Take Me (Take Me 1)

Steeling himself, he told her, “I only went down on the woman. And I don’t have a problem stopping if one asks me to—no matter how far we go. Don’t ever question that again, Kate.”

She nodded. “Duly noted. And don’t be sore at me for probing, Jude. It’s what I do—and you know it.”

She stripped off her latex gloves and dumped them in the trash before closing up the first aid kit and placing it into her chic Dunhill Wolsley doctor’s bag. A birthday gift from Jude she’d reluctantly accepted after their first year together. One he’d conscientiously selected because he’d recalled her mentioning being in awe of her father’s when she was a child. And while Kate was not a surgeon as Dr. Evan Stockman was, Jude had not dismissed the glint of envy she’d had over her father’s bag. So he’d surprised her with an expensive Italian leather medical tote, hoping it compared to the one she’d always admired.

As Kate fastened the 24-karat gold clasp, she told Jude, “You were mauled; I had to make sure it wasn’t someone else’s form of self-defense. Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s discuss why I’m really here.”

Jud

e thought once more of that chance meeting at Topline. He said, “Her name is Britney Collins. Yes, she’s blonde. Yes, doe-eyed. Yes, newly twenty-one.”

His aggravation mounted over the instinctual need to avoid any woman who reminded him of Annalise, with her midnight hair and sapphire eyes. Or one who looked like Kate Stockman.

Fighting to keep from being derailed, he added, “She’s a lingerie model. When I met her, she was viewing her very first multi-story projected ad from the terrace of the nightclub.”

“Who came onto whom?”

“Does it fucking matter?” he inquired, his brows knitting.

“I don’t pose arbitrary questions, Jude.”

“Fine.” He simmered. “She hit on me.” He gave Kate a second to process this before commenting, “Are you going to say she specifically targets wealthy, powerful men?”

“That’s not my conclusion to make; I know nothing about her. It’s possible she simply found you attractive, regardless of your tailored clothes and bottomless bank account.”

He studied her more deliberately. “Do you find me attractive, Kate?”

“This isn’t about me, Jude.”

She moved past him and retrieved his crisp white shirt, draped over the back of a black leather sofa.

“As I stated earlier, Kate, I am discriminate with my affairs. It’s been about six months since I’ve been with a woman and—”

“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?