Chapter 20
twenty
SKYLER
I’ll be there at six. We’re going out. Bring a sweater. – Hudson
My lips curl as I read the message on my phone screen. Even though it’s just black letters on a white screen the grumpiness is so obvious – I can actually hear it in his voice.
And I know why he’s so grumpy. He’s spent the whole last week trying to persuade me to spend tonight in bed with him. My bed, his bed, he doesn’t care. He even offered the honeymoon suite at the Grand Liberty Hotel, as if that wouldn’t sent the tongues rolling all over town.
Despite his bitching – and then his soft cajoling which is much harder to withstand – I’ve held firm all week when we’ve talked. It’s weird how I’ve gotten used to him calling. And how much I’ve missed being in the same room with him.
Which is a good reminder that I can never get into a bed with him. If I can just avoid snuggling, I can avoid getting my heart broken.
“It’s looking good, huh?” Sam, the head contractor brings me out of my thoughts. I slide my phone into my jeans pocket and follow his gaze.
They’ve been working on the outside today, because they’re waiting on the new flooring to arrive. The deck has been stripped and the first layer of stain put on the wood, and the roofers are putting new shingles on the porch overhang. Autumn called me today and told me that the new tables and chairs will be arriving early next week, and that she wants to discuss the reopening plans.
I let out a long breath. “It looks amazing,” I tell him. “I can’t believe how quickly you’re getting things done.”
Sam shrugs. “We were given a timeline. Autumn can be fierce if anybody disagrees with her.”
Just like her brother. I can’t imagine how much this whole renovation is costing him. And I feel stupidly guilty about it. I’ve tried to bring it up with him multiple times over the past week – wanting to agree to a repayment schedule – and each time he’s batted me away.
Sam and the other contractors pack up for the evening, loading their tools into their trucks as they head down the hill toward the dock where the ferry is waiting for them. In the distance I can see Jesse opening up the ramp to allow cars on. He lifts a hand up at me and I wave back.
He’s taken to dropping in to see the progress of the renovations on his way home from work. When he saw the new stage in the design – much bigger than the old one, able to hold a band rather than just two people at a push – he smiled.
I’m going to ask him if he can perform on opening night. Just as soon as I run it past Autumn, because I feel like this is her baby too.
“Well this is looking different,” Eileen says – or at least I think it’s Eileen – as she walks up behind me.
“Hi.” I don’t say her name just in case. I smile though. “It’s a transformation, isn’t it?”
Even half-finished the difference between the peeling paint of the old Salty Dog and the freshly repaired deck with dark stains and white painted pillars is stark. Autumn showed me the furniture she liked before she ordered it, wanting my opinion. I’d oohed and aahed over the rustic white painted chairs and stools, plus the sofas that Autumn tells me will be perfect for day tourists who want to spend the afternoon drinking cocktails while overlooking the ocean.
“It’s very pretty. I was wondering, do you have an opening date yet?” Eileen or Mylene asks. “With the summer season coming up I’ve had a lot of inquiries about rooms and some of them are asking if there’s a local bar.”
Ah, it’s definitely Eileen. Crisis averted. “Autumn is coming to talk with me about it tomorrow. She wants to have a grand opening as soon as the renovations are done, but I’m not so sure. I don’t have any employees.”
“Oh, you can get the old staff back in. And I’m sure Jesse will help you if you ask him. I’ve been seeing him popping in here most nights.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.
“There’s nothing going on between us,” I say quickly. Because I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.
She smiles. “Of course there isn’t. There couldn’t…” She shakes her head. “Can I ask for a favor?” she says, beaming at me in a way she never has before.
“Sure,” I say, because if I’m going to be running this place I need to make friends with the other business owners. “What is it?”
“Invite me to the opening party. Not her .” She wrinkles her nose, looking up the hill at Brewed Awakenings . “She always gets in first and it’s infuriating.”
“Mylene?” I ask.
She widens her eyes as though I’ve just said Beelzebub. “ Her ,” she says. “Yes.”
“I can’t ask you and not her,” I say, shifting my feet.
“Why not?” Eileen frowns.
“Because it would be rude.”
“It would be rude to ask her,” Eileen counters. “Because then I wouldn’t be able to come.” She looks put out as she smooths down her dress pants. “You want me there, don’t you?”
“You were both at Ayda’s party. Why can’t you do the same here?”
Her jaw twitches as she leans forward. “That was a mix up. I thought it was my turn. When I realized we were both there, Autumn came over and asked me to put my feelings aside for one day. It was hell,” she whispers.
I’m still dying to ask her why she and Mylene don’t talk.
“If you could do it for Autumn can you do it for me?” I give her my best puppy dog eyes, but she still shakes her head.
“Never again. If I die without seeing that woman’s face for the rest of my life I’ll die happy.”
I don’t point out that she must see it every time she looks in the mirror, because that would just be catty, even if it’s true.
“Maybe Mylene won’t be able to come,” I say hopefully. Eileen winces again when I say her sister’s name.
“Oh, she’ll be there. Just to spite me.” She rolls her lips over her teeth, bearing more than a casual resemblance to a rabid dog. “That hussy.”
Before I can make another attempt at reconciliation, she turns on her heel and stomps away. But not before a sleek black sports car drives past her. She stops and stares at it, and I swallow hard because I should have realized that everybody would see him arriving in daylight.
She lifts a brow then carries on walking to her house, and I take a deep breath, readying myself for a Hudson Fitzgerald onslaught.
“No beds, no snuggling, no falling for him,” I mutter to myself.
But I fear it might be too late.
* * *
“So where are we going?” I ask Hudson as he steers me toward the open passenger door of his car. His palm is splayed against my back, which means his skin is touching my skin because I’m wearing a pair of vintage embroidered flares and a white lace cropped blouse. Goosebumps break out over me.
“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he says.
“A good surprise?” I ask, sitting down in the bucket seat. “By the way, why do you have such a nice car on this island? Isn’t it a waste?” I look around at the sleek interior of the car. The console gleams like it’s been polished by an army of elves.
“A waste? Why?” he asks, looking confused.
I pat the smooth-as-butter cream leather seat next to his thick thigh. “This must’ve cost hundreds of thousands. And you probably don’t clock more than five miles a day in it.”
“I drive it to the mainland,” he tells me. “And what makes you think it costs hundreds of thousands?”
“Because it’s a sports car.”
“It’s an affordable sports car,” he says. “A Subaru. I hate to shatter your dreams, but I’m not the kind of guy who throws two hundred thousand dollars down on a car.”
I turn to look at him. He has a smile on his face. I wrinkle my nose at him and he smiles harder.
“Okay, I used to have a Porsche,” he admits, looking sheepish. “But the salty air isn’t great for it. I sold it and bought this.”
Of course he had a Porsche. He probably had a whole army of them. Wait, what’s a collective noun for Porsches? A Pickle?
“And I have the Range Rover, of course. That’s more expensive, but more practical for driving Ayda around. Autumn has that one tonight.”
“How many cars do you have in total?” I ask, still imagining that Populace of Porsches.
“Three. Plus my dad’s old Jag that’s sitting undriveable in the garage at the house. Once I retire I want to restore it.”
There’s a dreaminess to his voice that surprises me. “You want to retire one day?” I ask.
“Doesn’t everybody?” He starts up the engine with a push of a button.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I kind of imagined you being at the helm of your company until your dying day. Falling face first into a pile of unread memos. Like that guy on The Simpsons .”
“I’m assuming you’re not talking about Homer,” he says, pulling out of his spot and onto the road.
“I am not. Mr. Burns,” I say, clicking my fingers. “That’s who I meant.”
“What a compliment,” he murmurs. “Now my life is complete.”
I roll my eyes at him even though he’s too busy watching the road ahead to notice. There’s a smile playing at his lips and I like it way too much. It gives him a boyishly handsome look that sends warning claxons in my ears.
Don’t fall for him. Don’t snuggle. No beds!
Once we’re off of Main Street he takes a right, which means we’re definitely staying on the island for our date – if that’s what this is. As we progress along the country road, buildings disappear into nothing, replaced by trees and bushes that line the edges, framing the view of the sparkling ocean beyond.
“Are we going to your hotel?” I ask suspiciously.
“No.”
“Then where?” I ask. “Or are we going to have to play twenty questions?”
“Patience,” he tells me. “All will be revealed.” He looks ridiculously smug as we pass both the road to the hotel and the one to his house.
“If you wanted to drive me off a cliff you could have done it closer to town,” I say when he takes a sharp right turn, onto a rocky road that makes the car rise up and down like an amusement ride.
“I figure your body is less likely to be found out here,” he says.
“Oh,” I say as the road gets even rockier. “Are you taking me to a lookout point? Are we going to make out in the car?” I look around the tiny interior. “Because I’m not sure it’ll do wonders for your bad back.”
Hudson sighs. I wonder if I can annoy him enough to make him not want me. Maybe that would be better all around.
The problem is I want him to want me.
This whole attraction thing is very confusing.
The trees that overhang the road part, revealing a cluster of old houses that look like nobody’s been living in them for years. And the most glorious view of the Atlantic Ocean as its white tipped waves lap against the golden sand in the secret cove below.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“I know.” A smile pulls at his lips. “Come on, let’s take a closer look.” He cuts the engine outside the house closest to the cliff and climbs out, walking around to open my door. “Wait, where’s your sweater?” he asks.
Oh damn. “I’m not great at taking instructions,” I tell him. He should know this by now. Truth is, I’d completely forgotten about it.
He sighs again. I wonder how many more sighs I can get out of him today. And then he opens the trunk and grabs two old pieces of fabric from the car. It takes me a minute to realize they’re blankets.
“It’s not even cold,” I tell him.
“It will be later. When the sun goes down.”
“We’re staying here that long?” I ask him.
He ignores me, grabbing an insulated cooler from his trunk. The same one as last week, with Grand Liberty Hotel written on it in swirling script.
“A picnic?” I ask him.
“Unless you want me to take you to dinner at the hotel, or back to my place. Otherwise this is our only option,” he says, inclining his head at the cliff. I follow him, wishing I’d worn more appropriate shoes. My heels keep sinking into the grass as I follow him.
“You only want to feed me in your house because it has a bed in it,” I tease, and I swear I see a hint of a smile pull at his lips.
“Luckily for you, there are no beds on the beach.” We arrive at the cliff edge. There are some old stairs carved into the stone at the top, leading to wooden ones that twist and turn down to the beach, into a little cove that is completely deserted. Even in the fading light it looks perfect.
“How beautiful,” I say. “Do you own this too?”
“All this land from here to the town,” he murmurs. “Yes.”
He leads the way down, and I follow gingerly behind, taking off my stupid shoes because even with the threat of splinters in my soles I’m still more likely to survive than if I try descending to the beach in my heels. Hudson, on the other hand, manages to carry the blankets in one hand and the cooler in the other, not having to touch the wooden banisters once before we reach the sand.
If it was pretty from above, right now this little cove is breathtaking. The water is lapping gently against the golden sand, and there’s a copse of bushes growing up from a dune on the left. You can’t see the rest of the island from here at all, just the ocean. We could be stranded on a desert island with how quiet and secluded it is.
“What a place,” I say, looking back up at the cliffs. “Are you planning to build here?”
“We are. An exclusive retreat.” He nods. “But tonight it’s ours.”
He lays out one of the blankets and tells me to sit down and wrap the other around my shoulders, before he puts the cooler down next to me and starts to wander off.
“Hey, where are you going?” I call out, alarmed. Because we’re a good couple of miles away from town and there’s no way I can find my way back in the dark.
“Collecting firewood,” he shouts out, pointing at a pile of sticks and twigs next to the sand dune. “Well, strictly speaking I got one of my staff to collect it earlier. I’m just bringing them over.”
I start to laugh, because it feels so like Hudson to have his staff do personal things like this. He shakes his head and brings the firewood over, then starts to stack them expertly.
“Couldn’t you have asked your staff to build the fire too?” I ask, still amused, as he flicks a lighter and puts it to the edge of a rolled up piece of newspaper. “Hell, you could have had them come and join us. Bedless sex all round.”
“Shut up. I had too many meetings today. Otherwise I would’ve done it.” He slides the lighted paper between the sticks and softly blows on the flame as it licks against the pile of wood he’s created. To my shock, they ignite. He smiles at his own skill as the orange flames light up his face, making it glow.
“You look so damn proud of yourself right now,” I tell him.
“Still got it.” He winks at me.
“What is it about men and fires?” I ask him, tipping my head to the side. It’s funny seeing him this way. Genuinely relaxed, with a smile on his face.
My heart does this weird little twisty thing. I’m almost getting used to it now.
“We like to provide,” he says. “It’s genetic. You should just let us.”
“Very caveman,” I say. But I have to admit, it’s kind of sexy seeing how easily he can light a fire. “What made you decide to bring me here?” I ask him, still trying to reconcile this fire-building, picnic loving man with the devil-in-a-designer suit he usually is.
He sits down next to me, then deliberately lies back. “Mostly this,” he says, smiling over at me. “Horizontal bedless sex.”
My mouth gapes open. “You’ll do anything to get around the rules, won’t you?”
He sits up, still grinning. “I thought of this place the other day. Remember when you asked me about my favorite memory? It was here. Me and my brothers and sisters used to come here to swim when we wanted to be away from the crowds at the main beaches during the summer. I guess I wanted to show it to you.”
A wave of emotion washes over me. I look at him, blinking. So not just about horizontal sex.
“Come on,” he urges. “Where are your smart ass remarks? You can tease me about how skinny I was as a kid if you like.”
“You were skinny?” I ask him, my throat still feeling tight.
“As fuck. Filled out in junior year, thank god. We were all the same, Asher, Zach, Wyatt.”
“More genetics,” I murmur. “I’ve only met Asher, right?”
“Yep. My tech bro.”
“He’s a tech bro?” I grin. “I didn’t know that. What do your other brothers do?
“Wyatt runs a charter boat company down south,” he tells me, tracing my skin. “And Zach runs an art gallery in Chicago, but I’m pretty fucking sure he makes most of his money gambling but he hides it from me.”
“You don’t like the idea of him gambling?” I say, remembering the way his dad lost everything to poker.
“Not much. But I dislike him hiding it more.”
Of course he does. One thing I know about this man is that he dislikes being blindsided. Like me arriving on the island without him knowing. “Maybe you need to relax a little about it,” I say.
He lifts a brow. Okay then.
“I thought you were going to feed me,” I say, changing the subject as I lean forward to grab the cooler. He snatches it from me and starts to get the food out, like he’s affronted that I should lift a finger on this date.
I watch, my stomach rumbling, as he lifts out the Tupperware containers full of food.
This time it’s true picnic fare. Sandwiches and cut up veggies plus some potato chips.
“Did you make this picnic?” I ask him, because it doesn’t look like restaurant food. I’m surprised that he had time. Not that I care, I love proper picnics. Finger food is my jam.
“Some of it.” He shrugs, like he’s embarrassed. But the truth is, I like it. He surprises me in the weirdest of ways. He’s like an iceberg, so much of him is beneath the surface. And I want to dive down to discover it.
“That explains it,” I say, taking a bite of an egg sandwich. “You’ve brought me here to poison me and get rid of my body. Nice work.”
* * *
We spend the next hour eating sandwiches and tiny cakes and talking. Hudson adds the occasional log onto the fire when it starts to wane, and I try not to fangirl over what a great fire tender he is.
The night starts to come in, the inky blue of the sky turns the ocean a dark gray, though the tips are still white as they kiss against the shore.
“Okay, this is what I really brought you here to see,” Hudson says, when we’ve finished our food and the dishes are packed away. “Come here.”
“I knew it,” I say. And let’s be honest, I’m ready for a bit of bedless sex with the suave businessman who apparently could come in handy when Armageddon hits. “Wait, let me rinse my mouth out with some water. I taste of egg salad sandwiches.”
He shakes his head and pulls me toward him, but instead of kissing me, he pulls me down until my back is against the sand, and he’s laying prone too, both of us staring up at the sky.
My mouth drops open when I see what he’s talking about. There are a billion stars sparkling against the velvety black of the sky above us. It looks like a black velvet pincushion with a light shining behind it, through the tiny holes in the heavens.
“Keep watching,” he murmurs. “I used to see shooting stars all the time when I was a kid.”
“You used to lay here like this?” I ask, still staring up at the sky above us. My fingertips brush against his and he slides his hand into mine.
“Sometimes.”
“I used to as well,” I say, surprised because this is probably the one thing we have in common. “Not here, of course. Back in California. I loved being outside at night. Looking at the stars somehow made me feel less alone.”
His thumb brushes against my hand, sending a little jolt of electricity through me.
“Wait, there!” he says urgently, pointing up with his free hand. I follow the direction, seeing a flash of light sliding against the sky, then disappearing.
“Oh my God,” I say, my eyes lighting up with excitement. “We should make a wish.”
“What kind of wish?” he murmurs.
“I don’t know. One we can’t tell each other or it won’t come true.”
“Okay.” His voice is thick.
For a minute we’re both silent. I stare up, my brows knitting as I send my wish up into the sky.
I hope Ayda Fitzgerald can learn to talk again.
I don’t know where that came from. I could have wished for anything. For Lee and Cora to be happy, for the bar to be renovated in half the time. But somehow it came into my head and now there it is, out in the heavens.
When I turn my head Hudson is staring right at me, his gaze so intense it makes my body feel like it’s on fire. I roll onto my side and kiss him hard, my fingers twisting into his hair.
And when we part there’s darkness in his eyes. “What was that for?” he murmurs.
“For showing me a shooting star.”
The corner of his lip quirks. “Strictly speaking, it was a rock or a meteor.”
“Don’t spoil it,” I tell him. “You’re getting me in the mood here. Seduction by stars.”
“Remind me to bring you here when the Perseids are on show,” he says, reaching out to cup my face.
“When are the Perseids here?” I whisper as he traces my jaw with his thumb.
He glances at my lips. “In the height of summer. August is the best time to see them.”
I hate the way my body tightens at the thought of us being together here in August, watching the sky. He’s not supposed to make me fall for him. By August we’ll probably hate each other again.
But that doesn’t stop me from leaning toward him and brushing my lips against his.
This time as we kiss he holds my face softly, his gaze on me as our mouths connect, before he finally releases me to taste me all over. The flames lick against the charred wood as he starts to kiss his way down my neck, his fingers deftly unfastening the buttons on my blouse before he kisses my stomach, my hip, the tattoo that curls across my abdomen.
Then he pulls at my jeans, dragging them down my hips, before he reveals my white thong. Like he’s too impatient to take that off too, he pushes it aside and kisses me right there.
A gasp tumbles from my lips.
“You’re not wasting any time,” I whisper.
He chuckles against me, his tongue trailing a line of fire across my clit. “I don’t want to rebuild the fire. Plus, we’re gonna have horizontal sex. I’ve been dreaming of it.”
“It’s still bedless,” I manage to say before he sucks me between his lips. He doesn’t reply – he can’t when he’s doing that. And he’s so damn good at it that it takes me less than two minutes to convulse against him, my fingers pulling at his hair because this man already knows how to make me feel good.
When my moans have calmed into regular breaths, he lifts his head up, kissing his way back up to my mouth. We’re a blur of fingers as we both pull at his clothes, my feet pushing at his jeans in an attempt to magically get them off his body.
And finally he’s naked and hard against me, his elbows resting on either side of me like he’s caging me in. He kisses me softly, dragging the tip of him against me. I’m still so sensitive that I gasp. As he rolls on a condom I can’t help but look at the way he is so magnificently hard. He’s mouthwatering.
“Fuck me horizontal,” I whisper as he lines up against me. He laughs, but he does exactly that, sliding inside of me, filling me so well that all the air rushes out of my body.
He rolls his hips, staring at me like I’m some kind of mystery. I stare back, my mouth falling open as he drags himself against my achiest part.
I can’t fall in love with this man. It’s just sex. But damn, the sex is so good, I’m already vibrating underneath him.
I tighten around him and he lets out a low oath. “Christ.”
“You’re going to make me come again,” I whisper.
“You’re going to make me come,” he replies, kissing me.
But there’s no doubt who’s in charge here as he slides in and out of me, causing the pleasure to build deep inside of me as he cups my face with his hand and murmurs my name.
This time when I orgasm I call out his name, scraping my fingers down his back, making him groan. I’m still fluttering around him when he follows me into oblivion, capturing my mouth with his as his back arches with pleasure.
When he finally pulls out of me, the fire is already embers. It feels like a metaphor I can’t quite fit into my mind. All I know is that I’m so happy I made some boundaries between us. Those rules are the only things that are going to shield me from the full onslaught this man creates inside my body.
Sex and love. They’re two separate things.
So why does my heart feel like it’s falling?