Found in You (13 page)

“Family only. And you don’t get along with Sophia. Why would you want to be there?”

“Because you’re going to be there.” I wiped my wet face with my palm. “And we’re a couple, Hudson. When we were pretending to be a couple, you wanted her to see me with you all the time. Now that we’re really a couple, you don’t. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Now I care more about you than her, and I’m not going to subject you to an evening with my mother.” His voice was steady. In another situation, I might have admired his continued calm, cool, collected bit, but right now all I could think was,
how is he not affected by this? By me?

“Can’t you understand that you not letting me go feels like you’re leaving me out of your life?” My voice cracked. “It hurts.”

“I’m not leaving you out of my life. I’m leaving her out of your life.”

“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t protect me. Besides, it feels like an excuse. It feels like you’re ashamed of me or like I’m not good enough to be with your family.” I was beginning to doubt my decision to move in. Gratefully, I hadn’t said anything yet. If he was setting up barriers between us, was cohabitating really a good idea?

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been with my family many times.”

“Then why not tonight?” That was exactly my point. If I was good enough for them before, why not now?

His silence told me he wasn’t willing to explain.

If he needed to be alone with his family, then all right. But I couldn’t help how I felt. Crushed, that’s how I felt. Absolutely crushed.

I needed to be alone before I got awful with him. I didn’t trust myself not to.

Scanning the backseat, I spotted an intercom on each door. I undid my seatbelt and scooted to the door away from Hudson. I depressed the button. “Jordan, can you drop me off at my apartment?”

With lightning speed, Hudson hit his own button. “Ignore that, Jordan.”

“I want to go home, Hudson. I can’t be with you right now.” I could barely see through my tears, but I heard him unbuckle his seatbelt and then felt him slide across the seat to me. “I don’t want to be touched right now. Please.”

He ignored me, pulling me into his arms. I resisted, which was senseless, really. He could overpower me in a heartbeat.

Still, I leaned into the door, pushing him away.

“Stop it. Stop fighting me.” He caught each of my arms in his and held them, his hands circling my forearms with strength I couldn’t hope to defeat. “Stop fighting.”

“Then stop hurting me,” I sobbed.

He knew I didn’t mean physically. He wasn’t gripping me that tightly.

“All right.” He let go of me, his voice full of resignation. “You can come. If you really want to be part of this awful night, then you are welcome to join me.”

My tears had frozen, surprised that I’d won. I’d never won these battles. They usually ended in me groveling, and then, when the guy refused to take me back, I would resort to crazy behavior. Like stalking. And stealing mail. And showing up at places where I knew the guy would be.

It never ended with me still with the guy.

Maybe because I was so relieved or because I was in shock, or more likely because I suddenly felt overwhelmingly guilty about the whole conversation, I burst into a new set of tears.

“Now what?”

My crying continued, but this time I let him pull me into his arms. “I’m such a bitch,” I said into his shoulder.

“What?”

I lifted my mouth from the material of his jacket. “I’m a total bitch. I didn’t mean to pressure you into an invite, and I did. I won’t go, I’ll stay home.” He’d asked me out of duress. It felt shitty.

Hudson pulled me tighter against him, kissing the top of my head. “You’re not a bitch. And you didn’t pressure me into anything. You’re coming with me. It will be awful, but at least it will be awful together.”

Wiping the tears from my face, I raised my eyes to his. “Are you sure?”

“I’m completely sure it will be awful.”

I chuckled. “Are you sure I can come?”

He leaned his head against mine, placing a hand on my cheek. “I am. I want you there. I always wanted you there.” He trailed his hand down my neck. “But my mother is mean and terrible and she wants to hurt me. And she knows the easiest way to hurt me is to hurt you.” His hand at my waist gripped me tighter, his fingers digging through my dress into my skin. “I can’t bear to watch you go through that.”

It was my turn to assure him. I reached up, placing my hands on the sides of his face, forcing him to look at me. “Nothing she says or does means anything to me. Do you hear me? I already won. I have you.”

His eyes clouded—not simply with the lust that often darkened his gray hue when he looked at me—but with emotion that I could only name as love.

He pulled me even closer, as if he could pull me into him if he tried hard enough. “You do have me. Completely.”

I don’t know if I moved to him or he moved to me, just that our mouths were together, shifting in such a way that it was much more than kissing. It was a declaration—a statement of a union between the two of us that we couldn’t yet express in any way besides with our bodies.

When he pulled away, I was breathless and flushed.

His eyes lowered to my outfit. “You’ll need a dress. We should have time to stop by the boutique.” He reached across me and pushed the intercom. “Jordan, change of plans. Take us to Mirabelle’s.”

Chapter Ten

Mirabelle owned one of the hottest boutiques in New York City. Despite never needing to work a day in her life, the middle Pierce child had an eye for clothing design and she put it to good use. Her shop was by appointment only, and I’d nearly lost myself in fashionista heaven when Hudson had taken me to purchase racks of clothing almost two weeks before.

After directing Jordan to Greenwich Village where Mira’s was located, Hudson pulled out his phone and called his sister. I listened half-heartedly to their short conversation. “Thanks, we’re on our way,” he said before hanging up.

“She won’t be there,” he said to me as he pocketed his phone. “She’s getting ready for the party. But Stacy will take care of you.”

I groaned inwardly at the thought of dealing with Stacy, Mira’s too-thin blonde assistant. She had a thing for Hudson, had even gone out with him on at least one occasion. Needless to say, she wasn’t fond of me. The daggers she shot with her eyes were poisonous enough to kill an army.

Plus, she made me jealous. Mira insisted that Stacy wasn’t even a blip on Hudson’s radar. But one night, when I’d cyber-stalked him, I’d seen a picture of Hudson and Stacy together. They looked good. And I bet she didn’t have a history of crazy like I did.

If I could avoid seeing Stacy, I’d be a much happier person. “If Mira’s not going to be there, maybe we shouldn’t bother with the boutique. We could go back to my place and get something that we bought last time.”

“No, we need something new. I’ll want to show you off.”

I wasn’t sure if that made me happy or irritated. On the one hand, he liked the way I looked enough to feel like he could parade me. On the other hand, was that all I was? A show pony? Was this left over from our convince-everyone-we’re-together scheme?

It was likely none of the above, simply a complimentary statement from a man to his woman. My emotions were still too muddled from the last fifteen minutes—from the last twenty-four hours—and now everything had a twinge of heaviness. It didn’t seem like I could simply take anything at face value. There were layers to every gesture, every comment, every moment, and I was having a hard time getting my head around it all.

The nearly forty-five minute drive from Uptown to the Village didn’t help. I cuddled into Hudson and closed my eyes trying to nap, unsuccessfully. When Jordan finally pulled up in front of the boutique, it felt like a lifetime had passed.

Hudson didn’t wait for our driver to open the door. He climbed out and extended his hand. He continued to hold my hand as we walked to the shop, and I couldn’t help but remember the last time we’d been there, how he’d held my hand then. How it had been pretend then and this time was real. It was real, wasn’t it?

As if he could read my mind, Hudson squeezed my hand as we waited for Stacy to answer the bell. I turned to him and his lip curled into a half-smile.

It occurred to me that I’d seen him smile more in the last twenty-four hours than I had the entire three weeks I’d known him. Yeah, this was real.

Behind him, I saw construction workers at the shop next door, clearing up for the day.

“I wonder what’s going on over there.”

Hudson followed my glance. “Mirabelle’s expanding. I believe they’ve almost finished. We’ll come to the open house. She’ll want you there.”

“Wow. More clothes for me to choose from. Can your wallet handle it?” It was hilarious considering his bank account could clothe a small country. A large one, even.

We were both laughing when the door opened. Stacy barely glanced at us as she stood aside to let us in. “I have a client I’m finishing up with, but I already picked out some options for you. They’re in the big dressing room.”

So much for hellos.

She returned to her customer, and I glanced at Hudson to gauge his reaction to the lack of greeting. His face was stone. Whatever he thought about Stacy, he didn’t show it. Perhaps she really did mean absolutely nothing to him. But if that was the case, why had he ever gone out with her to begin with? Even if it was only the one date, wouldn’t he have had at least an ounce of attraction to her?

After my mini-tantrum in the limo, it didn’t seem like such a good time to bring up his relationship with Stacy, if it even qualified to be called that. But I made a mental note to ask about it in the future. And not just about Stacy, but about all of Hudson’s past women. Because I needed to know.

As she had said, Stacy had left several dresses in the dressing room, and despite my fear that she’d spitefully only pick hideous items for me to try on, they most definitely were anything but. Not that Mirabelle’s even had anything remotely ugly on its racks. These dresses, though, were particularly exquisite. With all her scowling about, Stacy must have paid attention to what I chose the last time I’d been there, noticed what looked good on me, because these seemed almost tailor-made to my style. My eyes widened at the selection, too many called my name, and I was eager to try them all on.

Hudson, on the other hand, immediately fixated on one specific dress—a magenta satin Jersey. It was pretty enough, but awfully simple and brighter in color than something I’d wear at a family function.

He fingered the convertible straps. “This one.” There was finality in his voice.

“I haven’t tried it on. You don’t even know how it—”

“I do know.” He took the dress by the hanger and, after turning me to face the mirror, held it in front of me as he stood behind. “It’s perfect.”

I looked in the mirror, trying to picture the dress on my body, but all I could think of was the last time I’d been in that dressing room with Hudson, standing in front of that very mirror. He’d done incredible things to my body then, made me watch as I came undone from the ministrations of his hands on my breasts and between my thighs. Then, he’d entered me and took me with such force and desire that I’d come undone again.

My face heated from the memory, and I met his eyes in our reflection.

Hudson leaned into whisper at my ear. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.” He unbuttoned his jacket and pressed up against me so I could feel the thick ridge of his hard-on against my rear. “I’m thinking about it, too. And we don’t have time to deal with those thoughts as I would like.”

“Are you sure?” I reached my hand behind me to fondle his erection.

He took a deep breath. “You’re certainly a different woman than the one I brought in here last time. The one who wanted to keep things sex-free.” His voice was tight, the only indication of what my half-assed hand-job was doing to him.

“I never
wanted
to keep things sex-free. I just thought it would be best for me if we did.” That was back when I thought for half a second that I had a chance of staying away from him. When I thought I might become obsessed with him if I didn’t keep my distance. When I didn’t realize how complete of a hold he already had on me.

He placed his hand over mine, controlling the pressure of my touch. “Is that still what would be best for you?”

Together, we stroked the length of his cock through his pants, and I longed to touch his bare skin, to slide my fingers across his crown, to pump him with my fist. He did this to me, completely turned me on, made me wet and interested in nothing but satisfying his need for me while he satisfied my need for him.

“You’re best for me.” My words were full of the ache I felt for him. “In every way—beside me, inside me…”

“Fuck, Alayna. You get me so hot, I—”

There was a single rap at the door followed by barely enough time for us to separate before Stacy walked in.

Her eyes flitted from my face to his then back to mine. “I should have waited for an invitation to come in.”

“Yes, you should have.” It was the first time I’d seen Hudson address Stacy in any way, and it was short and clipped. He turned to hang the dress back on the rack and buttoned his suit jacket before turning back to us. “I’ll step out while you change, Alayna.” He nodded back to the magenta dress. “That one.”

Stacy’s face was even, but her eyes flickered with the rejection. I almost felt sorry for her. I’d been her—dejected by men I thought I was into. Part of me wanted to reach out to comfort her.

But then the spite returned to her gaze. “Is that the dress you’d like to start with?” Her voice was cold as she took the magenta Jersey from the hanger without waiting for my response.

I reached behind and unzipped my clothing myself and let it fall to the floor. “Yes. It’s the one Hudson wants.” I used his name as a weapon, claiming him as mine. “He thinks it will be perfect.”

Actually, it was. I could tell as soon as the dress was over my head. The color lit up my skin, highlighting my natural olive tone. It was low-cut enough that it showed off my boobs, an asset I was proud of. Hudson had always been quite fond of my bosom, surely one of the reasons he’d chosen it. The length was short enough to show some leg, but the flowing shape would only hint at my curves rather than hug them like many of my dresses did, leaving more to the imagination. It was a different style for me and that might have been what had prevented me from the same vision Hudson had. But he knew my body well, better than I did.

“He’s right. It’s perfect for you.” I’d been so mesmerized by my reflection, Stacy’s voice startled me.

I turned to her and found her expression had softened. It occurred to me that she was comparing herself to me as much as I compared myself to Celia, that she was measuring her flaws against mine. It was enough to send a person into dark depression. At least, that’s what that kind of thinking could do to me. Again, I felt sorry for her. Or maybe it wasn’t pity, it was something else—solidarity, maybe.

Stacy reached up to adjust a strap. “He has good taste.”

Her tone suggested she wasn’t talking about the dress. It hinted at more. The connection I felt with her, odd though it may be, led me to prod. “But…?”

Her forehead creased. “But what?”

“I sense there was more to your statement.”

She looked away, busying herself with adjusting the breast cups of the dress. “It’s not my place.”

“Go ahead. Whatever you have to say, I can take it.” Did I sound too eager? What I was hoping to gain from the conversation, I couldn’t say. Maybe I was simply curious.

That was a lie. I was obsessed. No matter how “well” I was, no matter how healthy, I’d always be drawn to dig deeper, to find out as much as I could about the people I was attracted to. This was no different. Stacy had something to say regarding Hudson—something that might give me insight into the man I loved. I had to keep digging.

When she didn’t offer more, I nudged her. “I know you’ve dated Hudson before.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Is that what he told you?”

I took a deep breath, hoping the words I chose to speak would keep her talking. “He hasn’t told me anything about you. I’ve seen a picture of the two of you together at an event or something.”

“Right.” She nodded as if she knew exactly what picture I was talking about. “I was his escort for the night. We never dated.”

“Escort?” My mind immediately went to hookers and high-priced call girls.

“Not that kind of escort. I never slept with him.”

A huge weight lifted off my chest at her admission. I knew Hudson had slept with other women. Of course he had, but I didn’t want to think about it. Because if I did, that’s all I’d think about—him and whomever, sharing the intimacies that he and I shared now. So knowing that Hudson and Stacy never had that—it was a relief.

With that worry abated, I could concentrate on the other thing niggling at the edge of my brain. If they hadn’t dated, if they hadn’t slept with each other, yet Stacy emanated such scorn—

Then I got it. “Oh. I think I understand.” She’d been one of his victims. One of the women whom he’d played—made her love him with whatever he said or did, then discarded her. It made me sick, and I hated that about me. I didn’t want to feel sick about the things Hudson had done. I wanted to love him enough to look past anything.

But I was human. And even though I did love him past anything, it wasn’t pleasant to focus on the things he’d done that had hurt people.

That thought was the one I clung to—if it made me feel this way to realize the brokenness of his past actions, then Hudson must ache inside, carrying the weight of these mistakes. I surely ached from the damage I’d inflicted on others—my strained relationship with my brother, how I’d hurt the men in my past.
Paul…

I dismissed the name of my past lover and refocused on Stacy.

“Maybe you do understand,” she was saying. “And maybe Hudson’s changed. But I should warn you—”

“I don’t need to be warned.” It was absolutely schizo how I went back and forth from encouraging to defensive. I bit my lip and when I spoke again, I tried to assume the calm and inviting posture I had before. “I mean, he’s already told me everything.” I hope.

Giving voice to my fear, Stacy raised a brow and asked point blank, “Has he?” She let it sink in for a moment, letting me wonder.

She gathered the dress I’d been wearing off the floor. “Believe whatever. All I’m saying is he’s not what he says he is.” She hung it as she talked. “No matter what he tells you, it’s a lie.”

I’d been around this before: He tells me he won’t lie and if I believe that, then I can believe everything he says. But if that is in itself a lie… “But it’s not just what he said,” I thought out loud. “He’s shown me who he is. And Celia said—”

Stacy froze. “Celia Werner?”

I nodded.

Her face grew serious. “Don’t believe anything she says either. They’re together.”

“They’re friends.” I meant for my tone to be insistent, but it came out weak and, again, defensive.

“They’re together.” Her tone succeeded at insistent. “Or they were. I can prove it too, if—”

The door opened, cutting her off. Unlike Stacy, Hudson didn’t knock. He simply took his place in the world. I loved that about him.

“Gorgeous.” He wanted me and it showed in every part of him from his posture to the gleam in his eyes, to the thickness of his voice.