Protege(57)

Where had that come from? It came so freely and honestly. She’d never said, let alone thought anything close to what she just confessed, but it was incredibly accurate.

“Touché. I stand corrected. But still, no shoe obsession?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sir. I’m on my feet most of the day. I prefer flats or nothing.”

He was silent.

Did he have a shoe fetish? “Do you want me to wear heels?”

“Not if they make you uncomfortable. I’d rather you be comfortable.”

“Thank you, Sir.” But regardless, she sensed his desire to see her in heels and decided she could wear a pair from time to time over the next month.

“How do you intend to afford a membership?”

She sighed. This conversation was not sexy, but it was intimate, being that he was taking an interest in some very personal details about her life.

“My father signed the house over to me when I was eighteen. I sold it. I have some money in an account.”

“How long is his sentence?”

“He’s serving life.”

“Do you see him?”

“Occasionally on holidays when I have nowhere else to be.” She hadn’t seen him in three years. The last visit upset her more than comforted. She was coming to believe she’d never be able to balance the man who killed her mother with the man who raised her.

“Does discussing him upset you?”

Her brow tightened. “No, it just reminds me of how abnormal my life’s been. I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since my mom died.”

“What do you mean by that?” He rolled to his side, giving her his full attention.

“It’s just . . . what does it mean about me, that my father could murder my mother?”

He didn’t rush to answer, and she appreciated that. It wasn’t an easy puzzle to solve, and anyone who pretended to have all the answers would only insult her intelligence. “Did he ever say why he did it?”

Her throat tightened. It was no secret. “She slept with my uncle.”

“I’m sorry, Collette.”

She shrugged. “It’s like a faraway memory of someone else’s life. My uncle lives in Arizona and I haven’t seen him since I was a child. My dad never complains about where he is. He admitted to everything and turned himself in. My mom . . .” That emptiness never went away. “I miss her.”

His lips pressed to her brow. “You’ve grown into a very strong and capable woman. I think your shoes—as flat as they are—are safely on your feet and you can stop expecting one to drop.”

She turned to her side and searched his face through the shadows. “I might freak out when it comes to sharing, Jude. I’ve always been equally afraid and reverent of monogamy.”

He sighed, but she saw the shift of his mood, telling her that her warning was not taken lightly. “You didn’t list it as a hard limit.”

“Part of me wants to push through my fears and embrace the experience.”

“But you’re afraid it might trigger something?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“It’s good you told me. I won’t let anything happen to you, peach. We’ll tread lightly and see how you do. If it’s a bad trigger we’ll stop.”

She nodded, appreciating that he’d be there, when the time came, and would be paying close attention to her. It was difficult to imagine him in such a situation, mostly because she had no basis for comparison. “Did you . . .”

“Did I what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, I want to know what you were going to ask.”

She regretted her slip and wanted to change the subject.

“Collette.”

Swallowing, she asked, “Did you share your wife?”

Silence.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up your personal life or your past.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” His clipped response filled her with regret.

After a long moment, he said, “Yes, I shared my wife.” But his answer seemed to leave more unsaid than answered. She let the conversation fade and promised herself never to bring up his ex-wife again.

Jude placed the plate on the end table. “It’s time for bed. I’ll walk you to your room.”

She swallowed the telltale gasp of disappointment. She didn’t want to be dismissed. They were sharing such an intimate conversation. To cut it short left her feeling jilted and self-conscious. Worry that she’d upset him weighed heavily as he pulled back her covers and helped her up.

Words escaped her as panic settled in. He unlocked the connecting door and directed her under the covers of her own bed. Climbing onto the mattress, she reached for his hand. “I’m sorry I asked about your ex, Jude. I won’t do it again.”

He pinched her chin, his face an unreadable mask. “It’s fine. Sleep well, peach.”

But his implied forgiveness did nothing to relieve her guilt as she watched him leave. The lock clicked behind him as the door shut.

He’d said it was fine, but the intense sense of rejection was inescapable. Perhaps he was genuinely tired and she was making too much of things. Or had she upset him and his dismissal was her punishment?

Biting her lip, she lowered her head to the pillows and frowned at the door. Would he ever leave it open?