Chapter Nine
Felicia took a sip of tea from her Ants Do It To The Death mug and tucked the stray strands of hair that had slipped out of her ponytail behind her ears and looked at the clock on her phone for the fiftieth time in the past thirty-five seconds. Her bottom lip was starting to throb from her nervous nibbling, and if her heart went any faster, she’d be worried about passing out on the walk down to the coffee shop. Worst of all, she had to wait five more minutes before she could go down.
According to Hudson, she shouldn’t show up early. On time was fine, but early at a table with both of their drinks already ordered and delivered was a no-go. While that seemed like efficiency to her, he called it—she scrolled through the texts from the past ten minutes—“a stalker’s delight.”
Why was he so obsessed with that description? She wasn’t being all creepy and stalkery. Of course she knew Tyler’s drink order. They’d literally known each other for more than fifteen years. That most of that time had been with him visiting the Hartigan house and her butting into her brother Frankie’s room to say hi and try, unsuccessfully, to hang out with them didn’t matter. Oh, forget it, she wasn’t doing it Hudson’s way. He’d never know anyway. She got up from her chair, grabbed her phone, and began walking out of her cubicle. Her cell buzzed in her hand.
Hudson: Don’t do it.
She froze and looked around for his hulking frame. No Hudson. No hidden cameras. Nothing. How did he know?
Felicia: Do what?
Hudson: You’re already in the coffee shop aren’t you.
Ha! He was guessing.
Felicia: No, I’m in my cubicle.
Technically true.
Hudson: Sitting down?
She looked around again. Still nothing but the itchy feeling that he’d bugged the ant lab somehow. She sighed and admitted the truth.
Felicia: Standing in the doorway.
Hudson: Caught you!
Despite everything, one side of her mouth turned upward. He was incorrigible.
Felicia: You need a keeper.
Hudson: And you need to follow directions better.
Felicia: I’m a scientist. We’re naturally inquisitive.
Hudson: What are you wearing?
She looked down to fill the blanks.
Felicia: Jeans and a T-shirt.
Hudson: Lab coat?
Felicia: Hanging on the back of my chair.
Hudson: Underwear?
She typed out T-H-O-N before stopping herself. Damn it.
Felicia: None of your business.
Hudson: Same as the other night?
Heat flamed against her cheeks, and she ducked back into her cubical before anyone noticed. The other night. Yeah, that was one way to describe her totally losing her mind and her inhibitions to the point that she’d orgasmed standing up while on an ottoman in the middle of her living room. If life were fair, she would have been able to put it out of her mind completely and pretend it had never happened. But the truth was that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it, or wanting it to happen again. Obviously, her body’s reaction to Hudson was just transference. Whatever attraction she felt toward him would all work itself out as soon as she got Tyler to really notice her.
Hudson: I bet you’re cute and commando. That’s the mental picture I have right now. It’s hot.
She clenched her thighs together and forced her fingers to type something other than the status of her now damp panties.
Felicia: I’m not answering that.
Hudson: I can come over and investigate. Hanging around a scientist has made me more curious about my world and more appreciative of the scientific method of discovery.
As if.
Felicia: You’re full of shit.
Hudson: And you’re not as nervous now.
Her hand went up to her bottom lip. It wasn’t nearly as tender as it had been before and her hands had stopped twitching. How had he… Before she could finish the thought, her phone vibrated in her palm.
Hudson: Time to go. Have fun with Captain Clueless.
Okay, she had to hand it to him. Hudson Carlyle was a total pain in her ass, but he was good to have around occasionally. She dashed off a quick bye text and hustled down three flights on the staff-only staircase to the bottom floor. Visitors were thick between the hanging great white shark display and the museum coffee shop, but she still spotted Tyler who stood tall above the crowd. Of course, his inky black hair, intense blue eyes, and confident stance would make him stand out in any crowd.
It wasn’t until she swerved around a gaggle of kindergartners walking hand-in-hand in a giant swirling line that she realized his hair was mussed, and he had the distracted air of someone whose brain was miles away.
“Everything okay?” she asked when she finally made it to his side.
“Just another run-in with the world’s most annoying upstairs neighbor,” he said as they made their way to the back of the long line leading to the harried baristas. “The woman wears heels twenty-four-seven as she stomps around her apartment, and she has wood floors. It’s like living below a herd of stiletto-wearing elephants.”
Thank God Mrs. Blankenship in the apartment above her only made tons of noise during her Saturday morning cleaning extravaganzas. “Sounds like fun.”
“That’s one word for it,” he grumbled, shoving his fingers through his hair and leaving a straight-up mess in their wake. “I’m working on a plan, though.”
“You always were a schemer.” The words were out of her mouth before her brain had a chance to realize he might take that as an insult. God, why didn’t her high IQ help with social situations at all? “I don’t mean it in a bad way.”
“Nah, you’re right. A man’s gotta have a plan, and I’ve got a ton of them,” he said as they got to the front of the line. “Come on, let’s get that coffee. I need to run some stuff past you.”
One green tea (her) and an extra-large coffee (him) order later, and her phone buzzed against her ass as they stood in another line waiting for their order. She should ignore it. Tyler stood next to her checking his own phone. She had it out and in her hand a second later. So much for willpower when curiosity was involved.
Hudson: What’s going on?
Felicia: In line for coffee.
Hudson: Perfect. Now about that underwear…
Her pulse rocketed.
Felicia: Ignoring you.
She shoved it back into her back pocket, determined to ignore him—at least until she got back up to her cubicle. The barista called out their order, and they retrieved their drinks, and Tyler headed off to a table in the corner blessedly away from the shouts and whines of the child-sized weekday museum crowd. She followed behind, her self-satisfied smile growing with each step. That was a good sign. It had to be. Why ask for a coffee date and sit at the most private table there unless he’d had an epiphany about them? Her plan the other night had worked. All Tyler had needed was a little nudge in the right direction.
As she sat down in front of him, she couldn’t help but notice the way he fiddled with the cardboard sleeve around his hot coffee and the noticeable muscle tic in his jaw. He was nervous. Of being with her? Of what he was about to tell her?
Finally, he looked up, his blue eyes staring directly into her. “I don’t even know where to begin with this.”
Her pulse went into double-time. “Start anywhere.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding his head with firm determination. “I need help with something a little sketchy, but I promise it’s not illegal.”
Not exactly a will-you-go-out-with-me answer.
The sip of green tea in her mouth lost its taste, and she forced herself to swallow past the disappointment blocking her throat. “That’s comforting because I look like crap in orange.”
He toasted her with a slight tip of his coffee to-go cup and a half-hearted smile, but it was obvious his mind wasn’t on her but on whatever plan he was working on this time to make the world bend to his will. “I need some information about one of the museum’s patrons.”
“What kind of information?” she asked, the green tea sloshing around in her stomach as it knotted itself.
“If they’re still donating, and if so, if their donations have changed over the past year.”
Okay, not exactly public information but not the nuclear codes, either. Still, she knew Tyler. There was more to this than idle curiosity. “What’s this all about?”
He shrugged. “I’m just filling in some blanks on a financial profile I’m putting together.”
Uh-huh. Right. “So why not ask the client yourself?”
“Not possible.”
That was it. No explanation. No cajoling. No Hudson-like teasing that had Team Annoyance and Team Anticipation facing off against each other inside her. Just an unspoken black and white, will you or won’t you, hanging in the air between them.
“I don’t even have access to that information,” she said, sounding wishy-washy even to herself.
He leaned forward, intensity burning in his blue eyes. “But you could get it.”
“Maybe.” Okay, yeah, she could get it. Her boss would love for her to take a greater interest in pumping the museum’s patrons for money. But to reveal private information about a donor… That was iffy territory.
“Come on, someone in the business office has to owe you a favor or need one,” he said. “Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen.”
“It’s that important?”
He nodded. “I believe someone is lying about their finances and could end up harming thousands of employees if it’s true.”
Shit. This was definitely not where she thought this conversation was going to go. If she had, she sure as hell wouldn’t have told Hudson about it. The very last thing she wanted was to hear him laugh at her misreading of the social cues—again. Tyler looked at her expectantly.
Her phone buzzed against her ass. Relieved at the interruption, she pulled it out of her back pocket.
Hudson: What do you call two teenage ants running to Vegas? Antelope.
“Important text?” Tyler asked.
“No,” she said, putting her phone down on the table next to her tea just as another message flashed across the screen.
Hudson: What’s the difference between writing your will and owning an ant farm? One is a legacy, and the other is a sea of legs.
That was awful. Horrible. She didn’t know what dark corner of the internet he’d found that so-called joke, but he needed to back away. Fast. Still, she was smiling, and her gut had stopped churning her tea. By the time she looked up at Tyler again, her logical brain was back in the driver’s seat.
“Are you sure?” Snoop that he was, Tyler glanced down at her phone as he asked.
Now it was her turn to shrug as if it wasn’t important. “It’s just Hudson.”
He straightened in his seat, his broad shoulders going stiff. “Hudson Carlyle?”
She nodded.
“What’s going on with you two?” he asked, his gaze narrowed in on her. “I was surprised to see you at dinner with him.”
Okay, this was her opening. She had to take it. “Why, don’t you think I date?”
That would have sounded a whole lot more convincing if the last word hadn’t come out in a squeak.
“No, because of him,” Tyler said. “He doesn’t seem like your type. He’s got a certain kind of reputation and, anyway, let’s just say I have a history with the Carlyle family.”
Not wanting to go anywhere near what she imagined to be Hudson’s reputation, she swapped topics. “Want to talk about it?”
“Sorry, that touchy feely crap isn’t for me. I’m more of a man of action.” He slid a piece of paper with a single name scrawled on it toward her.
Oh yes. The whole reason for this coffee date. Not because he saw her as date potential, but to ask a favor of a friend. “And of schemes.”
“Exactly.” Tyler twisted the end of an imaginary mustache. “So, you’ll do it?”
She took the piece of paper and nodded.
“Thanks, Felicia,” he said as he pushed his chair back and stood. “I hate to ask a favor and dash, but I’m late for a client meeting.”
Pushing back her disappointment—after all, she was well-practiced at it when it came to Tyler—she smiled. “No problem.”
“Thanks again. I knew you’d help.”
And he was gone, lost in the sea of tourists and Harbor City regulars gathered under the great white shark hanging from the ceiling. Well, so much for a date. This was more like a dead drop. She glanced down at the name. Gregori Sirko. Beyond a name in the financial section of the Harbor City Journal, it meant nothing to her.
Gathering up her tea and phone, she stood up and then made her way through the throng of people and back up the employee stairs to her office. Her phone vibrated the moment she sat down in her chair. Damn. It really was like he had her office bugged.
Hudson: How’s it going?
Felicia: It’s gone.
Hudson: And…
Felicia: No change.
That was putting it mildly. Oh sure, she had some kind of don’t-tell-anyone spy mission, but that didn’t change the fact that Tyler still didn’t see her for anything beyond his friend’s nerdy kid sister who he’d known forever.
Hudson: Don’t worry. We’ll make it happen.
She sat her phone aside without responding. What could she say? All of her predictions had proved wrong. A few minutes later, she was analyzing the data from her latest field report and trying not to think about the Tyler situation when her phone buzzed.
Hudson: So, what color underwear? I’ve been distracting myself with ant jokes, but the internet is out of them.
She laughed despite herself. He didn’t give up; she had to give Hudson that.
Felicia: Red cotton with little white hearts.
Hudson: Can’t wait to see them.
Her legs clenched against the tingle of anticipation, making her pulse skyrocket. She set her phone down, her hand a little shakier this time. Fighting to ignore the way her body had gone into overdrive at his text, she tried to work it out logically.
1. She was attracted to Hudson in some kind of cruel transference joke of fate.
2. She had to spend time with Hudson in order to get Tyler to finally notice her.
3. She needed to learn how to seduce Tyler, and Hudson was obviously willing to teach her.
4. Orgasms relieved stress, and she was feeling very tense right about now.
Nothing about her body’s reaction to Hudson changed her plans or her goal. It just meant that her lessons with Harbor City’s Professor Higgins had the potential to be a little more orgasmic than expected. Nothing to worry about there at all.
…
Well, it could have been more orgasmic if Felicia had actually gotten to see Hudson. Annoyed that four days and almost four nights had gone by without a peep from her professor, she tossed aside the journal she’d been reading in bed and grabbed her phone.
Felicia: Where are you?
A reply came almost instantly.
Hudson: Miss me?
Felicia: You’re supposed to be helping me.
Hudson: I am. I’m teaching you patience and anticipation.
Felicia: If you could see my face right now you’d know what I think of that.
Hudson: Show me.
Selfies weren’t her thing. Especially not selfies when she was in a raggedy old sleep T-shirt with her hair in a messy bun.
Hudson: Chicken?
“Fine,” she grumbled to Honeypot, who was curled up on the corner of the bed completely ignoring her, held up her phone and snapped a quick picture of her glaring at the phone, sending it before she could change her mind.
There was nothing for almost a full minute, then her phone vibrated.
Hudson: I’ve missed you, too, Matches.
She stared at the text, unable to unravel the meaning. She must have missed something. Scrolling up in the text stream so she could reread, her thumb hit the photo she’d sent, enlarging it. Her stomach dropped. Oh shit. Half her face took up the top quarter of the photo, but that wasn’t what had her cheeks burning. The white cotton of her T-shirt was thinner than she’d realized. There was no missing the dark shadows of her nipples against the threadbare material, and the stretched-out V-neck dipped at just the right angle to show off the upper swells of her breasts.
Felicia: I didn’t mean to send that.
Hudson: I don’t know, a lesson in sexting is good.
Felicia: I don’t know how to do that.
Hudson: Matches, you most certainly do. I’m so hard I could pound nails with my dick.
Her breath caught, and her nipples puckered against her shirt, and it wasn’t because of a chill. It was October outside but the dog days of August in her room. In a flash, her skin was flush, sensitive, hot, and needy. It was too much. Falling into the moment, in the name of this experiment with Hudson, was one thing. Doing it while he was God knew where with God knew who—a lead weight pulled her stomach down to her toes at that thought—and doing God knew what was not gonna happen. She shot off one last text to end the conversation.
Felecia: I have to go now.
Hudson: Chicken. ;)
Nope. That wasn’t going to work a second time. She all but flung her phone across her bed. It landed with a thud by Honeypot, who jolted up with a hiss and flew off the bed. If only she could get away from the way Hudson made her feel as easily as her cat stalked across the room.
…
A week spent painting at the cabin usually went by in a rush, but not this time. A certain pocket-sized ant researcher kept turning up in Hudson’s paintings, which wasn’t going to do him any good if he was going to make the deadline for his next gallery show. He sat down on the porch, a crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich held in his paint-stained fingers, and checked his texts. Nothing from Felicia—not since that wet dream of a photo two nights ago. Anyone else and he would have assumed the shot had been staged and one of fifty taken before a final picture was filtered and sent. Not with Felicia, though.
Unable to take the radio silence anymore, he put down the sandwich and started a text.
Hudson: Still in that T-shirt?
Two minutes later, his phone dinged.
Felicia: It’s noon, and I’m at the ant lab working on my article for the premiere journal in my specialty.
Hudson: That’s not an answer.
After five minutes with no response, he poked her again.
Hudson: I have a mission for you.
This time, he got an immediate response.
Felicia: ?
Hudson: You need to get three date dresses.
Felicia: Payday’s next week.
Hudson: I’ll talk to my personal shopper at Dylan’s Department Store. She’ll be expecting you after work today. Sixth floor. Ask for Jacqui. Everything’s my treat.
Felicia: You have a personal shopper?
Hudson: Focus, Matches.
Felicia: Does your mom still cut your food, too?
He let out a bark of a laugh and smiled. There was his sassy girl.
Hudson: I’ll let you do it for me if you wear that T-shirt from the other night and nothing else.
Felicia: I threw out the shirt.
He wasn’t above going through her trash to get it back. Honeypot would stand guard.
Hudson: That’s just mean.
There was a pause, and then a photo popped into the text stream. In it, Felicia was at work, her hair in a ponytail, wearing her glasses and a blue crewneck sweater. He assumed there were pants to her outfit, but he couldn’t get visual confirmation, so his imagination at least got that much of a treat. Her very kissable pink lips were smooshed into an exaggerated pout, and she was tracing an imaginary tear down her cheek. She was mocking him. His dick didn’t care. The sight of those lips and the big guy was ready for action.
Felicia: Life is pain.
And near constant hard-ons. He needed to get back to Harbor City. Now.