Page 8

Chapter Eight

HADLEIGH

H udson’s green eyes sear me, and I’m a goner. My body pulses with need, the throb between my legs impossible to ignore.

But do I really want to give my virginity, after all these years, to a bad boy mountain man who’s a tattoo artist and Andy’s boss?

Chalking these feelings up to some kind of crazy survival hormones, I forbid myself from falling any further for this man. Or continuing to play with the fire of tempting, dark, dirty thoughts. Instead, I dive headlong into distraction.

“After a thorough inspection of the many canned delights in the pantry,” I say, turning towards him with a can in each hand. “How about beef stew and brown bread?” I hold up the corresponding cans.

“Sounds delectable,” he says sarcastically. “See any wine in there while you were looking around?”

“No, but there’s a closet down the hallway. “Maybe check there?”

Hudson stands, sauntering in the direction I nod as I eye his tight ass until smoke comes out of my ears. His wet Wranglers fit like a glove, one I’d love to peel off with my teeth. My cheeks burn as he lets out a long, loud whistle.

“Find something?” I ask guiltily, poking my head around the corner. What happened to no more sexy thoughts, Hadleigh?

“Whiskey, bourbon, brandy, champagne, and red wine. What’s your pleasure?”

“Hmm…” I lick my lips. “What does one drink after a day spent careening off bridges, nearly drowning in rivers, and climbing barefoot up the walls of flash flooding gorges?”

“For the lady with discerning tastes?” he asks in a mock posh voice, holding up a dusty bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

I nod, laughing. “That should taste decent with our canned stew and bread. Have you ever eaten canned bread before?”

“You forget I’m a beach bum Marine bachelor. Canned bread sounds gourmet to me.”

I laugh as he heads back into the kitchen with the bottle.

Hudson opens the drawer next to him as I open one diagonally across the way.

“You looking for a can opener?” he asks.

“Yes, and you’re after a bottle opener?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll keep my eyes out for you.”

“Same.”

We search drawer after drawer, the only sounds the thin whine of the generator outside and the rustling of junk against wood.

Finally, we end up standing in front of the same drawer.

Hudson opens it, and my eyes go to the bottle opener and can opener, lined up next to each other, a hair’s breadth of distance between them.

“Well, that was meant to be,” he chuckles, eyeing me as we stand shoulder to shoulder. My hand goes for the can opener and his for the bottle opener, our fingers brushing. Electricity arcs between us, a searing echo of the earlier lightning storm.

There’s something I have to get straight with this man. “You followed me from the tattoo shop. One of the last things I remember before the crash was you in fast pursuit, though you were getting shot at.”

He nods slowly.

I arch an eyebrow. “But after that. How did you end up in the river? And why?”

Hudson shrugs. “I came for you.”

“No, you didn’t.” My voice trembles, and the backs of my eyes sting dangerously.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” he asks, the creases in his forehead deepening.

“Because apart from my deceased dad, no man has ever cared enough to help me. Let alone risk his neck for me. In fact, my experiences with men have been very much like dealing with Andy, caring for them far more than they care for me. Putting way more into the relationship than they put in.”

“I’m not like other men and certainly not like your brother,” he says, bringing his hand up to push a stray hair from my face. The instant his fingertips brush over the flesh, my cheeks flush, burning. “But I am too old for you, maybe?” He finishes with a frown.

“Do you really think age matters that much?” I ask breathlessly, eyes swimming and dancing with his.

“No, but it’s probably the most compelling reason to stay away from you. I’m running out of other excuses, Hadleigh.”

I chuckle, bringing my hand up to palm his chest. “You had plenty of chances not to follow me today. You just didn’t take them.”

Lips inches from mine, his hot breath warms my cheeks.

I swallow hard, temptation pulsing through me. “You could have left pursuit of my abductors to law enforcement to save your own skin, avoid getting shot at.”

He nods, his hand descending to my neck. His thumb lightly strokes the pulse point until I feel light-headed and needy. The juncture at the top of my legs is tight and sticky, desire wrecking me.

I lick my bottom lip slowly, watching how his eyes darken as they follow my tongue, nostrils flaring. “And you definitely didn’t need to follow me into the water. I mean, that was plain foolhardy.”

“Is foolhardy such a bad thing?” he asks, his lips so close to mine I can taste his words.

“For you, it’s been nothing but bad. Think of how much pain and discomfort you could’ve avoided today.”

“It’s all been worth it to be here with you like this,” he whispers darkly.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure as fuck,” he answers without hesitation, his other hand coming up to grip my shoulder, his thumb tracing warm circles in the flesh along my collarbone.

“Thank you,” I say so quietly, I wonder if he even hears me. My eyes capture his as I add emphatically, “I would be dead right now if it weren’t for you.”

“And you don’t owe me anything. Just knowing you exist is pretty fucking amazing to me.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

“I’m sorry I’m getting distracted. I need to rebandage your leg and your feet. Stay right where you’re at, Hot Stuff.”

Quickly and without hesitation, he disappears down the hallway, looking for the bathroom and a first-aid kit. He returns a few minutes later with a large, plastic first-aid kit. Unceremoniously, he wraps his massive hands around my waist, lifting me, and plopping me atop the kitchen counter.

Leaning forward, concentration written on his face, he removes my sopping leg bandages, gently cleaning the ragged, deep laceration as I grimace, watching blood drip from the wound.

“Sorry,” he says stony-faced. “You need stitches, Hadleigh. But at least I can keep the wound clean and shut.” I watch him work expertly, staunching the wound and applying butterfly closures until they line my leg, and I look like some kind of Tim Burton creation—a woman stitched back together.

Expertly, he wraps my calf with white bandages before focusing on my feet. Everything throbs.

But all I can think about is my wet, demanding pussy. I need him so much, I can barely breathe. This has never happened to me before, and it scares the hell out of me.

Hudson’s big hands come up to my outer thighs, stroking them gently, seductively. “You’re tough as fuck, Hadleigh. It’s so goddamned sexy, though I hate seeing you in pain.”

“Speaking of pain,” I pant, trying hard to focus on our conversation and failing miserably, my body lost in every touch of his hot flesh. “Are you going to give me a tattoo later if I ask you for it?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, pressing his lips to my knee.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than marking you.” His voice tantalizes, thick with unspoken promises.

Pulling back slightly, he finishes bandaging a few more places on each of my feet, working gently and gracefully.

His hands may be huge, but they have a hypnotic agility.

“Where might I put a tattoo?” I ask breathily. I should stop now, end this dangerous game, but I want Hudson so much I can barely breathe.

He shrugs. “Wherever you like.”

I level my eyes on his. “Where would you put it?”

His face flushes, and he swallows hard. “Here maybe,” he whispers, big, rough hands sliding up the outsides of my legs and coming to rest on my thighs. He squeezes them, his right thumb rubbing tiny circles in the flesh above my knee.

I shudder on my inhale, my pussy clenching so tightly, I wonder if he can smell my arousal. God, temptation has never foundered me like this before.

Hudson leans forward, kissing the spot his thumb rubs and tickling me with his scratchy beard. I want his lips and beard everywhere, on every inch of my body.

The mountain man swallows hard. “Or maybe here,” he murmurs, lips feathering sensually to the inside of my thigh as he pushes my legs up, bending my knees and parting them.

He steps between them, eyes black as sin. “We could try here,” he continues throatily, mouth moving up my inner thigh. My exhale sizzles, my lower core on fire. What in the hell is this man doing to me with his huge, demanding hands and kissable lips?

His fingertips slide higher, and I’m drenched, desperate for his touch. Fuck, I want Hudson Adair. More than food. More than wine. More than the goddamned air in this room.

“God, Hadleigh, I want you so much I can’t even think.” He pronounces each word slowly and seductively, straightening and coming for my mouth.

His lips brush over mine gently at first. My hands slide around his neck, gripping him and communicating my urgency. Crashing into my mouth, his hot, hungry tongue invades me ravenously, lighting my nerves on fire.

My pulse pounds as delicious shivers of need grip my core, his thick beard tickling my cheeks. He claims me unhesitatingly, claiming everything and giving even more until desire hums through my head, my body alive and so needy I don’t know how much more I can take.

Teasingly, he traces his lips down my neck, across my shoulders, and tantalizingly close to my tits. My nipples pebble, demanding his mouth. Would it be so bad to pull down my dress and my bra? Let him suck my tits and push me over the edge? Never has yearning felt so all-consuming.

He bites my nipple through the stretchy fabric, and I cry out, pussy throbbing and pulsing for him. His hands cover my body, sliding into the hollow of my lower back and pressing my damp need tightly against his rock-hard arousal.