Chapter Five
Hudson
“ N o! I can do it!”
Against my better judgement, I’m having drinks after a constructive dinner with Scarlett and enjoying myself.
The conversation meandered as we ate and sipped wine, because knowing all the hard facts in a four-week whirlwind relationship is red flag territory. Getting to know each other on the base level and clicking is more important. The other facts I can get, like anyone, and I’ll do that, but this is the foundation, and against the odds, there’s something there. A spark I can use, an attraction that’s real.
Right now we’re in a cozy little bar that’s all velvet and leather and low lights near her apartment. It’s one of those gems I wouldn’t know about, but Ryder does. And it’s exactly the perfect mix of laid back and intimate seduction.
“You can’t,” I say, my fingers loose on my Scotch glass as she ignores her lavender and bergamot martini and tries to tie a cherry stem in her mouth.
I don’t think she realizes just how erotic it is. That focus on her soft mouth and rose lips that no longer seem to have lipstick on them. I don’t think she knows the thoughts that go through a man’s head as he pictures her tongue moving, trying intricate moves in her wet mouth, and what those moves might feel like on his skin, in his mouth, on his cock.
“Damn.” She laughs and grabs a napkin and pulls it out. “Maybe I’ve lost that skill.”
“Maybe you never had it at all.”
“I might have been very drunk at college when I did it, but I did.”
She’s fearless. Not in the scale every mountain sense and swim with sharks, but fearless in how she might come across, fearless about the potential of making a fool of herself.
It’s guileless, subconscious, and incredibly sexy, and she doesn’t even know.
The woman rides about in shiny pants for crying out loud, and she shatters that pampered rich girl mode where looks and presentation and decorum are everything.
I’m aware there are the fame chasers, the outrageous heiresses, but I don’t go near that type and she doesn’t have that about her, either.
It’s just her. Scarlett.
And it’s something I can work with.
She leans in and her hand comes down on my thigh. The electric buzz of her touch ignites things inside and I shift a little closer to her because I want to, because I’m compelled to, and because I want to breathe in that flowery green scent of her with that erotic edge I didn’t notice earlier.
“Your turn,” Scarlett says looking up at me, a smile bringing her face alive in a way that makes my heart thump a little harder.
“Oh hell no, I don’t do that shit.”
The smile doesn’t fade as she leans in a little more, her hand staying where it is and says, “I bet you studied hard and smart, and when you got drunk, you kept it in check. Maybe sowed a few wild oats, but judiciously. And you did everything ahead.”
“You have an advantage,” I murmur, hooking a lock of her dark honey hair behind her left ear. Her hair is soft as silk and heavier than I thought, while her skin is like satin as my fingers brush against her cheek.
“I do?”
Her breath hitches a little and her pupils dilate and I know she’s turned on. It’s good, this. It makes everything so much better.
“Yeah,” I say, upping the charm a little, because having her where I want her is needed. “Your cousin?”
She frowns, and before she can say a word, my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull back, finding it a little harder than I should. Compartmentalizing is easy. And this should be easiest of all.
“Oh, fuck.”
“You have a secret wife you keep in your attic and she escaped?”
I laugh against my will at her weirdness. Is she quoting one of those Bronte novels? “No. Worse. My mother.”
Spoke to Jenson. I’m coming to see you now. Text address.
That’s my mother all over. She isn’t overly interfering, and for some reason, long after the divorce, she’d turn up to pick up the pieces and hand my father to the next in the line of younger and younger wives. But she isn’t to be denied when she decides something, and meeting Scarlett suddenly hit the top of her to-do list.
I check my watch. It’s only nine thirty and she lives near here.
“What about her?”
“She wants to meet you.”
Scarlett looks completely horrified. “Why would you tell her now?”
“I didn’t. I had to sign something for Jenson…” I trail off. Ryder. This place, my mother, it’s got him written all over it. I’m going to beat the living shit out of him when I see him next.
It’s too early. I know that. I figured since I had four weeks, I’d do the introduction if I had to as close to week four as possible, but then again…if we got it over and done with and my mother put her stamp of approval on this, half the job would be done. Right?
That’s if it works.
I eye Scarlett and she eyes me right back. The air is thick with a different sort of tension from the one before.
“Your mother?” she hisses, her fingers digging into my thigh. “Don’t you think it’s weird as we just met?”
“She believes in love.”
“And you don’t?”
“Come on, Scarlett. Like you do. This is money, nothing more.”
For a moment I think she’s going to argue, but the fire that leaps in those hazel eyes dampens and she draws back. “What’s love got to do with it, anyway?”
“Just pretend you’re besotted.”
Scarlett grabs my chin, which I don’t think anyone’s done since I was five, and drags my face to hers. “How’s this for besotted?” And she kisses me.
It’s a smack of a kiss that sends all sorts of vibrations rolling through me. Just lips on lips and it’s not sexual or romantic but I still react and someone, above the low music I’ve somehow forgotten is there, clears their throat.
She lets go of me and turns a dark shade of rose.
My mother stands, perfect as always, not overly dressed but on point in a classic black tailored dress and sensible heels. I can’t read her expression as she focuses on Scarlett and takes a seat without asking.
“Hudson, be a dear and get me a drink. A mint julep.”
I’m about to find a waitress when my mother pins me with a look. “From the bar.”
By the time I return, I’m already thinking how to spin this. Ryder’s not responding to my texts, which is typical. Weaving through the people to get to the oversize sofa and chair that’s tucked in the corner, I see my mother has now taken my place next to Scarlett.
As I sit, my mother takes the drink and barely acknowledges me, which I indulge. After all, it’s my mother and I need to play all this close to the bone.
But she’s smiling and even laughing with Scarlett, which shocks me a little. Not that my mother laughing is a shock, she’s been known to do that, but Scarlett isn’t the type of woman I’d normally pick, and I certainly don’t introduce them to the woman who birthed me, unless I run into my mother at an event.
“Good to see you having fun,” I say, sliding my gaze from one to the other.
My mother’s smile turns on me as she takes a sip of her drink. “Your…new PA was telling me some delightful stories about training computers.”
Oh Christ. What the actual hell?
But while color flares in Scarlett’s cheeks, my mother starts chatting about this and that, different social events coming up that I only ever attend when I have to for business or family obligations. And in those questions are nestled little ones about me and Scarlett.
It could all go terribly, horribly wrong, but it doesn’t. Ms. Colton keeps things moving and close to the truth and generic.
When she excuses herself for the bathroom, my mother leans in and says, “Not your usual, Hudson. Maybe you’re learning. Tell her we’ll have lunch.”
I narrow my eyes. “This is a business thing.”
“With tongues?” She smiles again, cat-like this time, her carefully made-up eyes crinkling. “Far be it from me to lecture you on mixing business and pleasure, Hudson. But make sure it’s worth it.”
And with that, she leaves.
I’ve no idea if I’ve won a round or what, but one thing’s for sure, my mother knows about the letter and that means I need to play things very carefully.
After all, I want that inheritance. It’s mine.
It doesn’t take long to settle back into the easy conversation with Scarlett, and even though I don’t want to, I have to end the evening. So I walk her home. It’s a slow walk through the park where the lights draw the lovers out.
“You survived.”
“Dinner and drinks, or you?” she asks, matching her steps to my longer one.
I arch a brow at her and pull her out of the way of a cyclist. “My mother.”
“She seems nice.” She pauses. “Scary, but nice. I guess now I know where you get it from.”
“Which part?” My hand brushes hers and I want to thread my fingers with hers, bring her closer against me. I don’t.
She lifts a hand to brush hair out of her face that the night breeze sends there, the warmth of the air tinged with a cool touch, and she half smiles. “Definitely the scary part.”
I’m telling myself the only reason I didn’t want to end the evening, and the only reason we’re walking so slow, is because every minute counts. Time is short. Time is money. And I have a lot I want to get done.
It’s not just my share of the jewels, it’s the piece of the Sinclair legacy in the family business. I have power and money, but these are things I can’t buy and this woman next to me is my ticket to get what I want.
That’s the reason, and no other.
We come out of the park and onto Park Avenue South and finally her building is there. I stop near the entrance, close enough she doesn’t have far, and distant enough there are shadows that cloak.
There’s a point of no return coming, and my mother’s appearance tonight brings it into sharp focus. I have a few days, maybe a week, in which I can’t choose someone else. I’d have to change my plans slightly if I do, either keep Scarlett on with the job or fire her, but at that point, it’s null and void. I’d find another woman, and have this as just a flirtation and nothing more.
My mind ticks with ideas and ways to be smart about it if things go askew. But I’m hoping not.
We click, and that’s a big push in the right direction.
“Well,” she says, looking up at me. “Thanks for everything.”
I’m suddenly aware this is the time when one of us should suggest going upstairs if this was something else.
“What was the thing about computers?”
Scarlett frowns. “Oh. I saw…I saw a program on training AIs and I told her how fascinating it was.”
I laugh. “She was probably beyond relieved you weren’t talking about fashion shows and the Hamptons.”
And then Scarlett does something unexpected. She rises up to brush her mouth against my cheek.
Her lips are softer than the smack on the mouth she gave me at the bar. Soft and warm and something I want to taste.
I don’t think. I slide my hands up her arms and hold her, my gaze colliding with hers. Those hazel depths are liquid and full of something that looks like desire.
So I do it. I brush my mouth against hers in a teasing taste of a kiss.
And she moans. A soft little sound. And it calls to me.
This time it isn’t about thinking or not thinking. It’s just feeling.
“I’m going to kiss you again,” I say, running a thumb over her lips, parting them, “thoroughly.”
Once more, I lower my mouth to hers.