Until You Loved Me (Silver Springs #3)(4)

“Can I tell her I’m with you?” Since Devon laughed as he spoke, Hudson knew he was joking, but he made his position clear, anyway.

“No. Don’t tell anyone I’m here. That would mean I’d have to leave, and I’m enjoying myself at the moment.”

“You are? You didn’t even want to come.”

“I’m glad I did.”

“You’re not doing anything except having a drink...”

At least he was having a drink around other people, could have some fun vicariously. “That’s good enough,” he said. “For now.”

“Man, you could change that so easily. All you’d have to do is crook your finger, and you could have any woman in here.”

Probably not any woman, but more than his fair share. That was part of the problem. Hudson never knew if the women he met were interested in him or his celebrity. “Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Devon’s expression said he was far from convinced. “Are you kidding me, man? I’d give anything to be you. I’d have a different model in my bed every night.”

Hudson didn’t live that way. He hadn’t slept with anyone since his girlfriend broke up with him nearly two years ago. He hadn’t planned on remaining celibate for such an extended period; he just hadn’t found anyone to replace Melody. Not only did he prefer to avoid certain risks, like getting scammed, he didn’t believe it was ethical to set someone up for disappointment. People like him, who struggled to fall in love, should come with a warning label. That was the reason he and Melody had gone their separate ways after seven years. She’d come to the conclusion that he’d never be willing to hand over his heart—could never trust enough to let go of it—and she wasn’t interested in anything less. She wanted to marry, settle down and have a family.

He respected her for cutting him off and had realized since then that she was right. He’d stuck with her as long as he had because she was comfortable and safe, not because he felt any great passion.

Still, it was difficult not to call her, especially when he needed the comfort, softness and sexual release a woman could provide. Only his desire to protect her from getting hurt again, since the breakup had been so hard on her, kept him from relapsing.

“I refuse to be that big a fool,” he told Devon.

Teague’s little brother leaned closer. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing.” Devon wouldn’t understand Hudson’s reluctance to churn through women even if he tried to explain it. Part of it was Devon’s age. At twenty-four, nothing sounded better than sex with as many girls as possible. Hudson had felt the same way eight years ago. Only his peculiar background, and that trust issue, had kept him from acting on his baser impulses. Also, he’d achieved early success through college football at UCLA and already had something to protect when he was twenty-four.

“So why don’t you approach her?” Hudson pressed, gesturing toward the blonde.

Devon took another sip of his drink. “Think I should?”

The song had ended and she was walking off toward a table on her own. “What do you have to lose? She might shut you down, but then you’ll move on to someone else, right?”

Freshly empowered, Devon put down his glass and slid out of the booth. “Good point. Okay. Here I go.”

As soon as he left, Hudson donned the sunglasses he kept in his shirt pocket—he was already wearing a ball cap—and called over the waitress.

Fortunately, she was so busy she barely looked at him, so the disguise seemed unnecessary, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“What can I get for you?”

“That woman over there—what’s she drinking?” He pointed at the lone figure he found so intriguing. He didn’t have to worry about her seeing the gesture, since she had yet to look over at him.

The waitress cast a glance in the direction he’d indicated. “I’d guess a peach margarita.”

Just as he’d thought. “She needs a fresh one. Will you take care of it?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” He handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.”





2

When the waitress brought Ellie another drink and explained that a gentleman in a booth not too far away had sent it, she almost refused it, especially when she twisted around and saw that he was wearing sunglasses. What kind of guy was so clueless or affected that he wore sunglasses in a dimly lit bar, especially at nighttime?

She found that behavior slightly ridiculous, but what she could see of the rest of him was appealing. A snug-fitting T-shirt revealed broad shoulders, a solid chest and well-muscled biceps. He seemed tall, even though he was sitting down, and his face wasn’t unattractive. Matter of fact, she liked the square shape of his jaw and the strength of his chin. Don had a weak chin, now that she thought of it—not that she meant to. This guy looked like someone who might be in the military, a pleasant association since she’d always admired the men and women who fought to keep America free.

Besides, she’d come here to take her mind off her troubles, hadn’t she? It wasn’t as if her girlfriends were doing much to help. Every time they came back to the table to check on her, the two men they’d met would drag them off again.

So, after taking the drink from the waitress, she lifted it high to show her gratitude to the man who’d purchased it for her. If some stranger wearing sunglasses in a bar wanted to buy her a drink, let him, she told herself. At least she was starting to relax, to enjoy herself. No doubt the alcohol could take full credit for that. She still felt like crying whenever she thought of Don. But she wouldn’t think of Don. Like everyone else here at Envy, she’d lose herself in the strobe lights, the music and this fresh margarita.