don’t feel the need to have the most notches on their bedpost.”
Her response gained passion with each word, making him wonder if she was trying to convince him or herself.
“You know, guys who aren’t like you.” She emphasized the last word.
Was that how she saw him? The same way the rest of the world did, no doubt. Still, her words stung in ways the words of a woman he’d technically only met that day shouldn’t sting. They had no relationship, had just lived next to each other since she’d bought the apartment next to his. Thank goodness he’d not bought the place as he’d considered to expand his own again, mainly to widen his view of the city. He’d hate to have gone through life without the pleasure of having met his neighbor.
“None of those things disqualify me,” he pointed out, taking in every nuance of her facial expression. “Because none of those things describe me.”
She didn’t look convinced at his denial. “You aren’t an adrenaline junkie?”
“No.”
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “A man who runs into a burning building?”
“I run into burning buildings because there are people inside who need help or when there’s a chance of putting out the fire and saving the building from total destruction.”
Emotion flickered in her gaze, like the shimmering of the sea. She didn’t break eye contact, just narrowed her gaze, as if she fought letting herself believe him. “You don’t get a rush out of fighting fires?”
“I didn’t say that.” He shrugged. “I get a rush when I save someone’s life, but not from the actual going into the burning building or risking my own life.”
Although doing so did make him feel more alive, more like the man he’d been before Nina had fallen for Charles and then died.
Maybe every time he saved a life he somehow felt vindicated that he’d not been able to save the woman he’d loved, that he’d turned his back on her and their friendship when he couldn’t have more. Not that he could have saved Nina. She’d chosen Charles, had died due to childbirth complications. There had been nothing anyone could have done. Had there been, Charles and Jude both would have given their lives for Nina’s.
Except when he fought fires, Jude had felt half-dead since the moment he’d cut Nina completely out of his life, lost his best friend, and destroyed the closeness he’d once shared with his cousin.
He didn’t feel half-dead now. Quite the opposite.
He didn’t recall ever feeling as alive as he felt at this moment, staring into the eyes of a woman who didn’t think much of him, but who was as intrigued by him as he was her, despite the fact that she didn’t want to be.
Which meant what exactly? He didn’t want a relationship, was no longer a relationship kind of guy. These days, he took women to his bed, not to his dining room to feed them a meal he’d cooked.
He sure didn’t long to take women on dates where he showered them with romance and attention to make up for every wrong they’d ever endured.
Yet, looking into Sarah’s eyes, that was exactly what he wanted. Hell.
“I think I’m more your type than you want to admit, Doc.”
* * *
As Sarah helped Jude clear the table and load his dishwasher, his words kept running through her head.
Surprisingly, this was the first silence they’d had as they’d chatted away during dinner. Jude was a great conversationalist. He made intelligent comments, listened with eager ears, and responded with insightful observations.
The few dates she’d ever gone on had left her feeling awkward and socially inept. Eventually, she’d almost quit dating, because why bother? She wasn’t looking for a man in her life, knew what being involved with the wrong man could cost a woman, and didn’t appreciate giving up a night of her life to feel inadequate at the end of the evening.
The few times she’d made exceptions had never ended well.
For instance, the night interesting Kenny Goodall had asked to take her to her first Broadway show. She’d lost the glasses, donned mascara and lipstick, put on a decently fitting dress, and anxiously awaited what had promised to be a wonderful evening.
She’d never felt so mortified, unattractive, and convinced her mother was right in all her life as when she’d discovered he’d forgotten their plans.
Never again would she allow herself to be so humiliated at the hands of a man.
Nothing about her dinner with Jude made her feel inadequate, though. Quite the opposite. She’d enjoyed sharing the meal with him more than she’d have dreamed possible. Maybe because she knew there could never be anything between them.
The fact he’d seemed perturbed she’d written him off as not her type and given him her reasons why surprised her, though. Why would he care?
Sure, she’d felt heat when looking at him and he’d made flirty comments at the hospital and tonight, but the reality was she wasn’t Jude Davenport’s type.
He hadn’t bothered to deny that, had just questioned that he wasn’t hers.
Before having seen that different side of him at the hospital and tonight, she’d have said it was because he was so arrogant he assumed he was every woman’s type.
If gorgeous, intelligent, witty, and full of testosterone were the criteria, then he was.
Sarah glanced around the kitchen, surprised at how quickly they’d gotten everything cleared. Surprised at how amazingly stocked and spacious his kitchen was. She liked the granite countertops, the workstation island, and the stainless-steel appliances.
What she didn’t like was that now there was nothing to occupy her hands, more awkwardness was setting in.
“You want another glass of wine?”
Looking at him in relief, she exclaimed, “Yes!”
He must think her a total slush and she rarely drank. She’d just been grateful for something to do with her hands to ward off her own mental demons. She should leave before the awkwardness and inadequacy set in, reminding that she had nothing in common with him.
He poured her another glass, then one for himself. “Let’s sit on the sofa and look out at the city. It’s my favorite way to end a stressful day.”
So maybe they did have a few things in common. Besides chemistry.
Sarah sat, but couldn’t relax to enjoy the view as she had earlier because Jude sat down beside her. His body wasn’t touching hers, but he was closer than he should be since they were the only two people on his large sofa.
Why had he sat so close? If she took a deep breath, she’d probably brush up against his arm.
She finished off her glass of wine in record time, set the glass on an end table coaster, and stood. Enough was enough. She’d had a mostly enjoyable night with him and wasn’t going
