Hudson(38)

I need to focus on that, focus on the real, and abandon thoughts of the impossible.

I brush a kiss on her forehead. “I need to order dinner. Chinese okay?”

“Sounds delicious.”

She stretches and her tits pop out from under the covers. They’re gorgeous and are distracting me from food, but Alayna works later and I need to take care of her. “I’ll call it in.”

I feel her eyes on me as I leave the room, and I very nearly let them pull me back to her. Except I’m a man of discipline. I can abstain from the things that I can’t have and Alayna Withers…I can only have her in this way—in measured doses. In fragments of time.

But when I am with her, I will be with her completely.

I make the call to the Chinese place on the corner. They’re on speed dial and know me well.

Then I take a few minutes to gather my thoughts, to remind myself of the games I’m playing and the games I refuse to play. When I return, I need to distance myself from her. This evening can’t be construed as anything but what it is—a simple f**k. She can’t believe there is anything more to my desire than that.

Because there’s not. I won’t let there be, no matter what ideas are shaping in my mind.

I collect the clothes we’d discarded earlier in the living room, not letting my mind recall the details of the hot memory. When I return to my room, she’s half-dressed. It should be a good thing—she understands exactly what this was supposed to be and she isn’t cleaving to the physical act, making it something meaningful, like most women would.

And I’m disappointed.

“You’re getting dressed?”

I’ve startled her. She covers herself with her arms, hiding from me. I don’t like her hiding.

But that’s not a fair thing to want. Not when I’m hiding. From everyone. From her.

Still, I can’t let her go.

I throw the shirt and tie onto the laundry basket and strike a stern pose. “Are you in a hurry to leave?” My gaze travels the length of her body—her well-toned legs, her trimmed *. My cock twitches with arousal.

She shivers and I wonder if she’s cold or if she can sense my want.

Then she looks away and I realize she has no idea how she affects me. It’s insane that a woman so intelligent can’t see the obvious.

“Guys don’t usually want me to hang around after sex,” she says.

I’m ripped apart by her words. “That statement brings up so many issues for discussion that I don’t know where to begin.”

She’s perfect and men have turned her away? I step toward her on impulse. “What is wrong with men to not…?” I can’t finish the statement. Because I should be turning her away. Because sentences like that are too close to sharing emotions. Because thinking of her with other men makes my gut twist.

Yet, I have to say something. “Alayna, please don’t group me with other guys you know. I’d like to think I’m not like most of them. And I don’t want to know or think about you having sex with other men. I don’t share.”

She doesn’t meet my eyes, but I can tell she likes what I’ve said.

“That sounds awfully relationship-y to me. I thought you didn’t do relationships,” she says as she tugs on her shorts.

It’s not a challenge—she’s feeling out the boundaries of what’s going on with us. I admire her for that. “I don’t do romantic relationships. Sexual relationships are another thing entirely. Why are you getting ready to leave?”

She reaches for her shirt, but I beat her to it. “Stop,” I say, holding her shirt out of her reach. I put my finger under her chin, tilting her to meet my eyes. It’s an intimate gesture—almost too intimate. Lost in her eyes, I say the words I shouldn’t but that can’t bear to be held inside. “I want you to stay.” I add my addendum so that my plea doesn’t get misconstrued—by her or by me. “And, if you are so inclined, I’d prefer that you not be dressed.”

She’s stubborn. Or cautious. “You’re dressed.” She crosses her arms over her chest again and thrusts out her lip in such a way that it takes all my energy not to lean forward and nibble on it.

“As soon as the food’s here, I’ll be happy to lose the clothing. Would that make you feel better?” It would help me to be naked with her. This strange energy between us is wearing on me. The physical is what I have to give her. I need to bring that back to the forefront of our relationship.

“Yes,” she answers, and I’m relieved.

But then she changes her mind. “I don’t know.”

I brush my hand against her cheek. Other women are so easy to read, so easy to manipulate because I understand what they’re thinking. But Alayna—she’s different. And all I know is that I have to have more of her. “What’s going on inside your head, precious? Are you going to run off every time we have sex?”




She turns away from me. “I hadn’t really thought this would be more than a one-time thing, Hudson.”

Honestly, I’d thought that I could get her out of my system easier than this myself. But I can’t. I need her in a way that I can’t fully understand.

And something about the way we connected makes me think she feels the same. So why is she running?