Take Me (Take Me Series Book 1) Page 2

  “You don’t have to justify anything, Jude. I want to know what triggers prompted you to reach out to me. What happened last night?”

  He turned to face her. “It was all pretty standard fare, Kate,” he confessed. “I was cagey—wound too tight. So I went out for cocktails. I met a beautiful woman and took her back to my place. I gave her exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she asked for.”

  Again, he intuitively knew what Kate’s next words would be. And it irritated him further he couldn’t take back his prior statement.

  So he crossed his arms over his bare chest and pinned her with an intent look, waiting for her double whammy.

  “Did you get what you wanted, Jude? Were you satisfied with the encounter?”

  “No,” he told her without a blink of his eye. “I never am, Kate. Not totally.”

  “How so? In what capacity?”

  “I don’t come,” he blatantly said. “That happens later, after I’ve called my car service to take home whomever I picked up for the evening.”

  “Later?”

  “Yes, Kate. Later. When I’m alone. In the shower.”

  “All right.”

  She clutched his shirt a bit tighter, he noted.

  Did the subject matter unnerve the usually unflappable Dr. Stockman?

  She queried, “What do you think about when you’re alone, Jude? When you’re masturbating in the shower after you’ve sent someone home?”

  “Enough of the extreme professionalism, Kate.” He took a step closer to her. And felt the unmistakable shift in the air. A crackle of electricity that had nothing to do with the tempest outside. “Don’t be so damn clinical with me when we’re delving this deep. Ask me what I think about when I jerk off.”

  His gaze held hers and he caught the flare of heat in her tawny irises.

  Holy fuck.

  He’d been wrong all along—all this time.

  Kate wasn’t immune to him.

  She just hid it incredibly well. Until now.

  While her eyes remained locked with his, she inched forward, seemingly involuntarily, nearly closing the gap between them.

  “What do you think about when you jerk off, Jude?”

  “Damn,” he murmured. “My bad. I meant, who do I think about…?”

  “Jude. Don’t push my buttons. Just tell me outright—”

  “You, Kate.” He knew his gaze was even more penetrating as he said, “It’s always you. For the two years you were my therapist and for the entire year you haven’t been. I think about you, Kate. I imagine you naked, beneath me, wanting me more than you want your next breath.”

  Her jaw slackened, but for a moment. Then she took a step away, retreating.

  “I’m allowed to fucking say it, Kate,” he quietly contended. “You’re not my shrink.”

  “I—”

  “You’re allowed to fucking respond. To say something, anything. You’re not my shrink,” he repeated.

  “I have a professional obligation to uphold and—”

  “Kate. There’s no official doctor/patient scenario here. And damn it… You’ve been clutching my shirt for five minutes now. Stop staring me in the eyes and take a good, long look at me.” Jude unfolded his arms in a silent dare.

  Kate’s glossy lips pursed. “You’re crossing boundaries, Jude. I came here to help you with—”

  “I’m not crossing boundaries. You asked a question. I answered it. And by the hitch of your breath, Kate, and the fire in your eyes…I’d say you liked my answer.”

  She gaped again. Clearly shocked by his audacity. Though she shouldn’t be. He’d never sugar-coated things for her. Baring his soul did not come naturally or easily to Jude McMillan, but Kate possessed the uncanny ability to peel away the layers.

  Maybe that was why he’d suffered a moment or two of unfamiliar contemplation last night—before he’d headed out on the town. The urge to call Kate had struck him hard and fast. All because of that newly indefinable, vicious sensation threatening to obliterate him.

  But he’d bypassed hitting the number in his Contacts list that would have connected him with Kate. Instead, he’d located his invitation to the exclusive club opening and had literally gone on the prowl.

  Only to end up reaching for his phone at the crack of dawn, anyway, because Kate was still on his mind.

  Jude recognized watershed moments when they materialized before his very eyes. Sure, sometimes it required some runabout stimuli to reach this point. But he eventually did reach it.

  He suggested, “It’s entirely possible we’ve danced around each other a bit too much, Kate.”

  She was less inclined to turn the corner with him, though. Saying, “I don’t see it that way. And…time’s up, Jude. I have patients on the books today.” She thrust his shirt at him. “Get dressed, please.”

  She snatched her medical bag from his desk and stalked toward the door. “If you want to resume our professional arrangement, make an appointment with my office. Don’t call me on my cell, Jude. Unless it’s an emergency. If you want my help—”

  “Jesus, Kate.” He glowered. “You can’t undo what’s been done. You can’t pretend you’re not affected by me.”

  “You’re clearly episodic again, Jude. I urge you to make an appointment with my office.”

  “I don’t need an appointment,” he aggressively averred.

  “I only have your best interest at heart, Jude. I—”

  “You want to help me, Kate?” he demanded.

  She whirled around to face him.

  Jude’s three wide strides had him descending upon her. Kate shifted slightly, only to find her back was to the door. Jude leaned in close, bracing his forearm against the polished wood above her head. His body grazed hers, his chest brushing the soft material of her dress and her firm breasts. Every nerve ending sizzled and snapped.

  He stared deep into her eyes.

  “Take your dress off, Kate. Let me get you out of my system.”

  2

  Weeks later, Kate still couldn’t wipe Jude’s words from her mind.

  Take your dress off.

  It’d been a wraparound style. All he’d had to do was tug gently on the sash at her waist, slip the hidden button through its hole and…the front of the dress would have fallen open.

  Rather, Kate had told him to back off. It’d taken all the willpower she’d possessed, because having Jude that close to her, inhaling his intoxicating cologne and the heat from his bare skin…feeling his warm breath on her temple and his chest against hers…

  Jesus.

  Her entire body had gone up in flames and her pulse had raged in her veins.

  As his gaze had held hers and raw intensity exuded from his every pore, Kate had wanted nothing more than to experience him pressing his body to hers. So that she melted into him. So that he incinerated her from the inside out with all the scorching sensations he so easily incited.

  But somehow she’d managed to find her voice. Her keen rationale. Her sensibility. She’d verbally kept Jude at arm’s length, even as he’d lingered for a few moments, the electric current arcing between them.

  A knowing look in his dark and stormy eyes had told her he burned for her—and that he didn’t doubt for a second she felt the same.

  He’d not known that before. Now, it was an inescapable reality.

  But in Kate’s normal fashion, she’d quickly regained her bearings and had left his office with her shoulders squared and her chin hitched.

  On the inside, however…

  Good Lord.

  She’d been this close to disintegrating into nothing but ash.

  She’d always been fully aware of Jude’s potency. His virility. His powerful presence and strength. Everything about the man had drawn her in from the moment they’d met. He’d been wrecked emotionally, following a shattered engagement that resulted in an even more tragic ending. Broken physically, following an MMA fight, which he’d won, but not without taking a solid beating. Perhaps he’d even instigat
ed that beating. She knew Jude had signed on for the event not only in an effort to release some of the pain and angst boiling within him, due to Annalise’s horrific suicide, but also because he’d felt he deserved a good kick in the ass.

  A grueling push-and-pull he lived with on a daily basis. Kate had believed with all her heart back then she could help him. She believed it to this day. Yet it wasn’t Jude who’d closed the door on their professional relationship this time. It’d been Kate.

  After their encounter in his office, she’d had her assistant email Jude a short list of referrals for psychiatrists she highly recommended.

  Jude hadn’t replied. Kate hadn’t heard from him since. But he was never far from her thoughts.

  Nor was that brief, yet searing interlude that only left her craving to see all of Jude McMillan, stripped bare, every chiseled inch of him exposed, every sinful—

  “Kathryn?”

  Her gaze snapped up from the glass of Cristal she’d been absently staring into for God only knew how long.

  “Kathryn, are you all right?”

  Kate’s eyes locked with cornflower-blue ones that were delicately made up to complement fragile facial features and wheat-blonde hair.

  “You’re worrying me,” said Charlotte Kensington, Kate’s soon-to-be-sister-in-law.

  Kate gave a slight shake of her head, in hopes of dislodging images of Jude that materialized in her mind—at the most inconvenient time, no less. She needed to concentrate on the situation at hand: Charlotte’s engagement party. She was marrying Kate’s younger brother, Denny, in seven months. A regal Christmas affair to remember, without doubt.

  “I’m fine,” Kate assured Charlotte. Her gaze swept the circle of socialites sitting primly in high-backed, upholstered chairs in the center of The Champagne Bar at The Plaza Hotel.

  It was a busy Sunday afternoon at the prestigious cocktail lounge, with animated conversations surrounding them and the clinking of the rims of crystal flutes in cheerful toast for one special occasion or another.

  Mirabeth Presley said, “Honestly, Kathryn, you can only keep us in suspense for so long. Who’s your plus-one for the party? I do need a name for the place cards, you know?”

  “And the mystery is killing us all!” Charlotte added with a soft laugh. “Really, Kathryn. Whose arm will you be on Saturday evening? Do tell!”

  Kate hated the drilling into her personal life. Usually, when she was with these women, she mainly cringed over the formal derivative of her name they insisted upon using. Despite her repeatedly asking them to call her Kate. She was accustomed to her family ignoring that particular request; apparently, now that Charlotte was only months away from becoming Dr. Denison Stockman’s wife, she felt compelled to follow the family’s lead and call her Kathryn.

  Naturally, Charlotte’s upper echelon cronies didn’t deviate from their commander-in-chief’s direction.

  So now Kate suffered through the pretentiousness of elitist formality. Something she’d attempted to step away from the whole of her life. And had almost succeeded. Then Charlotte had latched onto her with both hands—and wouldn’t let go.

  Kate had instantly become the big sister Charlotte had never had. And she rarely made a move related to the engagement party, the wedding and the reception without first consulting Kate. Charlotte had even made her a bridesmaid. And Kate barely even knew the woman!

  With all the wedding hoopla, Kate was now entrenched in this group and they were rabid when it came to learning everything they could about her—particularly pertaining to her sex life.

  Which, unbeknownst to them, was nonexistent. Devoid of fantasies, truth be told.

  Until that fateful day in Jude’s office…

  Mirabeth chimed in once more, as the silence from Kate ensued, saying, “I happen to know Donald Worthington is waiting with bated breath for you to accept his invitation to accompany him to the party. Please tell us you’re considering him, Kathryn. He’s such a catch!”

  “I’m not going with Donald,” she contended. Or any other man with a surname ending in ton. The Kensingtons, the Worthingtons, the Fullertons and the Lexingtons were all at the top of the list of the crème de la crème. Not Kate’s peeps, by any stretch. However…regardless of bright-eyed, twenty-two-year-old Charlotte Kensington’s pedigree, Kate did adore her. She was the perfect match for Denny.

  Kate did not believe she was destined to find her own perfect match. Not that he was elusive…she just wasn’t interested in seeking him out. Well, admittedly, she couldn’t overlook the fact that the man who’d had her pinned between his office door and his rock-hard body stirred dark desires within Kate. And Jude’s intent gaze had been laced with the unmistakable promise of fulfilling those desires.

  As though he could see right through her. As though Jude McMillan had some sort of sixth sense that allowed him to read her suddenly dirty thoughts. All starring—

  “Kathryn?” Charlotte prompted again.

  “Jude,” Kate whispered.

  The ripple of gasps made Kate realize she’d uttered that one word aloud.

  Her eyes squeezed shut.

  Fuck. Me.

  Her lids snapped open.

  The gazes of eight very startled women were on her.

  Hmm. In actuality, only seven of those eight women truly appeared startled.

  Their charming princess gave Kate a smug smile and playfully said, “I knew it. There is a man in your life. And you’ve been keeping him a secret. Shame on you, dear sister.”

  The others laughed. Kate winced.

  “I, um… It’s not what you think,” she insisted. “Not at all.”

  Oh, let the back-peddling commence!

  But it was too late. Mirabeth had already whipped out her iPad from her Birkin bag, flipped back the Tiffany & Co. cover and brought up her checklist for the party arrangements.

  “Jude,” she happily said as she tapped in the name. Then glanced at Kate, her sculpted brows arching further, an implied poke in the ribs.

  Kate could have died. Right there on the spot. In the middle of Sunday champagne at The fucking Plaza.

  “I need his last name for the program, Kathryn,” Mirabeth sing-songed. “The place card will simply say, Jude and Kathryn. My, gosh, doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?”

  “Much better on a finger,” Tulia Evers retorted with a coy look.

  “Well, of course!” Mirabeth concurred.

  There was a scream starting at the back of Kate’s brain. She tamped it down.

  “Come on, Kathryn,” Mirabeth urged. “Spill!”

  “McMillan,” she reticently—agonizingly—announced. “My date’s name is Jude McMillan. He’s an attorney.”

  And I am a colossal idiot!

  The girls broke out in delighted squeals and went absolutely nuts over having finally pried a personal tidbit from the lips of Dr. Kathryn Stockman.

  Her gaze slid to Charlotte. Who joyfully mouthed, “Lovely, Kathryn.”

  Kate stared in horror at the fuss being made on her behalf.

  Holy hell.

  What had she done?

  When the din eventually ebbed, with Kate skirting every question about her and her “date”—deflecting by expertly steering the conversation back to the bride-to-be—she hastily made her excuses and slipped from the circle of socialites. She rushed through the lobby of the hotel, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. Echoing her agitation.

  It wasn’t like Kate to just blurt things. Though…no, she hadn’t technically blurted Jude’s name.

  Literally, it’d just tumbled from her lips.

  At the most inopportune time. Damn it! She couldn’t stop thinking about Jude’s close proximity and the fact she’d wanted him to kiss her when he’d had her in a near-compromising position.

  This was what had come of his aggressive advancement on her. Followed by Kate’s inability to now stave off all those sexy thoughts she’d kept a lid on for years.

  This really was a nightmare of epic prop
ortions.

  But she would put everything back into perspective.

  She could handle this.

  Breathe.

  Just breathe.

  A valet hailed a cab for her and Kate slid into the backseat. With slightly trembling fingers, she pulled her phone from her slim purse.

  Kate had two choices. Call Charlotte and tell her she’d just received a message from Jude, claiming his plans had unexpectedly changed and he needed to cancel on her.

  A plausible, stable Option A.

  Or…she could call Jude.

  And invite him to the party.

  A monumental Option B to deliberate over. Because, good Lord… How much trouble would that decision bring into her life?

  Then again… Now that Jude had cornered her—physically as well as mentally—was a fiery collision of lust and longing completely inescapable?

  What to do?

  Kate took a few more moments to decide.

  Then tapped Jude’s number…

  3

  Jude entered the courtroom wishing like hell the plaintiff had taken the astronomical settlement offered him. There was no valid reason this case should be tried. And Jude wasn’t the least bit interested in rehashing, over and over, the grisly details of a catastrophic explosion that had decimated an entire building, had caused numerous severe injuries—and had killed a woman.

  Yet, here he was. Defending a top-tier industrial-risk client, with a co-counsel who represented the owner of the business that had gone up in flames.

  The proceedings got underway and Jude made his opening remarks, contending, “My client provided Higgins & Dobbs Industries with quarterly engineering reports, following comprehensive inspections, which outlined standard recommendations for improvements and necessary requirements to meet all Osha and other safety guidelines. These field reports are on-file not only with the applicable environmental agencies and my client’s organization, but they were also provided, in their entirety, to Higgins & Dobbs.”

  He continued to pontificate the merits of the standard recs and industry coding presented by the insurance company, and to which the insured had strictly adhered. It was, quite frankly, a paint-by-numbers scenario, systemically executed.