I squint, watching as he removes his shirt, taking in his expanse of chest, defined abs, trunks that hang low on his hips, making my way back up past his dimples and all the way to his eyes, two aqua pools I’ve known through the years. Watching as he moves forward, just about to step in when he remembers his phone in his pocket and drops it onto the towel.
“Whose decision was this?” He laughs, cringing against the steam and heat as he sits down beside me and stretches his legs, his foot accidentally landing on mine and letting it rest for a moment before pulling away. “Yeah, this is the life,” he says, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, then peeking at me when he adds, “Please tell me you use this all the time, that you don’t just forget it’s here ’til someone coaxes you in.”
“Is that what’s happening? I’m being coaxed?”
He smiles, that relaxed, easy grin lifting his face and lighting his eyes. “Seems like you needed a little convincing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you can be a little intense.”
I swallow hard, wanting to look away, look anywhere but at him, but unable to leave his gaze.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that—being intense that is—”
His gaze deepens, boring into mine, luring me closer like a fish on his line, his face looming so near I close my eyes to meet it. Tired of fighting, tired of repeatedly pushing him away. Assuring myself it’s only a kiss. Jude’s kiss. Bastiaan’s kiss. Hoping it’ll tell me, once and for all, if Damen’s fears are in any way real.
His wave of calm energy comforting, tempering, as his lips part and his hand finds my knee, leaning toward each other, mouths about to merge when his ringing phone breaks our trance.
He pulls away, annoyance stamped on his face. “Should I get it?”
“I’m off duty.” I shrug. “You’re psychic, you tell me.”
He stands, turning toward his towel as I take in his form, the squared shoulders, the sharp V of his waist, stopping when I catch a glimpse of something at the small of his back. Something round, dark, barely discernible, but still—
He turns, facing me again, brows merged, hand over his other ear, when he says, “Hello?” and then, “Who?”
Smiling at me and shaking his head, but it’s too late.
I’ve seen it.
The unmistakable shape of a snake eating its own tail.
The Ouroboros.
The mythical symbol claimed by Roman’s tribe of immortal rogues, tattooed right on the small of Jude’s back.
I reach for my amulet, fingers fumbling but finding only skin. Wondering if this is somehow connected to my spell gone bad, if Roman has somehow arranged this.
“Ever? Yeah, she’s here—” He looks at me, making a face as he adds, “O-kay . . .”
He looks at me, arm extended, trying to pass on the phone.
But I just ignore it, moving out of the Jacuzzi so fast he shakes his head and blinks.
Grabbing my dress and yanking it over my head, feeling it dampen and cling to my skin, as my eyes blaze on his, wondering what the hell he’s up to.
“It’s for you,” he says, climbing out of the spa and trying to pass it again.
“Who is it?” I ask, voice barely a whisper. Mentally reciting the list of all seven chakras and their corresponding weaknesses, and trying to determine his.
“It’s Ava. Says she needs to speak to you. You okay?” He squints, head cocked to the side, concern clouding his face.
I step back, unsure of what’s happening but knowing it’s a long way from good. Going straight past his aura and trying to peer into his mind, but not getting much of anything thanks to the shield that he built.
“How’d she get your number?” I ask, gaze fixed on his.
“She used to work for me—remember?” He shrugs, hands in the air. “Ever—seriously—what’s this about?”
I look at him, heart racing, hands shaking, assuring myself I could take him if it comes to that. “Set the phone down.”
“What?”