Crude: A Stepbrother Romance (40 page)

We both turn back to the view for another minute of silence. I open my mouth to ask it but then stop myself, before changing my mind again; “You show this to a lot of girls?”

A song ends on the album, and in the absolute silence of the car, he turns to me, his sharp eyes glinting in the light from the dash; “None, actually.”

The music starts up again as we both sit back in our seats and just stare off into the predawn as civil twilight crests over the city; and its
wonderful
.

P R E S E N T

OK, so being around Hudson is hard.
Ugh
, I need to get my mind out of the gutter; it’s
difficult
I should say, being around him. Mostly because the only thing I can think about
at all
is that cock of his I saw when I stumbled into the bathroom. I mean, it’s not enough that he’s rich, cocky, muscled and criminally attractive; the guy has to have an big dick
too
?

I mean honestly, it’s distracting.

He
of course seems to have have totally moved on from seeing, well, whatever it is he thinks he saw. Although at this point, I’m fairly sure he knows
exactly
what he saw; and heard. I cringe a little, thinking about gasping his name out as my orgasm ripped through me, and then seeing him just
standing there
, staring at me. Whats worse is that I can’t I get my damned mind off of that image of him standing there totally naked and
completely
hard. And why can’t I help but wonder what or who he was thinking about that got him that way?

His back is to me, as he reads through business emails of some kind on his phone in my living room, and I find myself chewing at my lip nervously, my mind a whirlwind. I mean, would it
really
be so bad?

YES!
The voice in my head screams, shaking me from my idle day-dreaming and making me realize with a  blush that I’ve been
staring
at Hudson’s back for the past five full minutes.
YES
, it would be bad like ruination of public image bad. I mean
sleeping
with the guy in charge of donating campaign funds? It’s not illegal or anything, but they’d fucking
crucify
me for that in the papers. I can almost see the headlines now, something like “Silly Little Rich Girl Predictably Bangs the Guy With Money; Bows Out of Campaign”.

No, fuck that. What I
need
is to get images and thoughts of me banging Hudson out of my head,
now
. Of course, the pathetic amount of time it’s been since I’ve been involved in
banging
of any kind makes me groan, and I know that’s part of the problem. I mean there was Chet - yes,
Chet
, like something out of a fucking Archie comic - but that was over six months ago, and even then it was barely a thing. It was barely a thing so much that when I heard the whispers about him fucking his intern like a walking cliche, I remember feeling more sorry for whatever college poli-sci major had to lay there and fake it now that I wasn’t doing it than I did for myself. Erika, my “brand manager” (God I hate that title), of course want’s me to get back together with him, and is always talking about how much of a “complimentary companion” he is for a “power-woman” like myself.

Yeah, because “complimentary companion” has “sexy” written all over it. And
again
my mind instead thinks of the hard-bodied, cocky Hudson. Hudson with the tattoos and the obnoxious bad-boy chip on his shoulder; Hudson with the dangerous glint in his eye and the fucking
missile
hanging between his legs. I’m pretty sure it would give Erika an aneurism if I announced that
he
was going to be my new “companion” of any kind.

I’m still mulling all of this over in my head when Chelsea comes over later with takeout sushi.
 

“So what do you think, Hudson?”

I grumble into my yellowtail maki. I don’t know if I’m pissy because she’s decided to include him in what
was
going to be a sister get-together, or that she’s somehow getting along with him
swimmingly
. Or maybe I’m just
generally
feeling
on edge because of the Hudson situation as a whole.

“Your ex sounds like a dick, Chelsea,” He’s saying as he takes a bite of salmon. He sees me staring at him and grins as he makes an extra big show of sensually slurping the piece of fish between his lips while Chelsea is looking down at her own food. I make a face at him, which only gets him grinning more and more my own pulse beating faster.

“Aw, thanks Hudson!” I’m still making my stink face at him when Chelsea looks up sees me, before she turns and nods her head at Hudson; “You know, you can always come hang with me if my sisters being a bitch, Hudson.”

He chuckles right along with her as I stuff seaweed salad into my mouth and look away. It’s not
flirty
between them - she’s acting like more of a kid sister and him more like a conspiratorial brother than anything like
that
- but it’s still getting under my skin. It’s as if their closeness brings out some sort of bizarre jealousy in me, which is stupid because I don’t want or need to be close to Hudson.

Keep saying that to yourself and maybe you’ll start to believe it.

I’m interrupted from battling my inner dialogue by Chelsea poking me in the arm with a chopstick; “We should ask his opinion on
your
ex, Ray.”

I blush as Hudson arches an eyebrow at me, a grin teasing his perfect lips; “Ex-boyfriend, huh?” Yeah, I definitely haven’t mentioned Chet to Hudson.

“Let’s…
not?
” I’m staring daggers at my sister, but she’s either not getting the hint or just ignoring them anyways.
 

“Oh com’on! I bet Hudson has a ton to say about you and Chet.”

I groan inside as Hudson grins wickedly at me; “
Chet
?” His cocky, smug mouth cracks even even wider as winks at me; “Oh, yeah, I think I’ve got
loads
to say about ‘Chet’.”

“
See?
” Chelsea gives me a sassy look as she reaches past me for the ginger.

“I’m
sure
you do.” I say icily.

*****

“So,
Chet
, huh?”

We’re cleaning up the kitchen after Chelsea leaves; Hudson rinsing out wine glasses and me drying them. It’s
weirdly
domestic, and probably the last thing I could ever imagine spending my Wednesday night doing with billionaire playboy Hudson Banks.

“
Chet
is none of your business, actually,” I say, almost unable to hide my smirk. Is he
jealous
?

“I’m just curious that’s all,” Hudson passes me a clean, dripping wet coffee cup.

“Oh what, for security purposes?” I say sarcastically as I reach for the mug.

“No I’m just curious for me actually.” I freeze with my hand on the lip of the coffee cup he’s holding in his hand, suddenly
very
curious where he’s going to go with this.

Hudson grins, as if seeing right through the casual face I’m doing my best to maintain and seeing the eagerness within; “I’m honestly just wondering who could put up with you long enough to date, that’s all.”

I roll my eyes, suddenly angry with myself for being such a weirdo about all of this; “Oh shut up.”

Hudson laughs; “Oh I’m just kidding Red, jeez lighten up.” He casually reaches over and wraps his arm around my waist, and I freeze.

“Stop.”

“What?”

I can feel the strength in his arms, and the heat in his fingers as they circle around my waist, drawing me closer to his body and I can
feel
the shiver run up my spine.
 

“Just- don’t touch me like that.” I’m saying no because I
need him
to,
not
because I want him to. In fact, I
desperately
want him to keep touching me.

Hudson frowns; “Jesus, Reagan, like what?” He drops his arm and steps back from me, and I’m instantly missing the heat of his body and the heat
my
body feels when he’s that close to me; “Ok, fine.”

I swallow heavily; “Fine.” I know my cheeks are bright red, and the heated, needy desire pouring through my body and dampening my panties scream that I want anything
but
him to stop touching me, but I force myself to turn away from him.

I gasp when he reaches out and grabs my arm, and my heart leaps into my throat as I feel him spin me around and press me up against the refrigerator. I’m flush against his body, feeling every ripple of his muscles, every inch of his skin on mine, and I let out the tiniest of moans in spite of myself. I can feel his hardness pressing hotly against me as his hands push my arms back against the cool metal of the fridge, and he leans down until I can feel his breath teasing across my lips.

“Just so you know, I’m betting I could have you right here, right now, Princess. I’d only have to ask.”

“Oh is that a fact, huh?” I give him my most defiant, carefree look, but I know by the way he grins that he can see
right
through that. And I know by the way my face is flushed and the way I
know
he can feel the heat between my legs on his thigh that neither of us are fooled by my little act.

“Yeah, that’s a fact.” He growls, leaning closer still until his lips are barely
millimeters
away from mine.

“Then why don’t you then.” My voice is breathy, and I hear the words muted as if I’m speaking underwater. I’m willing him to kiss me; willing him to lean down press that mouth to mine and take me right here in the kitchen; right up against the refrigerator.
 

Please, please, please
I beg inside my head, biting my lip and staring deep into his deep blue eyes and wanting nothing more than to feel him slide inside of me. I’m so wet and I can feel my heart just
racing
as we stare at each other. But I need him to make the move first. I’m running for a seat on the State Senate for crying out loud, I can’t be throwing myself at my bodyguard - or my campaign financier, or both, or whatever the hell Hudson is. I just
can’t
, and for that singular reason, every fiber of my being and every thudding beat of my pulse in my veins wants him to tear my panties off and fuck me right here.

But he doesn’t, and the moment passes, and we both know it. Hudson moves away from me suddenly, his own chest rising quickly with his breath as he stares at me hungrily with a look I can’t quite read; “Like you said, Reagan; it’s nothing.”

P A S T

“Are you
drinking
?” My older sister’s eyes are narrowed, red-rimmed as they are as she leans down to sniff the cup of soda she’s snatched out of my hands.

“N-no.” I mumble out, fairly confident that there’s no way she’s going to smell the white wine I’ve dosed my diet-cola with. Yeah, I’m drinking white wine with coke; I was a very special breed of eighteen year old rebel.

Quinn swears at me, even though I know damn well she’s had a few herself; “It’s a
wake
, Reagan, not an open bar,” She hisses; always the one in charge, especially now.

“It’s not a
wake
, it’s a memorial vigil,” I say it tensely through gritted teeth.

Quinn looks at me sadly, shaking her head; “Ray, he’s d-“

“He’s
missing
, Quinn, he’s not dead.” Well, missing for three months, last seen near the Syrian border; presumed dead.
 

My sister tenses her jaw and exhales through her teeth, either because she’s thinking it too, or more likely because she’s just not about to have this argument again with me,
here
of all places. “In any case, you’re not supposed to be drinking.”