Flirting With Disaster (9 page)

“Beck!”

The Count turned as a tall blonde beauty threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Beck. I’ve missed you so much and have such great news for you…for us!” She pulled back and eyed Jude. “Who is this? You know our deal, Beck. Don’t be breaking it.”

“Don’t worry about our deal, Ava. I never break my promises.”

Whatever “deal” the beautiful woman in the tight-fitting, red sequined dress was referring to, Mr. Beck’s promise to keep it, corroborated Jude’s knowledge that he was only interested in loveless interludes to soothe his damaged soul.

She could relate. Having a child with someone she could easily fall for with no hope of reciprocation, she’d be sentencing herself to a life of heartache every time she looked at her child.

“I’m no one. Excuse me, please.” Jude wriggled out of Beck’s arms, leaving him holding her ruined jacket, and hurried toward the stairs.

The job of mating with simple, disenchanting Mr. Fantome would have to wait for another day.

Ten

“If the facts don’t fit the theory,

change the facts.”

Albert Einstein

T
he damp, dank darkness of Beck’s room suited his mood. A mood that had plagued him for the past two days, ever since he’d
argued
with Jude about love and then left Ava standing in the lobby with her unanswered questions.

He didn’t believe in love. But that wasn’t what this was.

Jude wanted sex. She’d stated as much. What was all this crap about love?

Women. Women and castle curses.

Jesus H. Christ. Sure, she was amazing, but Beck didn’t deserve amazing. Not after killing her parents, plaguing everyone around him with angst and suffering.

He’d tried to redeem himself by setting up her secret trust account. Angel Wings was another Hail Mary in his search for redemption. But his soul still choked on his guilt.

He lifted his soda to his lips and stared at the Jack Daniels sitting across the room next to his Beretta 9mm. The warm wicked liquid called to him, beckoned him to numb the need he’d come to expect whenever he thought of missing out on love.

A life of happiness.

Jude.

She was light to his dark, heaven to his hell. He needed her to be his salvation, but he refused to bring her down with him if he fell off the wagon and became the heartless man he used to be. He refused to do that to Jude.

They hadn’t touched each other since she’d been in his room, but he could think of nothing else. It was ludicrous, eerie. The past two nights, they’d been drawn together by fate and circumstances he didn’t understand. A chance meeting on the patio at two in the morning. A mutual urge for an indoor swim at three. It seemed forces beyond their control were pushing them together.

He’d shown her how to use a Dremel to carve gourds into lanterns, how to use curly willow to weave chair seats and how to make the perfect cheesecake—a recipe his mother had taught him before she’d given up on him. They’d played hide and seek in the darkness and Jude had found him every time, and he’d taught her how to swim in the shadows of night in the indoor pool.

They’d become friends over toasted marshmallows, but he wanted more. And more meant he would have to face his demons, take a huge risk and trust himself. Tell her the truth about his role in her parents’ deaths. About his disease.

Every day he lived to deflect the memories and the self-loathing. Pushing away everything he might destroy by working himself into an exhausted stupor.

Jude should be one of those things he pushed away.

If he let his failures, his offenses invade his soul, alcohol was his only balm. A destructive one. In the past, he’d immersed himself in the world of acting, of make-believe. A place where he could spend most of his waking hours being someone else, avoiding temptation, the guilt and shame. But acting had been a diversion to replace the alcohol, a busy life to keep him from the emotional ties he would inevitably set on fire if he were to sink into oblivion again.

Jude would only be here a few more days. And, on Saturday night at the Monster Ball—thanks to his agent—he would be unmasked. Camera crews would be there to film a public interview for the new role he was about to accept, and Jude would see him for who he really was.

A liar and the epitome of all she despised—fame, inconsistency and an indifference to love. All things that had taken her parents and her ex-fiancé away from her.

She’d leave him, and she’d be safe.

Eleven

“You have to learn the rules of the game.

And then you have to play

better than anyone else.”

Albert Einstein

J
ude stared at the ceiling. Something had woken her. A bad dream about an Indian girl being shot with an arrow while she rushed to save her love.

Loneliness and sadness enveloped her. The room was too cold, and she was hungry.

She’d never eaten dinner. She’d stayed up late researching her pornographic magazines for information on sexuality and intercourse. She didn’t have much time left to seduce Mr. Fantome.

Intercourse didn’t seem too difficult. It was the sensuality part she couldn’t buy into. The feelings, the arousal, the orgasm. She understood how it happened, she just didn’t think her body was capable of
allowing
it to happen.

She thought too much.

She rose from bed and pulled on her robe, hoping to find something to comfort her in the resort’s kitchen.

The halls were dark and quiet. She slipped down the stairs to the abandoned lower level and into the dimly lit industrial kitchen. The large, glass-fronted refrigerator boasted a host of treats, but what she always wanted most when she was sad was ice cream. It reminded her of Aunt Aggie and all the times she’d spent with the kind woman after her parents had abandoned her for another tour.

Jude moved toward the large freezer and placed her hand on the handle.

“I see you couldn’t sleep, either. Thinking of ways to ruin yourself by plotting the seduction of your next victim?”

She screeched and turned to find Beckette leaning on the other side of the large stainless island, looking rumpled and surprisingly attractive. Her heart stilled at the sight of him. What made a disheveled, alpha male so enticing to the female species? She should research that later.

“You frightened me.” Being alone with him was not in her best interest. She’d already fallen so far and, on the heels of her dream, she was vulnerable. But she did need an expert’s opinion.

She pulled a list she’d made out of her robe pocket and walled off her heart. “Since you are my friend and not a viable candidate for my research, I’d like your input on something. I’ve made an itinerary for the evening I have the opportunity to lose my virginity with Mr. Fantome. I don’t want to look foolish or unprepared.”

Beck’s brows lowered. “Heaven forbid.” He ripped her notes from her hand and focused on the paper.

Jude recited the agenda in her head.

Nine p.m. Lower lights, close all curtains and lock door.

Nine-oh-four p.m. Undress and slide under covers. Allow Mr. Fantome to undress and prepare birth control.

Nine fifteen p.m. Apply lubricating unguent for ease of penetration.

Nine seventeen p.m. Accept Mr. Fantome’s kiss as start of foreplay, expect fondling.

“Expect fondling?” Beck’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, his disdain expertly conveyed through his scrunched features.

“What? Should I not expect that yet? Maybe earlier?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” He rubbed his eyes then refocused on her notes as she read over his shoulder.

Nine twenty p.m. Missionary mounting, penetration, thrusting, ejaculation.

Nine twenty-four p.m. Mr. Fantome will recover, offer thanks, dress and leave.

“God, kill me now.” Beck tore her itinerary into pieces. “Four minutes of sex? That’s all you’re expecting?”

She was confused by his fervor. “I’ve researched this, Beckette. A man’s orgasm is controlled by the sympathetic portion of the autonomic nervous system, the increased heart rate, and vasodilation for erection. When the lateral orbitofrontal cortex—our thoughtful, reasoning center—shuts down as it does during intercourse, there is no hope for the weary. A man loses all control. Men want to feel good and they want it as soon as possible. By my calculations, they’ve got, at most, four minutes until ejaculation.”

Beckette ran his hand through his hair. “You are some piece of work, Jude Duffy. This is not how it works. You can’t plan sex. And you are not having sex with Mr. Fantome.”

Jude’s stomach turned. Beckette didn’t know the complete debauchery of her plan. How could she consider something so unscrupulous as stealing a man’s sperm? Even a man as obtuse as Mr. Fantome.

Because I’m desperate.

“It’s certainly none of your business. If you don’t want to help, I’ll have to…wing it.” She’d rather wing it with him, but that would be a disaster.

She focused on the large commercial mixer across the room and envisioned a red-headed little girl sitting next to her, making homemade cookies on a snowy Saturday afternoon. Her hunger for a child much outweighed her guilt, but she needed detached, no-emotions-involved sex with someone with no principles. Beck might be emotionally unavailable, able to rip her heart out, but the man had morals and honor. And she’d never be able to forget him.

Mr. Fantome was the perfect choice. He’d impregnate her then walk away to be forever forgotten, her heart intact. She couldn’t let The Count get in her way.

“I’m sure you are quite adequate in carnal affairs, Mr. Beckette. Hopefully, it will be as enjoyable for me with Mr. Fantome. He doesn’t seem like the type to…linger…so he will be the perfect one-night stand.”

“Is that why you’re wandering the halls at two in the morning? Because everything will work out perfect and tidy in your plan? Like your hair and your clothes and your little itinerary?”

Shame heated her cheeks. This man saw too much in her. “No, I just couldn’t sleep. I had a bad dream.”

Beck shot her an incredulous glare then moved around the island and bumped her out of the way. He opened the freezer and walked in, returning seconds later with his arm wrapped around a large tub. “Cherries Garcia?”

Jude smiled. An unfamiliar warmth spread through her at his intuition and care. “Yes, one of my favorites.”

“I know. You mentioned it a while back and I had the cook order some.”

The walls around her heart began to crack and crumble, brick by brick.

He opened a drawer and pulled out two spoons, then pushed the drawer closed with his hip. Beck set down the ice cream then lifted her onto the island. A rush of excitement ran through her as he hopped up next to her as if it took little to no effort.

His focus moved to the left of her mouth, and he smiled. “I love the dimple you get when you do that. When you’re thinking about something.”