Chapter Twelve
Hudson was restless. Itchy. Growly. Normally that meant he needed a brush in his hand and a blank canvas in his sights. Since he had both of those things at the moment, he grumbled to himself and picked up his phone—the one he’d been eyeballing constantly since he left Felicia’s the night before last. His fingers worked as fast on the keyboard as they had on his cock every time he thought about the face she’d made when she’d come apart on his dick.
Hudson: Name three interesting facts about yourself.
He stared at the phone, willing her to answer. As soon as the three little dots appeared on his screen, his shoulders relaxed.
Felicia: Why?
He grinned. Persnickety little Matches.
Hudson: It’s called conversation.
Felicia: ?
Hudson: It’s the thing humans do so they don’t babble about ant sex on dates.
Felicia: You’re an ass.
She wasn’t wrong; it was just most people didn’t see it.
Hudson: That’s interesting fact number one about me. Your turn.
Felicia: I graduated top of my class in high school and college.
And water was wet.
Hudson: I never doubted it. Next?
Felicia: Nope. You’re up.
His brain went blank, and he scanned the cabin looking for something—anything—to tell her about himself. The temptation to share his secret was there, chomping away on the back of his brain like a dog with a bone, but he shook off the urge. Only one person knew about his double life—and Everly Ribinski, gallery owner and professional badass Harbor Cityite, wasn’t about to tell anyone. So neither was he.
Hudson: My dick is pierced.
Felicia: Liar. You forget, I’ve seen your dick.
Seen it? His cock thickened against his thigh at the memory of how she’d more than just seen it.
Hudson: And sucked it.
Felicia: Stop trying to fluster me. I know your tricks. You’re up.
Hudson: As is the case whenever I talk to you.
Felicia: Waiting…
She was just stubborn enough to stay silent. It was a challenge he couldn’t back away from, not that he was going quietly.
Hudson: Fine. I did not graduate at the top of my class in either prep school or college.
Felicia: Lame factoid. I want something good.
Hudson: Then you have to give it.
Felicia: Lesson number four-hundred-eighty-two?
He was really starting to hate these stupid “lesson” conversations. They were fun until she’d mentioned fucking Tyler last time. That comment still had screwed with him hardcore.
Hudson: Yep. Another lesson.
Sure it was. Just another day in his double life as The Dude Whisperer. God. He shouldn’t even think that. His balls actually shriveled a little bit. Not that modern-day Henry Higgins sounded any better. Focus, Carlyle. Felicia thought she was his protégé and he was just texting her so she’d learn the art of flirty conversation and land Tyler. Not for any other reason.
Felicia: Fine. I can double knot a cherry stem.
Hudson: I’m assuming there’s more.
Felicia: With my tongue.
Hudson: Impressive.
And his prick—the one that she’d used her talented tongue on the other night—nudged the back of his zipper.
Felicia: Batter up.
Shit. This give-and-take thing was easier with the socialites who were never really listening. He glanced down at his bare feet.
Hudson: My first toe (second toe?) is longer than my big toe.
Felicia: That’s Morton’s Toe! The Greeks were totally hot for it. They used it in sculpture, as did the Romans. The Statue of Liberty has Morton’s Toe, too.
He snorted out a chuckle.
Hudson: And you just made it weird.
Felicia: No. I made it awesome.
To quote one of Sawyer’s favorite movies, that word did not mean what she thought it meant—but she was close.
Hudson: Time for number three.
Felicia: I’m saving up for an original Hughston painting.
Fuck his giant ego because it had him thumb typing before he could stop himself.
Hudson: Which one?
Felicia: Daybreak. It makes me feel the same way I do on Saturday mornings.
“It’s my favorite part of every week.” That’s what she’d said. And his painting made her feel that way. Not that she knew it was him. And that little factoid was enough to pop the bubble on whatever had taken over his body and erased his earlier irritation because suddenly her not knowing his secret made the barbed-wire itchy feeling return. And that didn’t make any fucking sense.
Felicia: You still there?
He stared at the words on the screen, unable to come up with a fittingly reply.
Felicia: It’s your turn, don’t wimp out.
The barbwire started piercing his skin, leaving invisible holes in his flesh.
Felicia: Hudson.
Desperate to end this conversation that he hadn’t been able to wait to begin, he fell back into old habits and changed the conversation.
Hudson: Sorry, Matches. Duty calls.
Felicia: You hardly ever go into the office.
That’s where she was wrong. It’s just his office was a cabin with amazing natural light and an abundance of privacy so he could keep his secret from everyone.
Felicia: Still there?
Yeah, he was. He never seemed to be moving. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with himself let alone the hot ant scientist with a lifelong crush on his brother’s best friend. Speaking of which…
Hudson: Pick you up at seven tomorrow night. Wear one of the new dresses. The Carlyle brothers have another business meeting with your future boyfriend. See you then.
Then, he turned his phone off and went back to glaring at the blank canvas in front of him.
…
Felicia smoothed her hands over the red dress dotted with the tiny navy flowers for the eleventy-billionth time and forced herself not to look at the clock.
“Hudson will be here when he gets here and not a moment sooner,” she muttered to herself.
Great. Now she was talking to herself. Another ten minutes and she’d change again. Dresses littered her bed. The ones that Hudson had paid for and the few she already had. The only dress that remained in her closet was the blue wrap dress she’d worn the night she and Hudson had…well, they had a lesson she wasn’t going to forget. Ever. It had been radio silence until yesterday. Which is exactly how it should be. She yanked her hair back into a high ponytail, wrapping a ponytail holder around it, using more force than necessary. Anything more than that mindset and the whole Eliza Doolittle/Henry Higgins, Jedi/Yoda thing could get thrown out of whack. They were two people with a common goal and compatible sex drives. That was that. There was no reason to muck it up with anything else. Her rubber band broke, snapping her fingers with a wicked smack, just as Honeypot began to yowl.
“Perfect timing,” she grumbled, letting her hair fall to her shoulders as she marched to the door.
She scooped up the cat and yanked it open, ignoring Honeypot’s sharp-clawed protest.
“Hey there,” Hudson said, wearing a navy-blue suit that had him looking every bit like the millions of dollars in his bank account. “I see my girl couldn’t wait to see me.”
Felicia’s synapses sizzled to a crisp. His girl? Heat rushed to her cheeks. Then he reached out and scratched Honeypot behind the ear. Oh yeah. That girl. The furry one who was now purring like a race car engine. Felicia’s face turned shades of the sun hot. Good. That was exactly who she’d been hoping he meant.
Liar.
She shoved the cat into Hudson’s arms, hoping in the petty part of her heart that Honeypot would choose that moment to puke up a fur ball. “I need to go get another ponytail holder.”
“No way.” He strode in like he owned the joint and put Honeypot down on the blue chair.
She jolted to a stop only a few steps short of her bedroom and whirled around. “What?”
“Remember? We’re doing this my way.” He closed the distance between them in a few strides. Yes, her apartment was tiny, but it still wasn’t fair. He was too tall. Too close. Too confusing. “You’ve got great hair. Leave it down.”
“I suppose I should chuck the glasses, too?” she asked, the question coming out more brittle than she meant.
Why in the hell was she being like this?
“Hell no. Those are hot as fuck,” he said with total sincerity and a little leering, but in a non-creepy way. “Totally reminds me of my math tutor.”
Her panties, a thong because of the dress’s body con fit, tried to wriggle their way off her body while her brain kept a tight grip on the lacy fabric. She fucking swore they did. It was insanity. That’s what happened when you slept with the Henry Higgins of Harbor City while trying to land another guy. It discombobulated a person.
“Whatever,” she said, not meaning to huff but unable to stop herself.
He cocked his head, making some of his light brown hair fall over his forehead before he swept it back with his long fingers. “What’s wrong?”
Pull it together, Felicia.
“Nothing.”
He didn’t look like he believed her. “Nervous about Tyler?”
The simple and pure logic of the question was like an epiphany. That had to be it. Not the whole transference, animated panties thing, but nerves.
“That must be it,” she said. “Sorry, I’m out of sorts.”
“You’ll do awesome.” He gave her a wink. “Just follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.”
“I have an entire lecture on ant colony interactions all ready to go.” The look of horror on his face finally made her shoulders ease down a couple of inches. “Relax, I’m kidding.”
“Don’t hide your brain, Matches. It’s one of the sexiest parts about you,” he said. “Just keep the gross ant facts to a minimum.”
The compliment—even with the ant comment—settled like warm honey in her belly, and for once she didn’t try to unwind it like a riddle. She just allowed herself the luxury of accepting it, grabbed her purse, and walked out the door, leaving a mewling Honeypot behind.
The Crane and Berry was the kind of restaurant with a waiting list that went into the years. As the hostess in her head-to-toe black led them back to the table, all of that calm was washed away by the sight of Tyler sitting next to Sawyer at a corner table with guarded expressions on their faces. They each had a closed menu and a half-filled glass of scotch in front of them. The nerves bubbled back to the surface, then Hudson’s strong fingers slid across the expanse of her lower back and he leaned down.
“I’m betting on black lace with little ribbons tonight,” he whispered in her ear half a heartbeat before he straightened and pulled out a chair for her at the table—the one right next to Tyler. Then he took his seat on the other side of her and shook his head at the two men. “I presume the bloodletting hasn’t started yet.”
“No, we’ve got all the details just about worked out for the office complex in Singapore,” Sawyer said, his tone tight. “It’s just getting him to give his blessing to Mr. Lim that we’ve got it down.”
“Sounds like things have changed a little bit since you and Frankie had your lawn mowing business,” she said, reaching for the goblet of water above her plate. “Didn’t you get everyone to sign off on using you two exclusively for the entire summer in exchange for a ten percent discount?”
“Sounds like you,” Sawyer grumbled, even as his lips were starting to curl into a smile.
“Damn straight,” Tyler said before turning to Felicia and giving her a curious look. “Something’s different. Do you have new glasses or is it your hair? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it down before.”
She grew at least two inches while Hudson stiffened beside her. Of course, he would have known exactly what was different even if he hadn’t been the one helping her to make that transition, but Tyler was different. He had never noticed how she’d looked before. This was progress, even if it was ham-fisted.
“Yeah,” she said, her face managing not to turn beet red as she reached up and smoothed the long strands tickling her shoulders that were exposed in the sleeveless dress. “Trying something different.”
“I like it,” Tyler said, his gaze traveling down from her hair to the scoop neck of her dress, looking at her in just the way she had been hoping for years he would. “It suits you.”
While the comment didn’t set off the swarm of butterflies in her belly, Felicia held on to the triumph of that moment, sailing on the high of it, for the rest of dinner. There was some talk about the office complex Carlyle Enterprises hoped to build for Tyler’s client, but things relaxed after the food was served—especially after Sawyer got a notification on his phone that the Giants’ star slugger had hit a grand slam. That led to the two men clinking glasses and from that point on the conversation went from stories about their days at prep school and college to Tyler’s high-heel-wearing upstairs neighbor.
“So she walks around in her apartment. What do you want her to do? Float?” she asked with a chuckle.
“It’s not that,” he said, his face animated and his blue eyes glimmering with excitement. He always was drawn to a challenge. “She complained to the building management that I was annoying her.”
Sawyer snorted. “Aren’t you the building management?”
“Yeah.” Tyler nodded. “I own the place, but none of the tenants know that.”
Okay. That made little to no sense. “Why not?”
Tyler grinned at her. “I have my reasons.”
“And you’re not sharing?” Of course he wasn’t. That wasn’t how Tyler operated. Ever.
He gave her a wink. “You know I always have something up my sleeve.”
“Truer words have never been spoken,” Sawyer said before turning the conversation back to the Giants and the upcoming playoff game they were both going to.
By the time the bill came, Tyler and Sawyer did the whole manly fighting-over-the-bill thing before Hudson—who’d been weirdly quiet for most of dinner—swiped it off the table and took care of it without more than a mumbled, “I’ve got it.”
It was weird, but she shoved the thought aside, instead relishing the way Tyler’s gaze kept traveling back to her. That was what she had been after for years. She kept waiting for the thrill of anticipation to skitter across her skin or for the spike of awareness to find its way right to her core, but it never came. Not when Tyler draped his arm across the back of her chair. Not when he toyed with the ends of her hair as it lay on top of her shoulders. Not when he leaned in close and whispered that she looked great tonight. That she didn’t get all freaked out—which usually meant blushing her way through an adrenaline rush—but that didn’t mean anything. She was just focused on her goal, and she couldn’t afford to let down her guard and enjoy the moment. That would come later. She just knew it would.
She stood, and they said their good-byes. The brush of Tyler’s lips across her cheek was a win, but her reaction must have been delayed because it wasn’t until Hudson pressed his hand to the small of her back as they walked through the restaurant that the telltale heat of blood rushing to her cheeks hit her. Of course, it was just a slow reaction to a successful night. And instead of focusing on it, she’d start planning the next stage in this experiment because that’s what she did. She kept her attention solely focused on the goal—dating Tyler Jacobson before she turned thirty in less than two weeks.
…
The night had gone so perfectly that Hudson had an overwhelming urge to punch someone—anyone—square in the face as he sat in the back of the Uber with Felicia on the way back to her apartment. Captain Clueless hadn’t missed a single opportunity to touch Felicia. Which was great. Really. Fucking. Great. Everything was happening just as he’d planned. Tyler and Sawyer had been giving each other shit over dessert—as they should be since they’d been friends since the dawn of time—and that asshole Tyler had finally started to notice what had been in front of him for most of his life. And Felicia had lapped it all up. Not what he’d had planned—or at least not what he wanted he could admit to himself.
Felicia turned in the seat next to him in the Uber, a little V of confusion appearing behind the bridge of her glasses. “What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think something’s wrong?” His hands balled into fists at his side? The fact that his molars were now a thing of the past?
She gnawed on her bottom lip for a second before answering. “You barely talked at dinner.”
“It was hard to get a word in with Captain Clueless rambling on and on.” And touching her.
Jesus. Pull yourself together, Carlyle. You fucked her, just like you’ve fucked plenty of other women in your life. Caveman is not a good look for you.
“He has a name,” she said, her eyes narrowing and her chin tilting up in a stance he knew far too well. “Say it.”
There was nothing in her tone to make him think she’d give up, so he schooled his features into a teasing smile and slipped on the mask that had always fit him so well up to now. “Tyler. The love of your life’s name is Tyler Jacobson.”
“And he liked the dress.” She glided her palms across the clingy fabric covering her thighs, the ones with a few freckles spanning each one.
“More like he liked the woman in it.”
“And isn’t that why we’re doing this?” she asked, looking out the window as the bright lights of Harbor City flew by instead of at him.
“Exactly.” Which did nothing to explain the iron ball in the pit of his stomach. He knew better than to order scallops on a Saturday night. Everyone knew the fresh fish came in on Monday. Obviously, The Crane and Berry had served him shitty scallops.
“So I should call him tomorrow,” she said, reaching for her purse as the Uber turned the corner onto her street.
“No.” It came out hard and fast, a verbal reaction more than a thought.
“Why not?”
Why not? Because of a million reasons that Hudson didn’t even understand. “Because.”
She straightened in her seat, ready for battle. “You’ll need to do better than that.”
“Because you have to make him work for it.” Yeah, that sounded good. Maybe.
“Is this really your advice or is this because of the other night?” There was no missing the vulnerability in her tone.
“That was just a lesson.” Keep telling yourself that, chump. “And this is another one. You need to let him stew for a bit.” God knew the idiot deserved it. The car slowed as it approached her block and the streetlights’ glimmer caught in her hair and realization struck him right between the eyes. The delay wasn’t for the moron, it was for him. The other moron. “You never want something as bad as when you can’t have it.”
She fiddled with a tendril of hair. “I don’t know…”
“I know just how to make this work.” He had no fucking clue how to make this work. He just knew he wasn’t ready for her to see Captain Clueless again. He had to get her away from Harbor City. The car stopped in front of her apartment. “Pack an overnight bag. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow.” And so would he, because he had no fucking clue where he could hide her for a few days.
She started to open the car door and get out and then hesitated, looking at him as if she was waiting for more, wanting more. He sure as hell did, too, but they didn’t want the same thing—not really. Then the tip of her pink tongue snuck out, wetting her bottom lip and dragging his attention to one of the many cock-hardening parts of her. How many times had he pictured those lips wrapped around him like they had been the other night? Too fucking many. Not nearly enough.
Don’t kiss her. Don’t do it. Shove her out of the car and tell the driver not to stop until your brain takes back over for your prick.
It was good advice. The best advice. Too bad his dick was such a…well…dick in every sense of the word. Her hand was still on the door handle and one foot on the pavement when he threaded his fingers through the silk of her brown hair. The move was perfect for tugging her back against him, but he didn’t need to—she came on her own, tumbling back against him, her eyes already hooded and her glossy lips parted.
He barely heard her mumble something about transference over the blood rushing through his ears on its journey to his cock as his lips crashed down against hers. She tasted of red wine and temptation—two things that had fast become his very fucking favorite—then he swept his tongue inside her sweet mouth. Her tongue met his, twisting and teasing him in strokes that sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock. God, this woman. How the hell Captain Clueless had missed this for all these years was beyond him. He couldn’t get enough of her, of the way she moved against him and moaned into his mouth. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulled her head back, and let him deepen the kiss. Every bit of testosterone in him demanded he lay claim to her now, make her his. Tonight. Now. But that couldn’t be. The realization was enough to make him ease back even as his body fought against it, and she moaned her disapproval until the only parts of them still touching were their foreheads and his fingers in her hair as they fought to regain their breath.
He needed to get her out of his system. Take her someplace where no one would know to look. The idea hit him with the subtlety of the F-Train headed uptown and just as surprisingly. He couldn’t take her there. He never took anyone there. His gaze dropped to her kiss-swollen lips. It was the only place he wanted to go with her.
Forcing himself, he sat back and let her hair slip between his fingers. “See you tomorrow at eight, Matches.”
She blinked, questions brewing in her blue eyes, but instead of bulldogging the point, she just nodded and stepped out of the Uber, closing the door behind her and leaving him to wonder if he’d totally lost his mind. The answer, obviously, was fuck yes.