Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(52)

Yeah, because "complimentary companion" has "sexy" written all over it.  And again my mind instead thinks of the hard-bodied, cocky Hudson.  Hudson with the tattoos and the obnoxious bad-boy chip on his shoulder;  Hudson with the dangerous glint in his eye and the fucking missile  hanging between his legs. I'm pretty sure it would give Erika an  aneurism if I announced that he was going to be my new "companion" of  any kind.         

     



 



I'm still mulling all of this over in my head when Chelsea comes over later with takeout sushi.



"So what do you think, Hudson?"



I grumble into my yellowtail maki. I don't know if I'm pissy because  she's decided to include him in what was going to be a sister  get-together, or that she's somehow getting along with him swimmingly.  Or maybe I'm just generally feeling on edge because of the Hudson  situation as a whole.



"Your ex sounds like a dick, Chelsea," He's saying as he takes a bite of  salmon. He sees me staring at him and grins as he makes an extra big  show of sensually slurping the piece of fish between his lips while  Chelsea is looking down at her own food. I make a face at him, which  only gets him grinning more and more my own pulse beating faster.



"Aw, thanks Hudson!" I'm still making my stink face at him when Chelsea  looks up sees me, before she turns and nods her head at Hudson; "You  know, you can always come hang with me if my sisters being a bitch,  Hudson."



He chuckles right along with her as I stuff seaweed salad into my mouth  and look away. It's not flirty between them - she's acting like more of a  kid sister and him more like a conspiratorial brother than anything  like that - but it's still getting under my skin. It's as if their  closeness brings out some sort of bizarre jealousy in me, which is  stupid because I don't want or need to be close to Hudson.



Keep saying that to yourself and maybe you'll start to believe it.



I'm interrupted from battling my inner dialogue by Chelsea poking me in  the arm with a chopstick; "We should ask his opinion on your ex, Ray."



I blush as Hudson arches an eyebrow at me, a grin teasing his perfect  lips; "Ex-boyfriend, huh?" Yeah, I definitely haven't mentioned Chet to  Hudson.



"Let's … not?" I'm staring daggers at my sister, but she's either not getting the hint or just ignoring them anyways.



"Oh com'on! I bet Hudson has a ton to say about you and Chet."



I groan inside as Hudson grins wickedly at me; "Chet?" His cocky, smug  mouth cracks even even wider as winks at me; "Oh, yeah, I think I've got  loads to say about ‘Chet'."



"See?" Chelsea gives me a sassy look as she reaches past me for the ginger.



"I'm sure you do." I say icily.



*****



"So, Chet, huh?"



We're cleaning up the kitchen after Chelsea leaves; Hudson rinsing out  wine glasses and me drying them. It's weirdly domestic, and probably the  last thing I could ever imagine spending my Wednesday night doing with  billionaire playboy Hudson Banks.



"Chet is none of your business, actually," I say, almost unable to hide my smirk. Is he jealous?



"I'm just curious that's all," Hudson passes me a clean, dripping wet coffee cup.



"Oh what, for security purposes?" I say sarcastically as I reach for the mug.



"No I'm just curious for me actually." I freeze with my hand on the lip  of the coffee cup he's holding in his hand, suddenly very curious where  he's going to go with this.



Hudson grins, as if seeing right through the casual face I'm doing my  best to maintain and seeing the eagerness within; "I'm honestly just  wondering who could put up with you long enough to date, that's all."



I roll my eyes, suddenly angry with myself for being such a weirdo about all of this; "Oh shut up."



Hudson laughs; "Oh I'm just kidding Red, jeez lighten up." He casually  reaches over and wraps his arm around my waist, and I freeze.



"Stop."



"What?"



I can feel the strength in his arms, and the heat in his fingers as they  circle around my waist, drawing me closer to his body and I can feel  the shiver run up my spine.



"Just- don't touch me like that." I'm saying no because I need him to,  not because I want him to. In fact, I desperately want him to keep  touching me.



Hudson frowns; "Jesus, Reagan, like what?" He drops his arm and steps  back from me, and I'm instantly missing the heat of his body and the  heat my body feels when he's that close to me; "Ok, fine."



I swallow heavily; "Fine." I know my cheeks are bright red, and the  heated, needy desire pouring through my body and dampening my panties  scream that I want anything but him to stop touching me, but I force  myself to turn away from him.



I gasp when he reaches out and grabs my arm, and my heart leaps into my  throat as I feel him spin me around and press me up against the  refrigerator. I'm flush against his body, feeling every ripple of his  muscles, every inch of his skin on mine, and I let out the tiniest of  moans in spite of myself. I can feel his hardness pressing hotly against  me as his hands push my arms back against the cool metal of the fridge,  and he leans down until I can feel his breath teasing across my lips.



"Just so you know, I'm betting I could have you right here, right now, Princess. I'd only have to ask."



"Oh is that a fact, huh?" I give him my most defiant, carefree look, but  I know by the way he grins that he can see right through that. And I  know by the way my face is flushed and the way I know he can feel the  heat between my legs on his thigh that neither of us are fooled by my  little act.



"Yeah, that's a fact." He growls, leaning closer still until his lips are barely millimeters away from mine.



"Then why don't you then." My voice is breathy, and I hear the words  muted as if I'm speaking underwater. I'm willing him to kiss me; willing  him to lean down press that mouth to mine and take me right here in the  kitchen; right up against the refrigerator.



Please, please, please I beg inside my head, biting my lip and staring  deep into his deep blue eyes and wanting nothing more than to feel him  slide inside of me. I'm so wet and I can feel my heart just racing as we  stare at each other. But I need him to make the move first. I'm running  for a seat on the State Senate for crying out loud, I can't be throwing  myself at my bodyguard - or my campaign financier, or both, or whatever  the hell Hudson is. I just can't, and for that singular reason, every  fiber of my being and every thudding beat of my pulse in my veins wants  him to tear my panties off and fuck me right here.



But he doesn't, and the moment passes, and we both know it. Hudson moves  away from me suddenly, his own chest rising quickly with his breath as  he stares at me hungrily with a look I can't quite read; "Like you said,  Reagan; it's nothing."





P A S T



"Are you drinking?" My older sister's eyes are narrowed, red-rimmed as  they are as she leans down to sniff the cup of soda she's snatched out  of my hands.



"N-no." I mumble out, fairly confident that there's no way she's going  to smell the white wine I've dosed my diet-cola with. Yeah, I'm drinking  white wine with coke; I was a very special breed of eighteen year old  rebel.



Quinn swears at me, even though I know damn well she's had a few  herself; "It's a wake, Reagan, not an open bar," She hisses; always the  one in charge, especially now.



"It's not a wake, it's a memorial vigil," I say it tensely through gritted teeth.



Quinn looks at me sadly, shaking her head; "Ray, he's d-"



"He's missing, Quinn, he's not dead." Well, missing for three months, last seen near the Syrian border; presumed dead.



My sister tenses her jaw and exhales through her teeth, either because  she's thinking it too, or more likely because she's just not about to  have this argument again with me, here of all places. "In any case,  you're not supposed to be drinking."



"So?" I sneer at her; "I'm mourning." It's really only half true; maybe  even less actually. Of course I'm upset about my Father's death, but the  anger is still so present that it's clouding my ability to really grasp  that he's gone. I'm angry that it's felt like he's been gone for years  anyways; always off doing something in some random part in the world  that he won't tell us about and that I don't want to know about anyways.  I remember asking him once when I was much younger if what the kids at  school had said were true; "Do you sell guns, Daddy?"



"It's complicated, honey."



Right, "complicated". It's bullshit like that, mixed with his complete  absence from our lives - certainly after Mom died, but almost completely  in the last three years - that have me spiking soda with wine like some  sort of total amateur. I storm away from my sister, just in time to see  the staff ushering Hudson into the room full of mourners along with the  two other guys; Bryce and Logan. I barely know them - honestly, I  hardly know much about Hudson really - but in that moment of them  walking into my Dad's funeral, I kind of hate them. I hate them because  they were closer to my father than any of us ever were; the military  sons he always wanted and never got. And in that moment, there at his  funeral, their presence makes me feel like they have more of a right to  be there then I do.