Sinner(181)

My hand is shaking, and I grip the champagne flute tighter, willing it to stop. I do not get this way over guys, especially a prick who tried to take advantage of my grief; winding me around his finger before shoving me away, quite literally. Hudson Banks is a fucking head case. Some ex-military jock who somehow found his way into my father’s good graces and wound up running a whole division of his company. I shake my head again, suddenly realizing I actually would rather there not be a campaign than take my father’s money. Especially if it’s coming from Hudson fucking Banks, however stupidly good looking and sexy he looks in that damn tuxedo with those piercing blue eyes the color of a stormy sea.

I’m dimly aware of Donald hissing at me as I shove the champagne flute into his hands and walk away, ignoring the cameras, the stuffy museum trustees, my campaign aides, and especially the hot asshole in the tuxedo, as I march right out through the museum foyer and out the door.





Chapter Two





Hudson




She storms out of the foyer and through the double glass doors into the museum courtyard, and I’m shaking my head and following her.

Of course I’m following, like I’ve been following her for longer than she’s ever known and in spite of how damn bratty she gets.

It’s cold out here in the open-air courtyard, and the city lights and sounds are only slightly muffled by the four walls of the museum around us.

She whirls on me with a look of fury on her face, her mouth open ready to spit fire and brimstone and vitriol at me like I know she is, when suddenly she’s slipping on the ice under her heeled feet. I move faster than my brain even knows how to; years of training and reflex just making the body move on its own accord I guess, and I’m catching her before my head even totally registers that she’s falling.

Fuck, she feels amazing in my arms. She’s come out here without a coat on in that classic hot-headed Reagan way, and as my arms go around her, I can feel the heat from her skin against my palms through the low-cut open part at the back of her dress. Her hands clutch at my jacket lapels, one seizing my arm as she gasp and tumbles right into my chest. I close my eyes for the briefest moments, smelling her perfume or shampoo, or whatever voodoo magic she’s using to bring my head completely to a stop as I just hold for a frozen moment in time.

You know, smelling her, like a totally normal person.

“Put me down,” Her voice is high and whispered, but she’s not fighting or struggling against me. I’m still frozen, feeling her hand against my chest and my shoulder like that; her hair in my face and her scent just enslaving me.

“Hudson!” She sounds more insistent this time, and now she’s pushing at my chest. “The last thing I need is some photographer snapping pictures of me canoodling with some hot prick in a tuxedo.”

I pull my face back to grin into hers. “So, five years later and you’re still thinking about my hot prick, huh?” I smirk at her, still relishing the feel of her in my arms, and doing everything I can, even if it’s obnoxious, to keep her there even a moment longer.

Reagan rolls her eyes. “Emphasis on prick,” she huffs out, squirming out of my arms and stepping away from me.

“Hey, your words not mine, sweet stuff.” I wince inside, regretting saying it even before it leaves my mouth.

Why the fuck can’t I just be normal around her? There’s something about the way she talks to me - the way she’s always talked to me - that brings out the fighter in me when all I want to do is be normal around her. Well, that’s of course not the only thing I want to do with her when I’m around her, but I let that thought simmer away for the time being. It doesn’t help that she’s sexy as hell standing here in the freezing cold with her red hair looking wild and fierce and wearing that ridiculously hot black dress with her nipples poking through. I can feel my cock stir in my pants, and I shake my head, trying to tear my eyes away from her perfect tits in that perfect dress with her perfect nipp-

“In your dreams, asshole.”

You have no fucking idea, babe, I think inside, gritting my teeth and trying to will my erection to go away. Instead, like I always do with her, the snark comes out instead. “You know honey, Donald’s right about you.” I can see her bristling at the word honey and add that one to the list of probably slightly offensive names she clearly hates.

“What?”

“You do have a hell of a mouth on you.”

She smirks at me, all sass and sexiness. “Oh, honey, you have no idea.”

I groan inside, feeling my cock go rock-hard inside my tuxedo pants. I don’t know if she means for it to come out as innuendo-laden as it does, but before I can even think about it too hard, she whirls to march away from me and suddenly she’s slipping on the ice all over again. I lunge again, catching her once more before she falls.