Chapter 7 #3
“Thank you? I think. I’m not sure.” He sat in an armchair across from me, loosening his tie further. “The guest room is down the hall on the left. Bathroom is across from it. There are fresh towels in the cabinet and a new toothbrush in the drawer.”
“Of course there are,” I said, but there was no bite to it. I was too comfortable and still too buzzed to muster any real snark. “Always prepared.”
“I try to be.”
We sat in silence for a moment, me sipping my water and him watching me with an unreadable expression.
“What?” I finally asked.
“Nothing. Just making sure you’re not about to pass out or throw up.”
“I told you, I’m a dignified drunk,” I protested. “I don’t do either of those things.”
“Everyone says that until they do.”
I kicked off my heels and tucked my feet under me on the couch. “You know what I think?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“I think you like taking care of people. That’s why you’re so controlling. You think if everything is perfect, everyone will be happy and safe.”
“That’s quite an analysis from someone who drank an entire bottle of champagne at the event tonight.”
“See? Deflection. Classic defense mechanism.” I finished my water and set the glass on a coaster—of course he had coasters—on the coffee table. “I’m right, though.”
“If you say so.” He stood, taking my empty glass. “More water?”
“Yes, please. See? Taking care of me.”
He returned with the water and sat back down. “It’s basic hospitality, sweetheart.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I took another long drink. “You know, I remember that night.”
“Hm?”
“Our night. Before we knew who each other were.” I observed his expression, saw the slight tensing of his shoulders. “You were very... take-charge then too.”
His jaw tightened. “Mari—”
“Relax, I’m not propositioning you,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just making an observation. It’s interesting, that’s all.”
“What?”
“How much of your personality shows up in everything you do. Even... that.” I could feel the alcohol making me bolder, loosening my tongue. “You like control in all aspects of your life. I wonder if it’s because your parents tried to control you.”
“Well, you like challenging authority in all aspects of yours. Is it for the same reason?” he countered.
“I just like pissing them off. They deserve it. They were lousy parents. But you turned your trauma into something good.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding like a bobblehead. “It can be.”
“You should get some sleep.”
“See? Controlling.” But I smiled to soften it. “It worked for us though, didn’t it? That night. You like giving orders.”
“I like it more when they are obeyed.” His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flash of the man from that night.
“Are you giving me a direct order, then?”
“Would it work?”
“Don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe you should try it.”
His expression shifted, something primal flickering behind those controlled eyes. He stood, all six-foot-something of him towering over me where I sat curled on his couch.
“Go to bed, Mari.” His voice dropped an octave, taking on that commanding tone that made my insides turn to liquid. “Now.”
A shiver ran down my spine, and my resistance melted away. Part of me wanted to obey him—it was practically my default setting when he spoke like that—but a larger part wanted to see what would happen if I didn’t.
“Make me,” I said, the alcohol making me bolder than I should be.
In one fluid motion, he was directly in front of me, hands planted on either side of my head against the back of the couch, caging me in. His face was inches from mine. God, he smelled yummy. Heat radiated from his body.
“That wasn’t a request,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You’re drunk, you’re tired, and you’re going to bed. The only question is whether you walk there yourself or I carry you.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” There was no humor in his eyes now, just that intense focus I remembered from our night together. “Five seconds to decide, sweetheart.”
I should have been annoyed. I should have told him to go to hell. Instead, a rush of heat ran through my body that had nothing to do with the champagne.
“Four,” he counted, not breaking eye contact.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, but made no move to get up.
“Three.”
“Fine,” I huffed, attempting to stand. The room spun, and I wobbled, falling back onto the couch. “Stupid champagne.”
“Two.”
“I’m trying, okay?” I made another attempt, this time managing to get to my feet, though I swayed precariously.
“One.”
Before I could take a step, he bent down and, in one fluid motion, threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. One arm secured my legs against his chest; the other swatted my ass.
“What the fuck, Gable?” I yelped, suddenly upside down, staring at his back. Instinctively, I smacked his ass back.
He didn’t even flinch. “I gave you a choice,” he said, already striding toward the guest room with me bouncing lightly against his shoulder. “You chose poorly.”
“I was trying! What the hell? This is caveman behavior!” I protested, though I couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of the situation. “Put me down!”
“Too slow, too drunk, too stubborn,” he replied, his hand firm on the back of my thighs to keep me steady.
The blood rushed to my head, making the champagne buzz even more intense. “I’m going to be sick if you keep me upside down,” I warned.
“I thought you were a dignified drunk,” he teased. Despite being draped over his shoulder, I felt secure in his grip. “Almost there.”
“I can see your ass from this angle,” I informed him, reaching down to poke it. “It’s a good ass. Very firm. Do you do squats?”
I felt rather than heard his chuckle. “Pilates, actually.”
“Of course you do.”
He nudged the guest room door open with his foot and finally flipped me off his shoulder, depositing me onto the bed with more gentleness than I expected. I bounced on the mattress, my head spinning as I adjusted to being right-side up again.
“You’re an asshole.”
“So you’ve mentioned.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at me. “Multiple times.”
When I tried to stand again, his hands settled firmly on my shoulders, pushing me back onto the mattress.
“Stay,” he commanded, and a shiver ran through me.
“Last I checked, I wasn’t a golden retriever,” I shot back, but remained seated. The room was still spinning slightly, and his grip felt too good to fight against.
“No, you’re a drunk woman who can’t remember her own address and can barely stand. Stay put while I get you something to sleep in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or something darker. He disappeared into what I assumed was a closet, returning moments later with a neatly folded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
“Here,” he said, placing them beside me on the bed. “Bathroom’s across the hall.”
I grabbed the clothes and stood immediately colliding with his chest. His hands shot to my waist to steady me, and suddenly we were pressed together.
“Well hello there,” I said, looking up at him. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Mari,” he warned, his voice dropping to that lower register that did dangerous things to my insides.
“What?” I asked innocently. “I’m just standing here, minding my own business, being manhandled by the world’s bossiest wedding planner.”
“Manhandled?” One eyebrow arched. “I caught you. You’re welcome.”
“Do you ever lose control?”
“Never.”
“Maybe you should try.”
Before I could register what was happening, he spun me around so my back was against his chest, one arm wrapped firmly around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides. His other hand swept my hair off my neck, and his breath was hot against my ear.
“I never lose control,” he said, his voice a dangerous rumble.
“Never?” My heart hammered in my chest.
“Never.” His arm tightened slightly.
“Prove it,” I challenged, because apparently drunk Mari had a death wish.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my back. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”
“Why not?” I pressed my ass back against him, his erection rubbing against me. I ran a hand along his thigh, though his arm around my waist didn’t allow me much room. “You clearly want me.”
“You’re too drunk to play. And I have no intention of being forgotten.”
His grip shifted, and suddenly he had both my wrists captured in one hand, held firmly against my stomach.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice soft but commanding.
“When—not if, when—something happens between us, you will be stone-cold sober. You will remember every moment, every touch, every sound. And you will beg for it.”
The promise in his words sent liquid heat through my veins. “Pretty confident, aren’t you?”
“I know how to wait,” he said simply. Hudson released my wrists but kept his hand at the small of my back. “Now go change,” he said, giving me a gentle push toward the bathroom.
“Yes, sir,” I winked at him, and headed across the hall without further argument. The bathroom was, of course, spotless—all gleaming surfaces and expensive toiletries.
I changed quickly, his t-shirt hanging almost to my knees. There was no need for the sweatpants in my expert opinion, and I forwent them. When I emerged, he was leaning against the doorframe of the guest room, waiting.
His gaze darkened as it swept over me, lingering on my bare legs where the shirt had ridden up. “Where are the pants?”
“Too big,” I said, doing a little twirl that nearly sent me stumbling. “I’m basically swimming in this alone.”
He caught my arm to steady me. “That’s enough.” Hudson guided me back to the guest room and pulled back the covers with one motion. “In.”
I considered being difficult just for the hell of it, but the bed looked ridiculously comfortable, and suddenly I felt every glass of champagne I’d had. “Asshole,” I mumbled, sliding between the sheets. “Has anyone ever told you that you’d make an excellent drill sergeant?”
“No.”
“I’d let you drill me.”
“Oh my god,” he muttered, pulling the covers up. “There’s water on the nightstand. Drink it.”
“Or what?” I challenged, because apparently I couldn’t help myself. “You’ll punish me?”
His eyes flashed, but he remained silent. Maybe he thought he was scary like that. I just found him even more fuckable.
“This is too much fun,” I grinned up at him. “Almost as much fun as the night before the expo, when you told me to—”
“Mari.” My name was a warning on his lips.
“Oh, now he’s shy,” I laughed. “That’s not how I remember it. In fact, I distinctly recall you being very specific about what you wanted me to do. Very... commanding.”
He leaned down, one hand braced beside my head, his face inches from mine. “Go. To. Sleep.”
I must’ve surprised him when I reached up and stroked his cheek, because he tensed above me. “God, you’re pretty.”
He straightened, moving my hand from his face as his self-control snapped back in place. “Go to sleep like a good girl.”
Giggling, I blew a kiss at him. “Yes, Daddy,” I replied, the words slipping out before my brain could catch up with my mouth.
Hudson went completely still, his eyes darkening to near-black.
“What did you just say?” His voice was dangerously soft.
I could have backtracked. Could have played it off as a joke. Instead, I doubled down. “You heard me.”
For a heartbeat, I thought he might snap—thought he might show me exactly what happened when Hudson Gable lost control. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to my forehead, his hand coming up to cup my cheek.
“We’re going to have a very interesting conversation in the morning,” he promised, his thumb brushing my lower lip before he pulled away. “Drink your water, Mari.”
He moved to the door and flipped off the light, leaving me in darkness except for the faint glow of the city through the window. The door clicked shut, and I was alone.