The moment he did, Constance would no longer be the last woman he’d slept with.
He rubbed the almost debilitating ache in his chest.
He’d never cheated on Constance, even when offers had been made. His teammates, the other members of the Ten—everyone except Daniel and Brock—had mercilessly teased him about it, and had ultimately given him the nickname of Priest.
Ryanne’s gaze landed on him, and her smile fell, confusing him. His mood affected hers?
In a flash, her smile returned and widened. “Jude.” Only she could say his name and sound as if she were moaning in pleasure, delivering another punch of lust to his gut.
He wanted to hate her, but more and more he actually...liked her.
Not only did she have a drink limit for the ultra-potent moonshine, but she cut off anyone who appeared drunk. A legal requirement, yes, but she also kept a cab company on standby.
She made zero exceptions to the rules, even when customers protested, loudly. No one could charm her from her refusal, though some people did—cough Brock cough—manage to get wasted regardless, fooling the seasoned Ryanne into believing he was sober. When that failed, he convinced others to buy drinks for him.
Something else Jude had discovered. Ryanne truly cared about her customers. Her kindness wasn’t for show. She treated everyone with respect and affection, whether they ordered drinks or not. When someone told a story, she listened. When someone flirted with her, she flirted right back. If anyone had a craving for something that wasn’t listed on the menu, she headed to the kitchen to see what she could do.
Smiling again, Ryanne waved him over.
He settled in a chair on the other side of the bar, avoiding her friends.
“I owe you a huge thank you for the list you left me this morning,” she said.
He nodded, his version of you’re welcome. He’d written up a To Do list in case Belle went into labor and he wasn’t nearby.
“Are you hungry? You look hungry.” She leaned toward him and whispered, “Come upstairs later, and I’ll heat something up for you.”
His stomach twisted. “Excuse me?”
“Why?”
Not this again. “What are you planning to heat up?” Do not say you.
“A pie, of course.”
Disappointment hit him. No, no. Relief. Only relief.
“I owe you a thank-you, remember?” Her gaze raked over him. “Or did you want me to heat something else up?”
Fire in his blood, a tightening in his jeans. Too late. He was already burning. “Stop flirting with me,” he grated.
“Hey, what are you guys whispering about? And did I hear you thank him for leaving a list this morning? You don’t usually rise before noon.” Dorothea wiggled her brows. “Or was Jude the one who did the rising?”
Ryanne chuckled behind her hand.
Lyndie snickered. “You don’t have to answer her, Jude.” Even amused, the petite beauty looked like she’d break with the next gust of wind. “We’ll just let our imaginations run wild.”
Knowing anything he said could be misconstrued as an innuendo, he pressed his lips together and sat a few seats away. His patella momentarily rolled out of place, and he had to hide a wince.
“Ignore them.” Ryanne leaned over the bar, and her magnificent cleavage beckoned his gaze... Look at me, look how pretty I am...
He gulped. The scent of strawberries and cream wafted from her and, this time, lust didn’t punch him in the gut; it washed through him like a gentle rain. A far more dangerous occurrence. The punch had mixed pain with pleasure. The rain promised something he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again: peace.
“Are you parched? Let me satisfy you,” she said, and he knew she’d used those particular words on purpose.
He gripped the bar to stop himself from adjusting the growing problem behind his fly. He wished Ryanne would act like the girl he’d first met. The one who’d enjoyed sniping at him.
“I am parched,” he finally said. “I’d like to drink the tears of my enemies.”
A laugh burst from her, her features glowing with amusement. “I’m out of tears. How about sweet tea?”
He gave a brusque nod. “Thanks.”
Motions fluid, she filled his glass then lifted a small plastic tub from behind the bar. A tub she opened and sat in front of him, revealing a club sandwich and hand-cut fries.
Had she reserved both for him?
“Eat now, and later,” she said, and he realized yes, yes she had.
The ache returned to his chest. “I’m not hungry.” Not for food. Not for anything, he told himself.
“Eat anyway,” she insisted. “Boss’s orders. You worked through lunch.”
She’d noticed?
The ache worsened. “Fine.” Determined to end the conversation, he bit into the sandwich—and groaned. The flavors were incredible. She’d used strawberry jam instead of mayo and the combination of salty and sweet blew his ever-loving mind. “This is good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She flattened her hand over his in what should be a simple, friendly gesture. With her, it was a sensual assault, more than his long neglected body could tolerate. “If you ever want another sandwich, it’s called the Do Me Baby One More Time.”
Yes. I’ll do her so—
Wrong.
Inhaling sharply, he yanked his hand from hers and flattened his palm on his thigh.
This was Ryanne. A flirt. Born seducer. Good time girl. But...if ever she’d followed through on her come-hither glances, he didn’t know it. What he did know? He’d escorted a Blueberry Hill resident from the building for calling her a “slut.” Afterward he’d ejected three guys for trying to pick her up. She had no idea he’d done it, and he refused to think about his reasons. Although his mind was more than happy to provide a suggestion: falling for her...
Sometimes his mind was a dumb-ass.
Jude would resist Ryanne. If he had to pick another woman to do so, he would. Anyone but Ryanne Wade.
Thousands of curses suddenly bellowed inside his head. He wasn’t interested in a one-night stand, or a long-term relationship, and he damn sure wasn’t willing to risk an unplanned pregnancy. Children would never be part of his life. No children, no possibility of loss.
In fact, he should make an appointment with a urologic surgeon and have a vasectomy. Then, if ever he had a moment of weakness, he wouldn’t have to worry.
The food in his stomach seemed to turn to lead. He pushed the Tupperware away, saying, “I’ve had enough.”
Ryanne sighed, the enchantress persona evaporating like smoke, leaving a concerned...friend? “You’ve been working so hard but eating so little.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t fall down on the job.” He’d lost his appetite years ago and now fueled himself with protein shakes.
“That’s not—Never mind. Why don’t you take the night off? You can nap upstairs with Belle.”
“I don’t nap.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.” He rarely slept at all. When he did, he dreamed of the car wreck he hadn’t witnessed, watching, helpless, as Constance’s SUV rolled over at least a dozen