Until You Loved Me (Silver Springs #3)(71)

“It’s not something I’d ever want getting out about me—and I’m not famous.”

*

When Ellie woke, she was a little disoriented. She still had her clothes on. The lights were on, too, and she was sleeping in a giant bed she didn’t recognize...

Then it all came back to her, and she realized she must’ve fallen asleep after unpacking—and slept for several hours.

She got up to retrieve her purse so she could find her phone. It was nearly two in the morning. What was Hudson doing? She would’ve guessed he was sleeping, like most other people so late at night, except she heard the steady thump of bass coming through a set of speakers somewhere below. Was he in the living room, watching TV? The kitchen, listening to music while he made a midnight snack? She doubted she’d hear anything if he was all the way in the basement.

What was he doing up so late?

After brushing her hair and putting it back up, she changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, washed her face, brushed her teeth and left her room to see what was going on. She hadn’t meant to go to sleep when she lay down. She’d meant only to rest her eyes.

Had he come up to see if she wanted dinner? Or had he eaten without her?

She felt...left out, which was ridiculous. It was possible that he’d checked on her and she didn’t know it. He didn’t have to include her, anyway. She was the one who’d made such a point of telling him they’d act like regular roommates—the kind who lived entirely separate lives. Maybe he figured that should start immediately.

He wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen. She found him in the game room, drinking and shooting pool. The music was so loud he didn’t hear her approach, which gave her a moment to observe him undetected.

He was barefoot, wearing worn jeans and a cotton T-shirt that stretched nicely across his broad shoulders. But he looked tired, upset. What was going on? Why wasn’t he in bed?

The power with which he sent the white ball crashing into a solid blue ball told her he was upset. Swearing under his breath when he missed the pocket he’d been aiming for, he turned to take another drink of whatever he had in his glass—brandy?—and saw her.

“What are you doing up?” he asked.

“I’m more surprised I went to sleep in the first place. I wasn’t planning on it. I just...dropped off.”

“You needed the rest. That flu took a lot out of you.”

“I guess so.”

He stood there staring at her for a few seconds. She got the impression he wanted to say more—especially when his eyes moved over her—but he didn’t. He went back to his game.

“You okay?” she asked.

No answer. He sank two stripes—one in a side pocket and the other in a corner.

“Hudson?” Was this going to be where she learned he had an anger problem—that he was a mean drunk or insufferably moody? She was afraid she might discover something like that. The Hudson she’d seen since he’d come to Miami was totally normal, real, even kind. She’d forgiven him for punching the wall in the motel when she told him about the baby, but she hadn’t forgotten it, especially now that she’d quit her job and they were back on his home turf...

Would that frightening Hudson reappear? Send her scrambling to buy a plane ticket home?

“I’m fine,” he said.

She deliberated whether she should take him at his word and leave him to his music, alcohol and pool playing. He was obviously trying to cope with something the best way he knew how. But he didn’t seem fine; he seemed troubled.

She ventured closer. “Have you had any dinner?”

“Not yet.”

He had to be hungry. She was. They’d eaten lunch twelve hours ago. “Why don’t I make us something?” He didn’t seem to be drunk—he wasn’t slurring his words, wasn’t uncoordinated in his movements—but he was heading in that direction. She figured it couldn’t hurt to get some food inside him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said dismissively, but as soon as she’d eaten a quick bite, she made him a plate of bacon, eggs and toast and took it to the game room.

“Here you go,” she said, as if he’d indicated that he did want to eat.

To her surprise, he accepted the food and sat down at a nearby table.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” he replied.

“I can tell it’s something. Are you having trouble adjusting to the idea of having a child? Or is it that you’ve had second thoughts about bringing me out here? I could leave...”

He stared at her as if none of that had crossed his mind. “No. I don’t want you to go. What I’m feeling has nothing to do with you or the baby.” He studied her for a few seconds before speaking again. “But if you’re really concerned, you could be the remedy.”

“The remedy?” she repeated.

“A temporary fix, for sure. You can’t change reality. No one can. But touching you, I’d like that. It would be so much better than feeling—” he waved his fork for emphasis “—what I’m feeling now.”

He wanted sex. He’d made it clear he wasn’t satisfied with her stance on that issue. She had, however, believed they’d get past her first night in California before it came up again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, what you’re feeling now,” she said, hoping to draw the information out of him.