Chapter Seventeen
Hudson and I kissed and cuddled right until the moment he was supposed to leave, neither of us wanting to end our reunion. Hand in hand, we walked out of the building together. He invited me to ride with him in the limo to the airport. I considered it, but Norma was accompanying him, and the look in Hudson’s eyes said he’d have his way with me, no matter who was present.
We did get a chance for a goodbye kiss. “I’ll miss you,” he mumbled against my lips.
If he wasn’t going to say it, I would. “You could ask me to come to L.A.”
“Someone keeps reminding me about a club that she has to run…” He ran a hand down my bare arm, sending chills down my spine. “And I’m going to be swamped. Though I’d love you there, you’d be ignored.”
Briefly I wondered if he had an ulterior reason for not wanting me to go with him, but I didn’t let the thought stay. He was right. I had responsibilities at home. His recognition of that was a big step on his part.
But I pouted all the same.
Hudson kissed my forehead. “Don’t pout. Stay here, go to David’s going away party on Sunday, I’ll be back by Monday.”
“Back to the penthouse?” I wanted his reassurance once more. I could bear a few more days if he’d come home for good.
“Back to our house, yes.” He brushed one more kiss against my lips then got in the limo and rode away.
***
Though Hudson and I were still apart in the literal sense, the fact that we were a couple again made all the difference in our distance. Finally, we were happy and in love. Happy and in love like we’d never been before. I fluttered around work all shift like I had wings. Gwen introduced herself to me, claiming we’d never met. David, on the other hand, spent the evening being glum. He blamed it on his impending move, but I knew it was me. He’d been hoping Hudson and I were over. Thank god we weren’t.
Even across the miles, Hudson showed me things were different. He had flowers sent to work—a bouquet of wildflowers that looked exactly like the patches we’d seen in the Poconos. He also texted me, something he rarely initiated. I’d received several before I had the chance to look at my phone.
Just landed in L.A.
Did you get my flowers?
I had some sent to my room too, so I could think of you.
Are you avoiding me now?
I laughed at his repeat of what I’d said when he hadn’t responded to my texts. Then I sent: Not avoiding you, working. Thnx for the flowers. Keep texting. I’ll read every one.
His next message came immediately, as though he’d been sitting with his phone in his hand, waiting for it to buzz. If that’s a challenge, I accept.
He continued texting me throughout the evening. I responded when I could between the busy Friday nightclub scene. Our messages varied from romantic to sexual to sweet to funny. We acted like a couple in that slaphappy, I-can’t-get-enough-of-you phase that happened at the beginning of relationships. With our untraditional start, we’d never really experienced that. Then we’d had too many walls. But now they were all down—or nearly all down.
On Saturday, more flowers arrived at the penthouse. Then late that afternoon, he did more than text. He called.
I answered on the second ring. “I can’t believe you’re calling me.” Hudson called as rarely as he texted. He was a no-nonsense type of guy. To him, chit-chat was a waste of time.
Now though, he was acting like I was anything but a waste of time.
“I wanted to hear your voice. Digital letters weren’t cutting it any longer.”
Talk about wanting to hear a voice…
His low tenor stirred butterflies to dance in my stomach. “I love hearing you too.” I stretched on the bedroom floor, my legs raised to rest against the bed. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“I did not. I’ve slept horribly every night that I haven’t fallen asleep inside you.”
I couldn’t hide my grin from showing in my voice. “So you’re horny.”
“No, Alayna. If I were simply horny, I could take care of myself.”
That’s something I wouldn’t mind watching.
“It has nothing to do with sex—” He paused. “Well, it only has some to do with sex. It’s connecting with you that I miss.”
Damn, now I was horny. “I get it. I feel the same. When you come back, we’ll connect for hours, how does that sound?” Knowing Hudson, it would be literally hours. We had lots of reconnecting to do.
“It sounds wonderful, precious.” His tone grew serious. “But we still have to talk.”
“We’ll talk. We can connect first and then talk. And then connect some more.” I shook my head as I listened to myself. Usually it was Hudson who was all about the sex.
“You’re insatiable.” He didn’t sound like he minded. “You forget that you may not want to connect after we talk.”
I waggled my eyebrows even though he couldn’t see me. “Another reason to connect before. But I’m not worried about it. Just your willingness to talk is enough.” That wasn’t quite true. “Okay, not exactly enough, but it pleases me. A lot.” And even though I knew whatever he had to say would likely rock me, I was sure that we’d get through it.
Hudson still didn’t believe that. “Hmm,” he said, and I knew he doubted the strength of my love.
Part of me wished he’d just spill his secrets now, over the phone. I was eager to hear what they were, but more than that, I was eager to put him at ease—to prove that I’d stick around.
But I had to start getting ready for work soon. There wasn’t time. And I had the feeling we’d need connecting after his revelation, in whatever form that took.
We sat silently for several seconds, and I worried he was fretting. “What are you thinking about, H?”
“You. Bent over the couch in my office.”
I laughed. “No, you aren’t.”
“Actually, I am. The sounds you made…the way you looked at me…your eyes when I made you come…God, Alayna, do you have any idea how beautiful and sexy you are?”
My face warmed and my toes curled into the comforter. How could he make me blush over the phone? “If I am, it’s because you make me that way.”
“That’s a lie. I never want to hear you say that I’m responsible for your beauty again. I can’t take an ounce of credit for your perfection.”
“But you can take every ounce of credit for my happiness, and that’s much more important to me than beauty.”
He was silent again, and I feared I’d scared him. “What is it, Hudson?”
“I was just wondering what I did to deserve the responsibility of your happiness. I hope that I can live up to the honor.”
Perhaps it had been an ill-timed remark since he’d so recently made me miserable. That was the fact of the matter though—Hudson had the power to lift me to heights I’d never imagined, and that meant he also had the ability to absolutely obliterate me.
Maybe it was a lot of pressure, but it was part of the romantic relationship package. “You deserve the honor just for loving me,” I said softly.
“And love you, I do.” He barely let a beat pass before switching gears. “What are you wearing?”
“Black lacy panties and a camisole.” I pulled the phone from my face to check the time. Shit, I needed to wrap things up soon. “I was just about to jump in the shower when you called.” I rolled to my knees and stood.
Hudson’s next words were a gruff command. “Take off your panties.”
“Oh my god, Hudson, I don’t have time for this.” Though, I was already stripping. For the shower, not for him.
“You have to undress anyway.”
Such a man of reason. “For that alone, they’re off. And now I’m getting off the phone. You’re too distracting for me at the moment.” I walked to the bathroom as I spoke.
“Fine.” Tenderly, he added, “I miss you.”
“I miss you, I love you.”
“I love you first.”
I held on to the handle of the shower door and closed my eyes, relishing his words, breathing them in. “I said it first,” I teased.
“But I meant it first,” he said with finality. “Get in the shower. Don’t touch yourself unless you’re thinking of me.”
“Whom else would I think of, you silly man?” My nipples were already standing at full attention, and even though I was naked, it wasn’t because I was chilled. “I’m letting you know now that I plan to text you throughout the night. Wicked, dirty things. You’ll be desperate for me when you get back.”
“I’m desperate for you now,” he groaned. “Go, before I make you touch yourself with me on the phone.”
With a reluctant sigh, I said goodbye and hung up, catching my face in the mirror as I did. The woman I saw was quite a contrast to the one who’d stood there only the day before. And there would only be one more day—maybe two—before Hudson would be home. I couldn’t wait to see the woman in the mirror then.
***
By late afternoon on Sunday, I was stir-crazy. Minutes passed like they were wading in molasses. Every time I looked at the clock, it seemed the time hadn’t changed at all. Normally in these situations, I could entertain myself with a movie or a book. But I was too anxious, too ready for Hudson to be home. His texts and calls had occupied the days before, but he’d texted while I was sleeping that he would be in meetings the entire day and unreachable.
I’d already put a run in on the treadmill, and though I considered doing some window shopping, it was Reynold on duty and he was not my favorite companion. At five, I was already completely ready for David’s going away party—two hours early—and couldn’t think of a single thing to distract me from my boredom.
I decided to f*ck it.
Grabbing my laptop bag, I set the alarm to away and slipped down to the lobby. I knew a text went out to my bodyguards when I set the alarm to home, but I wasn’t sure if it did anything when I left. I stood outside The Bowery for several minutes, waiting to see if Reynold would show up or message me. He didn’t. I scanned my surroundings. Seeing no pesky blondes lurking in the area, I set off for the French bakery on the corner of the block.
Being out on my own felt absolutely amazeballs. It wasn’t that I minded having Jordan and Reynold in tow; it was simply such a pain to arrange outings that spontaneity had lost its place in my routine. The whole need to be protected was Hudson’s idea, anyway. Celia didn’t scare me.
Okay, she scared me, but there was no reason why she should. What the hell could she do to me anyway?
The bakery had very few customers when I arrived. Though I would have liked to sit at one of the outdoor tables, I took my iced tea and a pesto panini and settled in a seat near the side door. If I wasn’t going to have my bodyguard, then I should at least take some additional precautions. Sitting inside was my version of precaution.
After finishing my food, I set up my computer and opened up my email. There were a few items regarding the club, a random e-card from my brother, and an unread message from Stacy. Ignoring everything else, I opened Stacy’s email and scanned it.
I’m still not sure who wrote the emails. Maybe if you looked at one, it would help. Here’s one of the longer ones.
Below her short note was a forwarded message from the H.Pierce email she’d told me about. Other women might have decided that reading the message wasn’t necessary when Hudson was planning a tell-all.
I have never been other women. I read eagerly.
Before finishing the first paragraph, I was convinced the message wasn’t from Hudson. It was too poetic, too flowery. Hudson avoided analogies and figurative language. Even when he was romantic—something he swore he never was—his phrasing was direct and to-the-point.
This letter was composed of everything Hudson wasn’t. There were references to nature and popular music and relatives. The author spoke of his mother as the rock of the family and his father as a compassionate patriarch. Definitely not the Pierces I knew.
It was a section midway through the letter that confirmed without a doubt that the email was not written by Hudson. The paragraph read:
I’ve studied and learned about the world from books and tour packages arranged by and for the discontented rich, but I’d prefer to one day leave all my life and responsibility behind and travel the earth by whim. Right now, I can say that I love Paris and Vienna, but what do I truly know of these cities when I haven’t lived in them, participated in their culture? Words without experience are meaningless.
I read the last line again. “Words without experience are meaningless.” It was a quote from Lolita. There were other lines that seemed familiar, certainly more quips from other literary classics. Hudson Pierce did not read the classics. His library had no books before I’d moved in. Celia, on the other hand…
A flash of movement out the window drew my attention.
I peered out to find that a couple sitting on the other side of the glass was leaving. What kept my focus was the woman at the table behind them.
Goddamn, speak of the devil.
As my eye caught hers, Celia smiled—the same old bitchy smile she always delivered.
I chewed on my lip, deciding what to do. I could continue sitting in the bakery and text Reynold for a ride. Or I could leave and see if she’d follow.
Or I could talk to her.
There wasn’t anything I burned to say to the woman. I knew that any request I made to be left alone would only result in more harassment. And asking her reasons for her actions wouldn’t get me anywhere. Anything she said to me couldn’t be trusted, so what was the point in conversation?
The point was that I was curious. Curious what she’d try to convince me of, what her body language would say.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I threw my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my computer and walked out to the patio.
To her credit, Celia didn’t blink when I sat across from her.
“By all means, Laynie, sit,” she said, her tone pleasant and condescending and a little bit eager, as though she was looking forward to a confrontation. She probably was.
Without any preamble, I turned my laptop to face her and pointed to the email still on the screen. “This is you, isn’t it?”
She scanned a few lines, recognition flashing in her eyes. “I don’t know for the life of me what you’re talking about, Laynie.”
She liked to say my name a lot—it was a trick I’d learned in grad school. When said in the right tone, it made a person feel patronized. She certainly knew the tools of basic manipulation.
But so did I. “That email, Celia. You’re the one who sent it to Stacy. I recognize your choice of literary quotes.”
“Why, that’s crazy.” Her inflection was exaggerated. “This says it’s from Hudson. Did you hack into his email? I hear that’s typical of women with your condition. In fact, Laynie, should you really be sitting with me? I could still file that restraining order.”
I tilted my head, studying her. She wanted me to threaten a restraining order of my own. But we were playing this conversation on my terms. “What I don’t understand is how you got Hudson to go along.”
“Go along with what?” She blinked innocently.
“The kiss.” I turned the screen back to face me and loaded the video. I pushed play and spun it toward her. “This.”
She watched silently, giving nothing away. When it was finished, she raised her eyes to meet mine, her expression suddenly serious. “So you’ve discovered our little secret.”
She wanted me to assume the kiss was real. I didn’t believe it was. “That you played together? Yes.”
She laughed. “Is that what he told you? I suppose he wouldn’t want you to know what we really meant to each other.”
“Ha ha. I don’t buy it.”
“That I was Hudson’s lover? Suit yourself.” She pursed her lips. “It lasted beyond that, you know. Why do you think I had a key to his place? And when I picked him up at the Hamptons—there was no business trip.”
Lies, lies, lies.
I didn’t have any doubt that every word was meant to instigate me. “You’ve f*cked with me too many times to believe anything that comes out of your mouth.” I closed my computer and began stuffing it in my bag. There was nothing to learn from her after all.
Celia shrugged. “I could give you proof, if I wanted to. I know all his bedroom moves. Does he dominate you completely? Does he have a nickname for you? Precious, perhaps?”
Unwittingly, my eyes popped up at Hudson’s pet name. How the hell did she know about that? Hudson had promised me it was private.
She caught my reaction. “He does, doesn’t he? Don’t you know that he calls all his lovers precious? Did you think it was just for you? He called me that when he plowed into me over and over on his office desk. ‘My precious, my precious,’ he’d say. I’m sure he simply says it now out of habit.”
It didn’t matter if she was telling the truth or lying. Either way, she’d tainted something sacred. Something that meant a great deal to me. That combined with all the other shit she’d pulled?
I snapped.
“Maybe it wasn’t just for me. But this is just for you.” My hand curled into a fist and flew at her face before she could see it coming. From the cracking sound that accompanied my punch, I guessed that her nose was broken.
“You f*cking bitch!” she screamed, her hands holding her nose.
“I was thinking the same about you. Though cunt would have been my choice of noun.”
Blood oozed out from between Celia’s hands. “You want a noun? Try lawsuit.”
That was the last I heard before I darted out the patio gate. Afraid Celia would find someone to come after me, I headed straight for the subway.
A lawsuit, huh? Well, it was f*cking worth it.