Page 8

Eight

Willow

“Bitch!”

I’m flinching back, trying to get out of arm’s reach, but suddenly he’s right there, his face a mere inch from mine…

Gasping, I sit upright, heart pounding, hand clamping to my chest.

Panic rippling through me, I search the room, and it takes a few moments to recognize that Dylan’s not here, that I’m not in the hospital, that I’m in Hudson’s house.

Safe.

For the moment, anyway.

That settles my pulse enough to reach for the burner phone—and that’s a term I’ve never heard used outside of a movie script—and check the time.

It’s after midnight.

“Dang,” I whisper.

My sleep schedule is so messed up it’s not even funny, and the fatigue that’s clinging to my bones is even less so.

I know the doctor mentioned that it’s common, that I spent a month in bed and my body needs time to recover, but I hate that I was exhausted by a ride in a wheelchair followed by a drive in a limo and a twenty foot walk into the house.

I can’t even count the flight of stairs up to the guest room, considering Hudson had one of his employees carry me up them and all but tuck me into bed.

I would have preferred Hudson be the one to do it.

And, good grief, just call me a spoiled princess.

Because of course he couldn’t carry me—like literally couldn’t —not with his hip.

And who am I to complain? I hadn’t even been able to look at the steps without wanting to curl up on the floor and cry.

I should have been grateful for the lift.

I am grateful for it.

It’s just…when Hudson touches me, I’m not scared, not holding myself carefully still, afraid to even breathe, so I don’t trigger a ticking time bomb of a man.

Which sounds insane.

Because I’ve known him all of a day.

Except…he’s Hudson Dash .

I know him by reputation, have never heard a whisper of violence or unwanted sexual advances, and this is Hollywood—rumors fly, we hear the rumblings.

But it’s not just his reputation that settles over me like a warm blanket.

It’s…an inner voice telling me he’s safe.

“And what the hell do my inner voices know?” I whisper, setting the phone down and reclining back against the pillows. I pick up my worn copy of Pride & Prejudice , opening it and getting lost in the familiar words.

But as the pages go by, my hunger grows.

It begins as a slight ping at the edge of my consciousness then eventually becomes a gnawing ache.

I know the doctor told me to eat.

But it’s the middle of the night and Hudson needs his rest, and…

He didn’t say it was okay for me to go prowling around, rustling through his pantry.

So, I ignore my rumbling stomach and try to get lost in Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

Unfortunately, that only works for a few more pages.

Then I can’t ignore my hunger.

It’s grown so intense that I set my book down, toss the covers back, and slide out of bed. My legs shake a little bit as I slowly make my way out of the room and into the hall, but they calm down, my stride evening out as I descend to the first floor.

I’m almost feeling normal by the time I make it into the kitchen.

Aside from the ravenous beast demanding sustenance that’s currently residing in my stomach.

On that note, I head straight for the fridge, intending to find some veggies and dip, something that won’t go directly to my ass.

Only…then I see the chocolate cake.

It’s mouth-watering, sitting there on the shelf, right at eye level.

I should have vegetables.

I should .

But I snag the chocolate cake from the fridge anyway, and when I see there’s a slice already cut from it, I know my internal battle is lost.

I’m going to have cake.

Somehow, just thinking that feels like a huge step.

At least until I set the plastic container housing it on the counter and look up.

Then gasp and clamp my hand to my throat when I see Hudson standing there. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I-I’m just moving it so I can find some vegetables.” A total lie, but his face is inscrutable and I can’t see his eyes because he’s standing in the shadows.

“You hungry?” he asks softly.

Mutely, I nod.

“And you’re looking for vegetables to eat at”—he glances at his watch—“almost two in the morning?”

Another mute nod.

“Fuck that,” he mutters, slowly moving forward, his hip seeming to be a bit stiffer than earlier as he walks to a cabinet and pulls out two plates and two glasses. Those, he sets next to the cake before he reaches for the knife block. “Grab the milk out and then close the fridge, yeah?”

I jerk, spin around, snag the milk, then carefully shut the fridge door.

By the time I’m turning back to face him, he’s at the island, knife next to the plates and he’s yanking off the plastic top that’s sealing in the cake.

“Pour two glasses.”

“Wh-what?”

“You allergic to milk?” he asks, setting the lid aside and reaching for the knife.

“No,” I whisper.

“Lactose intolerant?”

I chew on the corner of my mouth then say again, “No.”

“Then pour two glasses of milk, princess.”

I blink once. Twice. Then manage to propel myself into motion.

I fill both glasses with milk then return the carton to the fridge.

“Forks are in the drawer next to the dishwasher,” he says, cutting two huge slabs of cake. They’re big enough that they’ll give me far more than the proverbial ten pounds on camera.

I move to the drawer, open it, and snag two forks, then pause and tear two paper towels from the roll next to the sink. By the time I make it back to him, he’s lifted both plates and brought them to the opposite side of the counter, pulling out a stool.

“Sit,” he mutters, doing the same on his own stool. “Eat.”

I hesitate.

But the cake looks amazing, and Hudson is already downing his slice and if he was mad at me for invading his kitchen, he wouldn’t have cut me a piece and ordered me to eat.

I grab the glasses of milk and carry them over to our plates, sliding one toward him before I settle on the barstool.

“Thanks, princess,” he says softly.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

His gaze lifts to mine, holds. Then his mouth kicks up. “Because you looked like a princess sleeping so peacefully in that hospital bed—just waiting for your prince to wake you up.”

My prince hadn’t come.

Only my nightmare had.

Except…Hudson came to my bedside, reading to me softly as he roused me from my sleep, coaxed me to consciousness.

“Oh,” I murmur quietly.

Then I slowly reach for my fork, heart skipping a beat as I scoop up a bite.

Part of me expects him to stop me. Another part—a bigger part—knows that won’t happen.

I lift my fork to my mouth and eat that bite of cake.

Flavor explodes on my tongue, and I find myself cleaning the tines of frosting and crumbs completely, trying to get every last morsel.

“You finish that,” he whispers gruffly, “and want more?—”

I hold my breath.

“—then you have another slice, yeah?”

“I shouldn’t,” I whisper.

“Life is too short to not eat cake.”

“Why does that feel like the modern equivalent of Marie Antoinette saying let them eat cake?”

The words flow out of me in a rush, the sass something of my past.

Certainly not my present.

It’s too damned risky.

But it slipped out, and Hudson is looking at me and?—

Then he bursts out laughing and the tension is broken.

I giggle softly.

“You’re funny, princess.”

“Not usually.”

Not anymore.

As though he heard that thought, his face softens. “Speaking of cake, want to hear a funny story?”

My heart skips a beat. “Absolutely.”

And then he proceeds to tell me a story about him and his buddies, Royal, Atlas, and Colt, messing with another one of their friends, Banks, when he got it in his mind to bake a cake for his college girlfriend’s birthday.

“Of course, he didn’t”—his big chest rumbles with laughter—“realize we’d swapped the sugar for salt until they started eating it.” He grins. “He never did close the deal—or make another cake, as far as I know.”

I laugh. “You guys sound like menaces.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Will you—” I cut myself off, knowing I don’t have any right to ask.

Soft fingers on my arm. “Will I what?”

I nibble at my bottom lip again then…go for it. “Will you tell me more about them?”

His expression gentles.

But then he does the most wonderful thing?—

He starts telling me about his friends who are his family.

And I soak up every single word.