“He sounds amazing,” he said, grinning at me from the side.

I made a face and motioned my hand in a so-so way.

He chuckled, checking both ways before we crossed the road to the terminal. “That’s not what you were saying last night,” he said.

I pinched his side. “I wasn’t saying much, that I recall.”

“No, you weren’t saying much. There was a shitload of moaning, though.”

This earned him a few harder pinches.

“‘Jude,’” he cried out, channeling me last night. “‘Yes! Yes! Yes! You’re amazing!’” I couldn’t even pretend to be irritated with him. I was laughing so damn hard tears started to leak out of the corners of my eyes. “‘Jude . . . Amazing . . . Ryder! Yes! Yes! Yeeeeesss!’”

He was causing a scene as we approached curbside check-in, but I was too hysterical to mind. My giant fiancé was bouncing, shaking, and shouting, not caring what anyone thought.

“Control yourself,” I ordered amid my laughter, swatting his arm. “And if your performance is any indicator of what I act like during sex, I must look like a hippo about to give birth.”

Dropping the Lucy Larson Orgasming Show, he laughed with me. “Nah.” He laughed one more note before his expression changed. “It’s the damn sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced, Luce.”

Thankfully his words were no louder than a whisper, but as we approached the ticket counter, I was sure the heat rushing into my face, paired with Jude’s crooked smile, gave away the gist of what he’d just whispered into my ear.

From the sly smile on the employee’s face, he caught more than just the gist.

While I waited for my ticket, Jude handed my suitcase off and gave the guy a hefty tip. It was only a month ago when that tip would have paid for a movie-and-dinner date.

The ticket counter employee handed me my ticket, but he had eyes for no one but Jude. I knew that look, but it was weird sharing it with middle-aged males.

“You’re Jude Ryder,” the employee said, looking, sounding, and acting starstruck. “Aren’t you?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jude winked over at me. “Jude Amazing Ryder,” he managed with a straight face. I couldn’t perform the same feat.

Coming up behind me, Jude wrapped his arms around me. “What’s so funny?” he teased.

Thrusting a pen and a newspaper at us, the poor guy looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. It was so odd the way people treated Jude now, like they idolized him. “Could I have your autograph?” His voice was shaky.

“You bet,” Jude answered, uncapping the pen as the employee unfolded the front page of the local newspaper. On it was a huge photograph of a man and a woman at night. In the ocean. Bare-ass naked.

“Shit,” I murmured, twisting in Jude’s arms, hoping he hadn’t seen it yet.

Nothing good would come of Jude seeing this.

His eyes were locked on the picture, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. The confusion shifted toward red-faced anger in the time it took me to plant my hands on either side of his face.

“Jude,” I said, trying to sound calm. Trying to be calm for him, when I felt anything but. Calm was impossible when a full-frontal na**d shot of me was plastered on who knew how many thousands of papers. “It’s all right. Calm down,” I continued, trying to get his eyes to focus on mine. But they would not look away from the picture below the headline, “Ryder Has Game Both On and Off the Field.” The photographer must have snapped the picture right when he’d joined me in the water and spun me around. Other than his face and arms, that was all of Jude the stupid pap had caught. But with me, they’d had to make use of the photo-blur tool in a couple of places.

Jude snatched the paper from the man’s hand and glowered at him. “What the hell is this?” Rolling it up, Jude stuffed the paper into the back of his pants and waited.

Once the employee realized Jude wasn’t going to move until he got an answer, he shrugged. “A newspaper.” He had the decency to look ashamed.

“That’s not a newspaper,” Jude said, seething. The muscles of his jaw rolled beneath my hands. “That’s a na**d picture of my fiancée.”

Dammit. His face had just gone from red to purple. Soon we’d be past the point where anything I could do would talk him down.

“You got any more of those back there?” Rushing behind the counter, Jude inspected the area. I followed him.

“Jude,” I said, “stop.”

“No, no,” the employee said, raising his hands. I could tell he hadn’t meant any disrespect when he’d asked Jude to sign a na**d photo of him and me, but I also knew the man would never, ever try something like this again.

“Who else has one of these?” Jude demanded after he was satisfied no more newspapers were stuffed behind the counter.

The man looked from Jude to me with his brows knitted together, his expression reading, Seriously? “Whoever subscribes to or picked up a Sunday paper today?” he suggested, slinking away from Jude.

Smart move.

Just then, Jude’s gaze drifted inside the terminal, where a man in a suit was depositing quarters into a . . .

Shit.

Jude turned and sprinted away before I could offer an apologetic smile to the ticketing employee.

“Jude!” I shouted as I entered the terminal. In addition to good-byes, I was also sick of making scenes.