Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(45)

"Seems like it's a little cold in here too, toots." He smirks and nods  at my chest, and I look down to realize my nipples are poking out  through my thin t-shirt. I hastily cross my arms over my chest.         

     



 



"What are you, ten? Seriously thought, I'm not going to-"



He cuts me off by tapping a piece of paper printed with what looks  suspiciously like a time-table and shaking his has as he grins at me;  "Donald's schedule, Princess; not to be ignored."



Something tells me arrogant, filthy rich, obnoxious and tattooed Hudson  Conners doesn't give a flying shit about keeping schedules, and I know  he's just doing this to get to me, which I am determined to not let  happen.



"Fine, let's go." I turn and start to march down the hall back to my room.



"Oh, panties it is then?" He calls after me, and I swear it's almost as  if I can feel his eyes on my butt, looking right through my pajamas.



I slam the door to my room, shutting him off again.





P A S T



"I don't understand why I need to wear this fucking monkey suit." I  grow, shifting uncomfortably as the tailor pats the inside of my leg and  secures the expensive fabric with a pin from his mouth. I look up at  the Old Man, and he's grinning at me in this mix of amusement and  something I can't quite place- it could be pride, but I'm honestly not  sure I've ever seen that emotion on someone's face directed at me.



But, there's a lot of new things in my world after meeting William  Archer. New like being back in the States and working for his company,  or like having more money than I know what to do with; new things like a  new identity. "Hudson" is easy to keep, since it's what the guys called  me in the service after I got busted singing Billy Joel's "New York  State of Mind" in the shower one night when I thought I was the only one  up, and I was all too happy to drop my Dad's fuckin' last name for my  Mother's maiden one.



"You wear that fucking monkey suit, Hudson, because it's your costume;  it's your disguise. That fucking monkey suit will open doors for you  that would otherwise be closed; doors you never even imagined existed.  It's the mark of a man at a certain place in the world, and it lets  those around him know what that place is."



I raise an eyebrow at him, grinning; "Did you rehearse that?" He's  chuckling and I shake my head; "You rehearsed it, didn't you."



William shakes his head, exhaling slowly; "Shut up and turn around, Marine."



I mock salute and roll my eyes as I turn; "Yes si-"



Well, shit.



The man who looks back at me in the tri-fold floor-length mirror is like  a me from another alternate reality. It's me - those are my eyes  looking back at me, but that's the only thing I could possibly guess is  the same, and it's not just the suit. It's everything about me that I  almost don't recognize, and my brain can't even begin to process how  much of a good thing that is. I need the old me to not be recognized,  even by me; hell, especially by me. The old me needs to be purged in the  fires of what's to come, and the new direction my life is going in  faster than I can almost catch up with.



"So, what do you think." The Old Man looks smug behind me as he looks at me through the mirror.



"I think I- I look different?"



William tilts his head toward the tailor, who nods before ducking out of  the room; "You look like a person again, Hudson. You look like a man  ready to finally be one."



I'm remembering that shitty dive in Kinshasa, when the first guy I'd  seen in months that didn't look like some kind of criminal or terrorist  sat down next to me at the bar and introduced himself.



"You know I'd never let you down, Sir, but are you sure- I mean, just because we were in the Marin-"



"If you think I'm ‘hooking you up' with a job like this just because we  share a common military history-" He trails off, shaking his head; "I do  not make decisions like this lightly, Hudson. You of all people should  know that."



I nod.



"The company needs someone like you; someone like all three of you  actually. We need men who can react-" He steps closer to me, his eyes  boring into mine; "And men who've looked the devil in the face like you  have and lived to know what it takes to walk away; what it means to keep  a piece of your humanity when it seems like you can't." He smiles  suddenly at me, breaking the spell; "So that's why you're wearing that  fucking monkey suit, Hudson." He smirks and winks at me; "Think of it as  a uniform. I'd think even a Marine could wrap his grunt head around  that way of looking at it".



I grin and look at myself in the mirror again, still amazed at the image  looking back at me of the man I never imagined I could be.



"It's a responsibility, Hudson; that's something else I don't take  lightly." His voice is quieter, and when I look up I can see the solemn  and somber look in his eyes.



"Yes si-"



"You've come a long way, Hudson, but there are demons still on your back  I'm going to need you to shake at some point." I'm still drinking, and  we both know that. I mean, I'm drinking less, but addiction is addiction  no matter how you quantify it.



"I need you in control, Hudson." His eyes flash as he looks at the visage of the new me in the mirror; "Are you in control?"





P R E S E N T



This is getting ridiculous. This girl is way too hot for me to be doing  this whole pseudo-bodyguard thing, even though I can tell she's the type  that doesn't even know it. I honestly don't know what the fuck Logan  and Bryce were thinking; hell I don't know what I was thinking signing  up for this, but this is too much. I mean a man can only take so much.



We're at the gym, and she's working out; in fucking yoga pants and the  worlds tightest, clingiest tank top. I mean honestly, how am I supposed  to fucking deal with that?



At least the place is secure. Reagan might eschew her father's money,  but she's got enough of it herself along with some sense to pick a gym  that caters to the those who don't want their picture being taken while  they're grunting out a squat or puffing away on a treadmill. The fact  that we're entirely alone in the gym has a secondary bonus too, in that  no one's around to see that I'm rock hard inside my gym shorts as I  watch her.



I mean, I'm trying to tear my eyes away from the ice queen herself here,  except the ice queen happens to have a fantastic ass, and from where  I'm sitting pretending to do arm curls on a bench behind her while she  climbs the stair-master, it's taking every ounce of my willpower not to  grab her by the hips, yank those skin-tight yoga pants right off that  ass, and bury my face between her legs.



Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself, psycho.



She's barely tolerating my being there, but she knows she's stuck with  me thanks to the board at Archer Holdings and thanks to Donald and his  rigid schedule. I mean, I get it; she wants to be taken seriously as a  real candidate and not just some pretty little rich girl with a killer  smile (and a great rack, for that matter) who wants to play politics.  But as annoying as he is, Donald does have a point; you gotta work those  strong points, and Reagan's strong points do happen to include the fact  that she's young and hot and fit. Give the people what they want, and  all that.



Hence, the mandatory gym visit on today's schedule.



"Stare much?"



I shake my head and drag my eyes up, seeing that she's stopped the  machine and is giving me a strange look over her shoulder. Her straight  red hair is pulled up in this adorable little ponytail, and I just want  to grab it and use it to guide my-



Jesus I need to get laid.



"Huh?"



She rolls her eyes; "I said, 'stare much', as in, quit staring at my ass, perv."



Put on some fucking snow pants, or a burka or something and maybe I will I grumble to myself, knowing I probably still would.



"Ray, your staff said you had a new bodyguard or someth-"



I turn at the sound of the door to the weight room opening and instantly lock eyes with a younger, blonde version of Reagan.



"Oh, it's you." She's got the same look on her face Reagan had on this  morning, without of course the distracting element of being Reagan; and  of course, not standing there in just her panties.



"Lovely, another warm welcome." I plaster on my biggest, most fake smile  for the Old Man's youngest daughter and Reagan's little sister; "Hello,  Chelsea."



"What are you doing here, Hudson?"



"Just waiting for smiles like yours, sweetheart." I smirk at her. Jesus,  do all these Archer girls walk around with chips on their shoulders all  fucking day?



"Don't call her that." Reagan's snapping at me as she gets off the  machine. She breezes past me, shouldering me out of the way as she goes  to hug her sister; "What's up, Chels?"