this is? Are you trying to seduce me from the floor?”

He scoffs, like it’s the most ridiculous notion he’s ever heard. “Of course not.”

“Good,” I state, swallowing down the pinch of hurt and disappointment.

Then I scramble back to the top of the bed, grab one of the extra pillows, and toss it toward Jude, pleased when I hear him emit a small oof.

“But . . .” Jude pauses a second, his voice lowering, but still reaching me. “If I were going to seduce you? You wouldn’t have to question if I was or not.”