CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cady

 

 

 

WHEN I’D UNZIPPED THE garment bag, I figured Jude had mixed up the costumes. But when I entered the living room I realized he’d done it on purpose.

There he stood, larger than life, dressed as . . . Little Red Riding Hood.

He wore a hooded red cape over a stretchy red dress he somehow managed to fit into. I was surprised the thing hadn’t popped at the seams already. With the dark shadow of stubble on his jaw, his big hairy muscled legs, and huge clunky black boots . . . the entire effect was absolutely comical.

I burst into uncontrollable laughter. Luke and Dane rolled around on the sofa, pointing and snickering like we were sideshow attractions.

And Jude—completely at ease in his get-up—eyed me up and down.

Per his choice, I wore a full, head-to-toe, gray furry outfit.

The Big Bad Wolf costume was the most unsexy thing I’d ever put on, and I could hardly stop giggling long enough to mention, “This is not what I expected.”

Jude minced up to me—in his dress and giant boots—and lowered his voice. “Oh, you thought I’d talk you into dressing as a naughty nurse or a pirate wench?”

“Well . . .” Obviously given our history.

“In front of your children?” He winked, and somehow he still managed to pull off powerful male sex appeal, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. “We’ll save that for private.”

“Mom! You look ridunkulous.” Luke stopped chuckling just long enough to point out my predicament.

Dane righted the wire-rimmed glasses he’d knocked askew during the hilarity, and poked Luke in the shoulder. “That’s not even a word. But I agree.”

I peered at them both. “I look ridiculous? What about him?”

“Jude? There are no words to describe that blight to the human eye,” Dane said while Jude posed, one hand on a cocked hip and his ruddy lips pursed in a sexdunkulous pout.

“Nailed it.” Luke held out his cast for a tap from his brother. Then he snatched up my phone and jumped from the couch. “Picture time. This one’s going on my Snapchat.”

Dane got up, too, and pushed me closer to Jude, who immediately slid an arm around my very bulky furry waist.

“You can take a photo, but it is most definitely not ending up online or anywhere else, Luke.” I pointed my finger at him, and he snapped a picture.

“Nice one!” he shouted.

“Send it to me,” Jude said, still holding me around the waist.

Escaping from his grasp, I retrieved my phone.

Luke and Dane grabbed giant pillowcases for their candy haul then scooted out the door with promises to check back every quarter hour. This was the first year I let them go without me, and I tried not to fret.

Jude and his crazy costumes helped. Once again he managed to completely upend my ideas about him. I still marveled at how he’d handled himself—and Gregory—at the hospital. Having my back when that schmuck had the gall to accuse me of being a bad mom.

The boys had really taken to him, and somehow Jude had gotten them to bicker less and help out more.

And underneath it all, the memories of our nights in Room 27 formed a sort of basis I could never forget.

Jude could reduce me to a tingling, quivering, aroused state in a nanosecond.

He was sexy and dominant in bed, and when he fucked me I’d become a purely sensual woman. I’d come alive. He’d unleashed a dirty wild side that I liked. Even when he called me his cum slut, especially when he made me beg to suck his cock, I wanted him like I wanted no other man, because the words didn’t hurt me.

They freed me to be more than mother, ex-wife, lawyer.

He turned out to be sweet and protective, funny and respectful too.

And everything between us was heading into increasingly dangerous territory.

The doorbell rang with our first trick-or-treaters, and Jude got to the door before me as I waddled in the unwieldy costume.

He swung it wide, bellowing, “Happy Halloween!” to a group of youngsters whose parents waited farther back in the driveway.

“What are you s’posed to be, mister?” A tiny blonde darling dressed as a sparkly unicorn stared up at Jude.

“I’m Little Red Riding Hood.” He passed out giant handfuls of candy to all, and I was glad we’d bought extra bags this year.

“But Wed Widing Hood’s a girl.”

He scratched his stubbly chin. “Yeah, but I wanted to make my lady here laugh.”

He pointed back at me, looking unfathomably lovable as he crouched in front of her rainbow-frilled costume. Lord, but I hoped he wasn’t flashing her beneath his tight red skirt.

I raised a hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle.

After our first group, the parade of ghouls and pirates and Ninja Turtles and princesses was nonstop. Jude came back from the kitchen with yet another bag of candy just as I shut the door after a troop of junior high-schoolers tromped off the porch.

He swaggered toward me, grinning wickedly. “Trick-or-treat, Cady?”

I shook my head, pursing my lips to stop the bubble of laughter. “I can’t even take you seriously when you look like that.”

“Oh really?” He flicked the cape back so it revealed the well-defined muscles of his arms and shoulders, and I gulped a little.

How could he do this to me, dressed like that? I had no idea, but he had sex appeal for days.

“And you can wipe that smirk right off your face.”

“This smirk here?” He grinned wider. “All the better to eat you with.” Leering, he made his intentions very clear.

Like that last time, in the bathroom, when he’d spread my legs open and licked me to a shivering, screaming orgasm.

“Hey, that’s my line,” I teased right back.

“Eat me? Perhaps you could suck me. I’m game if you are.” He waggled his eyebrows beneath the hood. “Because my cock definitely needs some breathing room, and there’s no place I’d rather put it than in your pretty mouth.”

I backed away from him, edging toward the living room, because he suddenly exuded that perilous utterly male potency that sent me into a pile of aching sensation. “How can you even be turned on right now?”

“It’s you. That’s all it takes, darlin’.” The indecent man slinked forward, and his arousal was clear in the low lids of his eyes, the large bulge at his groin. “I just wanna bury myself balls deep inside you.”

I inhaled a sharp breath, fighting his lurid temptation. “What exactly are you wearing under your dress?”

“Really fucking tight compression shorts.” Prowling closer still, Jude wouldn’t let me escape. “My junk is suffocating.”

He cornered me against a wall, imprisoning me with his much larger, much harder body. His cock, steely hot, rubbed against my belly, and I felt him even through the fluffy suit. His lips descended, and I arched up into him, yearning for the hot brand of his tongue dipping into my mouth.

Jude suddenly reared back. His eyes scrunched closed, and he sneezed loudly twice just as the doorbell rang.

Then he achoo’d three more times in quick succession.

“Fur,” he bleated. “Got it in my nose.”

Laughing lightly, I slid away from him. “Your fault. You chose the costumes.”

I thanked God I was saved by the bell, and a wolf costume. And Jude sneezed some more.

Swinging the door wide, I laughed again when I saw the family standing on my porch.

“Peyton! Rafe!” I welcomed the Macintyres into the house, fawning over Callum’s cowboy hat and boots and his baby sister Charlotte, dressed as a tiny sweet pea and cuddled in Rafe’s arms. “What are y’all doing so far from Mt. Pleasant?”

Rafe, the quarterback for Carolina Crush—the team his wife owned—chuckled. “Your neck of the wood’s only a bridge away.”

Peyton touched my very furry arm. “Phil lives down this way. She assured Callum he’d get a good haul in your neighborhood.”

After mentioning Doctor Philomena Simmons—affectionately known as Doc Phil—Peyton pulled her hand from me to cup it over her mouth. “Oh my. You’re the Big Bad Wolf?”

“Not my idea,” I insisted.

Then Jude—red dress and all—joined me.

“Jude! I didn’t recognize you. I heard you were back.” Peyton, an NFL owner, of course knew who Rally Raleigh was.

She shot a curious look between Jude and me.

“Oh, he’s just . . . he’s . . .” I babbled.

Jude cut in. “A good friend of Cady’s.”

Yet he was so much more than that.

Fortunately Rafe took over, popping out his free hand. “Jude Raleigh. Holy shi—shoot. Man, I’d have been one lucky son of a gun to have you on my team. You’ve got some serious skills.”

“Had some serious skills.” Jude shook his hand, and a quietness stole over him. “Thanks, Rafe. It would’ve been an honor to play for the Crush.”

Peyton and Rafe—heck, the entire sports fandom—must’ve known about his injury.

Before the mood turned somber, Rafe looked Jude up and down. “Doin’ some Little Red action, are ya?”

Jude honest-to-God blushed. “Just a joke, really.” He stroked an arm over my furry shoulder. “I like to hear Cady laugh.”

Both Macintyres chuckled while Callum ripped open more Pixy Stix then offered one to Baby Charlie. Without missing a beat, Rafe grabbed the candy before little sister could snatch it. She was so young, she’d probably eat the treat, paper and all.

Then Rafe sucked in his swarthy cheeks and nodded at Jude. “Yeah.” He stroked his chin. “I think I like the Red Riding Hood thing. In fact, I’m getting a new idea for the QB competition.”

Peyton’s green eyes widened. “Rafe, you wouldn’t.”

The two of them seemed to have a secret language. The four of them a secure and solid family . . . Envy bit into me.

Envy I shoved down when I sensed Jude’s lingering gaze.

“Heck yeah. I’d like to make Bunyan wear a get-up like that.” Rafe rubbed his hands together, clearly making plans.

“Paul Biggs,” Peyton clarified, mentioning the juggernaut Carolina Crush linebacker.

Then she looped an arm through Jude’s. “Listen, I wondered if I could talk you into coming down to HQ? Maybe let our head PT take a look at your knee?”

“I’ve been down that road, Miss Fox—er—Macintyre.” Jude’s forehead beetled, brows drawn low.

“I’m not promising a miraculous cure or anything, Jude. Lord knows what hell you’ve been through already. But I would be honored if you accepted the invitation. I’m not just looking for players.”

He nodded, giving no promise. Minutes later, the pretty, talented, and pretty famous family departed.

Quietness descended, silence Jude broke with an incomplete grin. “How the hell do you know Peyton Fox and Rafe Macintyre, but you never once recognized me?”

I bit my bottom lip to curtail a laugh at his usually bullet-proof ego that was suddenly hurting. “It’s the Crush, baby.”

His scowl turned formidable while I giggled.

After I sobered, I asked, “Are you going to take Peyton up on her offer?”

“Seems a bit futile.”

I wondered if he was scared of failing or if there was something else holding him back.

“It could be perfect for you,” I persisted.

“I still need to take care of my dad.”

What he didn’t say hung in the air.

He wanted to take care of me.

But I’d always done that, and I wasn’t his responsibility. Nor were my children. Not when he could—should—return to what he loved most.

The game.

Another round of trick-or-treaters interrupted our conversation, and I didn’t get a chance to bring it up again. The rest of the night was busy, bringing waves of creatively dressed kids who almost depleted our stockpile of candy. Dane and Luke checked in often, and Aiden actually got home before them.

As soon as he entered the house, he stopped short.

He stared at the two of us, possibly mortified as only a teen could be when embarrassed by one’s parents. “Mom, what are you wearing?”

“Me again? Jude looks so much more ridiculous.”

“Well, yeah. But he’s Jude.”

“What does that mean?”

“Face it, Mom, you can be pretty straitlaced.”

“I am not.” I stomped my furry foot on the floor, and neither Jude nor Aiden bothered to stifle their laughter.

I was being overrun in my own damn house.

Dane and Luke dragged their butts home eventually, slinging pillowcases absolutely heaping full of candy. Buzzing on sugar rushes, they gave blow-by-blow descriptions of the houses with the best decorations and the kids with the best costumes.

I finally urged everyone to bed, after confiscating the candy to keep the boys’ chocolate intake to a minimum. I snaked a handful of 3 Musketeers and Peanut Butter Cups from the stash while Jude grabbed a package of M&Ms. We both wore mischievous smiles like we were the naughty children.

I was still smiling when I went upstairs to finally transform from the big bad wolf back into plain old Cady Dalton. Dressed in pjs—nothing too revealing, nothing at all like the lingerie I’d always worn for Jude—I found him downstairs, turning out lights and checking the back door.

He fit here, in our lives, so effortlessly the sight of him doing the regular domestic routine caused a pang to my heart.

He’d changed as well, the red dress I’d never forget draped over one arm as I approached him.

I handed him the garment bag, and he reached out to wind a lock of my hair around his finger.

“Have you . . . are you seeing anyone new?” I asked him hesitantly.

Jude folded his hand around the nape of my neck, and I had no choice but to look up into those serious blue eyes. “Do you want me to?”

I should absolutely say yes, but I couldn’t bring myself to form the word. I swallowed once then nodded, knowing without doubt it was an absolute lie.

His mouth formed a thin grim line, and a muscle ticked at the back of his jaw.

He didn’t reply, just released me before very quietly walking to the front door and leaving.

****

I’d be devastated if Jude pursued someone else, even though there was no long-term solution to us. He was undoubtedly a total catch for some lucky woman closer to his own age. He should contact Peyton Fox, see if there was a future for him with the Crush, forget about us, and move on with his life.

He never mentioned those two Halloween night conversations. Not the Carolina Crush or my weak insistence he should focus his attentions on finding a girlfriend.

Several evenings after he played Liddle Wed Widing Hood to my Big Bad Wolf, he succeeded in getting me alone while the boys, my lovely hooligans, were in the backyard making volcanoes out of Coca-Cola and Mentos and God knew what else because Luke had been researching on YouTube.

Jude was the wolf, right down to the sharp look of want on his face as he took in my new dress and the sharp-heeled suede stilettoes that added a lot more inches to my height.

“You look pretty.” His blue eyes blazed with extreme heat, and his voice lowered to that gritty timbre that always made my nipples pucker. “Not as pretty as that time I bent you over the back of the couch in Room 27 and teased your pouty little cunt with the head of my cock. Remember that, darlin’?”

I felt pinned to the spot by his smoldering gaze and the memory of him taking me to the brink of orgasm over and over again before he finally thrust into me with such jarring force my feet left the ground.

His voice roughened even more, his wicked words a bold caress all over my body. “I held you by your tits and tapped my cock against your clit until you shivered and swayed and swore at me to fuck you.”