Chapter 17
seventeen
HUDSON
The porch lights above the bar are on, which feels like a good sign. Like not only is she expecting me, but she doesn’t want me to trip over my feet and land on my ass on the wooden deck.
It’s a low bar, but Skyler not wanting me to break my neck is a good thing, right?
I park the car in the dark lot behind the bar, instead of parking on the strip of grass facing the ferry like I usually do. I tell myself it’s because I know she won’t like people talking about me being here at night.
When I reach the door, I rap my knuckles lightly on the wood and she opens it.
I have no idea what it is about this woman that sends every sense I have into overdrive. But seeing the way she looks at me with those thick lashes sweeping down makes me want to scoop her into my arms and bend her over the damn bar.
“Come in.” She looks at the bag I’m carrying. It has the Grand Liberty Hotel logo on it. “You really did bring dinner.” She sounds surprised.
“I said I would,” I tell her, following her inside, carrying the food I asked the hotel’s chef to prepare for me.
Skyler’s wearing a denim dress today. It’s western style, with buttons from the collar to the hem that skims her bare thighs. I like the way she’s dressed. Casual yet sexy.
It takes every ounce of self control I have not to reach out to start unfastening those metal stamped buttons.
“Where shall we eat?” I ask her, looking beyond her to the private apartment. I’ve been in there a few times. Mostly when Wayne was in a bad way and I’d carry him to bed.
“I thought here.” She points at a table at the center of the bar area. I look at it, frowning.
“Wouldn’t you rather be somewhere more private?” I ask.
“I don’t think we’re about to get overrun by tourists.” Her lips curl as she looks at me. “And I think this would be best.”
I open my mouth to protest, but then close it again. I’ve pissed her off enough since she arrived on the island. If she wants to eat in the damn bar, then that’s what we’ll do.
“Anyway,” she says. “It’s kind of like a final goodbye to the way this bar looks. Tomorrow it’ll be ripped out. There’s this guy with way more money than sense that’s paying for a full remodel.”
“He probably has an ulterior motive,” I say, putting the bag on the table and starting to unpack it.
“I’m pretty sure he does. But luckily for him I know what’s best for him.” She moves over to help me with the food.
“What is best for him?” I ask, handing her the plates and silverware, which she lays out neatly.
“Somebody who doesn’t drive him up the wall.” Her eyes meet mine and I feel a shot of desire rush through me.
A smile pulls at my lips. “Maybe he likes that.” I open up the starters the chef made at my request. A simple shrimp salad made from local catch. Martin worked in Michelin starred restaurants in New York and L.A. before his wife passed and he realized he needed to change his lifestyle, and you can tell by the way he’s paid attention to every single detail.
And yet, it’s not the food I’m interested in. It’s this woman who feels like a fucking dream dancing on a breeze. Something I want to catch but keeps slipping away.
I plate up the food and pass it to her, and she looks at me like she’s trying to work me out.
Good luck with that, sweetheart. I’ve been trying the same thing all my life.
“Is that why you came tonight?” she asks. “To handle me?”
I take a mouthful of the shrimp. Christ, it’s good. “Eat,” I say after I swallow it down, pointing at her untouched plate.
“And then what?”
“Then you’ll be full.”
“I mean, then what. For this.” She points at me and then herself. “What are you expecting?”
I frown at the insinuation. “What makes you think I’m expecting anything?”
“Because you’re you. And I’m me. And I really don’t think this is going to work.”
This again. I put my fork down and take a deep breath.
“Why do you think I’m here?” I ask her.
“Because you want to have sex with me to get me out of your system.”
At least her answer is honest. “You think that little of me?” I murmur.
“No. I just think…” She shakes her head, a frown pulling at her brows. “Don’t you want to have sex with me?”
I start to laugh. “There’s no right answer to that question. Either I do and you’re disgusted because I’m only after one thing, or I don’t and you’re insulted. So I’m not going to answer. And that’s still not the reason I’m here.”
“Then why?”
It hits me like a damn fist in my chest. This isn’t about me. It’s about her. About her insecurities. Beneath that chilled out, sexy armor she wears there’s something softer. More wary.
“Because I want to have dinner with you. I find you interesting. Funny. You make me smile and you’re nice to my kid.”
“She’s easy to be nice to.”
“I still like it.” I spear another shrimp. “Now can we enjoy this food? That’s the reason I’m here, alright? To eat. To talk. To enjoy each other’s company?”
Her lips part as she stares right at me. My gaze locks with hers as I stare back. I have nothing to hide, not with her. I’m being completely honest.
If all that happens tonight is we eat and talk, I’m weirdly okay with that. Yes, I want to kiss her. I want all of her. I want that more than I want to breathe right now. But that’s up to her.
For the first time in my life I feel like I’m okay with somebody else making the decision.
She takes a bite of the shrimp. I watch as her eyes widen and she lets out a groan. Then she swallows it down and smiles at me. “Oh, my God,” she mouths.
“Good, huh?”
“It’s like an orgasm in shellfish form.” She takes another bite. “How does it taste so good?”
“Martin is an excellent chef.”
“Is he single?” she says, still smiling at me.
“No,” I lie. “Very much taken.”
“Do you cook?” she asks.
“I’ve been known to make toast.” Another lie. I know how to cook. I have a kid, she doesn’t starve. Yeah, it’s basic but thankfully Ayda’s tastes are basic too. We like chicken and fish and noodles and potatoes. It’s amazing how many combinations of those things you can create.
“I’m not a great cook,” she says. “You should probably know that about me.”
“I think I can live with that,” I say. “What do you like doing?”
That smile is still playing on her lips. I’m stupidly entranced by them. Especially the stud in the corner. I flicked it with my tongue more than once when we kissed.
She tips her head to the side, her hair falling over her right shoulder. “I like music. Dancing. Dressing up as a slutty princess.”
I laugh. “You’re very good at it.”
“I know.” She grins. “I like that moment before you fall asleep when your whole body goes soft and it feels like you’re about to slip under the surface.”
She runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, like she’s really thinking hard.
“I like that too,” I tell her. “Tell me more things.”
Her body shifts forward, like it’s being pulled toward me. “I like the smell of hot concrete when it’s freshly rained. The smell of babies after they’ve just had a bath and they’re all warm and cuddly. I like eating breakfast for dinner.” She pulls her lip between her teeth. “And the feeling of somebody playing with my hair.”
I can almost feel the silkiness of it between my forefingers and thumbs.
“And most of all I like not knowing where life is going. I like the excitement of not being pinned down. I like being free to be whoever I want, whereever I want.” Her gaze is soft as she glances at my mouth. “What about you?” she breathes. “What do you like?”
I think about it. Not because I’m trying to impress her but because I genuinely think she won’t judge me. “I like knowing my family is safe,” I say. “That nobody can hurt or touch them.”
She lets out a soft breath.
“I like the way my daughter thinks I’m a hero even though I’m just her dad. Just a flawed man. I like eating good food like this. But I also like eating a slice of toast when it’s late and there’s nobody around to tell me I’m making poor nutritional decisions.”
She laughs at that. And I smile right at her. “Tell me more,” she says, looking fascinated.
“I like having enough money to be able to tell people to fuck off to their faces,” I continue, waiting for her to wince, but she doesn’t. “I like the power it gives. The safety.”
“Because it allows you to protect those you love,” she murmurs.
“Something like that,” I admit.
“What’s your favorite childhood memory?” she asks me suddenly. She leans forward across the table.
I have to think about that one. I’m not one for looking back. There’s too much baggage and it’s history. But then I remember it. That day.
“Teaching Autumn and Eden how to swim.”
“Eden’s your other sister?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “They’re both younger than the rest of us. Asher and I used to be big swimmers. It’s hard not to be when you live on an island. We’d race each other every day during the summer. Go down to the beach at first light and spend most of the day there, goofing around.”
“It sounds idyllic,” she murmurs. Her hand is on the table, so close to mine I can feel our fingertips touch.
“It was.” I nod. “Except Autumn and Eden used to constantly beg us to take them. And of course we didn’t want to because we were assholes and they were kids who cramped our style.”
“How so?” she asks, smiling at me. Our fingers are touching now and it feels weirdly comforting.
“The usual. We’d like to flirt with summer girls. Having our sisters with us made it harder.”
“I bet they loved you.”
“My sisters or the girls?”
“Both.” She laughs lightly. “But I was talking about the summer girls. Is that what you called them?”
“Most people on Liberty call them out-of-towners,” I say. “But they mostly came in the summer.”
“I bet they did.” Her lips curl.
“Are you bringing the conversation back to sex again?” I ask, my voice teasing.
“I’m just trying to picture you as a young punk. I bet you were devastating.”
“On the contrary. I had an overbite that took three years of braces to fix. And I was skinny as a rake.”
“And I bet they all still wanted you.” She steeples her fingers under her chin. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
My brows lift.
“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” she says.
“I was seventeen. And it wasn’t pretty. You?”
“Sixteen.” She wrinkles her nose. “Also not pretty.”
“I disagree. Everything about you is pretty.”
She traces the veins on the back of my hand with her finger. “Were you born with a sweet tongue or did it arrive with the muscles and perfect teeth?”
“I’m not sure that’s for me to say.” I turn my hand over and slide my fingers through hers. She doesn’t pull away and that feels like a victory. “What’s your favorite memory?” I ask her.
“Losing my virginity,” she jokes and I laugh.
“Seriously.”
“Okay.” She nods, using her free hand to rub her jaw. “Let me think. It has to involve Lee because all my good memories involve her.”
“Lee?”
“My older sister. Half sister, I guess, but it’s never felt like half. She’s my you, and I’m her Autumn.”
“How is she like me?”
“She’s got her life together. She and our mom are two peas in a pod that way. Good jobs, own their own homes, they don’t run away to an island on a whim.”
“They sound boring,” I say, only half kidding. She smiles at me.
“Lee’s always been my biggest cheerleader. I guess one of my favorite memories is the time we went camping. The first and last as a family.” Her eyes meet mine. “I begged so much that my mom relented. She regretted it the moment we got there and she realized we had no idea how to put the tent up.” Skyler’s eyes light up as she talks. “She lasted one day before she packed us up, leaving the tent behind, and drove us to a hotel. But that day…” Her face goes soft at the memory. “We had so much fun. Lee is a bit like our mom, a city girl, but she let me lead the way. We swam in the lake, climbed trees. Made a fort with some sticks even though we had tents. And then mom thought she heard a bear and that was that.”
“What were you like as a kid?” I ask her.
“Always messy. My head in the clouds.” She shrugs. “Pretty much the same as I am now.”
I run my thumb over the back of her hand. “Come here.”
“I am here,” she replies, a smile ghosting her lips.
I pat my lap. She tips her head to the side, her skin flushing. “Is that a good idea?”
“You don’t strike me as somebody who cares if things are a good idea,” I reply, dodging the question. “Now are you coming here or do I have to come to you?”
I stand, still holding her hand, pulling her up from her chair until her body hits mine. With my free hand I stroke her hair. She inclines her head to look at me, her heart-shaped face so fucking lovely I want to remember it forever.
“I want to kiss you so badly it’s killing me,” I whisper.
Her lips part. “I want you to,” she says. “But…”
“But?”
“If we’re going to do this,” she breathes, “we need to agree to some rules.”
I trace her jaw with my thumb. Her skin is so soft it makes my body heat. “Okay,” I agree. “But I thought you hated rules.”
“I do.” She traces her fingers over my shirt. “Other people’s at least. But I think we need them.”
She does, I can tell that much. And if she needs them, she gets them.
“I’m ready. Hit me with them.” I lean down to kiss the soft spot on her throat beneath her ear. Her breath catches.
“We keep this between ourselves. I don’t want people talking about us.”
“We can do that,” I say, kissing the shell of her ear. “Agreed.”
“We use birth control.”
“Goes without saying.” I kiss the underside of her jaw. She curls her fingers into my shirt.
“And we don’t use a bed.”
That one makes me stop for air.
“What?” The corner of my lip quirks. Maybe I misheard her.
“We can have sex anywhere but in bed,” she whispers.
“Why?” I’m genuinely interested. I have a feeling I could know this woman for a hundred years and still never be able to guess what will come out of her mouth next.
“Because we both know this isn’t going to last,” she says. “And I need to protect my heart. No beds, no staying over. Just sex.”
“And friendship,” I add.
“Friendship?” She looks at me, skeptical.
“Yes.” My voice is firm. “I’m not going to walk in here, have sex with you anywhere except a bed, and walk out again. I like this. Talking to you. Holding you. If you want bedless sex, I want friendship.”
“Bedless sex and friendship,” she murmurs.
“Apparently the basis for any relationship.”
“Is that what this is? A relationship?”
“If I’m going to be inside of you, then yes,” I say.
“I thought it was every man’s dream to have no-strings sex. Wham, bam, thank you for not asking for a ring, ma’am.” She lifts a brow at me.
“I was right. You do have a very poor opinion of me.” I tip her head up with my finger beneath her chin. “First of all, there’ll be no wham bam. There’ll be, oh my God, Hudson, don’t stop.” I say the last bit in a falsetto. Her smile widens. “And secondly, if I want meaningless sex, I have a perfectly good hand and shower to provide it for me. So if we’re doing this, that’s my one demand. We have dates. I take you on them. If the mood strikes, we have sex.”
“And if the mood doesn’t?” she says, her eyes dark as she stares at me.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. But then that’s fine too.”
“You’re very unexpected, you know that?” she asks me.
“Pot meet kettle.”
She reaches up to take my tie off, then unfastens my top button. “Sit back down,” she says.
I do what she asks, and for a minute I think that’s it. My one request is a deal breaker.
Which is pretty fucking funny if you think about it. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding intimacy.
But this woman is different. I don’t want to be free. I want to capture her.
Most of all, I want her to want that.
She’s still standing as I look up at her. I can feel the power differential thrumming through me. If this was a business negotiation there’s no way I’d be sitting and letting her stand.
But this isn’t business. This is… I don’t know what it is.
And then, right as I think she’s going to tell me to leave, Skyler does the unexpected once more. She reaches for her own top button, sliding the metal stamped disc through the eye, then repeats it for the next and the next, until her dress is gaping at her chest.
My fingers twitch with the need to take control. To be the one unbuttoning her dress. To be the one kissing her until she’s breathless. But I’ve been in enough negotiations to know when to push and when to hold back.
She needs to equal the power differentiation between us – the one that exists in her head at least. I curl my fingers around the armrests of my chair to stop myself from reaching for her.
Her gaze is fixed firmly on me as she unbuttons four more metal discs until her dress falls completely open, revealing her luscious curves, encased in black lace lingerie. Her dragon tattoo is curled around her hip, and I’m so fucking desperate to trace it with my tongue that I almost launch myself out of my chair.
“You’re so beautiful,” I manage to rasp.
“Take your jacket off,” she whispers. So I do. I have a feeling I’d do whatever the fuck this woman asked of me right now.
And when I’m sitting there in my shirt and pants, she shucks her dress off, leaving her in her heels and lingerie and nothing else, to the delight of my already-aching cock.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her again.
“So are you,” she says, walking toward me, straddling my thick thighs until she’s sitting on my lap, her half-naked body curling around me.
Threading my fingers through her hair, I pull her closer, until her lips are an inch away from mine.
“You could have asked for more,” I tell her.
“I would have agreed to less,” she confesses, smiling at me.
That’s when I know I’m fucked, in the most literal of ways. And when I realize I don’t give a damn that I am. All I want to do is taste her lips and fuck her senseless, apparently not in a bed.
So I press my mouth against hers, and it’s on.