Embrace Me (2 page)

Traffic was a bitch. But Hudson maneuvered his Aston Martin through the one-way-this, one-way-that-way streets with skilled precision. Chicago was filled to the brim with those goddamn signs that made you circle a whole block before getting to wherever the hell you were going. And the traffic lights—the motherfucking traffic lights—sometimes he swore they synced up to turn bright red just as his car approached, especially if he didn't have time to spare. Seeing as how that was absofuckinglutely the case at the moment, he made the executive decision to consider a few of them more amber than red, traffic cameras be damned.

Bending a few laws worked in Hudson's favor because in no time, there the fuck he was. The club sprawled in a standout at the end of the road, a beacon of color among the steel, granite, and concrete skyscrapers. The
Magic Mike
redux was outside of what he knew to be Harper's regular hunting grounds. She usually preferred a spot farther north where three streets intersected to form what locals called the “Viagra Triangle.” Though since dating his brother, it appeared the redhead had hung up her tranquilizer gun.

Despite his current mental state, the thought of Harper hunting her prey like some sort of bohemian safari guide nearly made him smile. There was no denying the fact that he enjoyed giving her a hard time; hell, they both seemed to thrive on it. But the truth was Hudson couldn't quite get a bead on her and Nick. They couldn't have been more polar opposites, not just in personality but in upbringing. Harper had been raised in a freaking Norman Rockwell painting, although Hudson suspected there was a bit of National Lampoon Griswold in the mix as well. Bottom line, the redhead had been brought up in a large, close-knit Catholic family. He and Nick had been raised by a single mom whose only house of worship was the corner liquor store. But for whatever reason, Harper and Nick seemed to work. Nick was not only clean and sober, he was happy, genuinely happy—an emotion Hudson hadn't registered on his little brother in damn near two decades.

Of course, happy was far from how Hudson would describe Nick's reaction when he realized their destination. “Umm, not the kind of strip joint I had in mind,” he said, peering through the car's windshield. “Something I need to know, man? Switching to Colin's team? I mean, it's cool, I'm down with that. Allie might have a problem with it, but the boys will dig ya. You got that whole metrosexual thing happening.”

“Shut up, Nick.” Ditching the main street for the back alley, Hudson bumped over potholes as he pulled behind the club. In this part of town parking was a luxury most establishments couldn't afford. Not that Hudson cared. He slid his car perfectly into a spot likely reserved for the manager of the establishment, not giving two fucks if the guy wanted to tow him or not. He didn't plan on being there long enough to find out.

“I'm serious, bro. Let's count it. You got the hot car, the penthouse, the threads. You're a successful businessman in the right tax bracket.” He ticked each qualification off on a finger, all the while sporting a shit-eating grin that Hudson was ready to smack off his face. “Oh, and let's not forget about the hair.”

“Way to play into the stereotype.”

“A positive one. I mean look at Colin. Dude's got game,” Nick said, before getting out of the luxury ride.

Hudson lifted a dark brow. “Do I detect a developing mancrush?”

“Nah, he's just cool. Better than that stuffed shirt of an assistant you got shuffling papers.”

“Darren does a lot more than shuffle papers. And he's proficient at his job.” Hudson thumbed the alarm and shoved the key fob into his front pocket.

“Yeah, but the sense of humor of a paper napkin.”

“A sense of humor was neither a prerequisite, nor is one encouraged.”

“And you want me to come work for you?” Nick laughed. “Fuck no.”

“Less talk, more walk.” Hudson was running on adrenaline and instinct while Nick was dragging his heels and doing what appeared to be some sort of comedy routine. “I mean it, Nicky, get the lead out.”

Hudson's strides were long and measured as he beat a path around the brick building. He was so not cool with what he could only imagine was going down inside the joint, and his mood didn't improve as he passed the marquee posters advertising the club's featured performers. Christ, women had a lot of nerve giving men a hard time for strippers. This shit was cheesy as hell.

Nick belted out a snort as he checked out the ads. “Shit balls and dick tips, they have a firefighter, a navy dude, and a cop. It's the freaking Village People!” He jogged a few steps, trying to catch up to Hudson. “The cop is so your speed, bro. You have perpetrator written all over you.”

Hudson's jaw clenched and a shooting pain racked his temple. Dealing with Nick's wisecracks was trying enough, but the redhead had upped the night's ante. His wife was inside making it rain dollars and he was about to show up unannounced? Yeah, not a good turn of events.

But welcome or not, he was putting an end to whatever was going on in there.

They turned the corner and Hudson came to an abrupt stop. His feet finally moving as fast as his tongue, Nick crashed into him, catching the eye of the bouncer who'd been inspecting the line of ladies waiting to get inside. The guy was the size of a small car, and judging by the bulge in the sleeve of his suit coat, he could probably bench press one as well. Hudson blew out a breath. He wasn't in the mood to get into some storytelling event on why he wanted to enter a club that catered almost exclusively to female clientele, let alone explain why he needed to circumvent the line. Instead, he let Ben Franklin speak on his behalf.

Reaching into the ass pocket of his jeans, he pulled his wallet out and casually slid a hundred dollar bill from the stack of cash. It took about two seconds for the bouncer to size up the situation. He looked down at the C-note, then jerked his chin toward the door as he swiped the bill from Hudson's palm. They were in.

Hudson swung the door open. A rolling bass and the sound of screaming women tore through the opening, and all at once he wished he could push it closed.

“Yo, VIP, let's kick it.” Nick sauntered in, obviously attempting to modify Hudson's already agitated, if not a level below violent, state.

“This is a male strip club.”

“I know, but do you hear the song? Vanilla Ice, ice, baby.” Nick did some dance that got the attention of a couple cougars singing along while waving cash at whichever Channing Tatum wannabe was closest.

A dancer at the end of a runway ripped his white tank in half, then flung the tattered pieces into a tangle of women who fought over it more than any bouquet he'd ever seen tossed. On the club floor bodies moved in pairs, sometimes threesomes, while pop-rap filled the thick, perfumed air. The vibe was all about sex; wanting it, selling it, hoping to get a single night of it that ultimately only left you feeling more lonely than before. Been there, done that. But everything had changed for him now. Allie had brought substance to his life. She was the only woman he wanted in his bed, or anywhere else for that matter.

After Hudson's eyes adjusted to the darkness—the flashing spotlight nearly blinding him in the process—a movement at the front of the club caught his attention, and his gaze shifted in the direction of the main stage. Allie. She was up front and fucking center. And a half-naked man was grinding against her.

In that split second, Nick cut the shtick. “Hudson.” His tone dropped a notch into calm, cool, and serious. “They're having fun, man. Let's go shoot some pool, hang out at your pad.”

Christ, he knew his little brother was hitting the rational, logical part of his brain, especially given that Harper was the more enthusiastic participant. But fuck, his egocentric, territorial nature was eradicating all control, not to mention common sense.

“Seriously, bro. Major buzzkill to have your bachelorette party crushed by Mr. Hubby. Let it be.”

Count to ten.

Calm the hell down.

Find comfort that she is with her best friend.

As if he'd fucking read Hudson's mind, Nick added, “Harper won't let anything happen to her. That's a solid girl right there.”

“You have a bias.” But even as Hudson said the words, he knew his brother was speaking the truth. Harper had been at Hudson's side in France, helping him when Julian had threatened to end not only their happiness, but their lives.

Nick gave Hudson's elbow a nudge. “Let's roll, bro.”

Not a chance in hell.

He was there and so was Allie. And he wasn't leaving without her.

Hudson straightened his shoulders to shake off his brother's lingering words. He scanned the dense crowd of screaming women, his gaze settling on the area of flashing lights where his wife was busy stuffing bills into some poor excuse of a white Speedo. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

What he assumed was Nick's hand landed on his arm, trying to stop him, but his reasoning became lost in the thumping music. And when Mr. Speedo straddled Allie's lap . . .

“Stay here,” Hudson barked, giving his brother the brush-off before moving forward like a charging bull. He was going to kill that fucking prick or at lease turn him into a sack of vegetables.

Hudson zigzagged around a booth, between tables littered with colorful cocktails, and in an uncharacteristically warped sense of reality, might have even endured having his ass grabbed. Sweet hell, this was not happening.

By the time he reached Allie she was shoving the last of her cash into the idiot's cock sling. He came to a halt behind her, widened his stance, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Harper's gaze shifted up and zeroed in on him. “Oh, fuck,” she mouthed.

 * * * 

A familiar hand settled on Allie's shoulder and squeezed. “Need a few more singles, Mrs. Chase?”

Across from her, Harper sat with a phallic straw perched in front of her gaping mouth. Her eyes had grown the size of enormous green saucers, and for the first time in her life she appeared to be at a loss for words. But despite her best friend's dramatic reaction, it was the man behind her who commanded Allie's full attention, just as he had all those months ago when they'd first reconnected.

Of course, she'd known the moment he'd arrived at the club. There was an energy that surrounded Hudson wherever he went, a near tangible force so potent she could almost see it pulse in the air around him. When she'd turned to find him standing behind her that night at the Field Museum, the mere sight of him had taken her breath away. Everything about him had called to her on the most primitive level. From the way he ran his fingers through his dark, unruly hair, to the intensity in his gaze when he locked his blue eyes on hers, to the way his body moved beneath his well-tailored tuxedo. Even after ten years, the connection they'd felt as teens had remained and none of the obstacles they'd faced over the past seven months had done anything to lessen its effect.

“Show's over.” Hudson pulled a few bills out of his wallet and dropped them on the table. Unfazed, the cowboy gyrating in front of them gathered the cash, tucking it into his white G-string before winding his lasso around a brunette at the next table.

“What are you doing here?” Harper managed to squeak.

Ignoring her question, Hudson leaned over to whisper in Allie's ear. “Let's go.” His voice was low and laced with a barely leashed restraint.

Allie rose without saying a word. She met Harper's lifted brows with a smile and a shrug but in reality she knew exactly what was going on. The look on Hudson's face left no room for doubt. He was angry, yes, but he'd channeled it in a different direction and gone all alpha male, his body vibrating with a heady mix of possessive arousal. And while Allie had no idea what was going to happen next, one thing was certain: it was going to be a wild ride.

Hudson placed his hand on the small of Allie's back as he guided her toward the rear of the club. Behind her Allie heard a commotion she could only assume was Harper scrambling to follow. In front of her Nick stood just inside the doorway under the watchful eye of a very large, very intimidating bouncer. The African-American man had his arms crossed, accentuating the size of his biceps and making him look even more formidable. Nick, on the other hand, had his fists shoved deep into the pockets of his cargo pants as he bounced ever so slightly on the balls of his feet. His hair fell in disarray around his face as he chewed his bottom lip, and for a split second Allie was taken back to a small-town carnival and a young boy anxious to have his big brother help him win the perfect prize. It was as if the years had melted away. But then Nick opened his mouth, bringing Allie out of the past and right back to the very surreal present.

“Finally, dude. What the hell took you so long? I mean, I know you weren't getting a lap dance.” The unease in Nick's eyes faded to a mixture of mischief and amusement. “Or were you?”

Hudson frowned. “See that the redhead gets home.”

“Wait, what?” Nick sputtered. He ran a hand back through his dark brown curls. Wayward hair was a trait the two brothers shared, although the younger Chase wore his much longer. “You're calling it a night? It's like nine o'clock.”

Hudson silenced his brother's protests with one look, then turned his attention to Allie. “How did you get here?”

“We took the limo.”

Hudson gave a tight nod. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a key fob, and flipped it at Nick, who caught it against his chest. When Nick realized what was in his hands his eyes grew even wider than when Hudson had finally beaten that carnival game.

“Holy shit, you're letting me drive the Aston?”

“Not a scratch or you're dead.”

“I swear, bro, she'll be in good hands.”

Hudson reached for Allie's hand, entwining his fingers with hers just as Harper appeared at Nick's side.