Chapter 8
The word disgusting hung in the air, a physical blow that struck Blaire squarely in the chest. The blood drained from her face. She forgot about the throbbing pain in her wrist, staring up at him in total shock.
Sharon let out an ear-piercing shriek. She shoved her chair back, rushed around the table, and hauled Blaire off the floor. She pointed a trembling, furious finger at Jude's back. "What kind of a man are you? ! She tripped! You didn't even try to catch her!"
Jude didn't hear a word. He spun around, his chest heaving, and practically sprinted into the master bedroom. The door slammed shut with a violent BANG that rattled the picture frames on the wall.
Seconds later, the sound of the shower turning on full blast echoed through the thin walls. Inside the bathroom, Jude violently ripped the ruined shirt and trousers off his body, throwing the contaminated garments into the farthest corner of the tiled floor. He stepped under the showerhead and turned the scalding water on full blast. He scrubbed at his bare chest and legs with a rough loofah, tearing at his own skin until it was raw and bright red, desperate to wash away the phantom sensation of the spill.
In the living room, Blaire swallowed the massive lump of humiliation in her throat. She grabbed a roll of paper towels and dropped to her knees, frantically wiping up the spilled soup.
Sharon hovered over her, inspecting Blaire's swelling wrist. "Pack your bags right now," Sharon demanded, her voice shaking with rage. "You are coming home with me. I am not leaving you in this apartment with that psycho."
Blaire's heart pounded. If she went home, the relentless blind dates would start again tomorrow. She scrubbed the floor harder. "I can't, Mom. I signed a strict lease. If I break it, I lose thousands of dollars."
Sharon argued, pleaded, and yelled, but Blaire locked her jaw and refused to budge. Finally, at ten o'clock at night, exhausted and furious, Sharon grabbed her purse and stormed out of the apartment.
Blaire slumped against the front door after locking it. She listened to the water still running in the master bathroom. A deep, bitter anger began to replace her humiliation.
Half an hour later, the bathroom door finally opened. Jude walked out wearing a thick terrycloth bathrobe. His wet hair dripped onto his forehead. His eyes immediately locked onto Blaire, who was throwing the last of the paper towels into the trash.
Blaire straightened her spine. She met his cold glare with equal ferocity. "Let me make this perfectly clear," she said, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I did not try to seduce you. It was an accident. If my presence disgusts you that much, we can tear up the contract right now."
Jude stopped wiping his hair. Tearing up the contract meant his grandmother would immediately resume her matchmaking terror. He sneered, his upper lip curling. "Reel in your temper. Don't forget, you were the one desperate to play this game."
Blaire gasped, her chest tight with indignation. She pointed a shaking finger toward the guest room. "Fine. Then to make sure you never feel 'seduced' again, we sleep in separate rooms. Make sure to lock the door tonight.!"
They returned to their respective rooms and did not speak to each other again that night.
At 2:00 AM, the lock on the master bedroom clicked open.
Jude stepped out into the dark living room. He hadn't eaten anything since the sandwich that morning, and his stomach was cramping. He headed for the kitchen to get water.
As he passed Blair's room, he peeked through a crack in the door.
He stopped. Blaire was curled up, her teeth visibly chattering, her face pale from the freezing temperature.
Jude's hand tightened around his empty water glass. He remembered how fiercely she had defended him against her mother's insults earlier, and how stubbornly she had fought back against him.
He frowned deeply. A brief, irritating flash of human decency pierced through his armor.
He turned around, walked back into his bedroom, and pulled a heavy, incredibly expensive cashmere blanket from his closet. He walked silently back to the room.
He leaned over, his movements stiff and awkward, and draped the heavy cashmere over her shivering body.
As he pulled his hands back, Blaire felt the sudden, enveloping warmth. Still deep in her miserable sleep, she let out a soft sigh and instinctively nuzzled her face upward, seeking the heat.
Her soft, warm cheek brushed directly against the back of Jude's hand.
Jude's entire body paralyzed. His brain instantly triggered the highest level of threat response. He braced his core, waiting for the suffocating panic, the violent urge to vomit, the sensation of his skin crawling off his bones.
One second passed. Two seconds.
Nothing.
There was no panic. There was no nausea. There was only the soft, warm friction of her skin against his knuckles.
Jude's pupils dilated massively. His heart slammed against his ribs like a sledgehammer. He stared at his hand, then down at the sleeping woman, his mind short-circuiting.
He yanked his hand back as if he had been burned, stumbling two steps backward until his spine hit the kitchen island. He gripped the marble counter, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide with absolute, earth-shattering shock.
How is this possible?
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