Abyss (Elements of Rapture Book 4)

13. Kavi

KAVI

“I’ll walk you through the apartment. You can have your pick of whichever room you want, besides mine.”

Hudson’s deep voice rumbles around me in his expansive foyer. He puts his keys in a bowl on an entryway table and hands me another set with a small metal orange hanging off it. I roll the orange between my fingers, noting how different and simple it looks in this lavish foyer.

“They’re yours as long as you’re here,” he says nonchalantly, picking up some unopened mail sitting on a tray, reading over the front. His gaze turns my way, noting my silence before flicking down to the keychain in my hand. “Figured it would be easy to recognize your keys since you’re always wearing . . .” he waves in my direction, at the strawberry graphic on my tank top, “fruit.”

I stare at him, silently because words seem to have escaped me, before finally mumbling, “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

He stiffens, throwing the mail back into the tray. “It has nothing to do with being thoughtful; just practical and part of our business arrangement. Don’t overthink it.”

Well, okay then. Looks like Mr. Personality is back.

But, of course, who would I be if not one to poke the bear?

“And that apartment hunt yesterday?” I ask, brows high, my crossbody purse and my backpack around my shoulders. “What was that? Another businessarrangement?”

Hudson slides his hands into his suit pants pockets, squaring his shoulders while looking down his nose at me.

Goddamn. I’ve never met a man who could look both powerful and relaxed at the same time. The touch of nonchalance in his otherwise arrogant and professional demeanor, the scent of his cologne, and the way his blue-grays focus on me has me itching to leap forward and bask in his attention and run in the other direction, all at the same time.

He’s your friend’s dad and your boss. Get a grip, woman!

“That was my permanent admin, Belinda, twisting my arm into making sure I helped you find something. Do you actually think I’d have the time to make those appointments or the interest in spending half my day running around town with you?”

Oh.

Well, that stings.

My chest burns, watching him turn on his heels and walk past the fogged glass wall separating his foyer from the rest of the house. I follow behind him, any positive feelings I’d gathered over the past two days turning to ash with each hesitant step.

Of course, he wouldn’t have had the time to do any of that yesterday. From what I can tell, the man barely does anything but work. I was delusional to think he’d actually want to spare his precious time with me, voluntarily, taking me apartment hunting.

Clearly, Belinda made him feel guilty, and he did it out of obligation. It’s probably why he was so reserved and quiet on the flight back and the ride he gave me back home.

I thought maybe he was reconsidering me moving in today, but when I asked if that was the case, he simply said, “I don’t make decisions I have to take back. The movers will be at your place early tomorrow.”

And with that, he’d simply driven off, with me watching after his truck in silence for a few moments.

I barely had time to think more about his words. As soon as I walked into the house, Mom was on my tail, bombarding me with questions. “How was the trip? Did you fly on his personal jet? Did you like Portland?”

And, of course, the last one that wasn’t much of a question at all. “I only got a glimpse of your boss. You never told me he was so handsome.”

To which I answered, “I must have forgotten between all the times I told you what a prick he was.”

I won’t say it was easy to explain why I was moving in with Hudson to my mother. She understood that it would significantly reduce my commute to work, but she had her concerns about me living with someone who, up until now, I’d only complained about. She also didn’t love the idea of not having me around for what she called “my last summer”.

As if I was going to die by the end of it.

In the end, though, Mom’s always trusted my decisions, so she went along without giving me more grief. Plus, she had more pressing things to discuss, like the fact that she’d accidentally broken our garbage disposal. “It’s possible a couple of avocado pits dropped in there.”

Yes, because avocado pits just loved jumping into drains and causing technical failures.

I spent the next hour trying to get that thing to work again before finally deciding to call a plumber to fix it.

Hudson waves to the kitchen. “Feel free to use anything here. The fridge is always stocked, but if you need anything, I have a running list attached to the front. You can always add whatever you want on there, and my personal shopper will get it for you.”

I nod, taking in the grand kitchen and the beautiful appliances. I’m not planning on using his shopper. The fact that he’s already paying me enough to take care of my family for the rest of the year is plenty for me. “Do you cook?”

He shrugs. “Being a single dad, I learned a few recipes over the years.”

After showing me around the living and dining rooms, both with beautiful views of the Bay, Hudson takes me to one wing of the apartment with several rooms.

He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “My room is on the other side. Here are a few open rooms. I’ll have the movers put your stuff in whichever one you pick.”

I look through each one and walk into one with a double-sized bed instead of the king-sized ones like in the others. “I’ll take this one.”

His brows pinch. “You don’t want one of the others? This is the smallest of the three.”

I shake my head. “It’s double the size of any room I’ve ever stayed in. It’s plenty for me.”

The corners of his eyes soften for a moment before he nods. “There’s an attached bath right through that door. Again, if you need anything, just let my shopper know.”

I settle my purse and backpack on the bed, noting the high thread count sheets and the beautiful headboard. The room is modern and tastefully decorated.

Hudson seems to linger in the doorway for a moment. But, right before he leaves, he clears his throat. “If you need a ride anywhere, just let Aaron know.” He refers to his driver. “His number, along with the shopper’s, is on the side of the fridge.”

“Thank you,” I reply, knowing I won’t be utilizing either. I plan to wake up early and walk to work every day, and if I need to go anywhere farther, I’ll use the subway or grab a taxi.

The lesser I get roped into Hudson’s lifestyle, the better. I won’t have it after this summer, anyway.

Speaking of which, I really do need to find an apartment in Portland.

I make a mental note to look for places online after I go out for groceries today.

I’m hoping to make the cheesy jalape?o cornbread from my recipe book tonight and take it with me to class tomorrow. The kids are always excited when I bring in goodies I’ve baked.

Having freshened up fifteen minutes later, I leave my room, only to find the house empty. Or I think it’s empty. I can’t really tell since it’s so quiet. Despite my curiosity, I don’t have the courage to go searching for Hudson on the other side.

Nor do I have a death wish.

With the curt and abrasive way he came off today, I’m inclined to stay as far away as possible.

He’s right. This is just a business arrangement. We’re not two friends cohabiting an apartment together. Nor are we strangers paying equal amounts for space in the same home.

I’m getting paid for being at his beck and call for work purposes, not staying here for my own pleasure.

Grabbing my keys, I make my way out of his apartment, taking the elevator down to the first floor.

Thankfully, the rain has let up, though the dark clouds continue to linger. Walking out of Hudson’s high-rise, I catch a cab to a home goods store to purchase a few inexpensive cooking essentials. Afterward, I find a grocery store and grab ingredients for the cornbread and lunches for the week.

I’m supposed to be getting paid this week, so I don’t feel too bad about splurging on a few brand-name ingredients versus my go-to generic ones, but I make sure to stay within my meager budget.

With bags hauled over my shoulders, I exit the grocery store, scanning my receipt. Just as I reach the curb to hail another taxi, my boot gets caught in a broken dip in the concrete pavement. My body launches forward, hands instinctively reaching forward to brace for impact as my bags slip down my arms.

I’m so taken aback by the fall, I don’t have time to save the baking dish I just purchased. It lands, along with my palms and one knee, on the unforgiving pavement, and I cringe at the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

“Oof!” I hiss as I stuff the rolling can of sweet corn back inside my bag and gingerly gather myself back to my feet.

“You okay, lady?”

With my head still buzzing from the fall, I turn toward the voice of a stranger—an older black man with a concerned look on his face.

Giving him a small smile for his kindness, noting how the rest of the world continues right past me, I nod. “Yeah, just lost my footing, I guess.”

He points at my open palms, and I look down at the bloody and mangled skin there. “You’ll need to clean that up.”

I tell him I will as soon as I get home before throwing my aching hand up in the air to hail the next cab.

With my knee and hands throbbing, I make my way back up to the apartment. Thankfully, Hudson is nowhere in sight.

Leaving my things on the kitchen counter, I walk over to my bedroom to rinse my hands when I notice the boxes on the floor. Looks like the movers came.

After gently washing my hands with soap, I search inside the cabinet drawers for bandaids, to no avail.

I’m just making my way out of my room to see if I can find a first aid kit somewhere when I notice something. Or rather, the lack of some things.

Where are my painting supplies and canvases? I know I packed them last night. Did the movers forget to bring them? God, I hope not. I’m supposed to be taking some of them to class tomorrow.

Ignoring the pain on my palms for a few seconds, I peek inside the room in front of mine—the one that is now flooded with the afternoon sun, which is a rare sighting over the past few rainy days.

Except, instead of the bed and dresser I saw in there earlier, it’s now filled with all my painting supplies—my easel placed directly in front of the large picture window, displaying one of my unfinished pieces.

My jaw drops as my mind races to catch up with the changes in the room over the past two hours. Not only did my enigmatic boss clear out the space, but the movers had tastefully arranged all my supplies and canvases inside.

Was this also an instruction from Belinda?

I don’t have an envious bone in my body for her; she’s been nothing but kind and supportive, even defending me during the public dressing-down I received from Mr. Hot and Cold. But I can’t say I’m not curious about how she persuades him.

Speaking of curiosity, I wonder what her reaction was to my move into his home. While she updated me about her pregnancy, telling me the baby would be here any day now, conversation about my move never came up in our recent messages.

So, either she doesn’t know or it was too weird for her. I get it; finding out your boss moved his temporary admin into his home to retain a client is definitely a surprising twist.

I’m also unsure if he’s told Madison.

I don’t know why the thought has my stomach in knots.

While I know her well enough to know she’s both laid back and understanding, I don’t know how she would feel about me living in the same house as her dad. Would she find it weird, like some sort of breach of friendship rules? Would she understand the situation from my perspective—that I can’t afford to live near work, and that it’s all a temporary means for the summer?

Not knowing is making me think the worst, and it’s something I have to discuss with Hudson before I see Madison again.

Giving up on finding a first aid kit after looking in the hallway bathroom and a couple of kitchen drawers, I begin to unload the groceries, wincing from the ache in my palms.

The soft glide of Hudson’s feet over the wooden floor steals my attention from the bags. My gaze fixates on his bare feet peeking out from under—and there goes my heart kicking into high gear—gray sweatpants.

They hug his thighs—the very thighs my eyes can’t seem to unclasp from—resting snugly around his waist.

But that’s not what I’m currently gawking at.

What I’m currently hyperventilating about internally is the rather plentiful bulge that’s visible through the thick material. Is he packing a gun in there? A garden hose, perhaps?

Realizing I’ve gone completely brain dead, I quickly trail up his form-fitting white shirt, noting his large pecs and massive biceps, before finding his eyes.

He tries to hide a smirk, moving past me to grab something from the fridge. “You went shopping?”

I busy myself with the groceries, taking out the box of ground cornmeal. I frown when I find a few eggs broken inside the carton.

Hoping not to draw any attention to my eventful outing, I answer Hudson’s question, “Yeah, just needed a few things.”

After taking a sip of the protein shake in his hand, he scans the items on his counter. “You could have asked . . .” He steps forward, eyebrows pinched. “Why is that dish broken?”

I remove the whisk and large metal bowls from the same bag as the broken casserole dish, hastily gathering the fragments in my hands. I should have thrown it out in the trash as soon as I got home.

I was really looking forward to making cornbread tonight. I’m sure Hudson has a casserole dish, but I don’t want to ask—nor do I want to take his stuff to class tomorrow. I don’t want to borrow someone else’s things and be responsible for them. What if I break it or accidentally forget it, or—

“Ouch!” I yelp when a sliver of glass slices my palm and blood pools over my cut.

Jesus. Today is just not my day.

Hudson quickly sets his drink on the counter and rushes toward me, pulling the bag out of my hands and discarding it in the trash can.

His gentle yet callused hand grabs mine, bringing it to him. “What—” He scans it closer while I try to pull it back. “Kavi, why is your entire hand scraped up?”

I try to wiggle my hand free, closing my fist as pain shoots up my forearm. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Hudson counters, refusing to let me go as he guides me toward the sink. With me in his determined grip, he turns on the faucet and gently tugs my hand under the cool water.

I let out a soft hiss, thanking the Lord that it’s not a deep cut. I really can’t afford any more emergency room bills at the moment, given I still have to pay for Neil’s appendectomy.

Hudson brings over a towel when my hand seems sufficiently clean and pats it down. In the process, however, his gaze falls to my other hand, currently at my side in a fist. With a puzzled expression on his face, he gently pulls it toward him before meeting my gaze. “Open it.”

I shake my head, like a kid intent on not getting caught with candy in her fist. “It’s nothing, Hudson. Just a scrape.”

His jaw ticks. Oh, here we go with the jaw ticking. “Kavi, openit.”

I take in a long breath, unfolding my fingers.

His frown deepens. “Jesus. Did you decide to put your hands inside a blender today?”

Again, I try to drag it away from his grasp, but he doesn’t let me budge. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? Even your sunny personality couldn’t make me do that. Though, I won’t lie, I have thought about it after meeting you.”

His frown softens, the tiniest smile playing at the corners of his lips as he examines both sides of my hands. “Let’s get you cleaned up and bandaged.”

I successfully unlock my wrists from his hold. “I can do it. Just tell me where the first aid kit is.”

“Kavi.”

Before he can stop me, I rush—okay, stumble—out of the kitchen, without a clue as to which direction I’m headed.

But his outraged voice behind me has me coming to a quick stop. “Kavi, what the fuck?”

I turn to find his eyes locked on my leg.

Following his gaze, I wince at the deep red stain over my tights.

Oh, right. My knee.

With the fresh new cut on my palm, I’d completely forgotten about my knee. But just the mere sight of it shoots renewed bolts of pain through my thigh.

“It’s fine,” I declare, about to turn when Hudson’s voice stops me again.

“Stop.” He ambles over to me, grabbing my elbow. “It’s not fine. You’re limping, for God’s sake.”

“Hudson—”

Before I can say another word, Hudson swoops me up, so I’m bent over his shoulder, my arms dangling near his ass. I’m so shocked by the movement, I lose my train of thought, and vocabulary, for that matter.

A moment later, I’m seated on his bathroom counter, trying to look at everything but his furious face.

Nice tub. Plush towels.

Ooh, I bet that shower can hold a dozen people. Maybe he has parties in there.

What pretty light fixtures—

“Ahh!” I’m taken out of my purposeful avoidance of conversation when he slides an alcoholic wipe over my cut, and I scream. Yeah, I’m a baby like that. Sue me.

He glares at me. “You have a deep cut, scraped hands, and a knee that’s probably throbbing, but this is what makes you scream?” He goes back to dabbing the rest of my hand with the wipe, murmuring, “Hold still.”

Not wanting to prolong this for either of us, I do what he says while I secretly admire his delicious cupid’s bow.

“What happened?” He doesn’t look at me, focused on his task.

“The pavement came at me like a madman,” I mumble.

He aims a scowl at my face. “I told you to write your grocery list down for my shopper. Or you could have called her if you needed something urgently.”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to bother her.”

“Kavi, it’s her job. I pay her to do it.”

Right. Like he pays me to stay here because this is a business arrangement.

He notes my silence. “You didn’t take the car, either.”

He must have noticed that somehow, or maybe he spoke to Aaron.

I watch the way he puts ointment on my cut—gently, carefully. “I like the scent of aged perspiration inside the city’s taxis.”

I get another one of his unimpressed looks. The one that clearly says he knows I’m trying to be funny, but he doesn’t find me humorous. And for reasons beyond my comprehension, there is something enticing about making him laugh.

Maybe I’ll make it a summer goal: Get Hudson Case to finally break a smile for real on his ever-scowling face.

I clear my throat after a moment. “Thank you for clearing out the room for my canvases. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome.”

That’s it. Two words, and he’s done with that conversation.

Okay, then. I’ll just go back to my daily scheduled programming of staring at his cupid’s bow.

While he finishes wrapping my hand with a bandage, I trace his face with my eyes, noting the lines fanning off the corners of his eyes. From there, I scan the gray hair at the edges of his forehead and sideburns before returning to count the handful of freckles over the bridge of his nose.

Belinda told me his job used to require him to be outside a lot. He would work right along with his environmental and earth scientists, like himself, examining the soil and managing excavations. But since his company grew, he does less work outdoors.

So why are his fingers still callused?

God, those fingers. What is it about the man’s fingers that have me wiggling where I sit? What is it about his clean, short nails, and his—

“Take off your pants.”

A record scratch resounds in my head, all music abruptly coming to an end.

Did I hear him right? Maybe I was hallucinating a sex scene with him in it. God knows—He’s the only one who knows—I’ve done it before.

I blink at him. “Generally, you’d take a girl out to dinner before asking her to take off her pants.”

Hudson glares at me harder. As usual, he doesn’t have any laughs to spare at my joke. “Kavi, I said, take off your pants. I need to clean up your knee.”

“Absolutely not!”

I make an attempt to jump off the counter, but he’s caged me in with his hands on both sides of my thighs, his face inches from mine and his breath fanning my lips. “Kav . . .”

Oh, no. He must know my nickname on his lips is kryptonite.

With my heart thumping, my eyes drop to his mouth again. This time, I know he notices. I mean, how can he not? Especially when I’m licking my lips. I can’t help it, it’s like an instinctual reaction to those pink pillows of his.

Something sizzles, crackles, and hisses.

A charge that has my nerve endings standing.

Reluctantly, I drag my eyes up to meet his gaze. “Hudson, I’m perfectly capable of cleaning up my own knee. There’s no way I’m taking my pants off in front of my boss, for crying out loud.”

His eyes flare.

And for a second, I swear he’s inside my head, watching me wriggle out of my tights before I sashay toward him like a practiced seductress.

His voice is low and raspy when he finally speaks. “Then I suggest you get the fuck out of my bathroom before I make you take them off.”

And with that, I’m hobbling out of there as fast as the charged air can take me.