Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(41)

"Reagan!" She scolds, looking at my firmly. Aunt Kelly is one of those  sweet motherly types who is incapable of looking mad no matter how hard  she tries, and even at thirteen, I think I'm aware of this fact and  impressed with her attempt anyways.         

     



 



"She started it! I hate that name!"



Aunt Kelly turns and gives Quinn another equally as unimposing stern  look; "Be nice to your sister, she is wearing the dress after all."



"What's the point? It's not like Dad's going to show up anyways."



The silence that descends over the bottom of the stairs is palpable, and  I instantly regret opening my mouth as Chelsea's face falls and the  tears start to well up in her eyes. Even always-cool Quinn looks like I  slapped her in the face, and my Aunt's face goes a shade whiter; "Now  Reag-"



"Fuck you, Reagan." Quinn spits at me as she turns and storms out the front door.



I don't know it yet, but me and my big mouth have a long, illustrious future ahead of us.





P R E S E N T



Hudson gets weird when I mention my Dad, which only drives the wedge  that's already between us even deeper; the wedge being that I didn't  know my own Father half as well as he did.



"Look, let's go get a drink or something and I'll explain."



He can not be serious.



"I'm not going anywhere with you." I remember the last time with him  when drinks were involved, and immediately regret it as I feel my face  grow hot.



"Will you fucking relax?" He snaps, looking irritated and still holding  out his jacket to me even though we both know I'm not going to take it;  "Look, this isn't about us-"



"There is no ‘us', Hudson," I sneer. I know I'm covering for my own  embarrassment with this bitchy act, but I can't seem to stop myself.  Besides, what other way is there to act towards Hudson?



"Yeah, no shit, babe."



I glare at him.



"Listen, Red," He scowls at me, his blue eyes somehow looking even  hotter when they're fierce like that. I make a conscious effort to look  at his chin instead.



"Believe it or not, this is about your campaign, which people are  actually interested in seeing work out for you." He shakes his head at  me, as if I'm some petulant child; "Get over it being your Father's  compan-"



"Are you shitting me?" I can feel the fury rising inside as I cut him  off and stare at him in disbelief; "You think this is just about me  trying to act out or snub my Dad? Do I look like I'm fucking twelve  years old?"



"Twelve year olds are better behaved, Princess." He grins at me.



"Don't call me that!" I snap shrilly; "I don't want the money because I  am not taking campaign donations from a gun manufacturer!" Half my damn  platform is about cleaning up the streets and keeping firearms out of  the hands of kids; how the hell did Donald OK this?



Hudson purses his lips - those perfect, totally kissable-



"We got out of all that, it's nothing we do anymore." He says evenly, his eyes staring into mine.



"Sure."



He sighs loudly, rolling his eyes at me; "Jesus, have you always been  this ridiculous? Look, just come have a fucking drink with me and I'll  explain everything."



I know the sneering face I make at him plays entirely into his calling  me childish but I just don't care. I turn back to the doors and see  Donald standing behind them back inside the museum, giving me a scowl  and shaking his head, and I can practically feel his disapproval from  here.



"Fine; let's go."



*****



"This is your car?"



He looks up from the passenger door he's opened for me with a smug expression; "Yep"



Of course it is; I roll my eyes, wondering for the ninth time since we  walked out of my own fundraising event why on earth I said yes to this.



The sleek black vintage Charger is sexy as hell, but it's just so  overtly masculine and absurdly macho that I just shake my head as I  slide into the passenger side of the bench seat. A car like this, of  course, usually says that you're making up for something else. I  instantly feel my face flush scarlet with the memory of that one moment  and the size of that thickness pressing against me as he kissed me.



Hudson Banks isn't making up for a thing with this car.



I jump from my naughty daydream when his hand brushes my knee as he  reaches for the shifter; "Easy there, hands-y," I quip, shooting him a  look.



"Oh, relax and put your seatbelt on, Senator."



I'm about to respond when he roars away from the curb fast enough to  take the breath from my lungs and send a surge of adrenaline right  through my core as we tear off into the cold city night.



*****



The place we end up going is way fancy; like, the kind of bar that's got  so much class you can hardly get away with just calling it a "bar"  anymore at all. As we're ushered in, I'm suddenly glad we're dressed the  way we are, with him in a tuxedo and me in my gown. Although something  tells me when I see the Benjamin that Hudson palms the maitre-d that  he'd be seated wearing nothing at all.



Images of Hudson's chiseled, shirtless torso, and the big hint of what's  hidden lower flood my mind as we take a seat at the far end of the  elegant bar-top.



"What are you drinking?"



"Huh?" I shake my head, feeling my cheeks burn as I try and clear my  head of the dirty fantasies throbbing and undulating through my brain  involving the man sitting next me. This is the man I need to loath and  despise on pretty much every principal I have, not the man whos cock I  should be fantasizing about. I don't really drink much, and I can  actually still feel the half-glass of champagne I had back at the  fundraiser buzzing through me, but I shrug apologetically at the  bartender anyways; "Oh, uh, wine I guess? Something white?"



He smiles and turns to Hudson with a curt nod before he moves down to the other end of the bar.



"He knows what I want," Hudson says with a wink. He lets his eyes linger  down the neck of my dress as he grins; the subtext that I should know  what he wants too isn't exactly lost on me. I clear my throat and look  away.



I let my eyes wander around the demurely lit, sleek and modern-looking  room that reeks of money, taking the place in; "Come here often?" The  place is full of gorgeous women; all young and hot and digging - and  Hudson looks like he's made out of solid gold.



"Often enough, sure."



Yeah I bet, I think, eyeing the trio of skanks giggling and batting  their eyes in Hudson's direction from the other end of the bar. The  jealousy takes me by surprise, and find myself shaking my head; confused  by it. Why on earth am I so heated about this? There is no "Hudson and  I"; it was one night, five fucking years ago, and we basically just  kissed.



Well, kissed with his shirt half undone and his hand on my skin, teasing  across my hip and sliding down across the wetness at the front of my  panties. I cough again to clear my throat and my thoughts as the  bartender returns with my wine, and something that looks like it jumped  off the kids menu at a chain restaurant that he sets down in front of  Hudson.



"Uh, what the hell is that?"



Hudson shrugs as he takes a sip out of the straw; well, after he pushes  aside the ridiculous little bouquet of thin orange slices and maraschino  cherries adorning the top of it; "It's a Shirley Temple." He says  matter-of-factly.



I snort, a grin teasing my lips; "Are you serious?"



He looks at me like I'm an idiot; "Of course I am, they're delicious."



I grin in spite of myself, seeing the glimmer of his own in return as  his blue eyes flash at me; "Right, if you're seven years old."



"I don't really drink anymore."



I laugh, and it comes out harsher than intended; "Since when?"



"Since-" He wags his head side to side as if weighing something; "I just don't anymore."



I stare at him and then the glass of wine I didn't really want anyways;  "Well why are we at a bar to talk then if you don't drink?"



He turns and winks at me, that smug smile totally back and spread across his face; "Because you looked like you needed one."



I take a big slug from my glass, certainly as an excuse to tear my eyes  away from him, but also because the way he looks at me really does make  me need a drink.



"You know you're sunk without the money, right?" It's hard to take the  guy seriously - no matter how fucking sexy he looks in that tux with the  tattoos peeking out - with that stupid straw in between his lips and  the cherry stems tickling his nose, but his words jolt me back to our  reason for being here just the same.



"Fine."



He looks surprised; "Fine?"



"I said fine, OK?" As much as I hate to admit it, I know he's right. I  know the whole run is over without the campaign money from Archer  Holdings, I just hate giving him the satisfaction of hearing me tell him  he's right. He looks impressed with himself; like he's "won" and I'm  submitting to him, and not in the way that just won't get out of my  thoughts being this close to him. "I just don't see why you had to be  here though," I glare at him; "Don't you have interns, or fucking  servants or whatever to do this sort of thing for you?"