Page 72 of The Invitation

I sense a deeper meaning to his statement and think about his mother. The sadness I detected when he talked about her on the stage. But he didn’t talk about his dad. “So I should drink champagne every day?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“Because I’d be bankrupt,” I reply on a light laugh, and he smiles, his sparkly eyes squinting a little as he thinks, studying me. The intensity of his gaze constantly on me will have me sliding off this chair soon.

“Well, luckily for you”—his voice is quiet—“I have an endless supply in the wine cellar.” The waiter returns and pours, and Jude leans over the table and picks up my flute, offering it to me. “Tell me what you think.”

Accepting, I take a small sip and nod. “It’s lovely.”

“Agree.”

“Where’s the wine cellar?” I ask, wondering how many hidden nooks this place must have. It’s extensive, the gift that keeps on giving. Like its owner?

“Under Evelyn’s.”

“I love how you named the club after your mum.”

He smiles. “I don’t usually frequent Evelyn’s. I prefer the Library Bar.” He glances around the restaurant, prompting me to as well. We’re definitely tonight’s stars of the show. I hear him laugh a little as he returns his eyes to me. Then he stands suddenly and picks up his chair, moving it around the table, sitting next to me rather than opposite me. My eyes follow him back down to the seat, my frown mild as he collects his glass and holds it up.

“What are we drinking to?” I ask, lightly tapping my glass on the side of his.

“Today.”

He sips, turning his body more toward me, and leans forward, sliding his palm onto my nape and encouraging me closer until our lips brush. And he kisses me gently. So gently, but the impact hits me as hard as when he’s owned me with a kiss. I taste the bubbles on his lips, feel endless eyes on us. Is he making a point? I don’t know, and I don’t care, because in this moment I’m oblivious to the world around me. And isn’t that the beauty of Jude Harrison when he’s in my orbit?

My eyes closed, I absorb the light pressure of his lips on mine, floating, tingling.

Lost.

“Shall we order?” he asks, pulling back and dragging his hand onto my cheek. “The lamb is something else. It comes from the farm a few miles away.”

I nod my agreement and let Jude order.

“Any allergies?” the waiter asks, looking at me.

“Nuts,” Jude says. “Amelia’s allergic to nuts.”

The waiter nods and makes a note before leaving, and Jude pours more champagne. “Tell me about your family.”

“Oh, are we going deep?” I shift in my chair when his hand slips under my dress and rests on my bare knee. I know Jude Harrison has a habit of inappropriate behaviour in inappropriate places, so I’m bracing myself for a slow torture at this table.

“Deep,” he muses. “As deep as my tongue was in your pussy earlier.” His face is deadpan, watching me as I cough under my breath.

“Do you get a kick out of shock tactics?”

“No, I get a kick out of how badly you want me.”

I laugh, quite loudly, but he squeezes my knee, silencing me quickly. “You must be used to women wanting you.”

“Not the right ones,” he replies quietly, making me tilt my head in curiosity. “Your family,” he prompts again. “Come on, Amelia, let’s go deep.”

“I’m one of two children,” I say, his hand burning my skin on my knee. “I have a younger brother, you’ve met him.”

He pulls a pained face. “Clark.”

“Yes, he’s getting married soon.”

“Oh, the younger sibling is getting married?”

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