Jumping Jude: A Made Marian Novel Read online

  Jumping Jude

  A Made Marian Novel

  Lucy Lennox

  Contents

  About Jumping Jude

  Prologue - Jude

  1. Derek - Six Months Later

  2. Jude

  3. Derek

  4. Jude

  5. Derek

  6. Jude

  7. Derek

  8. Jude

  9. Derek

  10. Jude

  11. Derek

  12. Jude

  13. Derek

  14. Jude

  15. Derek

  16. Jude

  17. Derek

  18. Jude

  19. Derek

  20. Jude

  21. Derek

  22. Jude

  23. Derek

  24. Jude

  25. Derek

  26. Jude

  27. Derek

  28. Jude

  29. Derek

  30. Jude

  31. Derek

  32. Jude

  33. Derek

  34. Jude

  35. Derek

  36. Jude

  37. Derek

  38. Jude

  39. Derek

  40. Jude

  41. Derek

  42. Jude

  43. Derek

  44. Jude

  Epilogue - Derek

  Invisible

  Dance with Me

  Letter from Lucy

  About the Author

  Also by Lucy Lennox

  Read an Excerpt from Borrowing Blue

  About Borrowing Blue

  1. Blue

  Copyright © 2016 by Lucy Lennox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Designer: Angstyg - www.AngstyG.com

  Editor: Hollie Westring - www.HollieTheEditor.com

  Sign up for Lucy’s newsletter for exclusive content and to learn more about her latest books at www.LucyLennox.com!

  Created with Vellum

  Jumping Jude is dedicated to

  Leslie Copeland

  who made the revision process more fun than it should have been.

  Jude and Derek’s story is better because of you.

  About Jumping Jude

  Jude: Reaching the top of the country music charts brings out the crazy, and there’s no one crazier than my ex. Unfortunately, his threats to out me are escalating. Enter the bodyguard of my dreams.

  I’d probably chafe under his constant presence if his attention to my body wasn’t so… ah… thorough. Now I have to worry about outing myself to millions of fans if I can’t keep my hands off him in public.

  Derek: Now I’m an ex-Marine turned babysitter. If I have to hear Jude sing his mega-hit Bluebells one more time, I might murder him myself, and after 6 years in special ops, I know my way around a weapon. Unfortunately, so does he. Except his arsenal includes washboard abs and a killer set of pipes.

  I’ve faced guns, knives, explosives and yet it’s Jude Marian who may end up bringing me to my knees.

  Prologue - Jude

  I should have known the man guarding me that night was an idiot by his nickname alone. Brick. As in, “Dumb as a.” He was just the latest in a long string of celebrity babysitters whose main job was to look intimidating to any overzealous fan who wanted a piece of me.

  We left the dance club that night through the back entrance. Normally, my bodyguard would alert the driver before we walked out of the building so the car was waiting for us. In this case, Brick hadn’t bothered. He was too busy trying to make up with his multiple girlfriends over the phone to be able to use the device for something as mundane as keeping me safe.

  Once we exited into the dark alley and found no town car waiting, I took matters into my own hands, texting Carl to bring the car to the rear door of the club. Brick gave me a slight chin tilt of appreciation and wandered farther away to get some privacy while he kissed some ass over the phone.

  That’s when the three guys jumped me. They came out of nowhere. One minute I was standing there waiting for the car and the next I was knocked to the ground, greedy fingers reaching into pockets and meaty hands shoving my face into the pavement. A sharp knee drove into my back and a booted foot caught me in the hip. Motherfucking assholes.

  It was over almost as quickly as it began. Three figures running into the night, past a shocked Brick who stood there gaping like an idiot.

  Just then, Carl brought the car around. Would arriving one minute sooner have killed him? Jesus. I struggled to stand up, but my body rejected the idea. Never mind. I’d just lay there instead.

  Once Brick had come to his senses, he’d admitted noticing those three guys eyeing me in the club earlier but had thought they were harmless. It was like the man had the instincts of a jellyfish.

  A couple of days later, when I was patched up and over my initial shock, I paid a visit to my security company. The owner of On Your Six, Joel Healy, had the rare opportunity to be on the receiving end of my anger.

  I never got angry. Ever. But I’d also never been jumped in an alley. Since the attack, I was easily spooked. If anyone walked into a room unexpectedly, I jumped or squeaked like a child. The fear left me feeling fragile and vulnerable which pissed me the hell off.

  After screaming at Joel for assigning Brick in the first place, I demanded he get serious about assigning me someone permanent I could rely on to watch my back.

  “Joel, he saw the guys watching me, and it didn’t occur to him something was up. What the fuck? I’m paying you to protect me and I end up getting jumped by three men in an alley right in front of my own goddamned bodyguard?” I yelled. “Get me someone reliable and preferably not currently involved in a threesome relationship with the goddamned 49ers cheerleading squad!”

  At this point several of the men who worked for Joel had found excuses to walk past the conference room. I’m sure seeing Jude Marian lose his ever-loving shit was something to write home about.

  “I hear you, Jude, and I’m on it. I’ve already assigned Brick’s replacement. He’s here right now if you want to meet him. His name is Derek Wolfe and we served in the Marines together. He’s the best. The guy was special ops and has a knack for reading faces and body language,” Joel said.

  I let out a breath. Special ops. Good. That was reassuring. Not some regular club bouncer type, but a serious soldier who had combat training. Maybe I could go back to getting a full night’s sleep again under the protection of someone like that.

  “Okay. Let’s meet him,” I said, standing up.

  Joel led me to the gym in the back of the warehouse office. Several men and women were there working out on the equipment and music pumped from somewhere in the room.

  “Hey, guys,” Joel called into the space. “Has anyone seen Wolfe?”

  “Locker room,” one man called back.

  We headed to the locker room to find him. And boy did we find him.

  The man was standing at a bench in front of his locker. Imagine the picture-perfect example of a Marine - towering height, muscles bulging everywhere, covered in tattoos and combat scars. This man was all of those things with one exception. His skin was pristine. There wasn’t a single mark or scar that I could see. And I could see a lot. Miles and miles of lightly tanned skin, still wet from the shower and barely covered by the tiny towel at his hips.

  Derek Wolfe was six and a half feet of pure delicious sex appeal. His body was a chiseled rock face and I wanted nothing more than to climb to the top.


  Oh shit.

  This was going to be a problem.

  “Derek Wolfe, this is Jude Marian,” Joel said. “Jude, this is Derek.”

  The man’s face lit up in a sexy smirk as he reached out a hand to shake. This wasn’t happening.

  Get a grip, Jude. Jesus.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I hear your new tour starts in a few days. Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you out of my sight for the next six months.”

  1

  Derek - Six Months Later

  If I had to hear the song “Bluebells” one more fucking time, I thought I was going to vomit backstage before Jude even finished the first chord of the intro. I wanted someone to shoot me in the face. Give me a good old rendition of “Born to Be Wild” and I’d be a happy man. But I wasn’t Steppenwolf’s bodyguard. I was Jude’s. Yes, the Jude of Jude and the Saints, three-time Grammy-winning country music superstar and total pain in my ass.

  My head pounded, and I was ready to be done for the day. Unfortunately, the last song of the encore was usually when my night really heated up. As soon as the star himself stepped off the stage, it would be balls-to-the wall security threats until I practically tucked the little guy into his bed around 2 a.m.

  This concert was a taste of freedom, landing us in our hometown for one night before the tour took us on the road again the following day. In three days’ time, Jude and the Saints were going to be performing their final concert of the tour at the Hollywood Bowl. Finally. The tour had lasted six months, and I was so sick of the same damned songs. At least we’d have four or five months off before his manager, Clint, pressured him to go out on tour again.

  Jude’s personal assistant, Ollie, stood next to me with a small towel and an ice-cold bottle of water ready for Jude the minute he finished performing. She was one of my favorite people to hang out with during downtime because she was batshit crazy. Six feet tall and sporting hot-pink spiky hair, she was about as sassy as they came. Half of Jude’s fans thought she was his girlfriend, but the two of them were really best friends from grade school. No, Jude’s actual girlfriend was a piece of work, and not the good kind.

  I could never remember the woman’s name because it was something made up and stupid. Bentley? Barkley? Dandelion? Anyway, she was a wannabe country singer herself, and those of us paying attention could see she was one hundred percent using Jude as a stepping-stone to get into the business. Her singing skills were equivalent to Jim Carrey trying to sing Evita. It was pretty rough. Even money-hungry Clint wouldn’t take her on as a client. And he was a sucker for a hot piece of ass.

  The woman was what my dad would call a whole lotta nothin’ wrapped up with a pretty bow. She was never there for Jude when he seemed to really need a friend, but she magically showed up if he needed someone to accompany him on a red carpet. His family despised her and pretty much pretended she didn’t exist. The feeling was mutual.

  When the man himself came jogging offstage, he was electrified. If I had just danced, played guitar, and sung under the hot stage lights for two hours, I’d be about ready for a cold beer and a recliner. Not this guy. Performing cranked all of Jude’s switches to maximum. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was on drugs like so many other famous musicians. But he wasn’t. He was a vegetarian health nut. The kind of weirdo who’d much rather have a green smoothie than a nice juicy burger.

  Ollie handed Jude the towel and water as the three of us hustled back to the dressing room.

  “How was it?” Jude asked Ollie. He knew better than to ask me. First of all, I was usually quiet and tried to be invisible. Second of all, I hated country music and he knew it.

  “Great, baby cakes. How did it feel?” Ollie humored him.

  “Amazing. I was exhausted before going out there, but they were a good crowd.” He wiped the sweat off his face with the towel as we entered the room. I quickly closed the door behind us and stood in front of it to go over our plan for greeting the crowd after he showered and changed.

  I began to speak as Jude pulled off his black boots, and I tried not to roll my eyes. Granted they were more like motorcycle boots than cowboy boots, but they still made him look like a poser. Jude was way more himself when he was wearing his red Converse sneakers. He was significantly shorter than I was and had the lean muscles of a runner. I’d heard people refer to him as petite, but that may have been due to the fact he was always seen standing next to me or someone my size. His long brown hair was thick and wavy and did rude things to the fit of my pants. I really thought he should get it cut off so I could concentrate on my fucking job.

  “Jude, Clint has arranged for you to spend half an hour shaking hands in the lobby with a couple hundred select VIPs. They are allowed to ask for autographs and photos, but Clint wanted me to remind you to keep moving. Don’t get stuck in a conversation with one person.”

  One of the things that drove me crazy about being Jude’s personal bodyguard was his over-the-top friendliness with his fans. No one could be that nice in real life. He was all smiles and bubbly chitchat until he was alone. And then he was a quiet, sometimes brooding, artist.

  I had never been able to reconcile the two Judes, and it frustrated me.

  I continued, “After that, we will exit through the backstage loading door where the cars will be waiting. You have dinner with Lawrence Hammond and his family at El Manjar. Clint will meet you there with… what’s her name,” I finished.

  Jude stripped off his sweaty T-shirt and I tried not to look at his bare upper body. Eyes on the ceiling, Wolfe. Nothing to see here. You’ve seen his ripped chest and abs enough to reproduce them in your dreams every fucking night, so there is absolutely no need to look at them again. I looked down at the very interesting hangnail on my index finger instead.

  “Wolfe, I’ve been seeing her for months and you still don’t know her name?” Jude asked. “Really?”

  “Paisley?” I guessed.

  Jude snorted as he began undoing the fly of his jeans. Holy mother of god, how was I going to continue talking to him while he was wrestling off tight pants? Things were jiggling, for god’s sake. Think of something else, Wolfe. Weeping sores, naked grandmas, anything. You can do this.

  “Not Paisley.” Jude chuckled in his melodic voice. “But close. It’s Jae.”

  “Like hell,” I muttered under my breath.

  Jude turned around and finished pulling his jeans off as he walked into the small bathroom, leaving on only a thin pair of royal blue boxer briefs. Not that I noticed, because I was totally doing triage on my fingernail problem.

  “Wolfe, I’m counting on you to bust me out of that dinner as soon as humanly possible,” he called back over his shoulder. “You know that guy always tries to set me up with his daughter even if Jae is there.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” I called back to him, letting out a sigh of relief as he turned out of sight before revealing his perfect freaking ass. Jesus, I needed a shot of vodka.

  I turned to look for a bottle of water instead and caught Ollie staring at me. “What?” I snapped.

  She burst out laughing. “Oh, Wolfe. You don’t fool me one single bit.”

  I looked at her with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, feeling my blood run cold and my stomach begin to knot. No way could she tell how much I was lusting after Judy’s body. Could she?

  “You know exactly what Jae’s name is. No way in hell would you let someone that close to Jude without knowing every single thing about her.” I felt my insides relax and I prayed it didn’t include bowels loosening. The last thing I was expecting that night was a sudden outing after thirty-one years of being nice and cozy in the closet. “You just don’t like her and you delight in reminding Jude every chance you get, don’t you?”

  I smiled a shit-eating grin at her. “Don’t you?”

  She laughed. “Hell yeah, you know I do. I hate that skank. But I also know better than to believe everything I see, Derek. Sometimes people aren’t what you
think they are. Be careful you don’t fall into the trap of judging an apple by its skin.”

  I was just getting ready to tell her I thought she got that saying wrong when Jude came out of the bathroom dripping wet with only a small towel slung low around his hips. Goddammit. I needed hazard pay for this crap. If I wanted to pretend to ignore sexy men roaming around in their skivvies, I’d re-up in the damned Marines. Ollie handed me something out of her big bag.

  “What’s this for?” I asked, holding the fingernail clipper.

  “Didn’t you want to go back to fixing that pesky invisible hangnail?” she asked. Shit.

  “Never mind,” I muttered, chucking it back in her bag.

  I looked at my watch and turned back to Jude. “Put a spring in your step, Bluebell,” I told him. “Time’s a-wasting.”

  He finished buttoning his fresh blue jeans and slipped a crisp charcoal-gray button-down shirt over a faded Clint Black concert tee.

  “Coming. Jesus, you’d think I work for you the way you boss me around sometimes,” he muttered. “Let me just grab a banana. I’m starving.”

  I tossed him a banana from the bunch in the bowl on the coffee table and stuck a pack of peanuts in my pocket to tide me over through Jude’s dinner meeting. I’d eaten something a few hours before, but I still had several more hours before I’d get a chance to sit down again and relax long enough to eat another meal.

  Jude left the shirt unbuttoned and rolled up his cuffs before slipping the boots back on. I caught a whiff of his clean, soapy smell and hid a smile. I loved the way he smelled after he’d gotten out of the shower. It didn’t matter what kind of soap he used, he always smelled like soapy Jude.

  He peeled the banana and put his full lips around it to break off a piece. Anndd hell. I turned and put my hand on the doorknob to wait for the signal he was ready to go meet his fans. After months of lusting over the body of a person I didn’t much care for, I was over it. Maybe I needed to request a new assignment. What danger was this guy really in anyway? Rabid teen fan tries to maul him with a permanent marker? Middle-aged woman tries to hug him to death? Not likely.