E very so often, there were these mornings at uni where I had to lie there for several forgetful moments thinking, "What the hell did I do last night ?"

This morning, I woke up and remembered everything I'd done and still had to ask myself, "What the hell did I do last night ?"

I kissed Hudson .

We stole off together and shared a secret kiss in the shadows .

And it was best kiss of my life...since the last time he'd kissed me .

I kissed Hudson Grant .

That's what I did last night .

The memory of his lips on mine sent me skittering up to a sitting position way too fast, like I was trying to launch myself away from what I was remembering .

Because in spite of the aching ice pick lodged in my skull, I couldn't blame last night on the drink. I'd meant everything I'd done, and I definitely remembered everything too .

And that was a fucking problem .

I sat there at the edge of my bed, waiting for the world to stop spinning, I tried to count backwards from ten and reminded myself that he was leaving today. The terrible temptation would be leaving my house and going off on tour and out of my life again. I might see him once or twice when I visited Niall and Reese in the States, but we'd never again have the proximity that we'd had this week .

That was a blessing .

So why did I feel so goddamned sad right now ?

I got up and splashed water on my face. Then I shook out several white tablets from the aspirin bottle and chugged down a huge glass of lukewarm water. I licked my lips and then thought for a moment before madly rushing to brush my teeth and run a comb through my ratty hair .

Then I looked at myself in the mirror. That would have to do. Now what I needed was some tea .

I made my way slowly down the stairs, trailing my hand down the wallpaper, feeling the brushed flocking left from the owners of a hundred years ago. Aside from putting in electricity, this wing of the house hadn't been renovated since Queen Victoria was alive and there were all these crumbling reminders of bygone years. I usually loved the layers of history on top of each other. It was the kind of thing I would sketch obsessively, over and over, trying to find a way of showing how many layers there were to everything around us and the beauty of seeing down into what lies beneath .

But right now it only made me feel somewhat melancholy. Like I'd never actually get to scratch the surface .

I rounded the bottom of the gracefully curving staircase and into the still emptied great room. The grand piano had been polished and set back into the center of the room. All traces of the party had been effortlessly whisked away by unseen hands in the night .

It was almost like last night had never happened. I could pretend it never happened .

But there was that rasp against my lips where his stubble had bruised me to remind me very forcefully that it had .

I could hear voices far off down in the west wing, but I was otherwise alone in the kitchen. A basket of fresh fruit dominated the island, a gift from my brother's label. I felt perfectly within my rights to snag a waxy looking apple. I needed the vitamins for this hangover .

As I pressed my lips to the cool flesh, I paused. I brushed them once more against the taut skin, letting my tongue flick out, exploring ...

Then I let out a short, astonished laugh. "Really, Tally?" I said to the empty kitchen .

It was too ridiculous for words to think that the simple act of pressing my lips to an apple could make me think of kissing Hudson .

But the throbbing in my core was not ridiculous at all .

I set the apple down with a frustrated moan, and went in search of less sexually exciting fruit .

I'd told Bernard, my last boyfriend, that I didn't like kissing. Mushing mouths together, the slimy feel of tongues, the taste of someone else's lunch lingering on your palate. Ugh, gag me , I'd insisted to Bernard .

I also insisted that it meant nothing, that we could go on dating without engaging in such a nauseating activity .

As I rifled past bananas (too phallic) and peaches (too squeezable) to grab a safe-seeming orange, I chuckled. Turned out I really liked kissing after all .

I liked kissing Hudson .

Hudson's kiss had left me breathless and giddy, and anyone who looked at me afterward might figure me for freshly shagged .

I mean, as far as I knew .

I brushed my fingers up to my lips, feeling the stickiness of orange juice lingering there. Oh god, were oranges off-limits now too ?

So, okay, he was leaving today. At least I might soon be able to enjoy fruit again without fear of spontaneous orgasm. But he'd also leave me with some important knowledge. I now knew for sure that I liked kissing. Kissing done right, of course. After I told Hudson goodbye - chastely and with no stolen glances - I would go back to university and find myself a proper gentleman. I'd find some bloke with a delicate, pale body, and floppy hair who wrote poetry in a leather-bound journal. Someone who I could boss around a little, who took direction well .

Then I would teach him to kiss me the way Hudson did .

I nodded decisively. Right. Good plan. All the benefit of Hudson. None of the risk of Hudson .

Stop thinking about Hudson, I screamed at myself. But I couldn't. He was leaving today and there had been so much promise in that kiss. So much more that I'd never known I wanted until I was about to let it slip away. He was leaving today ...

I wanted him to stay .

I wanted ...

More.

And then, as if my racing subconscious somehow managed to develop telekinetic powers, Hudson appeared in the kitchen like he'd suddenly teleported through the wall .

"Oh," I said, stunning myself with my intellect. In the morning light he was even more glorious, all the more so because he wasn't wearing a shirt .

He wasn't wearing a shirt very, very well .

"Oh," he echoed, with a soft smile that would have been mocking if he were anyone else in the world except him. "Sorry," he said, and produced a white T-shirt from out of nowhere, and to my ever-lasting sorrow, he yanked it over his head .

At the sound of his voice, my fingers flew to my sticky lips again. They were tingling like crazy, like some kind f proximity alarm. Alert. Good kisser in the area .

Of course, because I cannot be subtle, even if my life depended on it - which right at this moment it felt like it did - the motion of my hand caught his attention. He immediately locked his blue eyes onto my lips and let them linger there for a long, long moment. I froze, like his eyes and my lips were caught in a staring contest. I froze. And I waited .

But if he had any thoughts about my lips and what they'd done with his last night, he didn't say them .

Of course not .

That cool, unflappable smile, perfectly polite and perfectly in control, just curled up in an easy, comfortable curve .

At that, my heart started hammering in my chest, so loud I could hear it in my ears. I wanted to lash out with frustration, shake him. Don't you know what you do to me? Are you driving me mad on purpose ?

Go away !

"Mornin' Lulu ."

I blinked. All the questions that I'd been contemplating flinging at him suddenly dissolved and only one remained. "Why do you call me that?" I blurted .

He reached out and snagged an apple. The very apple I had pressed my lips to. When he took a bite, I felt a shiver run through me that had my toes curling against the floor. "I think it suits you," he said .

"Why not call me Tally, like Niall and everyone else ?"

And then I paused and looked at him, sudden understanding flooding me .

He didn't want to call me what Niall called me. And I didn't want him to either. I wanted something ...

Just for him .

But that was dangerous .

"How about you just call me my name?" I asked him .

"Tallula." I loved the way it sounded in his mouth. Slow. Like he was tasting it. "All right, Tallula." He grinned. "I can do that. It is a pretty name. Pretty as you are ."

"Hudson," I warned. You can't call me pretty. You need to stop making me feel pretty. Before I need you to make me feel this way all the time .

He raised an eyebrow. "Tallula ?"

I shook my head a little, unsure anymore of even what I was trying to say. He was leaving .

He shrugged and took another bite of his apple, then made to walk out of the kitchen .

I didn't like that he was walking away. He was leaving... but not yet. "Hudson?" I repeated, following after him. "You're leaving today, right ?"

He turned and went to grab banana from the basket. "That's what they tell me ."

"Are you... You looking forward to going out on the road?" What was I asking? Why did I care? Do you want to leave? I should have asked. Because I don't want you to .

He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "I love playing music," he said evasively. Not answering the question. I wasn't sure I wanted him to either. Because if he said he wanted to leave, that would mean he wanted to leave me .

And I wanted him to stay here as long as he could. With me .

"There's a pond on the estate, did you know that?" I blurted .

My outburst didn't faze him. He was as unflappable as always, but there was a keen light in his eyes. "Sounds nice," he said neutrally .

"Right." I was nodded way too fast and had to forcibly slow my bobbing head. "I've been walking down there in the mornings since I've been here." I pinched my side. "Trying to lose a few inches and all ."

"Don't you dare," he growled softly .

"I'm sorry ?"

"You don't need to lose anything. You've never looked better to me ."

I ducked my head. "Right so, you might want to get a dose of sunshine, yeah? Before Scandinavia ?"

Hudson nodded. "I could definitely use it. I love this weather. Wasn't expecting it here in England, I've got to say ."

I laughed. "It's going to rain as soon as you leave." The sun had been shining since he touched down on English soil. And tomorrow the forecast was for clouds .

He nodded. "Let's go out in it now then ."

As I stepped out of the main house in my sloppy T-shirt and a pair of too-tight yoga pants, I felt like the fucking Queen herself to have Hudson strolling at my side. We were walking. Just walking, that's all, but it was prolonging that giddy feeling in my stomach. It was making my blood sing for just a little while longer. That's all I wanted ....

That wasn't all I wanted, but it was all I should have .

We walked in silence, the only sound the twittering of birds in the hedges. A puff of smoke from the village below us curled lazily into the sky and I took a deep breath of the sun-warmed air. His boots made a soft swishing sound through the manicured lawn. The pond was out in the moorish section of the property, down below an ancient stand of trees. We stepped onto the long grasses, still bent from winter, turning golden in the sunlight and I turned back to see that the house had nearly disappeared from our sight. We were as alone as two people could get on an estate that employed fifteen people full-time .

The thought made my blood shimmer .

Ahead through the row of carefully tended trees, I could see the sun winking sparks off the surface of the pond. I remembered what I'd thought of Hudson - how he was like the mirrored surface of the water - and glanced up at him .

I couldn't see any thoughts betrayed on his face. His shoulders were broad and his hands swung easily at his side as he clipped his gait to match my shorter stride. Everything about him radiated comfort and ease .

Except the small pulse at his temple .

At first I thought I was imagining things but no. There it was, a silent, stealthy betrayal. And suddenly I knew without a doubt that I wasn't imagining things, that kissing him had meant as much to him as it had to me and ...

I whirled and stopped, pressing a hand to his arm. "Hudson ."

He looked down at my hand. Waiting. Watching .

He wasn't going to make the first move .

It was up to me to ...

"Could you?" My fingers went to my lips again. His eyes widened slightly and he let them linger there, watching me trace the shape of his kisses against my mouth. "Before you go..." I added, nonsensically .

But he understood. "Kiss you?" he supplied .

"Before you go," I repeated .

"I could," he drawled, his voice all husk and hunger. "I could kiss you so we'd never want to stop. But Tallula ..."

I stared up at him. I was frantic for something I didn't understand. "I want you ."

At that he let out a low, slow groan, the noise of an animal caught in a snare .

"Just kiss me," I begged again. "Before you go. One more time. One last time ."

"Last time?" he breathed. It sounded like he wasn't sure of himself. Like he was reminding us both, that this was it. No more transgressing. No more sneaking around and hiding in the shadows and rushing off for furtive strolls by the pond. "Last time," he repeated, warning me .

I nodded. "Last time. Yes, because we can't ..."

But his mouth was on mine then, kissing me so hard I couldn't say any more .