Page 11 of The Surrender
He hauls me into him again. “Yes.”
“No!” Shaking him off, I move back, firm in my voice, if not my stance. “Don’t think you can win me over with a bit of dirty talk and forcefulness. We’re done, Jude.I’mdone. Getting involved with you was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”
Anger is radiating from him quickly, flashing in his dark eyes, pulsing in his throat. “Why do you constantly fucking lie to yourself, Amelia? Talk yourself in circles, try to convince everyone you’re some impenetrable ice queen whose best assets are her laser focus and drive?”
“I don’t have to listen to this.” I pivot, my fists balling. Jude Harrison is no good for me, just as I always suspected, and I fucking hate that I gave him the opportunity to prove me right. “We’re done,” I reiterate, full of grit, taking the handle and hauling the door open. “Have a nice life.”
“Fuck, you’re infuriating.”
I feel his arm loop around my waist, and my feet are suddenly off the floor, the door shutting on a slam. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not walking away from me.”
“Wrong!” I wrestle my way out of his hold, my hair coming loose and falling all over my face. “I never want to see you again—what don’t you understand about that?”
“What don’t I understand?” he yells. “I don’t understandyou, Amelia!”
“You don’t fucking need to, because we’re—”
His lips are suddenly on mine, his tongue violently seeking entry, the backs of my legs pushed up against a cabinet. For a split second, when I feel the heat of his body touching mine, his mouth ravaging me, I forget myself, opening up, groaning.Fuck, what am I doing?“No!” I shove him away, reaching for the cabinet to steady myself, but I miss the edge, swiping my hand through a collection of neatly lined-up champagne flutes. “Shit.” They scatter and smash across the wooden surface, the sound echoing around the suite, and my unstable form becomes a bit more unbalanced. My hand meets the wood, and asharp pain has me hissing and retracting, the warm sensation of blood instantly trickling down my fingers, making me inhale.
“Fuck!” I curse, checking my hand, but I’m unable to see the damage through the blood.
“Amelia.”
“Don’t,” I warn, grabbing a serviette from the cabinet and holding it to my palm. I grit my teeth. The temporary swab lasts a few seconds before it starts disintegrating, soaked. “God damn it.”
Jude moves in. “Don’t you dare fucking argue with me.” He walks me to a chair and sits me down, bending his body over mine so I’m forced to sit back. “Don’t move.” He disappears for a few moments, then returns with a facecloth and removes his suit jacket, throwing it aside and pulling a chair closer. He lowers and takes my hand, checking the damage.
I’m helpless, bleeding all over the place, in pain, but that’s not the reason tears start to form. Jude peeks up at me, and I look away, sniffing discreetly.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, pressing the towel to my palm.
“I’ll be fine.” I stand abruptly, holding the facecloth in place, and edge past him quickly, leaving the suite.
“Amelia, for the love of God.”
I ignore him and make my way down to the lobby to get my bags, no hands free to wipe my eyes while I keep my makeshift swab in place.
“Come on, Amelia, you need medical attention,” Jude says, chasing me down the sweeping marble stairs.
Looking at the facecloth, I wince when I see it’s become sodden. “Shit.” Fat drops of blood start to leak, hitting the marble floor and splashing. I hurry my pace through to the lobby, bleeding everywhere.
“Amelia, stop.” Jude lands in front of me and grabs my hand, holding it up as he scans the lobby. “I need a first-aider over here,” he yells, getting the attention of everyone floating around. Then he leads me to a chair and forces me to sit, perching on the coffee table before it. “If you move, you’re in big trouble, do you hear me?”
He concentrates as he peels the soaked material away, and the moment he winces, I know he’s right. I need medical attention. And maybe a mental assessment, because my guard is slowly lowering.
Jude glances up and meets my glazed eyes, and my heart softens when he breathes out and moves closer. “Don’t,” I whisper, begging him. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Hurt me.“Don’t be worried and all sensitive.”
“Iamworried.” Slipping his hand onto my nape, he directs my face into his chest, kissing the top of my head repeatedly as he holds me close. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry, Amelia.” The feel of his chest expanding and retracting, warm and hard, eases me. It defies everything, but I relax. “It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”
My throat is too tight to talk as my tears soak into his shirt. I don’t know if I believe him. I don’t know if I should expose my heart to him again. I don’t know if I should let him take care of me now.
I just don’t know.
