Within These Walls (The Walls Duet #1)(34)

Would anything change if I were to tell her that I was the reason she didn’t get that heart?

No. So, why bother?

It was a terrible, horrible lame excuse. In the back of my head, I knew I was still trying to protect her. I was doing the same thing that her mother and doctors had done her entire life—sugarcoating and suffocating the truth—but I was also doing it to protect me.

So, I’d do what I could and tell her everything else but that awful moment in my history. It would be more than I’d told any other person on the planet since the day I arrived in California.

“We had a falling out. I haven’t spoken to anyone in my family in almost three years.”

Her eyes met mine and softened. “That’s awful. How does that even happen?”

“Well, it’s a long and complicated sad story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Okay, but first, I need to explain something,” I said.

I reached down and grabbed my ID badge. It had the trademark dreadful picture with bad lighting and my blank expression slapped on the front. Underneath was my name—Jude C.

“I don’t even know your last name,” she said before covering her mouth with her hand. She looked mortified.

As I peeled her fingers from her face one at a time, I noticed she felt warmer than normal. “You feel hot. Are you feeling okay?”

“What? Yes, I’m fine. You’re just trying to change the subject!”

I let it go, but I made a mental note to check her later. “No one knows my last name. It was something I asked for when I was hired. My last name is…well-known.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you, like, a prince or something? Is this the part of the movie where I get to move to a castle? I don’t think I can walk in heels.”

“My last name is Cavanaugh.”

There was no reaction. She just stared at me, trying to put all the pieces together.

“Like the bank, Cavanaugh Investments in New York? The family who makes the Trumps look like paupers? They’ve been all over the news lately. You must get confused with them all the time. Don’t they have a son named Jude who—” Her hand went to her mouth, and her eyes widened.

“Hasn’t been seen publicly for three years,” I finished her sentence.

“They just keep saying he’s on vacation or too busy in meetings,” she said absently.

“My brother and father have always been very good at lying. God forbid that we have a family scandal. They get away with it because I wasn’t around much in the years prior to…me leaving. People barely remember what I look like anymore. I was away at college for so long that the public lost interest, and that left my brother, Roman, plenty of time to soak up the limelight.”

She looked at me, her eyes searching my face, as if seeing me for the first time. This was what I’d feared—that she would see me differently.

Am I still Jude? Or would I forever be Jude Cavanaugh—heir to a multibillion-dollar company?

She continued assessing me, her eyes traveling over my features, down the length of my inked arms, and back up to my messy tresses. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, as I waited for the altered tone or the shocked gasp to come.

What I got was pudding on my face. I opened my eyes in amazement and found her giggling. Leftover pudding still clung to her pointer finger, and she was just leaning over to lick it off.

I stopped her, pulling the single digit into my own mouth and sucking it clean. Her eyes heated from the contact, and then they went round with unheard laughter when she once again saw the pudding smeared down my right cheek.

“You don’t look like him. You’re a little rougher looking,” she said, still giggling at her mess.

“Well, that was the idea. New look—”

“New life?” she finished.

I felt myself wince.

Screeching brakes, shattering glass, Megan screaming.

I can’t get to her.

Then, silence. Nothing but silence.

“Something like that,” I mumbled. “So, whom do I look like?” I managed, blinking rapidly to pull myself back from hell. Stay in the present.

“Jude. Just Jude.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So, are you going to help me out with this?” I pointed to the glob of pudding still clinging to my skin.

Her eyes traveled to where the direction of my outstretched finger, and I could see the hesitation. Finally, she leaned into me, her long strands of hair tickling my arm, as she nuzzled into my chest. I could smell the fruity essence of her shampoo as her warm, wet tongue darted out to touch my skin. I instinctively moved my hand to her waist, pulling her closer, and I reveled in the feel of her. She didn’t show an ounce of innocence as her body molded to mine. Her mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses, until it found my eager lips.

I groaned, feeling the timid touch of her heated fingers brush against the fabric of the top of my scrubs. My hand slipped under her shirt as I lay back, pulling her with me. The instant my hand touched her bare skin, I knew something was wrong. My eyes flew open, and I stilled, startling her.

“You’re burning up.” I gently laid her back down on the bed.

“It’s just hot in here,” she replied, sitting up to adjust her shirt.

Her hands flew to the collar of her shirt, and I watched as she retreated back into her shell. Was she afraid I had changed my mind?