Fixed on You (15 page)

“Since the ruse is on, we’d
better make it official.” I gestured toward Liesl, and Hudson nodded in
understanding.

“Excellent idea.” He paused,
waiting for Liesl to get a little closer, ensuring she got a good show. Then he
got out of the car and crossed to my door, opening it to let me out. He brushed
his thumb down my cheek. “Ready?”

I was never ready, but I tilted
my chin up so my mouth could meet his. Our lips joined, our tongues flitting
around each other. My knees buckled, but his hands were around my back, supporting
me. I gripped his shirt, wanting desperately to tangle my fingers in his hair,
knowing that would only fuel my lust. Seriously, it had only been a couple of
hours since our adventure in the dressing room, and yet it felt like I hadn’t
gotten any in months.

He pulled away and stole a glance
at Liesl. “She saw,” he said softly.

“Oh.” I’d already forgotten our
PDA had been meant for her. “Good.” I swallowed. “Thank you,” I whispered,
still breathless. “For today.” For buying me pretty clothes, for ignoring my
request to keep the day sex-free, for taking the air out of my lungs with a
kiss on Columbus Circle.

“Tomorrow, Alayna.”

I managed to pull myself away
from him, only looking back once as he got in the car. Liesl folded her arms
across her chest, leaning against the door, holding it open for me. “Time for
details,” she said as I passed her.

And I delivered, telling her all
about Hudson and Alayna, the happy couple, interweaving truth with fiction. I
told her we’d met at Stern and that he’d bought the club to be near me, but not
to tell that to David. I told her we spent all our free time together, that we
couldn’t keep our hands off each other, that we were madly in love.

The lies came easily and they
felt good. They felt believable. Not because I knew Liesl believed them, which
she did, but because I almost could too.

***

It was nearly four when Jordan
and I had finished unloading all my packages into my apartment, but I wasn’t
tired yet. For a moment I had a pang of regret, wishing I’d let Hudson take me
home instead. Thoughts of him had clung to me all night—I couldn’t count the
number of times I’d started and deleted a text to him—and my sex felt swollen
and aching with want of him.

I’d been strong in the car,
recognizing the unhealthiness of filling all my time with the man. Now, alone
and needy, I weakened. Instead of heading straight to bed, as I should have
done, I turned on my computer and allowed myself to do the one thing I’d tried
so hard not to do: I cyber-stalked.

I told myself I needed to find
information about Hudson so I’d be prepared. What if his mother made a comment
about his college background? I’d want to know he studied at Harvard. Or what
if someone asked me about my thoughts on Hudson’s philanthropic investments? It
benefitted me to know he was a major benefactor of the Lincoln Center and that
he funded a private scholarship at Julliard.

And his exes. I needed to know
about them, too. Though, I didn’t find much in that department. Mostly pictures
of Hudson with a variety of women. I gasped when I recognized one of the women
as Stacy from Mirabelle’s shop. She’d been on at least one date with Hudson. No
wonder she had animosity toward me.

Not one face repeated except for
Celia Werner’s, the thin, pretty blonde his family wanted him to marry. They
never actually appeared “together” together, but she did have a look of
adoration in her eyes that caused me to doubt that she would be completely
unhappy with an arranged marriage with him. But, then again, I couldn’t believe
anyone would be unhappy with Hudson.

I found out a great deal about my
supposed boyfriend in those hours, but, truthfully, my Internet search had
little to do with being prepared for Hudson’s family and friends. I searched
because I felt compelled to understand the man who affected me so completely. I
read article after article because I wanted to know the silly little trivia
that only a true fan or intimate friend knew. I sat behind my computer until my
eyes were blurry, soaking up every bit of Hudson Pierce enlightenment I could
find, because I couldn’t
not
do it.

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.”

“Where is she?” If the bitch was
on the premises, I figured I’d better face her head on.

“There.” Mira pointed discreetly.

I followed her gesture. There she
was, the woman from the pictures, wearing a red, one-shoulder crinkle dress
that accentuated her model thin figure.

“You look better than her,” Mira
said. I didn’t, but I appreciated the comment. I didn’t look better than her at
all.

Snap.
Another unhealthy
thought.

 “Mirabelle, must you be so
catty?” Hudson squeezed my hand. “Anyway, Alayna looks better than most
people.”

I kissed him. Not only because it
seemed a good time for a girlfriend to reward her boyfriend for a compliment,
but because I wanted to. I wanted to remind myself that no matter what Hudson
and I did or didn’t have together, I was the one kissing him—I was the one
convincing people that he shouldn’t be with
her.

He kissed me back in that
reserved way of his that I had learned was for the public, his tongue sliding
barely inside my lips.

“Oh, hell, no. Huds making out is
not something I want to see,” an unfamiliar voice interrupted our embrace.
Hudson stepped aside revealing a blonde haired, blue eyed teenage boy wearing a
suit jacket over a t-shirt and jeans. “But, wow.” The boy scanned me up and
down with a lusty stare. “Anytime you feel like moving up the social ladder,
you can lay those lips on me.”

“Chandler,” Mira scolded. “Be
polite.”

Chandler.
The youngest
Pierce sibling. I’d read some gossip blogs that speculated the reason for the
large gap between Mira and Chandler was because the three children didn’t share
the same father. Indeed, staring at Chandler now, I saw very little resemblance
to his older siblings.

“Alayna’s nine years your
senior,” Hudson said, a stern look on his face.

“I’ll be eighteen next month.”
Chandler’s eyes remained pinned on me.

I’d never told Hudson I was
twenty-six. I shouldn’t have been shocked that he knew—the man who had
uncovered my restraining order had obviously done his research on me, too.
Well, we were on equal ground now. As if there was equal ground with Hudson.

Hudson facilitated a half-hearted
introduction. “Alayna, this is our brother, Chandler.” Hudson smacked his
brother on the shoulder in a gesture that almost appeared playful. “Chandler,
stop undressing Alayna with your eyes. That’s inappropriate.”

Chandler crossed his arms with a
look of challenge and superiority that could only be delivered by a teenager.
“Because we’re in public or because she came with you?”

“Because that’s not how you treat
women.” Hudson’s tone was clipped but even.

“And you’re who’s going to teach
me how to treat women?” He stared at his elder brother, an unspoken
conversation passing between them in those few seconds. And then Chandler
dropped it. “Mom sent me to summon you. She wants to meet your arm candy.” He
turned on his heels, peeking once nonchalantly to see if we were following him.

Mira followed, grabbing him at
the elbow to whisper in his ear. Correcting his impudence, I suspected.

Hudson sighed. “Ignore him. He’s
a horny teenager.”