If I was obsessing, I didn’t care. Hudson drew me to him with magnetic force. And while I knew that my behavior could only be allowed as a one-time lapse, I relished the high of fixating on the man who had already clearly stated he would never be mine.
***
I fiddled with the beads on the bodice of my purplish gray Valentino dress as the limousine pulled up to the Manhattan Center at a quarter to one the next day. I was nervous, yes, but also, I felt confined in the corset I wore underneath my dress as a surprise for Hudson—the one he’d chastised me for wearing in public.
“Stop fidgeting,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”
I took a deep breath as Jordan opened the limo door. Hudson was closest to the curb, and began to step out when I stopped him. “Wait.”
He raised a cautious brow. “Another request for a sex-free afternoon?”
I blushed. “No. I’ve given up on that.”
He smirked, not at all bothering to hide his pleasure in my declaration.
“Anyway…” I peeked up at him under my heavily mascaraed lashes. “I just wanted to say…you look hot.” And whoa, did he. The charity fashion show called for semi-formal attire, and Hudson rocked the look wearing a fitted John Varvatos gray suit with a muted purple dress shirt that coordinated perfectly with my outfit. He’d decided to go sans tie, leaving the top buttons undone, exposing only enough skin to drive me crazy. “Really hot.”
He eyed me for a moment then shook his head before stepping out of the car. He reached back to help me out, his face still plagued with a curious expression.
“What?” I asked, wondering if I’d said something wrong.
“Alayna,” he sighed. “There’s so many things I want to do to you right now. But we’re on-duty, and so I’ll have to settle for this.” He pulled me in for a kiss that, while not chaste, felt restrained, lacking the usual passion he poured into his kisses. This kiss was for the onlookers, the handful of photographers that surrounded the doors of the Hammerstein Ballroom.
When he broke our embrace, he took my hand, his fingers lightly crossing the rubber band I wore at my wrist. “What’s this?” he asked as he led me inside the double doors of the venue.
“It’s to remind me to buy coffee,” I lied. Actually, I’d worn it to remind me to not think about him. I’d learned the technique in counseling. Whenever an unwelcome or unhealthy thought entered my head I was supposed to snap it and the sting would help curb the behavior.
Yeah, right. Like the snap of an elastic band could stop the thoughts that Hudson elicited—thoughts of us together, naked, all night long. And those weren’t even the thoughts that worried me. Fantasies that we could be together beyond our little sham, beyond the bedroom—those were the ones that worried me, and I hadn’t had them. Yet. But after my Internet adventure earlier that morning, I felt the need for a safety net. The elastic band was all I could come up with.
“You must really need to buy coffee.”
“You haven’t seen me go….” My words trailed off when I recognized more than a few of the people chatting in the lobby as celebrities. I don’t know why it surprised me. The Pierce Annual Autism Awareness Fashion Show was a huge event and always drew the rich and famous. Really, I hadn’t thought about it.
Hudson grinned at my stunned expression as he guided me past the ushers—the ushers who didn’t even ask him for a ticket like the couple next to us who, I’m pretty sure, were the mayor and his wife. Um, yeah, Hudson was a lot cooler than I had comprehended.
We passed the bar and walked into the main doors of the ballroom. “If you’d like a drink, you can get something inside. My mother will be anxious to meet you.” We stopped near the doorway, Hudson scanning the room.
I took in our surroundings. The place was extravagant—an old century opera house that had been infused with modern technology. The central focus was the runway, which extended from a low stage. A complex lighting system that seemed more appropriate for a rock concert than a fashion show hung above. Chairs lined the runway on both sides, and, beyond that, white clothed tables circled the room. Three levels of ornate balconies climbed the walls to the seventy-plus foot ceilings.
“Hudson! Laynie!” I turned to the sound of the familiar voice and saw Mira moving toward us as quickly as her round belly would allow. “Wow, you look incredible!” she said to me. “This dress looks so great paired with those shoes. And Huds matches you! How sweet!”
Hudson’s arm tightened at my waist, the only indication he gave that his sister annoyed him. “You aren’t the only one in the family who has fashion sense, Mirabelle.”
“Of course not. Chandler’s also very savvy. You, though, are generally too stiff to be considered anything at all creative.”
“Ouch.” But he grinned. Hudson was nothing if not proud of who he was.
Mira smiled, too. Then, her face tensed abruptly. “Excuse me, I know this is totally rude, but…” She pulled her brother’s ear down to her mouth to whisper something I couldn’t hear.
Hudson’s jaw stiffened. He straightened, pulling away from Mira. “She knows about Alayna.”
Mira nodded her head toward me. “Does she know about…?” She trailed off.
“She does.” His words relaxed Mira, if only slightly.
I wanted to remain unaffected, but I knew my puzzlement read all over my face. They were talking about me and someone else, and I apparently knew about something or someone, which, of course, I doubted because Hudson never told me anything about anyone. My curiosity won out. “What?”
Mira looked to Hudson as if asking permission to fill me in. He remained expressionless. She took that as a go ahead. “Celia’s here.” Her mouth twitched. “I didn’t know if that would be a problem.”
Celia Werner. He’d said I knew about her, but I really didn’t. I knew his family wanted them to marry. I knew her family owned majority stocks in television and media. I knew she was pretty. Very pretty. And she adored the man who currently rubbed his thumb back and forth across the back of my hand. The man who did not currently adore her. Or me, for that matter.
If my hand had been free, I would have snapped the elastic band. That had not been a healthy thought.
I swallowed then put on a cheerful smile. “No, Celia’s no problem. Right, H?”
He grimaced at the nickname. “None at all.”