Chapter Thirteen
Hudson
I ’m being mean to her.
The thought trickles into my brain about an hour into our work.
Or, should I say, was.
Since I taunted her, it’s been work and pure business politeness, which from the way the smile’s gone and the light’s dimmed in her, says it might be worse.
My office is spacious, the kind of spacious it could be carved into a three-bedroom apartment. Yet it feels small.
The last of the day’s sunlight is streaming, giving the place a buoyancy that doesn’t feel that way. No, it feels dark and oppressive, and like I need to get the fuck out and get some fresh air.
Scarlett’s also mad.
Not a tantrum throwing, look at me anger, but something deeper, more real, and that circles back to hurt.
I’m not a cruel person, at least, I don’t go out of my way to do so. That doesn’t get me the results I want in business. Obviously, I’m no pushover but the fact she’s hurting is…
Leaning back in the armchair angled next to the sofa, I think about it as I lock my fingers together over my abs.
I really have no idea why I said that. But there’s something, deep down, that says differently. It’s her. Everything about her and the ways she surprises me; her scent, her mind, that mouth.
There’s no way around it. I’m way too attracted to her.
Fuck.
I push up and go to the wet bar and pour a drink. I need the boost. Or the edge taken off, and it’s going to be a long night for me. Then I pour one for her and take it over.
“No, thank you.”
“Take it,” I snarl.
Her eyes narrow. “You made your point, sir.”
“Just take it.” I soften my voice and continue to hold it out. “Please.”
“What is it?”
“Dirty martini, rocks.”
Her mouth sets and for a moment I don’t think she’s going to take it, but she finally wraps her fingers around the low ball and they brush against mine, sending cascades of shivery sparks of need through me. All the way down. To my cock.
And just like that, I switch gears.
Just because I’m urbane doesn’t mean I don’t know how to hunt with skill and deadly determination.
I haven’t decided how far to go because the situation is delicate.
But she’s there.
So am I.
And the want beats hard between us.
That whispery kiss of her fingers against mine tells me that. The looks she gives when she doesn’t think I’m paying attention. But I am. Always. This time when we resume work, I sit closer to her, on the sofa, and the heat rises.
Little touches linger. Words are softer, sweet murmurs subconsciously designed to draw me closer to her, bend my head a little nearer.
And I’m half erect. A thrill is in my blood. I don’t think there’s been a woman I’ve wanted like I do her. It could be the forbidden element—what there is of one, the job at hand; and it could be the ease—what there is, the job at hand. But it doesn’t matter. She’s there, and so am I.
Sliding my hand along the back of the sofa, I lean in to see what she’s talking about, the juggling of intricate things I need done right, and my fingers thread through her hair and she turns, her words dying as her breath stutters.
My gaze drops to her mouth.
“Hudson…”
I want to kiss her again. The need and urge are real.
Moving a little closer, I feather my lips along hers and she sighs. “This what you want, Scarlett?”
“You’re an ass,” she whispers as she leans into me, turning her head just so, and her soft, sweet tasting lips are there for the taking, and I do.
It’s a nothing kiss, the kind that’s made of dreams, but under that delicate surface beats the blood and bones of the attraction. The erotic edge, and I want to take it further, slide down deep into her, and strip her naked as I slide on home.
“Yeah,” I say, breaking that kiss, “I am. I’ve been thinking of exactly what we’re doing here.”
“Work?”
I laugh and shake my head and get to my feet. The predator moves inside me and the game is subtle and full of the right kind of waiting.
“Something like that, Scarlett.”
She scowls, pushing up to her feet and stomping to me, poking me in the chest in the way no one ever dares to unless they happen to be one of my brothers or someone with a death wish.
“Don’t do that.”
Anyone else I’d do something about it. But I want to see where she’s going and I’m not going to lie, the passion of her low-down anger riles me in all the right ways, including my curiosity. So I let her poke. For now.
“Do what? You’re the one doing, Scarlett.”
Her scowl deepens and she pokes harder. It strikes me she’d be fucking hot to do right now, but I keep that on a controlled backburn. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re poking me.”
“Because you deserve to be beaten up and I can’t do that.”
“Too afraid?”
“Yes. And I’m not strong enough.” She breathes out hard. “You keep kissing me and then toying with me and getting angry at me if I speak to someone of the male persuasion. And then you go and tell me we can’t tell anyone.”
“To be fair, you want me to kiss you.”
“So? That’s not an answer.” Scarlett motors onward, her admission not slowing anything down. “You have it, so I don’t know which foot to put forward and that’s not fair.”
I’m not being fair. I know it. I capture her hand and hold it against my chest, rubbing my thumb over her fingers. “We’re playing a game, Scarlett. Part of that is mimicking what they call love.” The word tastes bitter.
“You don’t believe in love.”
I sigh. “And you believe in all the fairy tales of the Disney variety, don’t you?”
“Would that be a bad thing?”
“It’s make believe.”
“Again, why would that be a bad thing? I know what this is, even if you hadn’t gone out of your way to point it out. Even if we got down and dirty together, I wouldn’t mistake it as love. It’s, as you put it, a game.”
I look at her.
She’s either playing it perfectly or she’s telling me the truth. “Women have a habit of falling in love to get what they want, and men have a habit of pretending to get what they want.”
“Who hurt you?”
I almost let her go, but don’t. Mainly because I like the heat and the feel of her in my hand, I like her so close. I like that tease of flowers in the air.
“No one,” I say.
And it’s true. I don’t have relationships, just sex, and carefully curated affairs that mimic short-term relationships. You could, I suppose, argue those affairs are relationships, but they’re sex. Sex and compatibility for when I need to step out in the world with whoever the woman is by my side.
I guess that’s what this is. Without the sex. And I’m creating, not curating.
The no sex thing is not written in stone, no matter how dangerous sex with Scarlett might be.
“Everyone gets hurt.”
“Then everyone’s an idiot.” I continue to draw patterns on her hand. “My life is work and things contained in neat boxes for efficiency.”
“That’s sad,” she says, her voice soft.
I raise a brow. “That’s being smart.”
“So kissing me is smart?”
“No,” I say, brushing her mouth with mine, “that’s stupid and messy.”
“And you like it.”
“Yes.”
She’s quiet a long time, while the soft hum of awareness and attraction fills the air around us. “How are you going to pull off being in love if you don’t believe in it?”
That’s a good question. “We get to know each other like I said and—”
“Act?” She shakes her head. “You’re working to get me confused and mimic love, but you actively push it away. The idea, I mean.”
“I’m paying you, Scarlett, not the other way around. I didn’t get to where I am—family money aside—without determination and brains. I’ve got this. Just make sure you do, too.”
“Was it your parents?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who hurt you.” She’s not letting it go.
And I sigh. “Yes and no. Yes, my parents split up and my mother built her own life too close to my father’s. He kept marrying younger versions of her, and she’d be there to pick up the pieces after each one. I don’t know what they were doing, but it was counterproductive and messy and something I’ve no interest in. But no, that didn’t hurt me, just showed me how things don’t work in life. That’s all.”
Abruptly, I let her go. “Hungry?”
“Excuse me?”
“Food. That stuff you put in your mouth for fuel. I’m hungry. We’ve got more work to do because you’re going to be eyebrow deep in everything this week in regards to work and I can’t check over things, so measure twice, right?”
“I’ll get my extra big pair of scissors.” She rubs a hand over her face and then steps back from me, turning and going to sit down again. “Yes. Food would be good. Thank you.”
I ordered Omani food. There’s a new place that was opened by a chef who lived in Oman and wanted to bring the unknown dishes of the area to the West. This is what Ryder told me, anyway. Anything to do with indulging the senses and I’ll take his word for it. Except for women. He’s got a problem there.
The contemplative expression on Scarlett’s face as she finished her Kabsa, an aromatic saffron rice dish with red spiced chicken, was a delight. As is the sweet bliss that blossoms when she finishes the ice cream I also ordered.
I’ve never found someone else enjoying their food erotic, until now. But with her, that enjoyment is definitely erotic, and it only makes me wonder what else she savors, and how she’d bring that to bed. Or wherever fucking her might take place.
Work is done and I’m finding things to do, which I can’t stop myself from doing. Yes, I need to go over things because that’s how I am, but I know it’s her.
She keeps me lingering. Making me keep her lingering.
I have another drink. Too much and I might cross lines I’m not yet willing to cross. She makes that hard without alcohol. But I feel good, there’s a latent lethargy spreading through me, belying the coiled predator within.
“That was all…amazing.”
I glance at her. “Said like a woman who’s only eaten at the in places.”
“Yes, well.” Her small smile slips and a darkness shadows her eyes as she glances away. But when she looks back it’s gone. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
“I don’t know you,” I say, even though I’m beginning to, and I do in a lot of surprising ways, but that’s not what she means. “That’s the point of all this.”
She shuts down the iPad and sets it on the coffee table. I admire the way her top stretches just a little to show her form beneath. “I think we’re done for the night.”
“Are we?”
Her gaze skitters over to me and her cheeks turn pink. She swallows. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did, you know,” I say, setting down my glass and leaning in toward her. “You have a habit of overstepping all kinds of boundaries. That doesn’t make you the best well-bred society girl out there.”
“And what does it make me?” she snaps.
“Interesting.”
The word sits, and with it, the tension rises and I slide my hand up over her cheek, her skin impossibly soft and warm. “Oh.”
“There you go again. You accuse me of back and forth and here you are, doing it yourself. Your Scarlett brand. You’re nothing like any of the women I’ve met from your world.”
“Is that a compliment?”
I smile. “Take it as you wish.”
Christ, I want her mouth again. It’s calling to me and I’m not strapped to any mast at all. Kiss her again and I might not be able to help myself.
I trace along beneath her bottom lip with my thumb and I’m rewarded with her sharp little intake of breath and the lean into my hand and my touch. It’s enough to give me a raging erection.
“Hudson…”
My name is a revelation from her lips. It’s full of need and promises and longing and yeah, that does things to me, too. The way she says it.
“You really are different. I can’t put my finger on it,” I say, shifting a little closer to her, wanting to breathe her in again. “Bixby never really spoke about you.” Bixby was by the book and still is. We’re not close, but… I try to fit them together as a family and can’t. Her side must be something to behold. Or else it’s her. An outlier in that microcosm world. “Tell me about your family.”
Everything changes.
Scarlett suddenly goes still, eyes wide. And she pulls back then, from my touch, jumping up to her feet.
“I think I’ve got the hang of it all. I mean, I do. And as you said, we have a busy week and lots to do on all fronts. I need an early night. I’ll get a cab.”
Without another world, she spins and races out the door.
And if I didn’t know better, I’d swear she just ran away.